18. Natalie
Natalie
The first thing I notice when I wake up is Ethan’s teddy bear mascot is peeking out of the closet where he threw it, and I make a mental note to rescue it later. That bear deserves better.
Ethan stirs behind me, his hand sliding up my stomach in a way that suggests he's not interested in getting out of bed anytime soon.
“Morning,” he says in a sleepy voice.
“Morning.”
“What time is it?”
I check my phone on the nightstand. “Almost eight.”
“We should get up.”
Neither of us moves.
His hand continues its lazy exploration, and I arch back against him, feeling exactly how awake certain parts of him are. But the bed squeaks ominously when I shift.
“We can't have sex on this bed without alerting the entire neighborhood,” I say in a grumpy voice.
He sighs heavily. “I know.”
We lie there for another moment, frustrated but unwilling to separate. Finally, I force myself to sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the mattress.
“I'm going to shower and then help your mom with breakfast,” I say.
Ethan pulls me down for one more kiss, but before it escalates, I draw back. He protests as I grab my clothes from the floor and make my way to the guest bathroom.
The hot water feels incredible after sleeping in a cramped bed, and I take my time, letting the steam clear my head.
Today is our last full day in Eau Claire. Tomorrow we fly back to New York, back to reality. These past few days have been a bubble. A perfect, wonderful bubble where Ethan is just Ethan, and I'm just Natalie, and nothing else matters.
But that's tomorrow's problem. Today, I'm going to enjoy every remaining minute.
Downstairs, Danna is already in the kitchen, humming to herself while she flips pancakes. The smell of coffee and bacon fills the air.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” She smiles when she sees me. “Sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you. Can I help with anything?”
“You can set the table. The plates are in the cabinet by the fridge.”
I gather plates and silverware while Danna works her magic at the stove. The kitchen is warm and cozy, filled with morning light and the soothing sounds of cooking.
“I wanted to thank you for coming here with Ethan,” Danna says without turning around.
“It's my job.”
“It's more than that, and we both know it.” She glances over her shoulder with a smile. “I've never seen my son look at anyone the way he looks at you. He loves you.”
My cheeks warm. “He told you that?”
“He didn't have to.” She flips another pancake onto the stack. “He's been so closed off since his injury. So angry and scared and unwilling to let anyone help. Then you came along and something changed.”
“He's still angry and scared sometimes.”
“But he's letting you in.” She turns off the stove and faces me fully.
“My son carries the weight of this whole family on his shoulders.
He thinks he has to take care of everyone, that he's not allowed to need anything for himself.
It's exhausting and lonely, and no amount of my telling him otherwise has made a difference.”
Tears spring into my eyes.
“But with you, he's different. He laughs and relaxes. He actually seems happy.” Danna crosses the kitchen and takes my hands in hers. “Whatever happens between you two, thank you for giving him that.”
My tears are close to falling. “I care about him a lot.”
“I know you do.” She squeezes my hands. “Now let's finish breakfast before the pancakes get cold.”
Jim joins us at the table in his wheelchair, looking better than he did in the hospital but still moving carefully. The surgery was successful, but recovery will be slow, especially with the MS complicating things.
After breakfast, I offer to help him with some exercises. He resists at first, that stubborn Ward pride showing through, but I'm persistent.
“Just some basic range of motion,” I say. “Nothing strenuous. It'll help prevent stiffness.”
“I have a physical therapist,” he grumbles.
“Now you have two.”
We settle in the living room, where there's more space. I guide him through a series of gentle movements, careful to accommodate both his hip surgery and his MS symptoms. He's resistant at first, but slowly he starts to relax.
“You're good at this,” he says grudgingly, reminding me of Ethan.
I stifle a smile. “It's what I do.”
“Most therapists treat me like I'm fragile. Like I might break if they push too hard. You don't do that.”
“You're not fragile, Jim. You're dealing with a lot, but that doesn't make you weak.”
He's quiet for a moment, letting me manipulate his leg through a slow rotation. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Almost eight years. I worked at a hospital in Charlotte before I came to New York.”
“Are you from Charlotte?”
“Born and raised.”
“Family still there?”
“My parents are. My dad's a cardiologist. My mom is involved in charity work.”
“And you left all that to come fix hockey players in New York?”
“I left for a lot of reasons.” I help him lower his leg and move to the other side. “It was a new opportunity and a chance to prove myself in a more competitive environment.”
“Those sound like the reasons you'd put on a job application.” His eyes are sharp despite his weakened body. “What are the real reasons?”
I'm quiet for a long moment. This man has known me for three days, and somehow, he sees right through me.
“I was engaged, then I found out that he had been cheating on me.” No point in sharing the gory, embarrassing details of actually finding him in our bed with another woman.
“Ah.” Jim nods like this explains everything. “So you ran.”
“I didn't run. I left. There's a difference.”
He shoots me a skeptical look.
“Running implies I was scared, which I wasn’t. I was angry and hurt. So I took a job in New York and started over. That's not running.”
Jim studies me for a long moment. “You're right. That's not running. That's being smart.” He reaches over and pats my hand. “No wonder my son likes you. You've got backbone.”
“Thank you.”
“He needs someone with backbone. Someone who won't let him get away with his bullshit.”
“He does have a lot of bullshit,” I say.
Jim laughs. “He gets it from me, unfortunately.”
We're still laughing when my phone rings. I glance at the screen and my whole body tenses. It’s my mother.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing. “I need to take this.”
I slip out onto the front porch and answer the call, bracing myself.
“Natalie.” My mother's voice is crisp and formal, the way it always is when she's displeased. “I've been trying to reach you for days.”
“I've been busy, traveling for work.”
“Traveling where? Someone saw your Instagram story. What on earth are you doing in Wisconsin?”
I close my eyes. I forgot I posted that photo of the lake yesterday. Stupid.
“I'm with a patient and his family. It's a work trip.”
“A work trip to Wisconsin.” She makes it sound like I said I was vacationing on the moon. “I don't understand why you took this job, Natalie. Physical therapy for athletes.”
“I like my job, Mom.”
“You could have had a perfectly respectable career in Charlotte. The Hansen’s daughter works at Duke Medical Center now. She's engaged to a surgeon.”
“Good for her.”
“There's no need for that tone. Speaking of which, Brody called me again.”
My hand tightens on the phone. “I don't want to talk about Brody.”
“He's devastated, Natalie. He made one mistake, and you completely cut him out of your life. Don't you think that's a bit extreme?”
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again. “He cheated on me, Mom. In our bed with a woman from his office.”
“Men have lapses in judgment. It happens. The question is whether you're going to throw away a perfectly good relationship over one indiscretion.”
“It wasn't an indiscretion. It was a betrayal.” My voice rises despite my efforts to stay calm. “And even if it wasn't, the fact that he wasn't even sorry tells me everything I need to know about him.”
“He is sorry. He's been calling me every week, begging for another chance.”
“Then he should have thought about that before he slept with someone else.”
My mother sighs heavily. “You're being stubborn and dramatic, just like your father. Brody is a good man from a good family. Men like that don't grow on trees.”
“I'd rather be alone than be with someone I can't trust.”
“That's easy to say when you're young. Wait until you're forty and still single. You'll feel differently.”
I want to scream. I want to hang up the phone and throw it into the yard. But I force myself to take a breath.
“Does he have my new number?”
Silence.
“Mom. Does Brody have my new phone number?”
More silence.
“You gave it to him after I specifically asked you not to.”
“He was very persuasive. He just wants to talk to you, Natalie. Is that really so terrible?”
“Yes! It is! Because I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to hear his excuses or his apologies or his explanations. I want him to leave me alone.” Tears of frustration fill my eyes.
“Maybe if you would just listen to what he has to say.”
“I'm done.” I cut her off. “I'm done listening to you defend the man who humiliated me. I'm done pretending that your opinion matters more than my own happiness. And I'm done having this conversation.”
“Natalie, wait.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
I hang up and stand there on the porch, shaking with anger. My hands are trembling so badly that I almost drop the phone.
The front door opens behind me.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?”
Danna's voice is filled with concern. I turn around, and she takes one look at my face, and her expression shifts to understanding.
“Come sit down.” She guides me to the porch swing and sits beside me. “Was that your mother?”
I nod, still fighting the urge to burst into tears.
“I heard a little bit through the window. Not on purpose, I promise. Mothers don't always get it right. Even when they mean well, sometimes they cause more hurt than help.”
“She gave my ex-boyfriend my phone number. Again. After I specifically asked her not to.”
“That's a violation of your trust.”
“She doesn't see it that way. She thinks I'm being dramatic. That I should forgive him because he comes from a good family.” I laugh bitterly. “Like family money excuses cheating.”
Danna is quiet for a moment. “When Ethan was drafted, I was terrified. Not because of the hockey, but because of what comes with it. The money, the fame, and the attention. I'd seen so many young men get destroyed by that world. I was afraid I'd lose my son to it.”
Mentioning Ethan immediately takes my mind away from my mother.
“I had to trust that we had raised him to know what matters. The money is nice, but it's not who he is.” She turns to face me. “Your mother sounds like someone who got lost along the way and started valuing the appearance of things more than the substance.”
“That's exactly what she is.”
“I'm sorry. But you don't have to accept being hurt just because she's your mother. You're allowed to set boundaries and to protect yourself.”
Tears spill down my cheeks. I've been holding them back for so long, telling myself that I'm fine, that my mother's behavior doesn't affect me.
But sitting here with this woman who welcomed me into her home without question, who treats me like family after knowing me for three days, I realize how much I've been missing.
This is what a mother should be. Warm, supportive, and present. Not cold and judgmental, and more concerned with appearances than her daughter's happiness.
“Thank you,” I say.
Danna pulls me into a hug and holds me while I cry. When I finally pull back, wiping my eyes, she hands me a tissue from her pocket.
“Mothers always have tissues,” she says with a smile.
“Mine never did.”
“Then you'll have to borrow mine.”
The front door opens, and Ethan appears, his expression shifting from casual to concerned the moment he sees my face.
“What happened?” He's at my side in three steps. “Are you okay? Who do I need to kill?”
“No one needs killing.” I take his hand. “I just had a difficult conversation with my mother.”
“About what?”
“Brody. She gave him my phone number again.”
His jaw tightens dangerously. “She did what?”
“It's fine. I handled it.”
“It's not fine. That's harassment. He has no right to keep contacting you, and she has no right to help him.”
“I know. I told her that.” I squeeze his hand. “I hung up on her. I think that's the first time I've ever done that.”
“Good.” He pulls me into his arms.
I bury my face in his chest and breathe him in.
Danna excuses herself, leaving us alone on the porch. We sit on the swing together, with my head on his shoulder and his arm around my waist.
“I need to tell you something,” he says.
I sit up to look at him. “What is it?”
“There’s this problem,” he starts, not looking at me, but at the backyard. “My physical therapist…”
All the worry melts from my body. “Oh?” I chuckle. “What’s the problem?”
He lets out a heavy breath, and then his eyes meet mine. My smile fades at the seriousness in his eyes. “The problem is that I’m falling in love with her and I don’t really know how to tell her.”
My pulse quickens. I swallow hard. “You should tell her how you feel,” I whisper. “I’m sure she feels the same.”
His eyes search mine. “You think so?”
I nod. “I know so.” I cradle his face in my hands. “How could she not be head over heels in love with you?”
His smile is soft, one full of relief. And next thing I know, his lips are on mine. It’s not a kiss driven by passion or lust, but one of love and devotion. The kind that makes you feel safe.
We break apart, and I rest my head on his shoulder, while he slowly rocks us in the swing. We sit there for a long time, not saying much. It’s so peaceful. I wish we didn’t have to go back home.