Chapter Sixteen Nate #2
Nate peeled off the notes, opened the container, and found chicken, rice, and exactly one sad piece of broccoli.
“Supportive,” he muttered.
From the living room, Tyler yelled, “We are very supportive. Some of us spiritually.”
Nate carried the container into the doorway.
The entire team was there.
Of course they were.
Tyler sat cross-legged on the floor with his laptop open. Beckett sprawled across one end of the couch. Miles sat backward in a chair. Griffin stood near the wall with a water bottle and the posture of a man morally opposed to furniture. Soren occupied an armchair like a judge.
Every face turned to Nate.
Nate pointed at Tyler’s laptop. “Close it.”
Tyler closed it so fast the slap echoed.
“That was not suspicious,” Beckett said.
“I don’t care,” Nate said.
Miles lifted both hands. “For the record, I have provided no commentary because I value my life.”
“Good,” Nate said.
Griffin stepped forward. “You okay?”
Nate looked at him.
The room’s humor thinned.
Griffin’s gaze sharpened, not nosy, not amused.
Concerned.
Nate set the container on the side table.
“Trevor texted her after I left.”
Soren’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Tyler, for once, did not joke.
Beckett sat up.
Griffin asked, “What kind of text?”
“The kind that makes her feel like needing anything means she’s the problem.”
“Ah,” Beckett said, and for once the word had no joke in it.
Nate folded his arms. “We’re not stopping yet. Her words.”
Tyler’s mouth opened.
Griffin pointed at him without looking. “Think carefully.”
Tyler closed it.
Nate exhaled. “She wants him to be wrong. Not jealous. Not defeated. Wrong.”
Soren leaned forward. “Then be steady.”
Nate looked at him.
“What?”
“If he thinks you are temporary proof, be steady.”
The word landed.
The team was quiet.
Nate knew what Soren meant.
Not pretend. Not perform. Not enjoy being the guy she leaned on just because it made him feel like he mattered.
Be steady.
Harder than charm.
Safer for Ava.
Worse for Nate’s ability to keep lying to himself.
“I can do steady,” Nate said.
Tyler raised his hand slowly.
Griffin sighed. “What?”
“I would like to say one supportive thing without being threatened.”
“Unlikely,” Griffin said.
Tyler looked at Nate. “If you’re going to be steady, maybe do not act like it is a favor.”
Nate stared at him.
Tyler lifted both shoulders. “What? Sometimes I contain wisdom in trace amounts.”
Nate blinked.
Then nodded once. “That’s fair.”
“Good. I hate that it came from him,” Griffin said.
Beckett leaned back, grinning. “Character growth everywhere. The room is unbearable.”
For the first time since leaving Ava’s driveway, Nate laughed.
Not because anything was fixed.
Because maybe not everything had to be fixed before he took the next step.
Maybe sometimes the right move was just not skating away.
His phone buzzed again.
Every head in the room snapped toward it.
Nate looked down.
Ava.
AVA: My grandmother asked if your rolls have a preferred bakery or if you are available for future bread consultations.
Nate smiled.
Tyler made a sound like he was in pain.
“He is smiling at bread logistics,” Tyler whispered. “This is worse than I imagined.”
Nate typed back.
NATE CALLAHAN: Tell Ruthie I am available for standard roll emergencies.
Ava replied almost immediately.
AVA: She says emergencies reveal character.
Nate stared at the screen.
Then another message came in.
AVA: Also, my mother says thank you for being kind today.
The room blurred at the edges for one stupid second.
Nate blamed the sad broccoli.
He typed.
NATE CALLAHAN: Tell your mom she makes dangerous salad.
AVA: She says you are welcome anytime.
Nate’s thumb hovered.
Anytime was a trap.
Anytime was not one dinner.
Anytime was how fake things grew legs.
Before he could answer, Ava sent another text.
AVA: Do not look emotionally responsible about that.
Nate laughed.
He could hear her voice in the sentence.
NATE CALLAHAN: Too late.
He saw it the second he sent it.
Banned phrase.
Three dots appeared.
AVA: You did that on purpose.
NATE CALLAHAN: Maybe.
AVA: Dangerous.
NATE CALLAHAN: Persistent.
The reply did not come immediately.
Nate stared at the phone while his entire team pretended not to watch and failed.
Then Ava sent one more message.
AVA: Lake tomorrow. Before my shift. We need rules if this is continuing.
Nate’s pulse kicked.
Rules.
The word should have made him feel boxed in.
Instead, it felt like a door.
He typed back.
NATE CALLAHAN: Tomorrow. Before your shift. Bring the scary notes app.
Her answer came fast.
AVA: Bring discipline.
Nate stared at the message.
Then he laughed, low and helpless, because there was no possible answer to that that did not get him into trouble.
Tyler slid off the couch onto the floor like his bones had given up.
“We’re witnessing a captaincy candidate fall in real time,” he said. “Beautiful. Tragic. Possibly sponsored.”
Griffin looked at Nate. “Be careful.”
Nate pocketed the phone.
He looked at Soren.
Steady.
Then at Griffin.
Careful.
Then at Tyler, who looked like he might burst from unsaid nonsense.
Nate pointed at him. “No spreadsheet.”
Tyler raised both hands. “I will honor the boundary while resenting it privately.”
Nate nodded.
Then his phone buzzed one more time.
Not Ava.
Unknown number.
Nate opened it.
UNKNOWN: You seem like a decent guy, Brennan. You should ask Ava what happened last time she got bored and needed someone useful.
Nate stared at the message.
The room shifted around him.
Griffin saw his face. “What?”
Nate did not answer.
Another message appeared.
UNKNOWN: Or don’t. Some guys prefer finding out after the fall.
Tyler stood up slowly.
Soren’s expression went blank.
Beckett muttered, “That better not be who I think it is.”
Nate looked at the screen until the words stopped being words and became something else.
A challenge.
A warning.
A lie with enough poison in it to make a careless man hesitate.
Nate was not careless.
Not with Ava.
Not anymore.
He locked the phone, looked at his team, and said the only thing he knew for sure.
“He wants me to ask her like I already doubt her.”