Chapter 19Victor
Chapter Nineteen
Victor
"Are you in line?" a voice cuts through the din of conversation and clinking cutlery.
I turn, offering a polite shake of my head to the woman behind me. "No, I'm not." Checking my watch, I note that I'm a couple of minutes early. Avery should be here any second. Punctuality is a shield in the business world—it gives you the high ground, makes sure no one catches you off guard. And today, I need all the advantages I can get. Because even though every rational part of me is screaming that this is strictly business, there's an undercurrent of... something else. But no, I'm here for the meeting. Just business.
The bell above the café door chimes, pulling me out of my internal pep talk. In floods a trio of women, a gaggle of kids in tow, their laughter spilling into the space like sunlight. My eyes narrow slightly as recognition dawns; they're from the hockey team.
"Hey, aren't you Coach Victor?" Samantha strides over with a confidence I remember from the rink sidelines, her daughter Sophia mirroring her buoyant step.
"Uh, interim coach," I correct, trying to mask my confusion under a thin veneer of charm. "But yeah, that's me."
"Hi, I'm Jessica," another chimes in, nudging a shy Lucas forward. She smiles, but it's laced with something akin to mischief.
"Emily," the last one offers, with Ethan clutching her hand, looking up at me with calculating eyes.
"Nice to officially meet you all." I force a grin, one that doesn't quite reach my eyes. Their giggles set off alarm bells in a corner of my mind reserved for cautious skepticism.
I run a hand through my hair, a telltale sign of my discomfort. A stray lock falls back into place, defiant against my attempt at order. Why do they seem so... giddy? It's like they're sharing a private joke, one that's got everything to do with me and nothing to do with hockey.
"Nice to have you helping out with the team," Samantha adds, her smile broadening.
"Thanks." The word comes out clipped, a reflection of my inner tension. These women—they're friends of Avery's, I realize. Friends who clearly know more than they should about why I'm here today. But that's a puzzle for later. Right now, I need to focus on the meeting—the business meeting—with Avery.
"Will you sit with us while you wait for your friend?" Jessica gestures to the adjoining table, still teeming with the bubbling energy of children discussing the latest game.
"Actually, I think I'll just wait here," I say, declining the invitation.
Samantha leans in, her voice a mock-whisper that's loud enough for her companions to hear. "We all know it's 'business,'" she says, air-quoting with her fingers and winking.
"Lots of business to be done, huh?" Jessica chimes in, the giggles from the trio intensifying.
I'm about to question their assumptions, set the record straight, when the door's chime cuts through the cozy café din. There she is—Avery, with Olivia's hand in hers, stepping into the warmth. The sight alone has me straightening up, brushing off invisible dust from my jacket as if her gaze could pick out each thread.
My eyes lock with Avery's, and there's no mistaking her eye roll at what she sees. It's like she's read the subtitles to Samantha's and Jessica's teasing and found them lacking in humor. Olivia catches sight of me and breaks free from her mom, barreling across the room with the unbridled enthusiasm only a kid can muster .
"Hey, Coach Victor!" Her voice is loud and bright.
"Hey, superstar." I drop down on one knee, putting myself at her level. It's instinctual, the same way you respond to skates hitting ice—a natural reflex.
"Did you see they put us on the news?" Olivia's brown eyes are wide with excitement.
"I did."
She beams, and I can't help but mirror her smile.
"I can't wait for the next game! I know we're going to win!"
Her enthusiasm is contagious, and the other kids begin to rock back and forth, smiling at what she says. I try to push down the small bloom of happiness that I can feel inside my heart when I look at their faces. It's something I remember experiencing as a kid too, but it's so much harder when you've known it and then it's taken away.
I give her shoulder a light squeeze before standing back up to face Avery fully. She looks... different than she did the last time we spoke. There's an edge to her, like she's ready to spar with words or walk away entirely.
"Hi, Avery," I say, keeping it simple, direct.
"Hi, Victor." Her response is equally succinct, and she's still holding that skeptical look, like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Nice to see you," I add, because what else is there to say in front of an audience of moms practically swooning at the sight of a man talking to a child? It's almost comical, or it would be if I weren't trying so hard to keep everything professional, everything business.
"Likewise," Avery replies, though her tone suggests it's anything but.
"Can I sit with Sam and the others, Mom?" Olivia's eyes flicker between the cluster of her friends and Avery, a hopeful glint in them that's hard to say no to.
"Sure, sweetie." Avery's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes as she sends a glance my way. I can almost hear her thoughts—breakfast alone with me wasn't part of the plan. She nods towards the booth where Samantha, Emily, and Jessica are corralling their kids, and Olivia darts off like a freed sparrow.
"Looks like it's just us then," I say, trying to ease the tension. I suggest a table close to the noisy group, but Avery points to a secluded corner at the back. "Back there is fine," she says. It throws me—the distance she's putting between us—and not just the physical kind.
We order, simple fare that doesn't require much thought, and make our way to the table she chose. There's a moment, heavy and thick, where neither of us knows what to say. The clatter of dishes and laughter from the other moms doesn't reach this far corner, and it feels like we're in a bubble—just me and Avery, with too much air and not enough words.
I rub the back of my neck, feeling the weight of her gaze. "So, I guess I should start since this was my idea," I break the silence .
"Yeah, you should," Avery agrees, folding her arms across her chest. Her guard is up; I can tell by the set of her jaw, the way her eyes don't shy away from mine. It's game on, and I'm not even sure what play I'm running.
I lean in, elbows on the table, and take out my pad and pen. "I want to hear everything, Avery. Every concern you and the community have about the development," I say earnestly, watching her face for any sign of disbelief.
"Everything?" she repeats. "You sure?"
I nod. "Yes."
She takes a deep breath, and it's like floodgates opening.
"First, there's the issue of displacement..." she begins, and I scribble down quick shorthand notes onto the small pad. It's been a while since I took anything down by hand, but her points are too important to trust to memory alone.
"Traffic concerns, loss of local charm, effects on small businesses..." She rattles off each point with a passion that's both admirable and intimidating. Her knowledge isn't just skin-deep; this is someone who has done her homework, someone who cares deeply about her turf.
"Environmental impact, especially on the green spaces that the kids use..." As she continues, I find myself nodding, not just in acknowledgment, but in respect. Avery's got a fire in her, and it's burning bright enough to make me reconsider a few things.
Just as she finishes outlining a point about infrastructure strain, our food arrives, breaking the intensity of our exchange. The server sets down plates, providing a brief but welcome distraction.
"Thank you for sharing all this with me," I tell her once we're alone again. She looks at me with those sharp eyes, searching for sarcasm or dismissal, but she won't find it. "I'm not here to bulldoze your concerns. They're valid, and I want to address them properly."
"Really?" Her skepticism is clear as day, but I can't blame her. Guys like me don't usually do deep listening—it’s not the playbook we're given.
"Really. I'm going to take this back to my team so we can go through each of them carefully." I lean back in the booth and take a bite of my sandwich, the corner of my mouth quirking up as I catch Avery's gaze. "You know, when I review your concerns, we'll have to do this again. Call it... due diligence."
Avery arches an eyebrow at me, her fork pausing mid-air. "Is that code for trying to get me to sit through another meal with you?" She sets her fork down with a clink against the plate.
"Would it be so bad if it was?" I ask, feeling a risky kind of thrill at the challenge in her eyes. "Can you blame a guy for wanting to have dinner with a beautiful woman?"
For a moment, I worry that I've overstepped .
"Nobody said anything about dinner," she counters, but the edge to her voice has softened just a fraction.
"Ah, so lunch is acceptable then?" I tease, and we volley back and forth like this for a moment, the air filling with something lighter than before.
"Maybe," she concedes with a reluctant smile,
and I think, yeah, maybe this won't just be business after all.
Before I can ride that thought any further, the sound of little sneakers padding across the floor pulls our attention away from the banter. Olivia stands beside us, her cheeks flushed with the joy of youth and friendship.
"Mom, I'm done eating." Then, turning to me, she asks, "Coach Victor, will you still be our coach?"
"Coach Marty is planning to return," I assure her. But she's persistent, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"But how do you know so much?" she presses. The question hits a raw nerve, one I haven't exposed in years. I hesitate, aware of Avery's attentive gaze on me. How much to reveal? How much of the past can I let seep into this new beginning?
"Uh, I learned when I was a kid," I say slowly. "Had a friend who played a lot. We'd spend hours out on the pond behind his house." It's the truth, but not the whole story. Olivia seems to accept it, though, nodding solemnly.
"Okay! That sounds fun!" she chirps before darting off to rejoin her friends, leaving me with the echo of a life that might have been.
I turn back to Avery, who's studying me with an intensity that makes my chest tight. "So, uh..." I begin, my voice rougher than I intend, "...can I get your number? You know, to discuss the community concerns once I've had a chance to go over them."
Her eyes widen just slightly, those chocolate depths giving nothing away. "My number?" she repeats, clearly caught off guard.
"Yeah," I manage, my pulse beating a bit too loudly in my ears. "For business reasons, strictly."
"Fine," she says after a beat, reaching into her purse for a pen. She scribbles her digits on a napkin and slides it across the table. I take the little piece of paper and place it in my pocket, somehow feeling as if I've just won a prize.