. second act

[nate peterson]

This was a moment that should have been delicious to Nate Peterson, better even than all the twisted revenge fantasies he'd harboured after their initial breakup. It had been easier to be angry than upset and so he'd thrown himself fully into that pursuit, letting out his rage on the soccer pitch and lying awake at night thinking about how sorry Cora would be when he made it big. And here he is, having just played for his country on a global stage, a huge picture of him outside Chelsea stadium, his suit and his hair products all sponsored by brands that once upon a time, he couldn't even afford. He should be delighted, shuddering slightly as she rakes her nails against his neck just as she used to once upon a time. But she speaks and he's not, because she's right, and the admission sits like lead in the pit of his stomach. "You might," he says, though there's a resignation in his voice that belies what he'll say next. "With someone else."

[cora wolfe]

This is it. She sees it spill across his face the moment her voice echoes off the polished walls, confirming something she'd started feeling long ago. The heavy hold on her heart every time they were together, the doubt she'd see swimming in his eyes when she'd catch him staring. It had been something good back then, and Cora should have known it to be impossible to replicate. And as much as it hurts, throat thick with her desperate attempt to hold back tears, there's a tiny moment of relief. That they both knew, that they could stop pretending or trying to carry on. It wasn't going to work, they'd be alright - that was it. "You too," she whispers, pulling Nate in for a crushing hug. "As long as until then, I can still be your number one fan...well, right behind your dad."