Chapter Twenty-Six Nate #2
Just Ava, warm and fierce and proud, crashing into him with enough force to make him step back.
Nate caught her and held on.
The patch was still in his hand, trapped between them.
He did not care.
Ava’s face pressed against his shoulder, and for one perfect second, nothing in the world wanted anything from him except this.
Then she pulled back, still holding his arms. “I am so proud of you.”
The words hit harder than he expected.
Nate looked away because if he held her eyes too long, Coach Doyle’s denial policy about crying might need to expand beyond the office.
Ava saw it.
Of course she saw it.
Her voice softened. “Hey.”
He looked back.
She touched the patch with one finger. “This matters.”
“Yeah.”
“And you matter without it.”
Nate went still.
There it was.
The thing he had not asked for because he had not known how badly he needed it.
Ava Lane, who noticed too much and trusted slowly and kept a notes app full of boundaries, standing on a dock and handing him the sentence like it belonged to him.
He swallowed.
“You’re making the captain cry,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “Already using the title for emotional manipulation?”
“Trying it out.”
“Abuse of power.”
“Noted.”
She smiled.
Then her smile faded into something quieter.
“Are you scared?”
Nate laughed once. “Yes.”
“Good.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Not because I want you scared,” she said. “Because if you are scared, it means you know it matters.”
Nate looked down at her.
“You and Ruthie are sharing material.”
“Grandma is usually right. It is deeply inconvenient.”
He slid the patch back into his pocket, then reached for her hand.
Ava gave it to him.
Still a tiny miracle every time.
“I need to say something,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “That sentence has been responsible for several structural problems in my life.”
“Good problem this time.”
“Men always think that.”
“Ava.”
She quieted.
Not because he demanded it.
Because his voice gave away too much.
Nate took one breath.
“I was afraid that if I cared about you the way I do, it would make me careless with hockey. Or with you. Or both. Like wanting two things would split me in half.”
Her fingers tightened around his.
“But it doesn’t feel like that,” he said.
“It feels like I am finally telling the truth in every room. I want the captaincy. I want the season. I want the work. And I want you, not as proof that I can win something, not as a bet I lost, not as a storyline everyone else gets to name. I want you because you are the first person who made me want to be honest before I was impressive.”
Ava’s eyes filled.
She pointed at him with their joined hands. “No making me cry before my shift.”
“I thought you were off today.”
“Emotionally, I have a shift.”
He smiled, but his chest was tight.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No.”
She laughed through the shine in her eyes.
Then she stepped closer.
“I want you too,” she said.
Nate stopped breathing.
Ava’s cheeks flushed, but she did not look away.
“Not because Trevor was wrong. Not because my family likes you, though Grandma may have already added you to the emergency roll list. Not because you were useful. You were useful, obviously, but that is not the point.”
“Good to know.”
“The point,” she said, shooting him a look, “is that you kept showing up as yourself. Not perfect. Not polished. Not trying to be the hero of my life. Just steady. Annoying. Funny. Honest when it mattered.”
Nate’s throat tightened.
“Persistent,” he said.
Her mouth curved. “Very.”
He lifted his free hand to her cheek.
Slow.
Giving her every chance to pull back.
She leaned into it instead.
That almost ended him.
“No audience,” he said.
Ava glanced around the dock.
Quiet water. Empty rental shed. No Tyler in sight.
“No audience,” she confirmed.
Then she kissed him.
This time, there were no points.
No prompt card.
No Trevor.
No phone buzzing on the table, no grandmother score paddle, no team losing its collective mind from twenty feet away.
Just Ava’s hand in his, Ava’s mouth soft under his, Ava laughing once against him when he nearly backed into the dock rail because apparently becoming captain did not improve spatial awareness during kissing.
Nate kissed her again because he could.
Because she wanted him to.
Because wanting something and being careful with it could exist in the same breath.
When they pulled apart, Ava kept one hand on his chest.
“Rule update,” she said.
His smile came instantly. “I missed those.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“A little.”
“Rule one,” she said. “We do this for real, but not rushed.”
“Agreed.”
“Rule two. If either of us gets scared, we say it instead of acting weird.”
“Define weird.”
“You know weird.”
“I know Tyler weird.”
“This is emotional weird. Different species.”
“Agreed.”
“Rule three. I can still make fun of you.”
“I assumed that was permanent.”
“Good. Rule four. You do not get to use captain voice on me.”
“What if there is danger?”
“Then you use boyfriend voice.”
Nate went completely still.
Ava froze too.
The word had slipped out and landed on the dock between them like a lit match.
Boyfriend.
Not fake.
Not almost.
Not temporary.
Ava’s eyes widened.
Nate tried very hard not to smile.
He failed.
Spectacularly.
“Victory face,” Ava whispered.
“I know.”
“Control it.”
“I cannot.”
“Nate.”
“Ava.”
She stared at him for one beat.
Then she rolled her eyes and smiled so beautifully it knocked the air out of him.
“Fine,” she said. “Boyfriend voice in emergencies only.”
“Understood.”
“Do not make me regret promoting you.”
“From useful?”
“To high-risk official.”
“I’ll take it.”
She kissed him again.
A quick one.
A promise with teeth.
Then a voice from the shore called, “I AM ANNOUNCING MY PRESENCE SO THIS DOES NOT COUNT AS WATCHING.”
Ava closed her eyes.
Nate looked over her shoulder.
Tyler stood near the rental shed with both hands over his eyes.
Griffin stood beside him, looking like a man who had experienced every stage of grief and landed on administrative murder.
Beckett was behind them holding a phone pointed at the ground, while Soren stood with his arms folded and Miles ate chips from a bag like this was dinner theater.
Ava said, very calmly, “Why are they here?”
Nate sighed. “Team osmosis.”
Tyler yelled, “WE NEED CAPTAIN PHOTOS. ALSO I RESPECT LOVE. ALSO I CANNOT SEE ANYTHING BECAUSE MY EYES ARE CLOSED.”
Griffin said, “Your fingers are spread.”
Tyler closed them. “GROWTH.”
Ava pulled back from Nate and looked at the sky. “I knew happiness was too quiet.”