Chapter Eight Nate
Nate Brennan had faced down defenders with twenty extra pounds, two fewer morals, and a personal relationship with cross-checking.
None of them had ever hit him as hard as the word boyfriend.
Ava’s hand was in his again.
Trevor Hale was standing in front of them with his polished sponsor smile cracking at the edges.
The entire Ridgeview hockey team was close enough to witness, record, misinterpret, and ruin lives.
And Nate had about half a second to decide whether he was going to make Ava regret trusting him.
Do not make me regret this.
The words were still in his head. Quiet. Sharp. More important than any chirp Tyler had ever launched or any bet the group chat had ever voted into existence.
So Nate did not pull her closer.
He did not grin like he had won something.
He did not turn her hand into a trophy.
He simply stepped into the role she had handed him and looked Trevor Hale directly in the eye.
“Nate Brennan,” he said.
Trevor’s gaze dropped to their joined hands.
Then back up.
“Trevor Hale.” His smile returned, but it had lost warmth. “Old friend of Ava’s.”
Ava’s fingers tightened once.
Nate felt it.
Old friend was not the right answer.
Not if the text messages were from him.
Not if Ava had gone pale when Denise mentioned his name.
Not if a four-letter nickname could turn her entire body into a locked door.
Nate kept his voice even. “Good to meet you.”
Tyler made a strangled sound behind him, like politeness was personally disappointing.
Griffin murmured, “Let him cook.”
Ava’s sunglasses hid her eyes, but Nate could feel her attention slide toward him.
Surprised.
Maybe relieved.
Definitely suspicious.
That was fair.
If Nate were Ava, he would also be suspicious of a hockey player with a public feelings bet, a lemonade problem, and a team that treated boundaries like a group activity.
Trevor tucked his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “Boyfriend, huh?”
Ava smiled.
Nate had already learned to fear that smile.
“That’s what I said.”
“New development.” Trevor looked Nate over with the kind of lazy inspection rich men used when they thought their opinions were property. “I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone.”
“That’s probably because I stopped updating you,” Ava said.
A sound moved through the nearby team.
Not loud.
Wounded, delighted, feral.
Beckett whispered, “Oh, she has a blade.”
“Inside voice,” Griffin said.
“That was my reverent voice.”
Trevor laughed lightly, but it did not land. “Still quick.”
Ava’s smile stayed perfect. “Still repetitive.”
Nate had to bite the inside of his cheek.
He wanted to laugh.
Badly.
He also wanted to put himself between Ava and every single thing that had ever made her feel small, which was inconvenient because Griffin had specifically told him not to turn caring into control.
Nate kept his feet where they were.
Beside her.
Exactly where she had placed him.
Trevor’s gaze shifted to him. “So, Nate. How long has this been going on?”
Terrible question.
The kind of question that invited lies, timelines, details, and public collapse.
Ava’s hand went very still in his.
Nate did not know what story she wanted.
He did know one thing.
Trevor did not get to interrogate her.
“Long enough,” Nate said.
Ava’s head turned a fraction.
Trevor’s smile sharpened. “Long enough for what?”
Nate looked at Ava.
Not for permission exactly.
For direction.
Her chin lifted. Barely.
There.
“Long enough to know she doesn’t owe you answers,” Nate said.
Silence hit the grass.
Then Tyler whispered, “I just became a better man.”
Miles whispered back, “No, you didn’t.”
Ava’s hand tightened again.
This time, Nate thought it might mean thank you.
Possibly.
Maybe.
He was not going to get smug about it.
Internally or otherwise.
Trevor’s jaw worked once. “I was just making conversation.”
“Were you?” Ava asked.
The words were calm.
Too calm.
Nate hated Trevor a little more for making her sound like that.
Trevor held up both hands. “Relax, Aves. I come in peace.”
Ava’s smile disappeared.
Nate felt the change in her hand before he saw it on her face.
“Don’t call me that,” she said.
Four words.
Clean.
No joke.
No softening.
No room for misunderstanding.
Nate went very still.
Trevor blinked.
The sponsor smile slid back into place, but not fast enough to hide the annoyance beneath it. “Right. Ava.”
“Great,” she said. “Look at us all growing.”
Nate almost lost it.
Beckett did lose it, but tried to hide the laugh in a cough. Griffin hit him in the chest with the back of his hand.
Paulson hurried over with a clipboard and the desperate energy of a man sensing that donors and student athletes were approaching the same open flame.
“Wonderful job, Team One,” he said, too loudly. “Great opening relay. Great teamwork. Very spirited.”
“Spirited,” Tyler repeated. “Is that the official word?”
“Yes,” Paulson said. “Because I cannot put several other words in a university recap.”
Denise appeared beside Paulson with a box of blue ribbons and the calm authority of a woman who could end wars by assigning cleaning shifts.
“Team One wins the opening relay,” she announced.
The kids cheered.
Soren accepted his ribbon like it was a legal document.
Ava released Nate’s hand to take hers from Denise.
The loss of her fingers should not have registered.
It did.
Nate kept his face normal.
Mostly.
Tyler did not.
He clasped both hands over his heart and mouthed, separation anxiety.
Nate mouthed back, lake.
Tyler stepped behind Miles again.
Denise pinned a ribbon to Ava’s shirt, then paused to inspect the knot at her waist. “Creative uniform compliance.”
“Thank you. I specialize in hostile adaptation.”
“That is why I like you,” Denise said.
Ava looked concerned. “Please don’t.”
Trevor’s laugh cut in from beside the sponsor rope. “Still making managers work for it?”
Ava’s shoulders stiffened again.
Nate saw it.
Denise saw it too.
Her purple glasses turned toward Trevor with immediate managerial suspicion. “Mr. Hale, your table is unattended.”
Trevor’s smile faltered. “My associate has it.”
“Wonderful. Then she can probably use help. Sponsors who stay useful get thanked in the email blast.”
Nate had never admired a woman with a clipboard more.
Trevor glanced at Ava one more time. “I’ll see you later.”
Ava said nothing.
Nate said nothing.
Trevor walked back toward the Hale Development tent.
Ava exhaled.
Quietly.
Almost nothing.
Nate heard it anyway.
That made him feel protective and guilty at the same time.
He was noticing too much.
He was supposed to notice coverage, open ice, defensive gaps, whether Tyler was about to commit a misdemeanor near a sponsor tent.
Not the exact moment Ava Lane remembered how to breathe.
Paulson clapped his hands. “Team One, final winner photo by the banner. Then sponsors’ thank-you lunch at noon. Since you won the opening relay, you’ll be seated at the featured table.”
Ava’s head turned slowly. “Featured what?”
“Featured table,” Paulson repeated, already nervous.
Nate did not like the direction this was going.
Ava clearly liked it even less.
“No,” she said.
Paulson blinked. “No?”
“Correct. A complete sentence. Very efficient.”
Denise patted Ava’s shoulder. “Staff partners are expected to attend the sponsor lunch.”
“I work the snack shack.”
“Ellie can cover for one hour.”
From the snack shack window, Ellie shouted, “I can cover forever if there is lunch drama.”
Ava pointed without looking. “You’re fired again.”
“Still not employed by you.”
Paulson checked his clipboard. “It’s good community visibility. Team One is our first winner. Hale Development is one of the lunch sponsors, so their representative will be at the same table.”
Nate felt Ava go quiet beside him.
Not still.
Quiet.
There was a difference.
Stillness could be anger.
Quiet was armor.
Trevor had gone back to his tent, but his attention was still on them. Nate could feel it, sharp as a skate blade.
Ava said, “That’s not happening.”
Denise lowered her voice. “Ava, I can move your seat.”
Nate respected Denise for that.
A lot.
Ava’s expression did not change, but Nate saw the tiny flash of gratitude she tried to hide.
“No,” Ava said. “It’s fine.”
It was not fine.
Everyone in their immediate radius knew it was not fine.
Trevor probably knew it most of all.
Nate heard himself speak before the smarter part of him finished the math.
“Actually, we already have plans.”
Ava turned to him.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
The grass beneath Nate’s shoes suddenly felt less stable than the dry-land paddleboard.
Paulson looked relieved. “Plans?”
Denise looked interested.
Tyler looked like he had just watched someone throw gasoline on his favorite bonfire.
Trevor, from the sponsor tent, looked back.
Nate had one second to fix it.
Possibly less.
Ava’s eyes behind the sunglasses promised that if he made the wrong choice, the lake would receive a hockey player as tribute.
Nate kept his voice calm. “Ava needs to get back to work after the photo. I’m taking the sponsor lunch shift for Team One. Soren can represent the relay results.”
Soren, who had been drinking water in peace, looked up. “I can?”
Nate glanced at him. “You read plaques. You’ll be great.”
Ava’s mouth twitched before she could stop it.
Small victory.
Trevor stepped closer again. “That’s thoughtful. But I thought she just said you were her boyfriend.”
There it was.
The hook.
The public trap.
The reason men like Trevor asked questions in front of witnesses.
Nate felt Ava brace.
This time, he did not look at her.
Not because he did not care.
Because Trevor wanted to watch them scramble.
Nate refused to give him the show.
“I am,” Nate said.
Tyler made a sound like a teakettle exploding.
Ava’s hand shot out and pinched the inside of Nate’s wrist.
Hard.
Nate did not react.
Barely.
Trevor’s smile came back. “Then skipping the lunch seems rude.”
Ava dropped Nate’s wrist like it had malfunctioned.
Denise looked between them, one eyebrow raised.
Paulson’s pen hovered over the clipboard.
Soren said, “Team One can attend the sponsor lunch.”
Nate turned his head. “Soren.”
Soren’s expression remained unreadable. “We won. We attend. We sit together. We leave after dessert. Efficient.”
Ava stared at him. “You sound like a hostage negotiator.”
“Thank you.”
“Again, not a compliment.”
“Again, took it as one.”
Nate looked at Ava.
Finally.
She looked back at him.
Behind the sunglasses, he could not see her eyes, and he hated that more than he should have.
“Your call,” he said quietly.
Not for Trevor.
Not for Paulson.
For her.
Ava held his gaze for a long second.
Then she smiled.
Not the fake sponsor smile.
Not the sweet knife smile.
This one was sharper.
Wilder.
A terrible idea deciding to wear lipstick.
“Fine,” she said. “We attend. We sit together. We leave after dessert.”
Trevor looked pleased.
Nate did not think Trevor understood what he had just signed up to witness.
Ava turned toward him, slid her sunglasses to the top of her head, and gave Nate the brightest smile of the morning.
A warning smile.
A revenge smile.
A smile that made every survival instinct Nate possessed stand up and salute.
Then she looped her arm through his like they had done it a hundred times.
“Come on, boyfriend,” she said. “Apparently, we have lunch plans.”
The team erupted.
Nate looked down at her hand on his arm, then at her face.
Ava was smiling at Trevor.
Nate was not.
Because at some point between the hand-holding, the fake title, and Trevor Hale trying to corner her with manners, Nate had realized something deeply inconvenient.
He did not want to be Ava’s fake boyfriend because it annoyed Trevor.
He wanted to be the person Ava reached for when she needed someone steady.
And that was exactly the kind of thought that lost bets.