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“Sure. Come in.”

I do, slumping into the chair across from her. “Mandy is pulling away. I tried to talk to her a few times, but she shuts me down.”

Nina closes her laptop and listens as I explain the whole thing.

“I told her she’s not temporary. That she’s the one. But it didn’t land. At all.”

Nina tilts her head. “Because words aren’t always the answer. You’re a physical guy, Nate. But she’s emotional. Detail-oriented. Cerebral.”

I groan. “I just took her away for the weekend. Told her she’s the one I play for. Showed her I’m all in. And still it didn’t land. Because of some damn media posts and fucked up comments! So what the hell do I do?”

“Speak her language,” Nina says, leaning forward. “Think about what matters to her. If she thrives on structure, clarity, and plans, give her something that shows you understand that. She builds walls to protect herself. You want her to believe you? Show her the blueprint that proves you’re not just trying to knock those walls down. You’re trying to belong behind them.”

I nod slowly. “Right. No more guesses. No more hoping she just knows. So how do I do that? Got any ideas?”

Nina offers a small smile. "Welcome to the mental game. Now it's your turn to find the play she’ll recognize, something that proves you're not going anywhere, even when she puts up a wall or the shit hits the fan from the outside."

"Thanks, Nina."

"You're very welcome. Good luck."

I walk out of the facility, still a little bruised, but now, I’ve got purpose in my eyes.

I pull out my phone.

Not to text her.

To plan my next move.

Chapter twenty-four

Mandy

My key sticks in the door again, and I shove it harder than necessary. "Come on," I mutter, exhausted. The lock gives with a clunk, and I step into the apartment, dropping my bag and kicking off my shoes in one fluid, graceless motion.

The place is quiet. Kira’s probably still out, and thank God. I need silence like I need oxygen. The kind of silence where I don’t have to explain the ache lodged under my ribs or why I can’t stop thinking about everything with Nate…how right it felt, and how wrong it suddenly seems.

I toss my coat over the back of the chair and head to my desk. My plan was to review tort outlines and maybe rewrite a few essay responses. Nothing that exciting. Nothing that dangerous.

Until I see it.

A manila folder.

It’s centered perfectly on the desk, crisp edges, a red label across the front like evidence in a case file. My stomach flips.

Exhibit A: I’m All In

I blink at it. Literally blink. Like maybe it’ll disappear. But it stays put. Quiet. Waiting.

“What the hell,” I whisper, already reaching for it.

My fingers tremble as I slide it open. Inside is a stack of papers, carefully arranged. Typed printouts. Highlighted screenshots. Handwritten notes.

The first page is a screenshot of one of our early text threads. I’d joked about how he always managed to have a stash of cereal options ready for our late-night study breaks. He’d sent back a selfie with a smug grin and a post-it note stuck to his forehead that said,Be Right Back. I’m headed to the pantry to win snack MVP.

My heart gives a painful little twist.

There are more.