Every touch is a promise I might not be able to keep.
When she finally falls asleep, head on my chest, I lie there listening to her breathe.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
A message from my GM.
"Great job tonight, both on and off the ice.You’re exactly what we needed, and she’s exactly who we needed.The kiss walking out of the tunnel.The Key.Brilliant Nate.Keep it up, Captain."
The words make my gut sour.
I look down at Tessa, and the guilt slides in cold and sharp under my ribs.
I press a kiss to her hair and whisper,
“I will figure this out, fix this.I promise.”
But even as I say it, I’m not sure if I’m still talking about the team…
or about us.
Chapter 27 - Tessa
I keep telling myself everything is fine.
That Nate is just tired, stretched thin between ice time and media days and whatever the hell management keeps dumping on his shoulders.His schedule has been packed tight since the season picked back up.That this is what the season does to people who play at his level, tight shoulders, shorter messages, that slight rasp in his voice when he’s exhausted but still trying to sound like the man who kisses my spine in the mornings.
I want to believe that the version of him who whispers I love you into my hair at night is the same one who gets frustrated when I don't go to all the PR events.
“It’s new,” Kenzie said yesterday, sprawled in my passenger seat, eating a cider doughnut like it was the best thing she’s ever tasted.She harassed me nonstop until I told her what was bothering me, but it is hard to explain.It is not just one thing...It's a feeling low in my gut.How do you explain that?
“New love makes you feral and stupid.Especially guys.Their brain is basically a shaken snow globe until at least month six.”
I laughed so hard I almost missed the turnoff toward the orchard.
But then she’d added, quieter, “He adores you, Tessa.I have never seen him like this with anyone else.If something were wrong, we’d know.”
I want that to be true.But something about this month feels… different.Not scary, not bad, just shifted, like walking into a room where you can’t tell what moved, only that something did.
The world outside the truck window is turning.Summer green bleeding into gold and rust.The kind of fall that smells like woodsmoke and endings and beginnings all mixed together.
Kenzie is chatting beside me, tapping her boots against the floorboard, animatedly explaining how she wants to bring more regenerative soil practices to her family’s land and maybe, maybe, consult for other farms in the area.It was a half-joke I made two weeks ago, telling her she could easily build something of her own on the side.
But now she’s running with it.
And I’m proud of her in that warm, achy way you feel for people who finally start believing in their own potential.
“That would be amazing,” I tell her as we turn into the long gravel drive of a vineyard I used to work with.I wanted to introduce Kenzie to some of my friends here.“People trust you.And you care enough to actually help, not just tell people what they’re doing wrong.”
Kenzie leans her head back against the seat, smiling.“Maybe.We’ll see.I still feel like a kid some days.Like I’m just… playing grownup.”
I laugh.“Says the girl who can load a hay baler faster than most grown men.”
“That’s because men are dramatic,” she says, dead serious.“You should’ve seen Eli last week when he found a snake coiled on the tractor engine.The scream?Tessa, I swear I heard it echo across the whole damn valley.”
I’m still laughing when we pull into the long driveway.The sun is low, brushing everything in that late-September honey colour.
It should feel peaceful.
