Chapter Ten Nate
Nate Brennan knew three things with absolute certainty.
One, Trevor Hale had a talent for choosing words that looked harmless until they hit their target.
Two, Ava Lane’s hand fit in his like a bad idea with perfect form.
Three, he was in so much trouble he could practically hear Griffin preparing a lecture.
You know he’s going to get tired of pretending, right?
They always do.
The words followed them around the side of the snack shack, soft and poisonous. Nate kept his hand around Ava’s because she had chosen to put it there. Because she had not let go. Because the moment he loosened his fingers, hers tightened once, quick and silent and honest.
That tiny squeeze went straight through him.
It was not flirting.
It was not performance.
It was not for Trevor anymore.
That was the problem.
Nate led them toward the service window where the noise from the deck could cover the silence. Tyler was laughing somewhere near the sponsor tents. Kids were arguing about whether the stress balls shaped like knees were creepy or awesome. Paulson was shouting about hydration again.
Normal things.
Easy things.
Things that did not include Ava Lane walking beside him with a face too still and a hand too cold.
He stopped near the corner of the snack shack, partly blocked from the deck by a stack of folded umbrellas.
Ava let go first.
Nate hated how much he noticed.
She flexed her fingers once, then folded her arms like she could lock herself back together by force. “You can stop doing the murder face now.”
Nate looked toward the sponsor tents. Trevor had not followed. Good. “I don’t have a murder face.”
Ava’s eyebrows lifted behind her sunglasses. “You looked at him like you were deciding whether the lake was deep enough.”
“It is not.”
“See? That’s concerning knowledge.”
“I teach kids here. I know water depth for safety reasons.”
“And body disposal, apparently.”
His mouth almost curved. Almost. “Are you okay?”
Ava’s expression sharpened immediately. “I love when people ask that after clearly witnessing the answer.”
“Fair.”
“Do you want a list?”
“If you want to give one.”
She looked away first, toward the lake, toward the kids, toward anything that was not him. “I want lemonade.”
The code word.
Nate’s chest tightened.
“Then we get lemonade,” he said.
Ava glanced back. “You make everything sound like a mission.”
“I’m a hockey player. We overvalue direction.”
“And sticks.”
“Also sticks.”
That earned him the smallest breath of a laugh.
Not enough.
Still something.
They stepped back into the snack shack through the side door. Ellie was at the fryer basket, pretending not to have been watching through the crack in the door.
Ava pointed at her. “I know.”
Ellie lifted both hands. “I was checking airflow.”
“Through a door?”
“I’m not a scientist.”
Nate set the water case near the storage shelves and turned to Ava. “Sit.”
Her head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”
Wrong word.
Terrible word.
Nate corrected fast. “Suggestion. Not command. There is a stool. You just carried water, won a relay, tolerated Trevor, and invented a boyfriend before lunch. You can sit for thirty seconds.”
Ellie raised one finger. “Honestly, that’s not a bad summary.”
Ava stared at the stool like it had betrayed her.
Then she sat.
Nate decided not to look triumphant. It felt like the kind of thing that might get him banned from the fryer.
Ellie slid a lemonade across the counter to Ava. “On the house.”
Ava took it. “You don’t own the house.”
“Emotionally, I do.”
Nate leaned against the opposite counter, giving Ava space. “Do you want me to go?”
Ava took a sip of lemonade.
She did not answer right away.
Then she looked at him, and the humor had thinned enough for him to see the tired underneath it.
“No,” she said.
One word.
Simple.
He felt it like a win he had not earned and did not want to mishandle.
“Okay.”
Ava looked down at her cup. “Don’t sound so careful.”
“I am being careful.”
“I hate careful.”
“No, you hate fake careful. There’s a difference.”
Her gaze lifted.
For once, she had no immediate comeback.
Ellie made a small sound and busied herself with napkins, which was generous for someone who had the survival instincts of a sparkler.
Ava ran one thumb down the condensation on her cup. “You should know something.”
Nate went still.
He hated that he went still.
He hated that he wanted the information because wanting information felt too close to wanting access.
“Okay,” he said.
“Trevor and I dated last year. Not for long. Long enough to be stupid about it.”
Nate kept his face calm. “Okay.”
“He was very good at making me feel chosen in public and optional in private.”
Something hot and ugly moved under Nate’s ribs.
He kept it out of his voice. “That’s on him.”
Ava laughed without humor. “I know the correct answer.”
“That doesn’t mean it feels true.”
Her fingers tightened on the lemonade cup.
Nate waited.
Ava looked at him like she hated that he had said the useful thing again.
“He dumped me right before finals,” she said. “Or he didn’t dump me exactly. He just started acting like I was dramatic for noticing he had disappeared. Then he told people we had kept it casual.”
Ellie’s jaw tightened.
Nate looked at the floor for one second because if he looked toward the sponsor tents, he would make a choice Griffin would not classify as leadership.
Ava’s voice turned lighter. Too light. “So when he saw the post and texted, I knew what he was doing. He likes having a door cracked open. Not because he wants back in. Because he likes knowing it’s there.”
Nate nodded slowly.
“And me saying boyfriend,” she added, wincing, “was possibly not my best legal strategy.”
“It was effective.”
“That is not the same as wise.”
“Most effective things in hockey are not wise.”
Ava looked at him. “Did you just compare my fake boyfriend announcement to a body check?”
“Emotionally, maybe.”
Her mouth twitched.
There it was.
He would have carried another twenty cases of water for that almost-smile.
Terrible thought.
Nate mentally threw it into the lake.
The side door opened.
Soren stepped in, looked at Ava on the stool, Nate by the counter, Ellie pretending to arrange straws, and said, “Good. No crime.”
Ava lifted her lemonade. “Yet.”
Soren nodded. “Progress.”
“Why are you here?” Nate asked.
“Griffin sent me.”
“To supervise?”
“To prevent Tyler from supervising.”
“Important distinction,” Ellie said.
Soren held up Nate’s phone. “You left this on the table.”
Nate’s stomach dropped.
Soren’s expression did not change, which meant something terrible had happened.
“What?” Nate asked.
Soren handed him the phone. “Group chat.”
Nate unlocked it.
RIDGEVIEW SUMMER CHALLENGE: NO MULCH 2026
TYLER: CONFIRMING THAT AVA USED THE B WORD.
MILES: Boyfriend?
BECKETT: Bold strategy from Lane.
TYLER: FAKE BOYFRIEND? REAL BOYFRIEND? EMOTIONAL SUPPORT FORWARD?
GRIFFIN: Stop typing.
TYLER: I CANNOT. HISTORY HAS CHOSEN ME.
BECKETT: New poll?
GRIFFIN: No.
TYLER: New poll.
NATE: Do not.
BECKETT: He has returned.
TYLER: Did she dump you already?
MILES: It has been six minutes.
TYLER: Some relationships burn bright.
COOPER: He is standing next to me and unhappy.
GRIFFIN: Everyone stop.
Ava leaned slightly forward. “Is that about me?”
Nate locked the phone. “No.”
Soren said, “Yes.”
Nate glared at him.
Soren looked unmoved. “She asked.”
Ava held out one hand. “Give me the phone.”
“No,” Nate said.
“Brennan.”
“Lane.”
“Give.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because Tyler is a public health event.”
Ava’s eyes narrowed. “If there is a poll, I get voting rights.”
Nate pinched the bridge of his nose.
Ellie whispered, “I support democracy.”
Soren said, “There is not a poll yet.”
“Yet?” Ava and Nate said together.
Soren’s phone buzzed.
He checked it.
Then he turned it around.
A new poll had appeared.
THE FAKE BOYFRIEND BET:
How long before Brennan forgets it is fake?
Option 1: Lunch.
Option 2: Sunset.
Option 3: He already forgot.
Option 4: Ava kills him first.
Ava stared.
Then she looked at Nate.
“Your team needs church.”
“They need consequences.”
“And grammar. Why is my killing you always an option?”
“Because they believe in your follow-through.”
Her mouth twitched again.
Nate felt a ridiculous surge of pride on her behalf, which was not normal.
Ava took Soren’s phone, tapped the screen, and handed it back.
Soren looked down. “She voted option four.”
“Of course she did,” Nate said.
Ava slid off the stool. “If they are going to make me content, I want narrative control.”
Nate opened his mouth.
Closed it.
That sounded dangerous.
Ava noticed. “What?”
“Define narrative control.”
“Simple. If Trevor is going to act like I am still available for private commentary, and your team is going to act like I have been cast in their emotional circus, then we make the fake boyfriend thing useful.”
Nate’s pulse shifted.
Soren looked at him with the face of a goalie watching a puck slide toward an empty net.
“Useful how?” Nate asked.
Ava lifted her chin. “We keep it through the sponsor weekend. Public enough to shut Trevor up. Fake enough that your precious discipline survives.”
Ellie made a sound of delight.
Nate did not look at her.
He looked at Ava.
Sponsor weekend. That meant today. The bonfire tonight. The Sunday youth camp mixer. The Monday wrap-up breakfast for donors, if Paulson’s schedule was accurate.
Three days.
Fake boyfriend.
Ava Lane.
His discipline was not just endangered. It had been dragged into open water wearing ankle weights.
“Rules,” he said.
Ava’s eyebrows lifted. “You want rules?”
“Yes.”
“I love that you think rules will save you.”
“They might save both of us.”
Her face softened for half a second.
Then she covered it with sarcasm. “Fine. Rule one: no kissing.”
Nate’s brain did a full emergency stop.
“Good,” he said, too quickly.
Ava’s eyes sharpened. “That sounded panicked.”
“It sounded respectful.”
“It sounded like you saw a ghost.”
“A respectful ghost.”
Ellie coughed.
Soren looked at the ceiling.
Ava crossed her arms. “Rule two: no touching unless I start it.”
Nate nodded. “Agreed.”
“Rule three: no telling your team private things.”
“Absolutely.”
“Rule four: if I say lemonade, we leave.”
“Done.”
“Rule five,” Ava said, and now the joke left her face completely. “You do not make this real just because it feels good to win.”
Nate absorbed that one.
He deserved it.
Maybe not personally. Maybe not yet.
But he understood why she had to say it.
“Agreed,” he said.
Ava studied him like she was looking for the crack.
“Your turn,” she said.
“My rules?”
“Unless you have none, which would be stupid and very on brand.”
Nate almost smiled.
Almost.
“Rule one,” he said. “You don’t have to perform if you don’t want to. Not for Trevor. Not for my team. Not for me.”
Ava’s expression flickered.
“Rule two,” he continued, “if I do something that makes you uncomfortable, tell me once. I stop. No debate.”
Her arms loosened.
“Rule three: no insulting yourself to make him feel like he still has power.”
Ava went still.
Soren looked toward the door, suddenly very interested in not existing.
Ellie went quiet.
Ava’s voice came cool. “That sounds dangerously close to a real boyfriend rule.”
Nate held her gaze. “Then call it a human rule.”
The silence stretched.
He wondered if he had pushed too far.
Then Ava looked away, and he knew he had not pushed too far.
He had gotten too close.
Different problem.
Worse one.
The service bell rang at the window, shattering the moment.
Ellie jumped. “Customers. Wonderful. Capitalism.”
Soren moved toward the door. “I’ll tell Griffin everyone is alive.”
“Don’t tell Tyler anything,” Nate said.
Soren paused. “Tyler just asked if fake boyfriends get team points.”
Ava said, “Tell him yes, but only if they survive me.”
Soren’s mouth almost curved. “Promoted back to first name.”
Ava pointed at him. “Don’t get comfortable.”
Soren left.
Ellie opened the service window and took an order from a family of five, leaving Nate and Ava standing near the back counter with the rules between them.
Ava picked up her Team One shirt and folded it again, though it was already folded.
“Three days,” she said.
“Three days.”
“Fake.”
“Fake.”
“Useful.”
“Useful.”
She looked at him. “You are allowed to say something that is not me repeated back to myself.”
Nate took one step closer.
Not too close.
Close enough that her eyes lifted.
“I can do this,” he said. “And I won’t make you regret it.”
Ava swallowed.
For a moment, she looked like she wanted to believe him again.
That was becoming his favorite and least favorite look on her face.
Then his phone buzzed.
Nate checked it.
A message from Paulson.
PAULSON: Need you and Ava at sponsor bonfire tonight. Hale requested Team One for donor thank-you video. Sorry.
Nate’s hand tightened around the phone.
Ava noticed.
“What?”
Nate looked at her.
So much for three days of clean boundaries and controlled performance.
He turned the screen toward her.
Ava read it once.
Then again.
Her face went carefully blank.
Nate lowered his voice. “Lemonade?”
Ava looked toward the sponsor tents, where Trevor Hale was laughing under his white canopy like he had just moved another piece into place.
Then she looked back at Nate.
“No,” she said. “Tonight, we give him something to choke on.”