Page 22

Chapter 21

Tenley

I sit quietly in the corner of the couch while Nash sits on a stool, swirled away from the island, to watch his father pace in the space between the living room and kitchen. Avery Westwood runs a hand through his dark hair, which is graying at the temples.

“You’re going to have to give me something, Nash,” Avery is saying. “You can’t assault people, a coach from the opposing team no less, and expect this to blow over.”

“I don’t expect anything to blow over,” Nash replies, his voice calm and steady, unlike my heartbeat which has been erratic since I walked out of the bathroom at the arena and came face-to-face with Bryce Achilles. “I know Coach will find out and I will take whatever punishment he throws at me.”

Avery stops pacing. Stephanie, Nash’s mom, is sitting at the opposite end of the couch from me. She looks worried. I don’t blame her.

“He could suspend you from the team. Bryce could take this right up the league to the commissioner. Then what?” Avery demands.

“I’ll handle it.”

“I am having doubts about that,” Avery snaps. “Between this and that drunken episode earlier in the season where you brawled with your brother I?—”

“Surprise, I’m not perfect!” Nash yells, and I watch both his parents freeze. Nash doesn’t yell in front of them, I’m guessing. He hops off the stool. “I love you both. I am sorry you are disappointed in me, but maybe you should trust me. Trust that I had a very good reason to do what I did.”

“Did he…?” Stephanie swallows and turns her eyes to me. They’re a pale blue, filled with concern. “Did Bryce say something inappropriate to you? Do something inappropriate?”

I blink and my heart stutters harder. I open my mouth, which is drier than a desert, so I’m not surprised no words come out.

“Honey,” Stephanie whispers, reaching across the couch to place a hand over mine. “You were the one with Bryce when Nash freaked out. And my son is not someone who reacts without reason. He’s never been that guy.”

I blink back tears. Nash clears his throat. “I’d appreciate it if you two went back to your hotel now.”

“What?” Avery says, the shock all over his face.

“It’s been a long night. My leg is killing me. I need pain killers and a hot tub and a lot of sleep,” Nash says and waves towards the door. “I love you both. I’m sorry you’re disappointed. I will call you if I need you, but right now I do not.”

It’s literally physically painful to watch Avery’s face turn from confusion to pain. Stephanie squeezes my hand once before pulling hers away as she stands. “Avery, let’s go.”

“No. I can’t,” Avery argues but there is no fight in his voice. He locks eyes with his wife, runs a hand through his hair again, and sighs.

Without a word, he walks to the front door, opens it, and leaves. Stephanie glances back and gives us both a small sad smile. "He loves you, Nash. We both do. We are not your enemy. Or yours, Tenley."

When the door closes behind her, the silence is the loft feels defeating. Like I’ve made such a mess of Nash’s life, of his career and his relationship with his parents that I will never be able to fix it. And that’s the only thing I want to do now. “I’m so sorry.”

He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, shaking his head. “Don’t be. You didn’t tell me, I figured it out. You also didn’t make me respond the way I did. That was all on me, and you know what? I don’t regret it.”

He walks towards the stairs of the loft, pausing only to reach for my hand and pull me with him. When we get upstairs to his bedroom he drops his suit jacket on the chair in the corner and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He watches me as he does it. I don't know why. I'm not doing anything. I'm literally just standing at the foot of his bed staring. I feel entirely off my game. Like I'm not me anymore and I don't know who I am. It's wildly disconcerting, to say the least. But I don't… I don't hate it. I feel like I'm finding a new me… someone I didn't know it was possible for me to be.

“Why am I the only one undressing?” he finally asks.

“Because… I think we need to talk.”

“We can talk and hot tub at the same time,” Nash replies and gives me a wink. “We can hot tub and do lots of things at the same time.”

"Jokes? This feels like the right time to make jokes?" I counter, staring at him in disbelief and trying very hard not to let my brain get sidetracked by his now-exposed chest and all those ripples of abs.

“Nope?” Nash replies but it’s a question. He starts removing his pants but stops after getting his belt and button undone. He walks over to stand behind me and slowly starts to unzip my dress. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m sorry if it was the wrong reaction. If this makes it all worse for you, I’m truly, totally sorry. But I just saw red when my brain put it all together. I couldn’t not make him pay, somehow, for what he did.”

“It didn’t make things worse for me,” I admit as he slides my zipper to the bottom and his hands deftly slip my straps down my shoulders. I can’t wear a bra with this dress so now I’m naked from the top up as the dress clings precariously to my hips. I slowly turn to face him. “It actually made things better. Someone stood up for me. Someone believed me and took a stand.”

He caresses my cheek with his hand. “Everyone would stand up for you and believe you. Every single member of your family. If you told them.”

“Probably. But it would also gut them.”

“Not as much as you suffering through this, for years, alone,” Nash replies and when I close my eyes to handle the wave of guilt that overcomes me, he leans forward and kisses my forehead, his hands circling my waist.

We hug bare chest to bare chest and I sigh. “I can’t tell them now.”

“You don’t have to.”

I tilt my head to look up at him. “If I don’t, you’ll look like a crazy person and your coach will likely bench you, maybe indefinitely. I can’t do that to you.”

“I did it to myself.”

He looks like he means that but I don’t feel it. I feel totally and utterly responsible and I know in my heart I have to stand up for him the way he did for me. I know that if I don’t, I will hate myself and something in me would break if I caused him to miss the rest of this playoff run. Nash lives for hockey and I’m slowly, reluctantly, coming to realize I live for Nash. I mean not entirely, but… his happiness matters to me as much as my own. And clearly, he’d risk everything for me, which can only mean these unexpected feelings are reciprocal.

Holy hell, what have we done to each other?

I lift my hands to my breasts and cover them, suddenly modest. “I’m gonna let you have some peace.”

“What?”

I start to pull up the top of my dress and turn toward the stairs. “I think I’m going to go stay at my old place. My only place. You have a lot to process and deal with and I will just be an annoyance.”

“I think we’ve moved past the annoyance thing,” Nash replies, and I feel his hand on my shoulder. His fingers lace through my hair, brushing it off my back and over my right shoulder as his lips land gently on my left one. “Tenley, if you want to go because you need space, then go. I won’t stop you. I’ll never crowd you. But if you’re leaving because you think I need space, it’s the last thing I need. I have grown to find your company… soothing.”

“Oh my God, we have totally fucked up this marriage,” I whisper and it earns me a deep chuckle from my husband.

“Yeah, I think we may have veered a little off the plan we had,” Nash admits. “Trust me no one is more freaked out about that than me. But I am not in the mood to process it. I just made the conference finals and delivered karma to someone who has outrun it for far too long. Let’s just deal with the rest later.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

He leaves me standing there and heads into the bathroom where he fetches two towels and then pauses to drop his pants and slide off his boxer briefs before he hands me a towel and helps me out of my dress. I leave it in a pool on the hardwood floor, along with my panties, and I wrap the towel around myself and climb the ladder he drops from the ceiling.

We spend the next two hours in the hot tub, just cuddling and kissing. I massage his leg a little, and he orders garlic knots and chicken parm. When we're shriveled-up prunes, we head downstairs, collect the order from outside the door, and eat it side-by-side at the kitchen island. We talk about Aunt Callie, who is scheduled for a biopsy in two days, and my trip home, because I am not going to sit here for that. We talk about the docu-series and laugh about some of the stupid stuff we've both said while filming. We basically avoid anything heavy and it feels good even though it also feels like we both know we're dancing around one hell of an emotional elephant in the middle of our lives. But fuck it.

When it’s time for bed, he takes me by the hand and leads me upstairs and I don’t argue. We don’t have sex, we simply kiss until we’re too drowsy to continue and then I fall asleep with one of his arms snuggly around my back, the other running lazily through my hair, and my head on his chest with the strong beat of his heart under my ear bringing me peace.

I wake up before him the next morning, which is a first since moving in here. I slip out of bed without waking him and sneak downstairs where I change into some fresh clothes and pad into the kitchen. His fridge is fully stocked, as always, thanks to grocery delivery. I should dare him to set foot in a grocery store. He'd probably starve to death trying to find all the things in this fridge. I smile at the thought, but my heart is still heavy. I have to fix this.

My parents didn’t come to the game last night. They’re back in Maine because my mom won’t leave Callie’s side and my dad won’t leave my mom. Tate totally understands. I do too. So this plan that has been floating around my head since I woke up at 4am is not ideal, but it still has to be done.

I pull my phone out of the pocket of the jean shorts I put on and text two people—Tate and Nash’s mom. Then I go about making breakfast for everyone. The smell wakes Nash and he calls down to me.

“Are you making bacon?”

“No. I’m making this sad excuse called turkey bacon because it’s all you have,” I call back. “With eggs and waffles.”

“I can’t eat waffles.”

"No, but your parents can! And Mallory and Dyllie Bear."

There’s a moment of silence. “Are they here?”

“They will be in a couple minutes. So get dressed, hubster.”

He doesn’t respond but when I plate the last waffle and the door buzzes I turn to find him walking down the stairs in a t-shirt and workout shorts. And then he stumbles on the last step and almost falls on his face. I rush toward him. “Oh my God, is me being a domestic Goddess that stunning a sight that you forgot how to walk?”

He smirks at me as he rights himself.

“Yes.” I smack his chest. “Actually my foot is still asleep.”

"Well, then I'll get the door," I reply. "You get yourself some coffee."

“I’ll make lattes for everyone,” Nash replies. “But why is everyone here?”

“You’ll see,” I call out but that’s all I say as I walk down the hall to open the door.

Tate, Mallory, and Dylan are there, not his parents. Mallory hugs me as she steps inside and sniffs. “Do I smell bacon?”

“Kind of,” I reply as she wanders down the hall past me.

“Dyllie Bear!” I say to my little nephew and hold up my hand. As he toddles past he high-fives me.

Tate chuckles and watches him follow Mallory. My brother leans in for a hug and I notice the tape on his hand. “What happened?”

“Got slashed in the game last night.”

“I remember. And this is the result?”

“Broken middle finger,” he says and holds it up so I can get a better look at the blue medical tape and metal splint. “Luckily it’s not severe. No tendon damage or anything so Gabs will just freeze it before the next game.”

I shake my head, but I’m not surprised. Hockey players never say die. Not in playoffs. My dad once played with two broken ribs. Tate turns toward the office. I left my curtain open. He sees the couch, which is in couch form not bed form. “That’s your quarters?”

“Yeah.”

Tate turns and his eyes, which are a mix of my mom’s green and my dad’s blue, narrow on me. “I’ve lived with you forever, Ten. And You don’t make your bed let alone fold a couch back up.”

“I’ve changed my ways.”

His disbelieving expression deepens instead of lifts. “Nash bitched at practice just last week that living with you was like living with a tornado and you never made the bed.”

"Well, brother-of-mine you have two choices," I say with a sparkling smile. "Option A, I have changed my ways and am now a diligent bedmaker. Or… Option B, I have been sleeping somewhere else in this loft that only has one other bed… with your teammate in it."

Tate's face darkens. He opens his mouth and I lift a hand to silence him before he can say a word. "Do not give me any shit about your team pact. Crew blew the whole 'don't sleep with your teammates' relatives' right out of the water. And also… I'm married."

I wave my left hand in his face and he sees the ring for the first time, his jaw hitting the floor. “Is this thing real? What the fuck, Ten?”

The door buzzes again. I give my brother a shove. “It’s not as fake as it used to be. Now go away so I can greet his parents.”

“Is that why he punched Bryce? Were you and Bryce…”

“Shut up. No. Ew. Go!” I shove him again and he begrudgingly makes his way down the hall.

I take a big breath, plaster a smile on my face, and swing the door open. "Hi, Mr. And Mrs. Westwood."

“Avery and Steph,” Stephanie advises. “Please, Tenley, we’re family.”

“Sure. Right. Well, come in.”

She gives me a smile and squeezes my arm as she enters. Avery just nods with a grimace on his face. He’s still upset about everything, and I don’t blame him, which is why I gathered everyone.

After forty minutes of breakfast and small talk I set up Dylan in the office with an iPad and a cartoon movie and everyone else joins me in the living room. I avoided coffee this morning because I didn’t want to be shaky when I explain everything, but yet I still am. I sit on one of the chairs because my knees are wobbling. I swore I would never talk about this… but I need them to know because it will make things better for Nash.

“So I need you all to know why Nash punched Bryce last night,” I begin.

“Ten, no. You don’t have to say anything,” Nash says, limping toward me from the kitchen where he’d been cleaning up.

“I want to,” I promise and when I turn back to my family and his, they are all staring at me with serious expressions. I close my eyes and blurt out the truth. “When I was fourteen, at Uncle Luc’s charity event, Bryce groped me.”

Mallory gasps. Stephanie stands up and walks toward me. Tate is frozen and the look on his face is one I will pray I can forget one day but doubt I ever will. “I’m fine. It wasn’t… he was stopped immediately by my fist to his face.”

“Oh my God,” Tate murmurs. “He didn’t hurt himself in the gym.”

I shake my head. "And before you any of you say a thing, I was young. I blamed myself. I didn't want to ruin Uncle Luc's event or cause a crapload of stress for Mom and Dad. I also… I also didn't want to have to defend myself and I know that sounds horrible, but this was before Me Too, and who was going to believe a mouthy little rich kid?"

"I would have believed you, Tenley," Avery says in a quiet, unwavering tone.

I can’t look at him. I can’t look at any of them anymore. I don’t feel shame but I feel… guilt. I didn’t cause what happened, and I didn’t deserve it, but I handled it all wrong. “I’m going to tell Mom and Dad, but I wanted to clear the air with you all first so you know why Nash did what he did when he saw Bryce cornering me in that hallway.”

Tate looks at his teammate. “She told you when?”

“She never told me it was him,” Nash says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I figured it out on my own and I just… I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Thank you,” Tate says. “You only punched him a couple of times. I would have murdered him. I still might.”

"No, you will not," I say and stand, my anger making my legs steady again. "I'm not saying I believe him, but Bryce cornered me yesterday to tell me he was sorry. He thanked me for shutting up this entire time and said that he'd been addicted to pain pills and alcohol back then and wasn't making smart decisions."

“Touching a child inappropriately is more than just a dumb decision,” Mallory says. “He should be in jail.”

"Well, he isn't and that ship has sailed. Statute of limitations and all," I say and sigh. "I'm okay. I just want to let this go, but I wanted you all to know. Because Nash is going to tell his coach too."

“What?”

I look up at him and almost smile because he looks dumbfounded. Old Tenley would love to have made Nash so gobsmacked. It would be a victory. But I’m not that Tenley anymore. Well, maybe it’s more that we don’t have that type of relationship anymore. “You have to tell Coach Braddock the truth so that you don’t get benched.”

He opens his mouth to argue. I glare. His shoulders drop. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “Yes. If you don’t, I will.”

He looks like he still wants to argue with me, but his phone starts buzzing from his pocket and he pulls it out to check it. “It’s Coach.”

“Answer it,” I urge.

Nash wanders down the hall. Dylan calls out, “Daddy!” and Tate gets up and walks back to the office.

When Nash comes back into the living room, he’s off his call. “I have to go to the arena. Coach wants to talk.”

“I bet he does.” Avery looks grim.

“You got this,” I assure Nash but inside I’m nauseous with worry. What if they bench him no matter what he says and I’ve cost him his place on the team? In the playoffs?

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Nash promises me and pulls me into a hug, giving me a quick kiss on the lips which garners raised eyebrows from everyone in the room, which we both ignore. He heads upstairs to change.

“We should go too,” Tate says, emerging from the office with Dylan. “We promised him we would go to the beach.”

“Come Tenwee?” Dylan says, looking up at me with his big innocent eyes.

“I wish I could Dyllie Bear but I have to work,” I tell him, running a hand over his soft blond hair. “I have to film some round table crap for the docu-series.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Stephanie asks gently.

“Yes. I’m sure. I want this series to be the best it can be,” I explain. “It’s still my baby. And I am not letting something that happened to me way back then ruin this.”

Tate walks over to me. He’s struggling to figure out what to say and I hate that. I don’t want this to alter our relationship, but it has. I give him a pleading look. “Don’t make this into a thing forever, okay? Please?”

“I just…” He stops. “Do you want me to be here when you tell Mom and Dad?”

“I’m telling them in person when I get home tomorrow after we know Aunt Callie is okay,” I reply. “You can be there only if you promise not to make it worse. Dad is going to fly off the handle and I need you to calm him, not join forces with him.”

He nods. “Okay. I’ll try my best. I think you’ll have to worry more about Mom, though.”

I don’t agree but there’s no point arguing. I think the news will make Mom cry and make Dad want blood. We’ll find out soon enough. I hug Mallory, Tate, and Dylan and lead them to the door. Stephanie and Avery follow them out. Avery pauses in front of me. “You’re one hell of a strong woman, and I know exactly where you get it from.”

I smile. “And Nash is a great guy, albeit a little boring, and I know exactly where he gets that from. The first part, I mean.”

Stephanie laces her fingers through her husband’s. “The second part too.”

Avery fakes shock. “I am not boring.”

“Because I came along and loosened you up,” Stephanie says as they walk down the hall to the elevator. “Thank God for that.”

I smile and close the door behind them. Nash is right there behind me when I turn around. He holds my head in his hands delicately. “I don’t have to tell my coach.”

“You do.”

"Are you sure?"

“Yes.”

He leans in and kisses me. “You are not my least favorite person anymore Tenley Garrison.”

“You aren’t my least favorite anymore either,” I confess and it feels like jumping off a cliff.

Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, only time will tell.