Chapter Six Nate
Nate Brennan had never wanted to punch a sponsor before he had officially met him.
That felt like poor charity behavior.
It also felt accurate.
He left the snack shack with his folded Team One shirt in one hand, Soren’s shirt tucked under his arm, and Ava’s face burned into his brain in a way that made walking in a straight line more difficult than it should have been.
Still none of your business.
She had said it like a wall.
Nate respected walls.
Mostly.
He respected them in theory. In practice, he had spent most of his hockey life trying to get around them, through them, or past the guy using one to block his shot.
Ava Lane was not a defender.
She was not a puzzle.
She was definitely not a challenge just because she had a sharp mouth, guarded eyes, and an ex, or whatever Trevor Hale was, who apparently thought texting her like a creep counted as having emotional range.
Nate reached the deck and nearly walked into Tyler.
Tyler took one look at his face and stepped backward.
That was how Nate knew things were bad.
Tyler did not step away from danger. Tyler usually invited danger to a bonfire and gave it a nickname.
“Okay,” Tyler said slowly. “You look like you just found out the lemonade has feelings.”
Nate shoved Soren’s shirt at him. “Where’s Lindqvist?”
“Why?”
“Because this is his.”
“And you trust me to deliver laundry?”
“No. I trust you to remain alive if your hands are occupied.”
Tyler accepted the shirt and immediately held it against his chest. “How do I look?”
“Unsupervised.”
“That’s my brand.”
“Your brand needs a warning label.”
Beckett appeared behind Tyler, eating something from a paper boat. “His brand has been rejected by several focus groups.”
“They lacked vision,” Tyler said.
Griffin walked up with two waters and handed one to Nate. “Drink. You look like you’re considering a felony.”
Nate stared at him.
Griffin stared back.
Nate took the water.
That was the problem with Griffin. He had the emotional range of a locked door until he suddenly said the one useful thing in the room.
“I’m fine,” Nate said.
All three of them looked toward the snack shack.
Then back at him.
Beckett nodded gravely. “Sure. Very fine. Historically fine. The face of a man unbothered by a woman who owns a threatening shirt.”
Nate twisted the cap off the water. “Ava’s ex is one of the sponsors.”
The joking stopped.
Not all at once. The deck was still loud around them. Kids were still running. A parent was still asking Paulson whether the paddleboard station required a waiver. Tyler was still Tyler, physically speaking.
But the circle around Nate tightened.
Griffin’s expression sharpened. “You know that for sure?”
“Denise said Hale Development is sponsoring Saturday. Trevor Hale is handling the table. Ava got texts from an unknown number right after the photo thing. Same energy. Same timing.”
“Did she tell you it was him?” Griffin asked.
“No.”
“Then be careful.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Nate looked at him.
Griffin did not back down. “Because there is a difference between protecting someone and deciding you know what they need because you’re uncomfortable watching them hurt.”
Nate hated how fast that landed.
He also hated that Griffin was right.
“I didn’t push,” Nate said.
“Good.”
“She said it was none of my business.”
“It isn’t.”
Nate’s jaw tightened.
Griffin’s voice stayed even. “Not unless she makes it your business.”
Tyler winced. “That was mature. I did not care for it.”
Beckett pointed a fry at Griffin. “Growth from Hayes. Terrible for the room.”
Griffin ignored both of them. “Saturday is public. Sponsors, families, kids, Lake Briar staff, Ridgeview accounts. If this guy is there, Ava may already be bracing for it. Do not turn her into another thing she has to manage.”
Nate looked toward the snack shack again.
Through the service window, Ava was taking an order from a man in sunglasses. She had the Team One shirt folded beside the register like it had personally offended her. Her smile was polite. Her posture was perfect.
Too perfect.
“I’m not trying to manage her,” Nate said.
Griffin followed his gaze. “Then don’t.”
Simple advice.
Awful advice.
Probably correct advice.
Nate drank half the water.
Tyler, apparently allergic to silence, leaned in. “For the record, I can make Trevor Hale disappear socially.”
Nate looked at him. “What does that mean?”
“I know things.”
“You know one card trick and three ways to get banned from mini-golf.”
“Four ways. The fourth is pending appeal.”
Beckett snapped his fingers. “Is Trevor Hale the guy from Hale Development with the boat shoes and villain hair?”
Nate’s attention cut to him. “You know him?”
“Know is a strong word. I know of him. His family sponsors half the boring things in Ridgeview. Golf scramble. Booster dinners. That charity auction where Tyler almost bought a taxidermy raccoon.”
“It had a hat,” Tyler said.
“Trevor transferred after sophomore year, I think,” Beckett continued. “Business major. Smile like he practiced in reflective surfaces.”
Nate did not enjoy how easy that image was to hate.
Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t spiral.”
“I’m not.”
“You are doing the silent jaw thing.”
Nate forced his mouth to relax.
Tyler studied him. “Honestly, the silent jaw thing is kind of intimidating. Could use it on the ice more.”
“Tyler.”
“Right. Not the moment.”
Paulson called from the challenge board, “Team captains, shirt pickup at the table.”
Beckett perked up. “Do we have team captains?”
Griffin said, “No.”
Tyler said, “I nominate myself.”
“Denied,” Griffin and Nate said together.
Nate shoved his own folded shirt under one arm and walked toward Paulson before Tyler could nominate himself for anything else.
The rest of the evening became a series of almost normal tasks.
Shirt distribution. Sponsor signage. Camp schedule changes.
Paulson reminding them not to run on the dock.
Denise reminding Paulson that telling hockey players not to run was like telling rain to consider indoor alternatives.
Soren appearing long enough to take his shirt, read the back, and say, “Lane will hate this.”
Nate had agreed.
Then Soren had added, “Good. She’ll compete harder.”
Nate had agreed with that too, which seemed dangerous.
By the time the sun dropped behind the tree line, the Ridgeview Challenge account had posted the team assignments.
Not the photo.
The graphic.
Clean. Neutral. Safe.
OPENING WEEK STAFF PARTNER RELAY
TEAM ONE:
NATE CALLAHAN
COOPER VALE
AVA LANE
Nate should have felt relieved.
He did.
Then he made the mistake of opening the comments.
**@ridgeviewhockeymom:** Can’t wait. Go Team One.
**@briarbeanofficial:** Proud sponsor. Good luck, everyone.
**@tylernotapproved:** Brennan falls first.
**@beckettwilder:** This comment is not legally binding.
**@milesonice:** Team One has strong rom-com energy.
**@griffinhayes:** Stop commenting from official adjacent accounts.
Nate closed the app.
Then opened it again.
A new comment had appeared.
**@trevorhale:** Looking forward to Saturday.
Nothing else.
No tag. No name. No obvious threat.
It still crawled under Nate’s skin.
He stared at the screen until Soren took the phone from his hand.
“Hey.”
Nate looked up.
Soren stood beside him near the railing, expression calm in the unsettling way goalies had before pucks started flying at their faces.
“Give me that.”
“You were glaring at a comment,” Soren said.
“It deserved it.”
“Comments don’t care.”
“This one did.”
Soren glanced at the screen, then handed the phone back. “Griffin’s right.”
“Unpleasant trend.”
“Ava decides what she needs.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Nate exhaled. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Because your face says no.”
Nate leaned his forearms on the railing and looked out at the lake.
The water had gone dark blue. The dock lights glowed yellow. From inside the snack shack, Ava laughed at something Ellie said, quick and bright and gone too soon.
He looked before he could stop himself.
Soren noticed, because of course he did.
“Careful,” Soren said.
Nate did not look away. “With what?”
“Her. You. The difference.”
Nate laughed once, but there was no humor in it. “That’s vague.”
“You’re usually good at being wanted.”
That pulled his attention back.
Soren watched the lake. “That’s not the same as being trusted.”
Ava had said almost the same thing.
Charm is what people use when they want credit for being easy to like without doing the work of being worth trusting.
Nate looked down at his hands.
“Did everyone attend a seminar on me today?”
“No. You are obvious.”
“Great.”
“Only when you care.”
That was worse.
Nate pushed off the railing. “I don’t care.”
Soren’s face did not change.
Nate sighed. “I care that she’s stuck on our team after being dragged into team nonsense. I care that a sponsor is texting her like he owns a right to an opinion. I care that Saturday might be bad for her. That’s normal.”
“Sure.”
“Do not goalie me.”
“That isn’t a verb.”
“It is when you do it.”
Soren almost smiled. “You can care. Just don’t turn caring into control.”
Nate looked back toward the snack shack.
Ava was at the window now, wiping down the ledge. Her phone was nowhere in sight. Her Team One shirt was gone too. Probably shoved into a bag. Possibly set on fire.
She looked up suddenly.
Caught him.
Again.
For half a second, neither of them moved.
Then she lifted two fingers to point at her eyes, then at him.
Still watching.
Nate’s mouth curved before he could stop it.
Soren made a low sound beside him. “You are in significant trouble.”
Nate kept looking at Ava. “I know.”
He meant Saturday.
Probably.
By Saturday morning, Nate had slept four hours, checked the Ridgeview Challenge account six times, and told himself at least twelve times that he was not looking for Trevor Hale.
Which meant, obviously, that he was looking for Trevor Hale.
The lake was already packed by nine-fifteen.