But for the first time, I’m not trying to fix that with more noise.More buying.More giving them pieces of myself I don’t have to spare anymore.
I skate, work and help my family.
I dig cars out of snowbanks when it's needed, and I clear her driveway when she’s not looking.I write letters I might never send.
And at night, when the world is finally quiet, I sit on the porch and look out at the land that raised me and let myself want things I used to be too afraid to say out loud.
A life that’s small in the ways that matter and big in the ways I have missed.
A life where the loudest thing isn’t the roar of a crowd…
It’s the sound of her laugh.
The creak of a porch swing.
The steady, soft heartbeat of a future I might not deserve...
But I’m finally becoming the kind of man who could at least stand in front of her without lying about who he is.
Chapter 39 - Tessa
I’m not sure what wakes me.I don't even remember falling asleep.I sit up, a groggy fog weighing me down and listen. I don't think it was the wind, though it howls against the house like it wants in.
Not the nausea, though that’s been my shadow for weeks.
Not even the ache behind my ribs, though that one feels like it has become a permanent part of me.It’s something softer, a shift in the quiet...a presence.
And then I hear three slow knocks on my front door.They aren't urgent or angry.Just… there.Like someone quietly asking permission to exist on the other side.
My stomach flips, and for a split second, I think I’m imagining it.Maybe the stress dreams, which have been vivid or even wishful thinking.Possibly hallucinations brought on by too many sleepless nights and too little food.
But then I hear footsteps retreating down my steps.
My heart jolts, and I move without thinking.I pull open the door so fast the cold slaps the air from my lungs.
“Nate.”
He’s halfway down the steps, head bowed against the wind, shoulders hunched in his old jacket.The one I stole once and wore for a whole week after he left for an away trip.The one that always smelled like him, even under the smell of smoke, hay and everything else.He stops when he hears his name, and slowly, he turns.
And...It’shim.
Only… not the version I knew at the penthouse.Not the polished captain with the perfect interviews or the man who broke my heart.
This Nate looks carved from winter.He's beautifully weathered, humbled and a little raw around the edges.
He looksreal...he looks like he's my Nate.The one I have feared may have never really existed. And it almost unravels me right there.
There’s a canvas bag sitting at my feet.I didn’t notice it until now.
He clears his throat, voice low and careful in a way he never used to be with me.
“I, uh… heard from a few people you haven’t been feeling well.”
A beat and then his eyes flick down, and then back up.
“And I know I’m the last person you want checking in on you, but… my mom made bread and chicken noodle soup, and she...uh...made extra.Thought you might want some.”
I crouch to pick up the bag, hands shaking only partly from the cold.
