Chapter Eighteen — Rhett
Chapter Eighteen
Rhett
Tessa’s interview started at ten.
By ten-oh-three, I had checked my phone seven times.
By ten-fifteen, Cam had confiscated it.
“This is for your health,” he said.
I held out my hand.
“Give it back.”
“No.”
“Cam.”
“You are vibrating.”
“I am sitting still.”
“Emotionally vibrating.”
Across the locker room, Noah looked up from taping his stick.
“He has been staring at the same message since breakfast.”
Eli leaned against the equipment shelves.
“What message?”
Cam held up my phone.
I stood.
“Do not read that.”
“I’m not reading it.”
“You were about to.”
“I was assessing the lock screen.”
“That is still invasive.”
The screen showed the last message Tessa had sent before walking into the Boston office.
Tessa: Going in.
My reply sat beneath it.
Rhett: You don’t need luck. But take some anyway.
She had reacted with a heart.
One small red heart.
Possibly meaningless.
Definitely not meaningless.
Cam slipped the phone into the pocket of his hoodie.
“You get it back after practice.”
“Practice is in forty minutes.”
“Exactly.”
“I need it.”
“For what?”
“In case she texts.”
“She is in an interview.”
“She could have an emergency.”
“What kind?”
“Professional.”
“That is not an emergency category.”
“It is now.”
Coach Mercer walked into the room.
Everyone went quiet.
Cam immediately handed me the phone.
Coward.
Coach looked around.
“On the ice in ten.”
He started toward his office.
Then stopped.
“Callahan.”
I looked up.
“Coach.”
“How is Ms. Monroe’s interview?”
The locker room became dangerously attentive.
I shoved the phone into my bag.
“Still happening.”
Coach nodded once.
Then continued walking.
Cam waited until the office door shut.
“He knows.”
“Everyone knows.”
“He asked sincerely.”
“Coach is capable of sincerity.”
“Rarely in public.”
Noah stood.
“Do we think she gets the job?”
My chest tightened.
“That is not the question.”
“What is?”
I looked down at my skates.
Whether she wants it.
Whether she chooses it.
Whether she can choose it without wondering what it means for us.
Whether I can watch her leave and still be the man who told her not to reject something because of me.
“She’ll do well,” I said.
Eli studied me.
“That also wasn’t the question.”
I looked at him.
He shrugged.
“Pattern.”
I hated all of them.
Practice lasted two hours.
My phone remained in the locker room.
This was probably wise.
It also felt like psychological warfare.
Coach ran breakouts.
Then penalty kill.
Then a full-ice scrimmage that turned personal after Cam hooked me near the boards and claimed it was emotional support.
I scored twice.
Missed one open net.
Took a clean hit from Eli.
And spent every whistle wondering whether Tessa had finished.
At eleven twenty-seven, Coach ended practice.
I skated toward the tunnel before he finished speaking.
“Callahan.”
I stopped.
The team filed around me.
Coach crossed his arms.
“Locker room will still exist in thirty seconds.”
“I heard you.”
“You look uncertain.”
“I am.”
“That is not fatal.”
“It feels medically significant.”
He ignored that.
“You told her to take the interview.”
“Yes.”
“You meant it?”
“Yes.”
“Then let her take it.”
The words irritated me because they were reasonable.
“I’m not interrupting.”
“You’re halfway out of your equipment.”
I looked down.
One glove.
No helmet.
Still holding my stick.
Fair.
Coach’s expression softened slightly.
“Supporting someone is not the same as managing their decision.”
“Understood.”
“Do you?”
I looked toward the tunnel.
“I’m trying.”
“That is usually the part that matters.”
Then he walked away.
I stood there longer than necessary.
Coach Mercer had apparently become a relationship philosopher.
Terrible development.
My phone had three messages.
Two from Cam.
One from Tessa.
I opened hers first.
Tessa: Finished.
One word.
No punctuation.
My stomach dropped.
I typed immediately.
Rhett: How was it?
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned.
Then:
Tessa: I don’t know.
Of course.
I sat on the locker-room bench wearing half my gear.
Rhett: Good I don’t know or bad I don’t know?
Tessa: Thoroughly I don’t know.
Rhett: That sounds advanced.
No response.
I waited.
Then:
Rhett: Do you want to talk?
Another pause.
Tessa: Not yet.
That hurt more than it should have.
Not rejection.
I knew that.
Still, every instinct told me to fix the distance.
Call.
Drive.
Do something.
Instead, I typed:
Rhett: Okay.
Then forced myself not to add anything else.
Five seconds later:
Tessa: Dinner still?
My chest loosened.
Rhett: Always.
I stared at the word.
Too much?
Possibly.
True?
Completely.
She replied:
Tessa: Seven.
Rhett: I’ll be there.
Tessa: I know.
There it was again.
That sentence.
Trust disguised as routine.
I read it twice.
Then Cam dropped onto the bench beside me.
“Good?”
“Not yet.”
“Bad?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded slowly.
“You two are very committed to uncertainty.”
“Apparently.”
I changed shirts three times.
The navy one looked too formal.
The gray one looked like I had tried too hard not to look formal.
The black one made Cam say, “Less chest.”
So I wore navy.
Not because Tessa had chosen it earlier in the week.
Entirely unrelated.
Mostly.
I arrived at the restaurant at six forty-eight.
Twelve minutes early.
That was her influence.
The place was small and quiet, tucked between a bookstore and a florist near the edge of campus.
No televisions.
No team.
No university banners.
I had chosen it because nobody cared who scored goals there.
Tessa walked in at seven-oh-two.
Dark coat.
Black dress.
Gold hoops.
Power earrings.
My heart stopped performing basic tasks.
She saw me and paused.
Not long.
Enough.
I stood.
Her eyes moved over the navy shirt.
Then returned to my face.
“You wore the tie color.”
“No tie.”
“Still.”
“You wore the earrings.”
“They are ordinary earrings.”
“Historically disputed.”
Her mouth curved.
Barely.
The smile disappeared too quickly.
I pulled out the chair across from mine.
She sat.
I waited until she removed her coat.
Then sat too.
The server brought water.
Menus.
A basket of bread.
Tessa touched none of them.
I watched her hands.
Still.
Too still.
“How bad?” I asked.
She looked up.
“I’m not sure.”
“That answer is becoming aggressive.”
“It is accurate.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
She glanced toward the window.
Outside, light snow had started falling.
Small flakes catching against the glass.
“The interview went well.”
“Good.”
“I liked the people.”
“Also good.”
“The work sounded interesting.”
My stomach tightened.
I kept my face neutral.
Coach would have been proud.
Possibly suspicious.
“And?” I asked.
“They offered me the internship.”
The words landed cleanly.
Too cleanly.
I sat back.
“Already?”
“They said they had another candidate deadline.”
“When do you have to answer?”
“Monday.”
Three days.
The future had apparently developed a schedule.
Tessa looked down at the menu.
“I thought I would know what I wanted if they offered.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
The answer sounded angry now.
Not at me.
At herself.
I reached across the table.
Stopped before touching her.
She looked at my hand.
Then placed hers in it.
Her fingers were cold.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“That is not useful.”
“Still asking.”
She exhaled.
“Proud.”
“That helps.”
“Afraid.”
“Fair.”
“Excited.”
That one hurt.
I let it.
“And guilty,” she said.
My grip tightened slightly.
“Why?”
Her eyes lifted.
“Because I was excited.”
There it was.
The thing she had expected me to resent.
I kept my voice steady.
“You’re allowed to be.”
“That’s easy for you to say now.”
“It isn’t.”
She went still.
I could have lied.
Said Boston did not scare me.
Said distance meant nothing.
Said the relationship was too new to matter that much.
None of that was true.
“I hate the idea of you leaving,” I said.
Her face changed.
“But I hate the idea of you staying for me more.”
The restaurant noise moved around us.
Soft conversation.
Silverware.
A door opening near the kitchen.
Tessa’s eyes shone.
Not crying.
Close enough.
“What if I take it and we fall apart?” she asked.
“Then at least we know we tried.”
“That is not comforting.”
“I understand.”
“What if I stay and resent you?”
“Then we fall apart anyway.”
Her mouth tightened.
“Also not comforting.”
“I’m doing badly.”
“You’re being honest.”
“That is apparently my new problem.”
Her thumb moved against my hand.
Small.
Absent.
I held on.
“Tell me why Boston excites you,” I said.
She looked toward the snow again.
“No.”
“Tessa.”
“If I explain it, it sounds like I want it.”
“Maybe you do.”
“And what does that mean for us?”
“We are not the question yet.”
Her gaze snapped back.
“That sounds like you’re separating us.”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“I’m saying you need to know what Boston means before you turn it into a choice between the internship and me.”
She stared at me.
Then looked away.
“The work is strategic,” she said quietly. “Fast. Difficult. The team handles corporate cases, policy disputes, crisis planning.”
I listened.
Her voice changed as she continued.
Not brighter exactly.
More alive.
She talked about the interview panel.
The case exercise.
The moment she challenged one of their assumptions and the senior partner smiled instead of shutting her down.
She talked with her hands.
Forgot the bread.
Forgot to be careful.
I watched her come alive over something she had spent days pretending was only practical.
My chest ached.
Because I knew before she did.
She wanted it.
Not forever.
Not law school.
Not necessarily Boston as a life.
But this.
The chance.
The proof.
The freedom.
When she finished, she looked almost embarrassed.
“That sounds like you want to go,” I said.
Her face closed.
“I knew you would say that.”
“Because it’s true?”
“Because you’re trying to be noble.”
The accusation surprised me.
“What?”
“You’re making this easy for me.”
“I am doing the opposite.”
“You’re telling me to leave.”
“I’m telling you to admit you want the opportunity.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is the first step.”
Her hand pulled free from mine.
The loss of contact felt immediate.
“You don’t get to decide what I want.”
“You’re right.”
“Then stop sounding so certain.”
I leaned back.
The old version of me would have joked.
The current version wanted to defend.
Neither seemed useful.
“You’re right,” I said.
That stopped her.
“I’m sorry.”
Tessa looked down at the table.
The server arrived.
We ordered quickly.
Neither of us had looked at the menu.
When the server left, silence returned.
Not comfortable.
Not hostile.
Honest.
“I’m not trying to send you away,” I said.
“I remember.”
“You don’t sound like you know.”
She exhaled.
“I’m afraid if you support it too well, I lose the excuse to say no.”
There it was.
Not anger.
Fear.
I softened.
“You want me to be the reason?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes lifted.
She looked exhausted.
“I don’t know.”
I reached across the table again.
This time, she took my hand immediately.
“I can’t make the decision safer,” I said.
“I can’t promise distance won’t hurt.”
“That doesn’t make it easier.”
“I can promise not to disappear because it gets difficult.”
Her grip tightened.
“You say that like you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“How?”
Because leaving was my father’s move.
Because charm had always been easier than commitment.
Because every day with Tessa made me want to become someone who stayed when things became complicated.
“I don’t want to be temporary anymore,” I said.
The words came out rough.
Not polished.
Not planned.
Tessa went still.
“Not with you.”
The restaurant disappeared.
Or maybe I stopped caring about it.
Her eyes held mine.
No joke.
No escape.
Only the truth.
“I don’t want that either,” she said.
The answer loosened something in my chest.
Not enough to solve Boston.
Enough to survive dinner.
We walked after.
Snow covered the sidewalks in a thin white layer.
Tessa held my hand inside my coat pocket because she had forgotten gloves.
Or claimed she had.
I did not question it.
The campus looked quieter beneath snow.
Softer.
Like uncertainty could be beautiful from far enough away.
We stopped near the frozen fountain.
Tessa looked up at the library.
“The internship is ten weeks.”
I waited.
“June through August.”
I nodded.
“You have summer training.”
“Yes.”
“Games start again in September.”
“Yes.”
“Ten weeks is not forever.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Why does it feel like it?”
“Because we just started.”
The words hurt.
Still, they were true.
She moved closer.
Her shoulder against my chest.
I wrapped one arm around her.
“We could visit,” she said.
My pulse shifted.
“Boston has airports.”
“And roads.”
“Civilization.”
“Possibly streetlights.”
She smiled.
I kissed the top of her head.
“Could you do distance?” she asked.
The question deserved more than confidence.
“I haven’t decided.”
She pulled back slightly.
I continued.
“I know I’d try.”
“That is not the same answer.”
“No.”
“But it’s honest.”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the fountain again.
“I think I want to take it.”
There it was.
The decision not yet made, but already visible.
I forced myself to breathe normally.
“That sounds like yours.”
Her eyes lifted.
“It does.”
The ache in my chest sharpened.
Pride and fear apparently occupied the same place.
“Then take it.”
Tessa stared.
“You’re sure?”
“No.”
The answer surprised her.
I smiled faintly.
“I’m scared. I hate it. I already resent Boston’s entire existence.”
Her mouth moved.
Almost a laugh.
“But I’m sure you shouldn’t say no because we’re afraid.”
She stepped closer.
Her hands caught the front of my coat.
“You make it very difficult to accuse you of being unserious.”
“Personal growth.”
“Annoying.”
“Consistent.”
She kissed me.
Softly.
The snow gathered in her hair.
Her hands stayed at my chest.
Mine settled at her waist.
The kiss deepened only slightly.
Enough to say we were still here.
What we had was real.
Still choosing.
When she pulled back, her forehead rested against mine.
“I haven’t accepted yet.”
“Right.”
“I need to tell my father.”
“I heard you.”
“And think.”
“Dangerous.”
She smiled.
“Very.”
We stood there beneath the snow.
No plan beyond Monday.
No guarantee beyond tonight.
For once, I did not try to turn uncertainty into a joke.
I simply held her.
Because supporting Tessa did not mean pretending I would not miss her.
It meant letting both truths exist.
I wanted her to choose the opportunity.
And I wanted her to choose me.
The hard part was believing she might be allowed to choose both.