Page 9

Chapter nine

Nate

T hursday night. Late. The kind of late that hums quiet and low through the city, where even the streetlights feel sleepy and the cold outside tries to bully you into staying home.

Mandy’s here.

She let herself in with the key I gave her last week.

It’s something I did without thinking, but can’t stop thinking about now.

She’s tucked away in the guest room, her little lamp glowing through the cracked door like a firefly.

I passed her earlier on the way to the elevator.

She had her hair tied up, sweater sleeves shoved to her elbows, glasses on, and a look of pure determination.

She didn’t even say hi. Just grunted, “Torts tonight,” and waved me off with a highlighter.

I went downstairs to the gym for a light workout. Got in a few sets, some cardio, cleared my head.

When I get back an hour later, I don’t make a sound. She’s still studying, and something about her being here makes my place feel less... stark. Warmer. Like I came home to something instead of just returning to a box with a decent view.

I take my phone into my office-slash-storage room and keep the TV volume low. I give her quiet. Space. Peace. She deserves that. And if she keeps choosing this place over her chaotic apartment, I’ll do everything I can to make it feel like a damn sanctuary.

Around eleven, I hear her shuffle down the hallway.

I’m now in the kitchen, eating cereal like a grown man with no shame, standing up, because I like to eat standing up at the counter. Doesn't everyone?

"You know," she says behind me, "standing while eating cereal feels very divorced dad of you."

I turn and smile. She’s wrapped in one of those oversized cardigans that somehow still manage to look cute instead of frumpy. There’s a pink streak on her cheek from where she must’ve leaned into a notebook.

"I’m auditioning for the part," I reply, raising my spoon. "You caught me mid-performance. Want some cereal?"

She laughs, "Sure, I’m starving."

I grab her a bowl, spoon, and the milk while she joins me at the bar counter, perched on the leather-wrapped stool.

For a minute, we eat in silence. The good kind. The comfortable kind.

"Thanks again for letting me use your space," she says eventually, scooping a spoonful of Cheerios. "It’s seriously saving me. My apartment’s become a revolving door of wine, lip gloss, and whatever whirlwind Kira’s latest Tinder match brings."

"You’re welcome here anytime," I say. And I mean it more than I should.

She’s quiet again, then, “It’s weird, but this is the first time in a long time I’ve felt like I can breathe while studying.”

I glance over. "That bad?"

She nods slowly. "It’s not just the noise. It’s the pressure. I’ve been trying so hard to be perfect. To control everything. My schedule. My future. My life."

I listen.

"I even waited to move in with Kira because I wanted to be in the perfect headspace. I didn’t even kiss a guy all through law school because I didn’t want distractions. Like, I needed to prove to myself that I could stay in control. Over my grades. Over my body. Everything."

She stirs her food like it might respond.

"Is that weird?"

I shake my head. "No. I get it. When everything feels like it could go sideways, control is the only thing that feels safe."

She looks up, and our eyes meet.

"You too?"

"Yeah," I say, setting down my spoon. "After high school, when I didn’t get picked up right away, I went through this stretch where I thought I’d never get out. People said I was too scrappy, too aggressive, too much of a risk. My family wasn’t rich, I didn’t have fancy camps or connections.

I trained on frozen ponds and in sweaty basements. "

She smiles softly. "You made it, though."

"Eventually. It took years. College. Trades. Sitting bench. Injuries. Learning how to keep my mouth shut and play the game, on and off the ice. I worked my ass off and learned to live out of a suitcase."

"Sounds lonely."

"Sometimes," I admit. "But hockey’s the one thing that makes sense. The rest? I’m figuring it out."

She sets her bowl aside. "You ever think about the future? Like, post-hockey?"

I nod slowly. "Lately, yeah. I’ve been thinking more about roots. What home means. If I even know how to stay in one place."

She watches me for a beat, then rests her chin in her palm again. "What does home look like to you? I mean, when you close your eyes."

I chuckle under my breath. "Used to be a rink. Anywhere I could skate. Smell of ice, sound of blades carving into it. But lately, I don’t know. I think it’s less about the place and more about the people."

She smiles at that. "That’s a good answer."

"What about you?" I ask. "What’s your version of home?"

She’s quiet for a second, fiddling with her spoon. "Somewhere I don’t feel like I have to prove anything. I’ve always been the good one. The responsible one. The one who says no when everyone else says yes. Sometimes I wonder if I’m living for myself or just trying not to disappoint anyone."

That hits something in me. Deeper than I expected.

"That sounds heavy."

"It is," she says with a soft laugh. "But it’s also freeing, in a way. Law school gave me structure. Rules. If I followed the path, everything made sense. But I’m starting to realize that real life doesn’t care about structure.

Real life throws wine-stained exams and roommate chaos and really nice hockey players in your path. "

"Hey," I say, grinning. "You lost me at chaos but circled back nicely."

She laughs, eyes lighting up. "You are nice, though. You didn’t have to offer me this place to study. You didn’t have to keep the TV low. You didn’t have to make me feel safe. But you did."

I glance at her, and there’s something fragile but honest about the way she’s looking at me.

"I like having you here," I say. "Even when your highlighters squeak."

She grins. "They’re vital and each color means something. Don’t mock the system."

"Never. I fear it deeply."

There’s a pause, and the mood softens again.

"Do you ever think we’d be sitting here like this?" she asks.

I shake my head. "Not in a million years. Last I saw you, you were tagging along at Allison’s grad party, wearing braces and asking if I liked Taylor Swift."

She groans. "I forgot about that. God, I was such a baby."

"You’ve grown up," I say. "A lot."

"You too. You’re not just that guy with the cocky grin and the slapshot anymore."

"What am I now?"

She taps her chin like she’s thinking hard. "The guy who has backup cereal. And listens. And gives a damn."

"Revolutionary," I deadpan.

She leans her elbows on the counter, chin in her hands. "You know what’s wild? You’re nothing like I expected."

"Let me guess," I say. "You thought I’d be a cocky, puck-chasing stereotype."

"I mean... based on what I’d heard, I figured you’d be a cocky player type with a new girl every week," she says, grinning. "But you’re thoughtful. Kind. You made it easy for me to be here. Even tonight, you were so quiet."

"Because you were working. And it mattered to you. That’s enough reason."

She blinks, like she’s not used to people paying attention to the little things.

Then her phone buzzes. FaceTime. She glances down and groans. "Speak of the devil."

"Who is it?"

"Allison."

She answers with a smirk. "Hey, you called at a good time."

Allison’s voice comes through instantly. "Are you still buried in those law books? You better not be stress-snacking your way through another can of frosting."

Mandy rolls her eyes. "That was one time. And it was finals week."

"Once is enough to earn a reputation," Allison teases. "Anyway, how’s the new place? Kira driving you nuts yet?"

"She’s fine," Mandy says, smiling. "But I’ve been studying at a neighbor’s apartment instead. Quieter. Less glitter."

Allison raises a brow. "A neighbor?"

Mandy flips the camera. "Look who’s my neighbor."

Allison’s face appears on-screen, mid-wine sip. "Holy crap! That’s not, Nate?"

I wave awkwardly. "Hey."

"Well, well," she drawls. "Didn’t expect to see you again without a puck involved."

I chuckle. "Yeah, it’s been a while. How’ve you been?"

"Busy. Married life, two kids, a mortgage that eats my soul every month. You know, adulthood."

"Sounds like a power play," I say, grinning.

"Every day’s sudden death overtime," she replies, smirking. "But we’re good. You still skating like your life depends on it?"

"Pretty much. New team, new city. Trying to find my rhythm."

"Detroit is a cool city. Hope it’s treating you well."

"Yeah, it’s starting to feel like home."

Allison raises an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "And Mandy’s your neighbor now, huh? That’s... interesting."

"She’s easy to live next to. Throws wild parties but never steals my packages."

Allison laughs. "Yet. Give her time."

Her tone shifts just slightly, teasing but protective. "Just... don’t be an idiot, Nate. She’s not like the girls you used to go for."

"I’ve noticed," I say. And I mean it.

Allison eyes me. "I would appreciate if you would keep an eye on my sister and your hands off of her, Jones. She’s too nice for a hockey player , in both senses of the word."

Mandy blushes. I smirk and reply. "Noted."

"I’m serious!" Allison says, though she’s clearly half-teasing. "I know your type."

"And yet, you dated me," I shoot back.

She scoffs. "A mistake I’ve spent years trying to erase. Just kidding. You were pretty nice back then."

"You’re welcome," I say dryly.

Mandy rolls her eyes and ends the call. "Well, that was... Allison."

"She hasn’t changed much."

"Nope. Still bossy. Still dramatic. Still protective."

We fall into silence again, but it’s not awkward. Just thoughtful.

She stands, taking her bowl to the sink. "Anyway, I should get going. I’ve got work in the morning."

I follow her to the door.

"Thanks again, Nate. For tonight. For the room. For... being so accommodating."

I don’t know what to say, so I just nod.

She smiles, then disappears down the hallway.

I watch her go.

And for the first time, I’m not just wondering what it would be like to kiss her, for real this time. I’m wondering how long I can last without doing it.