But I’m already stepping back, I am already moving through the hall.Already clutching the little black-and-white picture like it’s the only anchor I have left.
I make it to the elevator before the tears come.Quiet at first, then harder, and I press my hand to my belly in the empty elevator and whisper.
“We will tell him soon.We will find him and tell him.I promise.”
The elevator doors close, the ultrasound photo shakes in my hand and for the first time since that heartbeat echoed in the dark room, I let myself feel terrified.
Truly, wholly terrified.
Because this isn’t just about me anymore.
And it never will be again.
Chapter 42 - Nate
By the time I turn off the highway toward the farm, the sky is already that bruised winter purple that looks like it’s holding its breath.I shouldn’t be this wired after a game, not when it wasn’t even a bad one.We won.I logged good minutes.Stayed out of the box.Did every single thing the stat sheets will call “successful.”But I still felt hollow when I stepped off the ice.Not long ago, I would’ve driven straight back to the penthouse, gone straight into another meeting, another PR ask, another night pretending the city lights made me feel less alone.Now my truck just… turns home.
Tothishome.
I park beside Dad’s truck and sit there for a second with my hands on the wheel.The engine ticks as it cools.Snow from the gravel lane blows up in soft little ghosts around the headlights.The porch light is on, warm yellow spilling into the dark.
I get out, and my breath fogs in front of me.The air bites in a way it never does in the city, cleaner, sharper, honest.My legs ache, my shoulders are tight, and yet… my chest feels steadier the closer I get to the front door.
I step inside, and the warmth hits me first, then the smell.Cinnamon.Coffee.Something savoury under it all, like roast or stew that has already been put away.
And voices.Mom’s low laugh.Eli’s low murmur.The scrape of a fork on a plate.
I toe my boots off and hang my jacket up, suddenly more nervous than I’ve been walking into any locker room.Because I know tonight can’t be another “how was the game, son?”night.
Tonight, I have to say it out loud.
I round the corner into the kitchen, and there they are, exactly like I pictured:
Mom at the far side of the table, sweater sleeves pushed up, hair piled messily on top of her head, a half-finished piece of apple pie in front of her.Eli sits beside her, long legs kicked out, his long-sleeved thermal rolled up mid-forearm, mug of coffee cupped in both hands like it’s the only thing keeping him vertical.Dad at the head of the table, reading glasses low on his nose, a newspaper folded in thirds, an untouched plate in front of him.
Three pairs of eyes lift when I walk in.
Mom’s face softens instantly.“Hey, baby.”
Only she gets to call me that.
Eli nods.“Captain.”
I make a face at him.“Don’t start.”
He smirks into his coffee.
Dad just studies me for a beat, that way he does where you know you’re being x-rayed, even if he doesn’t say a word yet.
“Hungry?”Mom asks, already half-standing.“There’s leftover roast.And pie.You didn’t eat properly, did you?I can tell.”
“I...”I start to say I’m fine, but something about home strips off the bullshit before I can get it out.“Yeah.I could eat.”
I grab a plate, warm up some roast, and sit down in the empty chair across from Eli, at Mom’s right.It feels like being a teenager again for a second.We are just missing Kenzie talking a mile a minute.My chest pinches at the familiarity.
We talk about the game first because that’s the easiest thing.Dad asks how the ice was.Eli complains about a non-call, as if he were there.Mom says she saw one of my interviews and that I need a haircut.
My hands work on autopilot, fork to mouth, chew, swallow, but my brain keeps looping the same single thought:
