Chapter Twenty-Five Ava #3
Because she had stopped making him important.
Martin cleared his throat. “Trevor.”
Trevor stepped back.
Ava turned to Martin. “Thank you for honoring the match.”
Martin’s smile returned, thinner now. “Of course.”
He moved toward Paulson and Coach Doyle.
Trevor followed.
Nate still did not speak.
Ava looked at him. “You were very quiet.”
“Your lead.”
Her chest went soft.
Dangerously soft.
“Good answer.”
“Trying.”
“Trying is not the same as being.”
“I know.”
Ava squeezed his hand. “This time, it was.”
Nate’s face changed.
Wonder face.
Again.
Ava had no defense for it and no longer wanted one.
The final photos did not include Martin in the center.
They included Evan holding the five-dollar bill’s receipt.
Ruthie at the donation table. Karen with her thank-you cards.
Ellie and Denise beneath the snack shack sign.
Soren with three kids holding sticks. Tyler holding a flyer upside down while Griffin looked long-suffering beside him.
Beckett lying on the grass under the sign because apparently dramatic collapse had become part of the brand.
Nate and Ava stood near the edge of the group photo.
Not hidden.
Not centered.
Together.
Ava’s hand found his just before the camera clicked.
This time, she did not let go immediately.
By sunset, the final scholarship impact had been confirmed.
Ten thousand ten dollars, after one last online donation from someone calling themselves No Twine Grandma.
Ruthie denied involvement with an expression that convinced no one.
The lake emptied slowly.
The team packed tables. Denise locked the donation box. Paulson hugged his folder like it had survived war. Coach Doyle told Nate he had done good work, then told Tyler to stop trying to name the fundraiser after himself retroactively.
Ava stood near the old rental dock, away from the noise, staring at the water.
Nate found her there.
Of course he did.
She did not turn around. “Are you following me?”
“Emotionally or geographically?”
Her mouth curved. “Both are risky.”
He came to stand beside her. “Then yes. Carefully.”
Ava looked at him.
The sunset had turned the lake gold. Nate’s hair was a mess from a long day. His shirt had marker on one sleeve, probably from a flyer. His eyes looked tired and bright and entirely too open.
Ava had spent weeks making rules.
No kissing.
No assuming.
No letting Trevor define them.
No pretending.
Some rules had protected her.
Some had expired.
Some had become doors.
“Nate,” she said.
His attention sharpened. “Yeah?”
“I do not want to be your fake girlfriend.”
His breath caught.
She watched the hit land and wanted to grab it back for half a second, just to spare him the hurt before the rest of the sentence arrived.
But no.
No more hiding the useful version.
“I do not want to be your almost girlfriend either,” she said.
His eyes held hers.
Careful.
Too careful.
“I do not want to be a bet or a storyline or the girl you stood beside because Trevor was awful.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
She stepped closer.
“I want to be the girl you choose when nobody is watching.”
Everything in Nate’s face changed.
The carefulness broke.
Not into recklessness.
Into hope.
Clean, stunned hope.
“Ava.”
Her throat tightened.
“I am not saying I have no fear,” she said. “I am basically fear wearing lip gloss and a staff visor. I still have rules. I still overthink. I still might panic if someone uses the phrase where is this going before I have had coffee.”
His mouth twitched.
“But I know where I am not going,” she said. “Back into silence. Back into pretending I do not care. Back into letting someone else make wanting things feel embarrassing.”
Nate stepped closer.
Still not touching.
Always giving her the last inch.
She loved that.
There.
The word landed inside her with terrifying gentleness.
Loved.
Maybe not ready to say it.
Not yet.
But not running from the shadow of it either.
Ava reached for his shirt and pulled him the last inch herself.
“Rule update,” she whispered.
His voice was rough. “Okay.”
“No more letting fear write first drafts.”
Nate’s hand settled at her waist.
Careful.
Steady.
Hers, if she wanted.
She did.
His forehead touched hers. “Best rule yet.”
Behind them, from far enough away to be plausible but not far enough to be innocent, Tyler whispered, “I am not watching.”
Griffin’s voice followed. “Then why are you facing them?”
“Emotional weather patterns.”
“Run.”
Footsteps pounded across the grass.
Ava laughed into Nate’s chest.
Nate’s arms closed around her.
For a second, everything was warm and ridiculous and exactly hers.
Then Nate’s phone buzzed.
He groaned. “If that is Tyler from a second location, I am resigning from the team.”
Ava looked up. “Check it.”
He pulled out his phone.
His expression shifted.
Not bad.
Not exactly.
Big.
“What?” Ava asked.
Nate stared at the screen, then turned it toward her.
A message from Coach Doyle.
COACH DOYLE: Captaincy conversation. Tomorrow morning. My office. Bring the same backbone you used today.
Ava looked at the message.
Then at Nate.
His dream. His fall. His careful summer. The thing he had been trying to protect before she walked into it with lemonade and problems and a terrifying notes app.
His eyes met hers.
“I should be happy,” he said.
“You are.”
“Yeah.”
“But?”
He looked toward the lake.
Then back at her.
“But for the first time all summer, hockey is not the only thing I am afraid to lose.”