Tessa’s standing at the edge of the deck, the sun catching in her hair, making it look like it's on fire, bare toes curling against the wood.She looks out at the water, not for show.Not for a picture for her feed.Not for anyone.Just because it’s hers to look at.
And maybe that’s what gets me, the way she exists like she doesn’t have to prove anything.
Reeves calls for me, pulling me back into the moment.Someone turns up the music.McKenna cannonballs into the water again, and everyone cheers.Girls are dancing on the dock, looking like they should be at a club instead of by the lake.It’s loud and messy and feels cheap compared to my family sitting by the grill talking to some of my teammates, and the woman with red hair who seems to be the only woman here today who doesn't want anything from me, but I can't seem to keep my eyes off of.
Chapter 9 - Tessa
The road to the lake house winds through tall pines and stretches of golden fields.Dust lifts off the gravel in hazy waves behind the Carsons’ truck.Kenzie hums beside me to"Watermelon Moonshine", off-key, her bare feet on the dash and her red sundress riding up her thighs.Every few minutes, she leans forward to look through the windshield like she still can’t believe they actually said yes.
I don't normally let myself get involved in family dynamics; it's not my place.But the Carsons had been so good to me, and I knew how much the rift between her family and brother bothers Kenzie.So, I did what I normally never do.I got involved.
When I’d asked if they’d go, even just for a little while, Maggie and John had shared that look.The one parents use when they’re weighing how much they’re willing to hurt for something they already miss.They didn’t say it outright, but I’ve seen enough family fractures to know when love turns into distance.When you no longer know what to say to each other and distance turns to silence.
Kenzie said they used to talk about Nate all the time.Drive hours for his games.Maggie and Kenzie had even flown out for a few away games.Eli would stream them in the shop, John would wear his old team jacket, and Maggie would bring out the scrapbook she started when he was still playing Junior A.Locals would join in, and families would band around the Carsons in support of their son making it to the NHL.Then, somewhere between city lights and photo ops, announcers talking about his personal life more than the hockey, it stopped.
Kenzie told me once that the real issues started when he began dating Brielle, that everything about him changed.That her dad finally said,I’m not driving all that way just to be ignored by my own son or talked down to by that girl.
She’d laughed when she told me, but I saw the ache in her eyes.
That’s why I pushed.Why I told them that life’s too short to wait for a “better time.”
You think you have more of it, time, but you don’t.I learned that lesson the hard way.And maybe, just maybe, this would be a small way to close the gap.Eli had cursed low under his breath, John gave a nod that said everything, and Maggie hugged me tight, whispering her thanks.
The trees open up and the lake flashes into view, sunlight scattering off it like coins tossed in for wishes.The house sits high above the shoreline, all sharp edges and glass, dark siding that mirrors the water.The lawn’s manicured within an inch of its life; every stone path, blade of grass, and perfectly placed shrub is intentional.
It’s the kind of house that photographs perfectly.The kind that tells the world you’ve made it, even if it doesn’t feel like home.
We pull in behind John and Maggie’s truck.Eli climbs out first, shoulders tight.I can almostfeelthe way his jaw sets as his gaze sweeps the chaos ahead.He turns with a scowl, reaching for a big cooler, which he balances easily in his arms.Kenzie’s the opposite, grinning from ear to ear, her red sundress dancing around her knees as she hops barefoot onto the drive.
I slide from my truck, the heat pressing down, and round to the back to grab a smaller cooler.The air smells like charcoal, lake water, and summer.
“Need a hand with that?”
The voice comes from the right, smooth and low, carrying that self-assured ease that always makes me brace a little.Two men are suddenly there, shirtless, barefoot, and bright-eyed.
The first one’s tall, lean muscle and motion, skin fair enough to show the flush of heat across his shoulders.His blond hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, his grin lazy but confident, the kind that probably comes easy to him.He’s got an accent, soft and northern, maybe Scandinavian, and it slides around his words like he’s not in a rush.
The second seems quieter, steadier.Dark hair pushed back off his forehead, almond-shaped eyes, warm brown and observant.There’s something about him that feels grounded, like he’d be the one to drive everyone home when the night gets out of hand.
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring longer than is polite.“I’ve got it,” I say, though my arms are sore from this morning's work.
"I’m Erik Anders,” Blondie says, his voice light.“And that’s Lukas Jensen.”
I nod.“Tessa.”
He tilts his chin toward the Carson truck.“You were at the farm this morning, right?”
That makes me pause.“You were there too?”
“Yeah,” he says with an easy shrug.
I study them both for a beat before saying, “You were with the groupies.”
That earns a real laugh from Erik, low and rough.“I believe the term ispuck bunnies,” he corrects with a grin.“And some of them drove up with us, but trust me, they’re notwithus.”
Lukas shakes his head, muttering, “Don’t lump me in with him.”His voice is steady, friendly, the kind of tone that makes you instantly like him.
I can’t help a small smile.“Noted.”
