Chapter Twenty Nate
The worst part about kissing Ava Lane was not the kiss.
It was the five seconds afterward, when Nate Brennan realized no version of him wanted it to be pretend.
Not for points.
Not for Trevor.
Not for a station prompt, a crowd, a sponsor, or a bet that had started as Tyler’s worst contribution to modern society.
The kiss had happened in public, but the truth of it had not felt public at all.
It had felt like Ava choosing the room.
Choosing herself.
Then, somehow, choosing him to stand inside that choice with her.
Which was why Nate was currently standing twenty feet from the challenge board with wet grass under his shoes, a half-packed relay course around him, and his entire nervous system behaving like someone had put it in the dryer with a hockey puck.
Across the lawn, Ava was talking to Ellie near the drink station.
Talking was a generous word.
Ellie was flapping both hands and clearly trying to communicate through silent screaming. Ava was pointing at her with one finger, probably issuing legal threats. Her cheeks were still flushed. Her hair had loosened around her face. She kept pretending not to glance toward Nate.
She glanced anyway.
Nate saw it.
Ava saw him see it.
Her eyes narrowed.
His mouth curved before he could stop it.
She turned away so fast Ellie nearly spilled a tray of cups.
Nate felt that smile in his chest like a bad idea with excellent timing.
“You are smiling like a man with no survival instincts,” Griffin said beside him.
Nate looked over.
Griffin stood with two folding chairs under one arm and a face built entirely out of judgment.
“I have survival instincts,” Nate said.
“No. You have reflexes. Different thing.”
Beckett appeared on Nate’s other side. “I agree with Hayes. Reflexes get you out of danger. Survival instincts prevent you from publicly kissing a woman in front of her grandmother, her ex, your team, and a sponsor tent.”
“It was a station prompt,” Nate said.
Beckett stared.
Griffin stared.
Soren, who had approached silently because goalies were half ghost, said, “That defense is weak.”
Nate looked at him. “You’re still judging?”
“The station ended. Judgment continues.”
“You gave us a nine.”
“There was room for improvement.”
Beckett pressed both hands to his heart. “Imagine what a ten would do to the ecosystem.”
Nate pointed at all three of them. “No commentary.”
“That’s not realistic,” Beckett said.
“Try.”
Griffin studied Nate’s face. His humor faded first, which told Nate the conversation had shifted. “You good?”
Nate looked back at Ava.
She was now stacking cups with unnecessary violence while Ellie appeared to be offering emotional support through shoulder shimmying.
“No,” Nate said honestly.
Soren nodded once, as if that was the correct answer.
Beckett’s expression softened in a way he would deny under oath. “Because of the kiss or because of everything after?”
“Yes.”
“Strong answer.”
Griffin set the chairs down. “Hale is still here.”
Nate already knew.
He could feel Trevor near the sponsor tents like a bad smell dressed well.
“I know.”
“Do not do anything,” Griffin said.
“I wasn’t.”
“Your shoulders were.”
Nate exhaled. “Everyone is very invested in my body language tonight.”
“Your body language keeps applying for warrants,” Soren said.
Beckett pointed at him. “That was almost funny.”
Soren blinked. “It was accurate.”
“Even better.”
Nate looked toward the Hale Development tent. Trevor stood with two men in polos, laughing with his head tilted at the exact angle of a man performing harmlessness. Nate recognized the pose now. He had seen enough of Trevor’s texts to understand the pattern.
Public ease.
Private blade.
Trevor looked over.
Their eyes met.
Trevor smiled.
Nate did not.
Griffin stepped slightly into Nate’s line of sight. “Brennan.”
“I see him.”
“I know. That’s the issue.”
Nate forced his gaze away.
Be steady.
The phrase had sounded simple when Soren said it.
It was less simple when the man who had spent years teaching Ava to distrust wanting things stood across the lawn looking like he had enjoyed watching her shake.
Nate needed to find Ava.
Not to ask what the kiss meant. Not yet. Not in the middle of a lawn surrounded by kids, sponsors, parents, and Tyler, who had been banned from spreadsheets but not from having eyes.
But he needed to tell her one thing before Trevor could get there first.
It was not nothing.
And Nate was not going to pretend it was.
He took one step toward the drink station.
Paulson intercepted him with a clipboard.
Nate nearly groaned.
Clipboards had become an omen.
“Brennan,” Paulson said. “Quick word.”
Nate stopped. “If this is about Tyler, I can provide an alibi or an apology, depending on what he did.”
“It’s not Tyler.”
“That’s new.”
Paulson did not smile.
Nate’s stomach tightened.
Griffin and Soren moved closer without making it obvious. Beckett did not move closer because Beckett had never made anything not obvious in his life.
Paulson lowered his voice. “The relay clip is already online.”
Nate looked toward Ava.
She was watching now.
Of course she was.
He turned back to Paulson. “What clip?”
Paulson’s face said he hated the answer. “The final station. The prompt. The kiss.”
Nate’s jaw tightened before he could stop it.
Paulson noticed.
So did Griffin.
“Who posted it?” Nate asked.
“Guests. Two campers’ parents. Someone from the local radio account. A few student accounts. The Ridgeview Challenge account has not posted it.”
“Good. Don’t.”
Paulson blinked. “That’s what I wanted to discuss.”
Nate’s gaze sharpened. “No.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“If the sentence involves posting Ava’s kiss for engagement, no.”
Paulson held up one hand. “It does not. I am not trying to make anyone uncomfortable.”
“Great. Then we’re done.”
“We are not,” Paulson said, more firmly. “Hale Development is asking that we put out a neutral recap tonight. Keep the focus on the charity challenge, not personal drama.”
There it was.
Nate looked toward the sponsor tent.
Trevor was not laughing now.
He was watching.
Of course.
“Personal drama,” Nate repeated.
Paulson sighed. “Their phrase, not mine.”
“And what would this neutral recap say?”
Paulson glanced at the clipboard.
Nate hated the clipboard more with each passing second.
“Something simple. ’The couples relay was all in good fun for bonus points. Thanks to our sponsors for supporting youth scholarships.’”
Nate felt the words hit like a bad check.
All in good fun.
For bonus points.
He looked at Ava again.
She had stopped stacking cups.
She could not hear them from there. Probably.
But she knew something was wrong.
Nate could see it in the way her shoulders shifted, the way her humor shut off.
No pretending that kiss was only for points.
Her rule.
Their rule.
“No,” Nate said.
Paulson’s brows lifted. “Brennan.”
“No post that frames the kiss. No post that makes Ava look like entertainment. No post that uses the phrase all in good fun.”
“The sponsor is trying to keep things from escalating.”
“The sponsor created the station.”
Paulson looked pained. “I know.”
“Then they don’t get to light the match and complain about smoke.”
Beckett whispered, “Excellent line.”
Griffin said, “Not now.”
Paulson lowered his voice further. “I need you to understand the bigger picture. This challenge funds scholarships. Sponsors matter. The school matters. Your team matters. Your coach will hear about this.”
There it was too.
Coach.
Team.
Captaincy.
The fall Nate had spent all summer trying not to sabotage.
He felt Griffin look at him.
Soren too.
Paulson softened slightly. “You are one of the faces of this program. I know you did not ask for all of this, but optics matter.”
Nate almost laughed.
Optics.
Another word for letting other people decide what something looked like from far away.
Ava had been living under optics all week.
Trevor’s nice smile. Trevor’s sponsor table. Trevor’s harmless drop-ins. Trevor’s careful little comments that sounded small until they were inside her chest.
Nate was not adding his name to that list.
“If Coach wants to talk to me, he can,” Nate said. “But don’t post anything about Ava without asking her first.”
Paulson studied him.
Then he nodded. “Fair.”
Nate’s shoulders eased by half an inch.
“I will draft something about the scholarship totals only,” Paulson said. “No station specifics. No clip. No kiss.”
“Thank you.”
“But Brennan?”
Nate waited.
“You need to be careful.”
The phrase was getting old.
“With Ava?”
“With everything that comes next.”
Paulson walked away before Nate could answer.
Nate stood there, the music and crowd noise moving around him, feeling like the entire evening had tilted without asking permission.
Griffin stepped closer. “You handled that right.”
Nate looked at him. “Did I?”
“Yes.”
“Because it feels like I just picked a fight with a sponsor.”
“You picked a boundary with a sponsor.”
Beckett nodded. “Different sport. Better uniforms.”
Soren looked toward Ava. “She should hear it from you before she hears a version from someone else.”
Nate nodded.
That was the plan.
Straight to Ava. Tell her Trevor tried to get the kiss framed as station content. Tell her Paulson agreed not to post it. Tell her Nate had not agreed to make it small.
Easy.
Essential.
He started toward the drink station.
His phone rang.
Coach Doyle.
Nate stopped walking.
Griffin saw the screen. His face changed.
“Take it,” Griffin said.
Nate did.
“Coach.”
“Brennan,” Doyle said. “You still at the lake?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I won’t keep you long. I got a call from Paulson. Also saw a few clips online.”
Nate closed his eyes.
Of course.
“Yes, sir.”
“Sounds like the sponsor station went sideways.”
“It was set up badly.”
“That may be true.”
Nate could hear the coach voice underneath the words. Calm. Controlled. Never wasting syllables. The voice of a man who did not care about excuses unless they became habits.
Doyle continued, “I also heard you pushed back on a recap post.”
Nate looked toward Ava again.
She was still watching.
Her face was unreadable now.
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”