“How old?”
“Rookie year.”
I kissed the end of it, and he made a sound I’d never heard from him before.Not quite a laugh.Something that belonged to the part of him that doesn’t have to be captain.
He called me between drills, breath still uneven.I texted him barn selfies with a goat trying to eat my braid.He showed up at a shelter vaccination morning with coffee and didn’t react when a puppy peed on his shoe.He learned the names of my clients’ horses like they were teammates.He asked where I was late at night because it soothed something in him to know I wasn’t on a dark back road alone.
“Make sure your location stays on for me,” he said once, sheepishly.“I have never been this resistant to starting a season before.I just… like knowing where you are, even if I am thousands of miles away.”
Now and then, a slight static pricked my skin, nothing I could point to.A conversation cut short when I walked up.A camera where I didn’t expect one.Jamie cheerfully asked for a photo, then another, and another.“People love you,” he’d grin, and maybe that should’ve made me nervous, but Nate would kiss the side of my head, and I’d believe the truth of that more than the mention of follower counts.
One night near the end of August, back home, he stayed over at my place.No skyline, no elevator, no paparazzi or excited fans, just crickets and the hum of the old fridge and the way the night air moves differently through my screens.
We ended up on the couch, my old, beat-up one that smells faintly like cedar and time.Nate had his arm around me, his thumb tracing lazy circles against my shoulder, our legs tangled under a blanket.
He nodded toward the recliner I never touch.“You ever sit in that?”
I followed his gaze.“No,” I said softly.“It was my dad’s.”
A pause, quiet but full.“And the envelope?”he asked, voice gentler than I’d ever heard it.
“Letters I used to write him,” I said.
Nate didn’t say anything.He just pulled me a little tighter against his chest, the kind of hold that says everything words shouldn’t try to fix.
For a while, we just sat there, the TV flickering soundlessly across the room, his heartbeat steady against my chest.
Later that night, he fell asleep on my side of the bed, one hand fanned across the space between us, his lips parted, breath slow.In sleep, he looked younger.Softer.The lines of captain and son and public figure washed off him, and all that was left was the man who makes my heart beat differently.
I lay there in the dark and let it all soak in.The realization crested over me with a gentle kind of warmth.
I love him.
It didn’t crash, didn’t blaze.It seeped in, quiet as soft spring rain, until everything felt rinsed and a little new.It was there in the early mornings, in the way he says my name when he’s laughing, in the possessive tilt of his chin when someone looks too long, in the way we always seem to gravitate towards each other, no matter who was around.
My chest tightened at the realization that in such a short time, Nate had gotten under my skin and buried himself deep in my heart.
He made a small sound, rolled closer, and found me without opening his eyes.His hand slid to my waist like it had always belonged there.
He is everywhere now, my mornings, my truck bed, my grocery lists, my skin, and for once, that doesn’t feel like something I need to protect myself from.It feels like sunlight through a window I didn’t realize had been boarded up for far too long.
I tucked the sheet up over his shoulder and pressed my mouth to his hair.“Okay,” I whispered to the dark and to myself and to whatever comes next.
Chapter 25 - Nate
Media day feels different this year.At the beginning of my career, it felt exciting; I felt proud to have reached my goal and to be living my dream life.
But right now, as someone yells, "Smile, Captain!"for the fiftieth time, I am struggling with my newfound fake enthusiasm.
There’s a rhythm to it that I am trying to find familiar comfort in: skate, stop, pose, smile.
Flashbulbs, questions, noise.
But this year, it isn’t just about hockey.It’s abouther.
“Captain Carson, look this way!”
“Give us one with the stick!”
