Chapter Twenty-Two Nate #2
So Nate turned to Paulson. “Who selected the final station prompt deck?”
Paulson glanced down at his folder. “The deck was provided by Hale Development.”
Martin’s smile did not move. “Our staff prepared generic prompts.”
“Trevor was running the station,” Nate said.
Trevor tilted his head. “I was holding cards, yes.”
“And Ava drew the first kiss card.”
“Randomly.”
Nate nodded once. “Then my issue is with the station design, not the draw.”
Trevor’s eyes sharpened.
Good.
Nate looked at Paulson again. “A sponsor station asking public relationship questions puts staff partners in a bad position, especially at a family event with cameras out. Whether the card was random or not, that should not happen again.”
Doyle’s mouth barely moved.
Not a smile.
Close.
Martin studied Nate. “That is a fair operational note. It does not address the public comments afterward.”
“Mine?” Nate asked.
“Your statement about the bet.”
Nate nodded. “The bet should have ended sooner. I ended it.”
“In a way that implied misconduct.”
“It implied I was done letting a joke turn a person into a topic.”
Trevor leaned forward slightly. “Ava didn’t seem to mind the attention when it was useful.”
Nate felt the room tighten.
There it was.
The private blade slipping into a public meeting because Trevor could not quite help himself.
Doyle’s gaze moved to Nate.
Careful.
Nate looked at Trevor. “That is exactly the kind of comment that made the situation a problem.”
Trevor’s face cooled.
Martin looked at his son, quick and sharp.
Paulson wrote something down.
Nate turned back to Martin. “Ava did not ask for the bet. She did not ask to be part of a sponsor station that put her personal life in front of a crowd. She did not ask for a recap post framing the kiss as all in good fun. My statement was about stopping that.”
Martin’s fingers tapped once on the table.
“And the kiss?” Martin asked.
Nate did not blink. “Was between me and Ava.”
The room went very quiet.
Trevor’s mouth tightened.
Doyle sat back.
Paulson looked like he wanted to evaporate into his folder.
Martin studied Nate with the first real expression he had shown all morning.
Interest.
Possibly irritation.
“You understand,” Martin said, “that scholarship funding depends on relationships with sponsors.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And sponsors need to trust that their representatives will not be embarrassed at events they fund.”
Nate looked at Trevor.
Then back to Martin.
“Staff need to trust that sponsors will not embarrass them either.”
Doyle said nothing.
But the silence beside Nate felt like support.
Martin’s jaw shifted.
Trevor leaned back, smile gone now.
“This feels like an overreaction,” Trevor said. “Ava and I dated a long time ago. I made a joke. She made one back. Then your team turned it into a spectacle.”
Nate nodded.
“My team contributed,” he said. “So did I by not shutting down the bet on day one. That is mine. I owned it last night.”
Trevor had no answer to that.
Good.
“But,” Nate continued, “owning my part does not require Ava to carry yours.”
Martin looked at Trevor again.
Longer this time.
Trevor’s expression did something small and ugly before it smoothed out.
There.
Maybe Martin saw it.
Maybe he did not.
But Coach did.
Paulson did too.
Doyle finally spoke. “The program will review sponsor-led stations before future events. No personal relationship prompts. No participant-specific prompts. No public framing of staff or volunteers without consent.”
Martin’s eyes moved to Doyle. “And Hale Development?”
“Is welcome to remain a sponsor under those rules,” Doyle said. “If those rules are a problem, we can discuss that with the university.”
Nate kept his face neutral.
Inside, something unknotted.
Not entirely.
Enough.
Martin Hale was quiet for a long moment.
Then he stood.
“I will need to discuss this with our board.”
Board.
Nate heard the warning inside it.
Money did not yell. It withdrew politely.
Paulson’s face paled.
Doyle stood too. “Of course.”
Trevor stood last.
His eyes went to Nate.
This time, no smile.
“Hope she appreciates the trouble,” Trevor said softly.
Nate met his gaze.
“She is not trouble,” he said.
Trevor’s mouth tightened.
Then he left with his father.
The door closed.
Paulson exhaled like someone had pulled a plug.
Doyle looked at Nate. “You kept your head.”
Nate almost said barely.
Instead, he nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Paulson rubbed both hands over his face. “If Hale pulls funding, we are short five thousand on the scholarship goal.”
Nate’s chest tightened.
There it was.
The consequence.
The thing Ava would hear and turn into proof that her needs cost people something.
Doyle saw his face. “Do not hide that from her.”
Nate looked at him. “I know.”
“Do you?”
Nate laughed once. “Everyone keeps asking me that.”
“Then everyone is waiting for the answer to improve.”
Nate nodded.
Doyle’s expression softened by a fraction. “You did the right thing. The right thing still has paperwork.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go talk to her.”
Nate left the athletic office with the worst kind of relief sitting in his chest.
The kind that came with a bill.
He called Ava from the parking lot.
She answered on the second ring.
“Useful version,” she said.
His heart twisted.
“The station design is getting reviewed,” Nate said. “No more relationship prompts. No recap post. Coach backed the consent rule. Paulson agreed.”
Ava was quiet.
“That sounds good,” she said carefully.
“It is.”
“And the part you have not said yet?”
Nate closed his eyes.
She heard too much.
He loved that.
No.
Not now.
“Hale Development may reconsider funding,” he said.
Silence.
A long one.
Nate stood beside his truck and hated every inch of it.
“How much?” Ava asked.
“Five thousand.”
Her breath changed.
“Ava.”
“No,” she said quickly. “I know what you are going to say.”
“I doubt that.”
“You are going to tell me it is not my fault.”
“It is not your fault.”
“See?”
“Because it is true.”
“It is also convenient.”
“No. Convenient would be letting them buy silence.”
She inhaled sharply.
Nate leaned against his truck, voice low. “A sponsor choosing to pull money because they cannot run a station that corners people is not your fault.”
Ava did not answer.
He could picture her. Maybe behind the snack shack. Maybe in her car. One arm folded tight, phone pressed to her ear, face trying to turn everything into manageable pieces while the old story whispered that wanting dignity made her expensive.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Lake.”
“Shift?”
“In twenty.”
“I am coming.”
“Nate.”
“Not to fix it. To tell you the rest in person.”
“There is more?”
He hesitated.
Then chose the useful version.
“Trevor said he hoped you appreciated the trouble.”
Ava went silent again.
Nate’s hand tightened around the phone.
“I am going to murder him with a lemonade scoop,” she said.
Nate’s laugh came out rough with relief. “I will provide an alibi.”
“No. We are mature now, apparently. Very inconvenient.”
“Terrible development.”
She exhaled.
It was not quite a laugh.
But it was close enough to keep him standing.
“I will meet you by the old dock,” she said.
“Ten minutes.”
“Do not speed.”
“Bossy.”
“Persistent.”
She hung up.
Nate made it to Lake Briar in eight minutes and claimed traffic had been emotionally cooperative.
Ava waited near the old dock, arms folded, visor crooked, sunglasses on. The lake glittered behind her. The snack shack hummed in the distance. No crowd. No Tyler. No sponsor tent.
Just Ava.
Nate stopped a few feet away.
She lifted one brow. “Ten minutes?”
“Emotionally cooperative traffic.”
“That sentence sounds illegal.”
“Probably.”
Her mouth almost moved.
Then it did not.
The heaviness returned.