Chapter Six Nate #2
Sponsor tents lined the main path in neat white rows.
Briar Bean had set up iced coffee pitchers.
Ridgeview Orthopedics had a table full of stress balls shaped like knees, which Beckett immediately declared upsetting.
The local radio station had a speaker playing summer pop.
Kids in camp jerseys darted between adults holding clipboards, drinks, cameras, and bad sunscreen decisions.
The relay course wrapped from the deck to the beach, across the grass, past the sponsor tents, and back toward the mini shooting station.
Public.
Loud.
Chaotic.
Exactly the kind of environment Tyler loved and Nate usually handled easily.
Today, every white sponsor tent looked suspicious.
“Stop scanning,” Griffin said as he passed with a box of water bottles.
Nate looked at him. “I’m checking the course.”
“You are checking for a man whose name makes your jaw do the thing.”
“My jaw is becoming unfairly maligned.”
Griffin handed him a water bottle. “Hydrate instead.”
Nate took it and spotted Soren near check-in, standing with their Team One shirts over one arm.
“Where’s Ava?” Nate asked.
Soren looked at him.
Nate corrected, “For team logistics.”
“Not here yet.”
“She’s late?”
“It’s nine-seventeen. Check-in is nine-thirty.”
“So she’s not late.”
“Correct.”
“You could have just said that.”
“You could have known it.”
Nate opened his mouth, then closed it.
Goalies were terrible people.
Tyler jogged up wearing his Team Three shirt backward. “Do I look aerodynamic?”
Miles followed, carrying the front of Tyler’s shirt like he had given up on dignity. “He got stuck.”
“I committed to the look,” Tyler said.
Beckett appeared with a clipboard he should not have had. “Good news. I have studied the relay stations and concluded that Team One’s biggest weakness is emotional tension.”
Nate pointed at the clipboard. “Where did you get that?”
“Borrowed.”
Griffin shouted from across the grass, “Wilder!”
“Temporarily acquired,” Beckett amended.
Nate took the clipboard and handed it to Griffin as he passed.
Griffin did not thank him. Griffin just looked relieved his blood pressure had survived another ninety seconds.
The crowd shifted near the sponsor tents.
Nate’s attention snapped there before he could stop it.
A man in a pale blue polo stood under the Hale Development banner, talking to Denise.
Dark blond hair. Expensive sunglasses. Watch too shiny for a lake charity event. Smile polished enough to sell something he did not own.
Nate knew instantly.
Trevor Hale.
The guy laughed at something Denise said, then glanced toward the check-in area like he had been waiting for the right audience.
Nate’s grip tightened around his water bottle.
It crinkled.
Soren looked at the bottle. “You’re killing that.”
Nate loosened his hand.
Trevor turned his head.
Their eyes met across the grass.
Trevor’s smile did not disappear.
It changed.
Smaller.
Sharper.
Recognition without introduction.
Nate felt his body settle the way it did before a faceoff.
Then Tyler whispered, “Oh, villain hair. Beckett was right.”
“Shut up,” Griffin said, arriving beside them.
“I said it quietly.”
“Not enough.”
Trevor looked away first, but not like he was backing down. Like he had already made his point.
Nate forced himself to look toward the parking lot.
And there she was.
Ava walked up the path from the staff lot wearing black shorts, white sneakers, her hair pulled up, sunglasses on, and the Team One shirt knotted at her waist like she had agreed to participate while also making clear the shirt worked for her, not the other way around.
Nate forgot Trevor for one full second.
Maybe two.
Ava saw the team staring.
She stopped beside the check-in table and looked down at her shirt. “What?”
Tyler clasped both hands under his chin. “Team spirit.”
“I will remove yours with scissors.”
“That sounds personal.”
“It can be.”
Soren nodded at Ava. “Lane.”
Ava nodded back. “Goalie.”
Nate smiled.
Ava turned that look on him immediately. “Do not be proud.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Your face was.”
“My face is being heavily criticized this weekend.”
“Deserved.”
She reached for a waiver form on the table, then paused.
Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but Nate saw it anyway.
The tiny shift.
The breath that did not quite finish.
She had seen the Hale Development tent.
Trevor had seen her too.
He straightened from his conversation with Denise and lifted one hand in a small wave.
Ava’s mouth went flat.
Nate waited.
Every protective, stupid, territorial part of him wanted to step closer. Block the line of sight. Ask one question. Make one promise. Turn himself into a wall she had not asked for.
Don’t turn caring into control.
Nate stayed where he was.
Barely.
Ava lowered her sunglasses just enough to look at Trevor over the top of them.
Then she lifted her hand and gave him the smallest, coldest wave Nate had ever seen.
Tyler whispered, “I think I just got frostbite.”
Ava pushed her sunglasses back up and signed the waiver.
Nate’s respect for her moved from inconvenient to dangerous.
Paulson blew a whistle near the start line. “Team One, photo and station briefing. Let’s move.”
Ava handed back the pen. “Great. A public obstacle course. Exactly what I wanted before coffee.”
Nate picked up an iced coffee from the Briar Bean table and held it out.
Ava stared at it.
“What is that?”
“Coffee.”
“I know what coffee is. Why do you have it?”
“You said before coffee.”
“I also said I was not participating in your emotional support hockey program.”
“This is logistical caffeine.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It has ice and a receipt.”
She looked at the cup.
Then at him.
“Did you poison it with charm?”
“No. Just oat milk. Ellie said you drink it that way.”
Ava’s head turned slowly toward the snack shack.
Ellie, standing at the service window, gave two thumbs up.
Ava mouthed, traitor.
Ellie blew her a kiss.
Ava took the coffee from Nate. “This changes nothing.”
“I know.”
“I am still annoyed.”
“Clearly.”
“And if this is terrible, I am blaming you.”
“The relay or the coffee?”
“Yes.”
Nate smiled.
Ava took one sip.
Her face did something almost spiritual.
Then she scowled at him, as if good coffee was another offense.
“Acceptable,” she said.
Tyler gasped. “That’s basically a proposal from her.”
Ava pointed at him without looking. “Shoes. Nacho cheese. Remember.”
Tyler stepped behind Miles.
Paulson called again, more desperately this time. “Team One!”
Nate, Ava, and Soren moved toward the start area.
The photographer stood ready near the challenge board.
Ava stopped.
Nate stopped too.
She glanced toward the Hale tent. Trevor was watching.
Of course he was watching.
Then Ava looked at Nate.
Not helpless.
Not asking to be rescued.
Calculating.
“Brennan,” she said.
His pulse kicked. “Lane.”
“If we have to take this stupid picture, we are not looking awkward.”
“No?”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
Close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.
Nate went very still.
Ava smiled toward the camera.
Bright.
Fake.
Lethal.
Then, without moving her smile, she said under her breath, “Congratulations. You have been temporarily promoted to useful.”
Nate looked down at her.
Every plan he had for discipline took one large step backward.
The camera clicked.
Across the grass, Trevor Hale’s smile vanished.
Ava kept smiling.
Nate did too.
And right before Paulson waved them toward the first station, Ava slipped her hand into Nate’s like it was part of the pose.
It was not part of the pose.
It was not part of the relay.
It was definitely not part of the bet.
Nate looked at their joined hands, then at her face.
Ava’s smile stayed fixed on the camera.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Do not make me regret this.”
Nate closed his fingers around hers.
Too late, he realized he was not thinking about winning the relay anymore.