Page 30 of Tessa and Nash

“Last call was five minutes ago,” he says, not unkindly.

Tessa glances at her phone, surprised time still exists. “We should go.”

“Yeah,” I say, too quickly. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll walk you.”

She hesitates. Just enough to remind me she never agrees without calculating the cost.

“Fine,” she says. “But only because it’s icy.”

I grab my coat, toss a few bills on the bar, and follow her out into the night.

The cold hits, sobering in the best way. Snow crunches under our boots as we step onto Main Street, the Christmas lights still strung overhead even though the parade ended days ago. They twinkle against the dark, making Buckhorn feel gentler somehow.

We walk side by side, hands jammed into pockets, breath fogging between us.

For a block, neither of us speaks.

It’s not awkward. That’s the strange part. Silence with Tessa Long has always felt earned. A pause in a chess match, not an absence.

“You ever notice,” I say eventually, staring straight ahead, “how many people in this town are locked in some kind of rivalry?”

She snorts. “You mean besides ours?”

“Besides ours.”

“Buckhorn runs on it,” she says. “Ranch against ranch. Family against family. Past against future.”

“Top of the class against top of the class,” I add.

Her mouth curves despite herself. “You were never top.”

“Second place still haunts my dreams,” I say solemnly.

She bumps my arm with her elbow.

We walk another few steps.

“Do you think,” I say slowly, “that ours was because of our families?”

She glances over at me. “You mean McCoy versus Long?”

“Yeah.”

Her boots scuff the snow.

“Maybe at first. But mostly?” She shrugs. “I think we just hated losing.”

I laugh quietly. “Yeah. That tracks.”

I think about all the times I saw her name above mine on a list. All the times I pretended not to care while quietly swearing I’d beat her next time. All the nights I stayed up later than I wanted to, studying not because I loved it, but because she existed.

“I think,” I say, “you were the only person who ever made me feel like I couldn’t coast.”

She slows a little.

“And I think,” she says carefully, “you were the only person who ever scared me that effort might not be enough.”

That lands heavy.