But lying here in the dark, in the room where I used to dream about getting out, I make myself a quiet promise:
Whoever I become next...
It won’t be the man who uses the people he loves.
It won’t be the man who lets other people write his story for him.
And if I ever earn the right to stand in front of her again…
It’ll be as the version of me who chose truth, even when it cost him everything.
The thought settles over me like a heavy blanket.
And in my childhood bed, with no skyline, no noise, no headlines...I finally sleep.
Chapter 38 - Nate
After that night at the farm with Dad, I only went back to my penthouse once to grab some of my things.I drive into the city when I have to.I show up for practice, for games, for meetings.I do my job.I lead the room.I answer the questions.I wear the suit.I smile in ways that feel like old muscle memory.
And then the second, I can get away...I drive home.
The rhythm finds me before I mean for it to.
I put my head down and work.No chirping, no bullshit.Reeves watches me like he’s waiting for me to explode again.I don’t.I just skate harder and keep my voice level when I talk in huddles.
In the locker room, PR hovers with their folders and their bright, eager eyes.
“We’ve got a couple of follow-ups on the...”
“No Tessa questions,” I say, calm but sharp enough that they hear how serious I am.“No Tessa segments.You want me, you get me.You bring her into it, you lose me.”
“Nate, the fans...”
“I said no.”I meet her eyes.“She’s off limits.”
They’re not used to me saying no.They’re used to me letting them spin my life like a highlight reel.But something in my tone must be a warning, because she presses her lips together and nods.
“For now,” she says.“We’ll… pivot.”
For now,is the best I can get.I know that.I take it and walk.Coach doesn’t push.He just squeezes my shoulder once on the way past and says, “Good practice, Carson.”
I catch the subtext.
Keep it together, we need you.
I nod and take the weight.It’s familiar.The only difference is I’m not letting it swallow me whole this time.
When practice is over, the boys peel off to their condos, the bars, the restaurants that know their orders by heart.I drive west.
The land starts to open up the further I get from Summit City, city lights fading to highway signs, then nothing but fields and dark, sleeping farmhouses.
By the time the Carson farm appears on the horizon, my shoulders have dropped two inches.
Mom has a crockpot going most nights now that I’m here.She pretends she’s not thrilled I keep showing up, but she makes enough food for an army, and I’m not stupid.
She slides a plate in front of me without asking what my plans are.
“Your dad’s in the north pasture,” she says.“Fence needs work again.The weather is working it hard.”
