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Chapter twenty-five

Nate

H er hand is small in mine. Warm. Soft. It fits so naturally, like it’s always belonged there. And maybe it has. Maybe I was too cocky or too scared to see it clearly until now.

We sit there for a while. In silence. Not awkward, just full. Full of everything that hasn’t been said, everything that’s piled up since the last time we looked each other in the eye without armor.

I finally glance over at her. “Hey.”

Mandy shifts, her eyes still glassy from the tears, but her voice is steady. “Hey.”

I nudge her shoulder gently. “Wanna go inside?”

She nods. We both stand and walk back into her apartment, our fingers still laced together. She leads me to the couch, drops down onto the cushions, and pulls her knees up like she’s bracing herself.

I sit beside her but don’t crowd. Not yet. Let her breathe.

Mandy speaks first.

“I was scared.”

I turn toward her.

She continues. “Of how much you mean. Of what this could be. And how fast it happened, at least for me.”

I kneel down in front of her, settling on the rug so I can meet her at eye level.

“You’re not a distraction,” I say, low and sure. “You’re the reason I play better.”

Her throat bobs. Her eyes shine again.

I keep going. “I don’t want space from you. I want your stress. Your all-nighters. Your ranting about contract clauses and late-night caffeine crashes. All of it. You’re not temporary, Mandy. You never were. And I should’ve told you that more.”

She breaks. A tear slides down her cheek.

“You made me feel seen,” she says, her voice trembling. “And that scared the hell out of me.”

I stay quiet.

“I’ve always compared myself to Allison. She’s loud. Confident. Sexy. And I’m... the studious one. The one who wears sweats and plans every hour of her day.”

I reach for her hand again. She lets me take it.

“Being with you made me feel like I belonged,” she whispers. “But then people looked at me like I didn’t. Like I was just some flavor-of-the-week girl who got lucky. And it cracked something in me. Because I’ve worked so damn hard not to need anyone’s validation. But yours?”

She inhales sharply. “Yours mattered.”

She hesitates, then adds, "But what happens when the comments start again? When the pictures pop up, or some fan says something snide online?"

I wait.

“I don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend,” she admits. “I don’t want to constantly question what I see or hear. But you’re public. People notice you. They talk. And I don’t know if I have the backbone for that kind of attention.”

I nod slowly, scooting a little closer.

“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you,” I say. “It’d bother anyone. But I need you to know that what happens out there doesn’t change anything in here.” I press my hand to her chest, gently. “You’re not in this alone.”

She swallows. “I don’t know how to be okay with it.”

“Then we figure it out together,” I tell her. “No perfect answers. Just us, handling it one step at a time. And anytime something gets too loud, you tell me. We’ll deal with it as a team. And if anyone tries to mess with what we have, I’ll fucking kick their ass. No hesitation.”

I squeeze her hand and add, “I can’t control the noise. But I can make damn sure you know where I stand.”

Her lip quivers. “You already did. That folder? That survival kit? You spoke to every single part of me. Without even being in the room.”

A long moment stretches between us.

Then she leans in. I meet her halfway.

The kiss is soft. Tentative. Then firmer. Emotional. Like it’s trying to say everything we haven’t been brave enough to.

Her fingers slide into my hair. My hands find her waist.

When we finally pull back, we’re both breathless. Foreheads pressed together. Laughing through the emotion.

“You’re still annoying,” she murmurs.

I grin. “And you still color-code your snacks, Little Fields.”

She narrows her eyes. “You better not eat my gummy bears.”

“Check Exhibit C.”

She laughs, a real one this time. Light and free.

We curl up together on the couch. Her body nestles into mine like we’ve been doing this for years. I tug a blanket over us, and she lays her head on my chest.

I kiss the top of her head.

I lean in, tightening my hold on her. "By the way, whatever you see in the media is always skewed, Mandy. Take that Facebook picture, for example, the blonde touching my arm? That wasn’t anything."

She gives me a skeptical look, so I clarify.

"You want the real story? That woman was trying to get Ethan’s attention.

She was waving, flipping her hair, and doing this weird squat thing like she was auditioning for a fitness video.

He didn’t bite, so she turned to me and grabbed my arm to ask if I could introduce her. That’s when the picture got snapped."

Mandy snorts. "She did a squat?"

"Yeah. She squatted next to our table like she was trying to tie a shoe that didn’t exist, smiling, sticking her chest out, and moaning about her quads like she was in a fitness commercial.

Every time Ethan looked at his phone, she dipped another inch like she was trying to win a gold medal in seductive lunges.

I thought her kneecaps were gonna file a restraining order. "

She laughs, and I grin. "I told her Ethan was into women with brains. She walked away like I told her she had to pass a bar exam to talk to him."

Her laugh lingers in the air like music I didn’t know I needed.

“I believe you,” she says quietly.

I close my eyes.

“Let’s finish the season, get the bar exam out of the way...together,” I whisper. “And then whatever comes next... I’m in.”

She shifts, just enough to look up at me. “You mean that?”

I brush my thumb along her cheek. “With everything I’ve got.”

The moment settles around us. It’s still, certain, and sealed.

We don’t need a contract.

We just chose each other.

And that’s binding as hell.