Mom reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers.Her palm is warm, familiar, grounding.“But youdidfind your way back, baby.You’re here.You’re seeing it.”
Eli clears his throat.“Look, I’m the last person to be giving emotional advice, but… I’ve seen you more these past few weeks than I have in the last couple of years combined.You look… I don’t know.Different.”
“Different how?”I ask, wary.
“Less like you’re about to jump out of your own skin all the time.”He shrugs.
I let that sit for a second.Let myself feel it.
He’s right.
The noise in my head has quieted.The constant itch to check my phone, to anticipate the next demand, the next problem, that’s dimmed.I still feel the ache of losing Tessa every second; that part hasn’t changed, but the rest… the rest has.
“I’m not walking away because I hate the game,” I say.“I still love it.I always will.I’m walking away because I hate who I let myself become to keep it.”
Dad nods slowly.“Then I think you’re making the right call.”
Mom sniffles, wiping at the corner of her eye.“What will you do?When it’s over, I mean.”
The answer is already there, clear as the picture that’s been living in my dreams.
“I want to work here,” I say.“Full-time.With you, Dad, Eli, and even Kenzie.I want to actually learn it properly, not just be the kid who shows up at calving season and pretends he’s helping.”
Eli snorts.“You were pretty useless that year.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.
Dad’s mouth curves.“You think you’re ready for the hours?For the early mornings?For the fact that the cows don’t give a damn if you were up late at a party the night before?”
I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half relief.“I think I’m ready for anything that’s real and doesn’t come with a hashtag.”
Mom laughs, wet and shaky.“I like that answer.”
I take another breath, then force out the rest, because it’s part of the truth and they deserve to hear all of it.
“And I…” I hesitate.“I want that life with Tessa.If she’ll have me.If she can ever forgive me.I want… I want to build something with her that isn’t about the team, or PR, or any of that shit.I want quiet.And mornings with coffee on her porch.And driving into town in my truck with hay in the back instead of a security detail following us.I want...”
My voice cracks, but I push through it.
“I keep seeing her on the front steps,” I confess.“Pregnant.Waiting for me.And I know it sounds insane to say out loud, but… that’s it.That’s the dream now.That’s all I want.Her.Here.A family.”
Mom covers her mouth again, tears spilling over.Something loosens in Dad’s face, pride, pain, understanding all tangled together.“That sounds like a good life,” he says simply.
I look to Eli and see a look pass over his face that I cannot read.
“Do you think I’m crazy?”I ask.“Walking away from everything I’ve built, everything we sacrificed for?”
Dad shakes his head.“No, son.I think it takes more guts to choose a life that fits your soul than one that looks good on a billboard.”
Eli raises his coffee mug.“To Nate Carson: recovering brand asset, future farmhand.”
I flip him off half-heartedly.Mom smacks his shoulder.Dad actually chuckles.
It feels… normal.
It feels… like mine.
After we talk logistics, my contract, the end of the season, what it means practically, Dad heads out to check on the calves, Eli goes to help, and Mom and I end up alone at the sink, rinsing plates.
