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Yeah. Whatever this is, I’m way past the point of pretending it doesn’t matter.

Chapter sixteen

Mandy

Nate’s apartment smells like garlic and roasted tomatoes when I walk in, but not even the promise of takeout can cut through the knot tightening in my chest. My bag slips off my shoulder and hits the floor with a thud that mirrors the headache pounding behind my eyes.

He's leaning against the kitchen counter, sleeves pushed up and a faint sheen of post-practice fatigue still on him. He grins when he sees me. "Hey, Little Fields. Saved you the good eggplant parm."

I nod stiffly. "Thanks."

He pauses mid-step, reading me in that way he does. "You okay?"

I force a smile. "Long day."

He peeks into the takeout containers on the counter. "Well, the food’s hot, the beer’s cold, and the study room has your name on it."

I walk toward the kitchen, stiff and exhausted, my limbs dragging like they’re underwater.

He watches me for a second, then says lightly, "You know, you’ve spent more nights here this week than your actual apartment. Should I start charging rent?"

I freeze.

It’s meant as a joke. I know that. But the fuse in me is already lit.

My head snaps up. "Is that your way of saying I’m around too much? Because if I’m suffocating you, feel free to say it without the sarcasm. Or take the friggin puck away from your front door and I won’t come in."

Nate’s eyebrows shoot up. "Whoa, Mandy! No. That’s not it."

"God, do you even take anything seriously? Or is it all just jokes and easy nights and hockey practices that don’t require real life?"

He blinks. "Okay. That’s not fair."

"Yeah? Well, neither is the bar exam! Or my job, or my family’s constant expectations! Or trying to be perfect all the time while pretending none of it’s crushing me."

He takes a step closer, brows pinched. "What the fuck, Mandy? It was a joke. I like you being here. That’s all it was."

"Then maybe try acting like it means something! Or don’t."

His jaw tightens, but he stays calm. "It does. Mandy, you know I’m into you. But something else is going on right now. So talk to me."

My hands are already shaking. I grab my bag. "I need air."

"Mandy—"

"Don’t. Please. Just... let me go."

I’m out the door before he can stop me, the hallway spinning. I barely register the elevator ding or the streetlights flaring against the night sky. My lungs feel tight. My eyes burn. I start walking, no destination in mind, only the ache in my chest pushing me forward.

A few minutes later, I hear footsteps behind me.

He’s not calling my name. He’s not chasing.

He’s just... there.

Silent. Steady. A few paces back.

I walk a block. Then another. Then turn toward the quiet side street that leads to the benches overlooking the river.