Chapter Twenty-One Ava #2
He did not ask.
Good.
Terrible.
She took a breath.
“I don’t know yet,” she said.
Nate nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“But I think I have been confusing safe with alone.”
His face changed.
Ava’s throat tightened, but she kept going because if she stopped, she might never start again.
“And I think I have been letting Trevor’s version of me sit in rooms I already left.”
Nate said nothing.
Just listened.
The way he had been listening since the beginning, even when she had been too annoyed to appreciate it.
“And I think,” Ava said, voice smaller now, “that kiss was not just for points.”
Nate’s eyes went soft and wrecked all at once.
“No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”
Ava nodded.
Her phone buzzed.
Of course.
For once, she did not flinch.
She pulled it from her pocket and looked at the screen.
Trevor.
TREVOR: Dramatic speech. Hope he likes cleanup.
Ava stared at it.
Then another message appeared.
TREVOR: You always did love making men prove things.
The old Ava would have locked up.
The Ava from last week would have felt sick.
The Ava from Sunday would have handed the phone to Nate and waited to see if he believed her.
This Ava looked at the message, looked at Nate, and felt something settle.
Not fixed.
Not healed.
But hers.
She held the phone up so Nate could see.
Rule seven.
No secret Trevor texts.
Nate read it.
His jaw tightened.
Then he looked at her, waiting.
Ava smiled.
Not sweetly.
Not for him.
For herself.
“Watch this,” she said.
She tapped Trevor’s contact.
Blocked the number.
Then, because she was Ava Lane and sometimes closure deserved punctuation, she took a screenshot of the blocked notification and sent it to Ellie.
Ellie’s reply arrived immediately.
ELLIE: HOT GIRL ADMIN. PROUD.
Ava snorted.
Nate looked confused.
“Ellie says proud,” Ava said.
“Good. I am also proud, but I am trying not to sound like I am handing out emotional stickers.”
Ava looked up at him.
There he was.
Nate Brennan. Probably annoying. Intermittently smug. Dangerously decent. Too good with rolls. Terrible at not noticing. Worse at being easy to dismiss.
She stepped closer.
His breath caught.
Good.
Ava liked having evidence that she was not the only one standing in the middle of a feeling with no map.
“Rule update,” she said.
His mouth curved. “The scary notes app is not present.”
“This one is verbal.”
“Risky.”
“You ended a public bet with a microphone. Do not lecture me about risk.”
“Fair.”
Ava lifted her chin. “No more fake boyfriend.”
Nate went still.
For one awful second, she saw him brace.
Her heart kicked.
“Because,” she continued quickly, before either of them could spiral into noble stupidity, “if we keep doing this, I want it to be real enough that I do not need a cover story.”
The noise of the lawn faded.
Nate stared at her.
“Ava.”
Her name sounded like it mattered too much.
She held on to that.
“This is not me saying I have everything figured out,” she said. “I don’t. I still have rules. A lot of them. Some are probably irrational and several are in all caps.”
His smile flickered.
“But I know I do not want to stop because Trevor texted. I do not want to stop because your coach called. I do not want to stop because people are watching. And I really do not want to stop because I am scared that wanting something makes me too much.”
Nate stepped closer.
Still not touching.
“You are not too much,” he said.
Ava swallowed.
“You have known me less than two weeks.”
“Long enough to know that.”
“You said that before.”
“Still true.”
Her eyes burned.
“No making me cry at a lake event.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No.”
She laughed and wiped under one eye before the tear could commit publicly.
Nate looked at her like he wanted to hold her.
He did not.
Ava loved that.
No.
Not loved.
Respected.
Fine. Both were terrifying.
She held out her hand.
Nate looked at it.
Then at her.
“For performance?” he asked.
Ava shook her head.
His expression changed so fast it took her breath.
Wonder face.
Again.
Ava was beginning to suspect wonder face might be the thing that ended her.
Nate took her hand.
The contact was familiar now and not familiar at all.
No crowd reason. No Trevor reason. No relay reason. No sponsor reason.
Just her hand in his because she wanted it there.
“Okay,” Nate said quietly.
“Do not make okay emotional.”
“I don’t think I can help it this time.”
Ava looked up.
“Good,” she said.
His smile broke wide.
There it was.
The victory face.
She should have objected.
She did not.
Behind them, Tyler’s voice rose. “I AM RESPECTING THE BOUNDARY BUT I NEED EVERYONE TO KNOW I AM SUFFERING.”
Ava closed her eyes.
Nate laughed.
Griffin shouted, “Suffer quieter.”
Ruthie Lane called from the judges’ table, “Let the boy suffer. It builds restraint.”
Ava looked at Nate. “My grandmother has adopted your team.”
“That is probably good for us.”
“Or fatal.”
“Both can be true.”
She smiled.
Then the microphone squealed again.
Paulson, brave and exhausted, stood near the challenge board. “Final scores for the Wednesday cookout relay are ready. Team One takes first place.”
The crowd cheered.
Tyler yelled, “LOVE WINS SCHOLARSHIP MONEY.”
“Water,” Griffin barked.
Tyler turned toward the lake on instinct.
Nate looked at Ava. “Team One.”
She squeezed his hand. “Don’t get sentimental.”
“Too late,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed.
“On purpose,” he added.
“Persistent.”
“Very.”
Coach Doyle approached them before Ava could answer.
Ava’s grip tightened once.
Nate squeezed back.
Coach Doyle looked at Nate first. “Good work tonight.”
“Thank you, Coach.”
Then he looked at Ava. “You handled a difficult situation well.”
Ava blinked.
She had expected warnings. Optics. Maybe a polite adult version of please stop causing sponsor complications with your face.
Not that.
“Thank you,” she said.
Coach Doyle nodded. “For what it is worth, the program will handle Hale Development. You do not need to manage that yourself.”
Ava felt Nate go still beside her.
She looked at Coach Doyle. “Handle how?”
“Paulson and I will review the sponsor station. The relay prompt was inappropriate under the circumstances. So were the follow-up requests about public framing.”
Ava’s throat tightened.
Circumstances.
A careful word.
A respectful word.
Not demanding details.
Not making her explain.
“Okay,” she said.
This time, she meant it.
Coach Doyle’s eyes moved to their joined hands.
Nate did not let go.
Ava did not either.
The coach’s mouth twitched almost invisibly. “Try not to make Tyler unbearable.”
Nate said, “Too late.”
Ava gasped. “You cannot use my banned phrase on your coach.”
Coach Doyle looked between them. “I’m not asking. I’m assigning.”
Then he walked away.
Ava stared after him. “Is everyone around you terrifying?”
“Mostly.”
“That explains things.”
“Does it?”
“No. But I wanted to say it.”
He laughed.
The lawn began to thin after that. Families gathered bags.
Sponsors folded tablecloths. Kids complained about leaving.
Ellie hugged Ava so hard Ava lost one lung.
Karen kissed Ava’s cheek and whispered, “Happy looks good on you,” which nearly caused an incident.
Ruthie shook Nate’s hand and told him, “That was better than a ten. Do not become smug.”
Nate said, “I will try not to, ma’am.”
Ruthie looked at Ava. “He will fail. Supervise him.”
Ava said, “I did not apply for that position.”
Ruthie walked away smiling.
Eventually, the lights over the lawn dimmed to a softer glow, and the lake settled back into quiet. The event was over. The bet was over. Trevor was gone. The crowd was gone.
Ava and Nate stood near the old deck steps, still holding hands.
No one was watching now.
Well, Tyler was probably watching from behind a tree, but Griffin had operational control.
Nate turned toward her. “I meant what I said.”
Ava looked up. “About losing?”
“About all of it.”
Her chest tightened.
“I know,” she said.
“Do you?”
She almost teased him for stealing the question everyone had been throwing around all summer.
Instead, she nodded.
“I’m learning.”
His smile softened.
The space between them changed again.
Not public this time.
No prompt card.
No bonus points.
No reason.
Ava stepped closer.
“Rule update,” she whispered.
Nate’s eyes dropped to her mouth.
“Yes?”
“If we kiss again, no audience.”
His breath left him.
“That is a very good rule.”
“Excellent rule.”
“Possibly the best one.”
“Do not overpraise the rule.”
“Trying not to.”
She smiled.
Then she rose on her toes and kissed him.
This kiss was quieter.
No cheering. No score paddles. No Tyler experiencing a spiritual event nearby.
Just Nate’s hand at her waist, her fingers at his chest, the lake behind them, and the clean, terrifying knowledge that this was not a performance.
It was not careful in the way fear was careful.
It was careful in the way something mattered.
When Ava pulled back, Nate rested his forehead lightly against hers.
“No audience,” he said.
Ava opened her eyes.
Over his shoulder, Tyler’s muffled voice came from somewhere near the storage shed.
“I AM NOT WATCHING. I AM RESPECTING FROM A DISTANCE.”
Griffin yelled, “Tyler, run.”
Footsteps pounded away.
Nate closed his eyes.
Ava laughed so hard she had to hold on to his shirt.
And for the first time all summer, she did not feel like the story was happening to her.
She felt like she was writing it.