Chapter Ten
Nash
I stretch out on the couch, flipping through channels until I find SportsCenter . The house is quiet except for the muffled sounds of Avery helping Benji get ready for bed upstairs. It’s been a week since I returned from that road trip, and I still can’t believe how different everything feels.
When I pulled up last Friday and Benji greeted me with a hug, something inside me shifted.
And with Avery waiting there on the porch—it’s like she’s everything I ever wanted but didn’t know I needed, and I’ve spent every night since then thinking about how badly I wanted to kiss her.
And still do, if I’m being honest with myself.
“A house becomes a home when it holds more than just possessions.” Milo’s words pop into my head.
At first, I thought he was full of it, but maybe he was onto something.
Coming home to Benji’s cleats by the front door, homework spread across the kitchen table, and the smell of a meal cooked by this beautiful woman who, somehow, no longer looks at me like she wants to run me over with her car, are all signs of a life I never realized I was missing.
The weirdest part? I don’t miss the life I had before them at all.
The clubs after games, the endless parade of women whose names I barely remembered—it all seems so shallow now.
During that last away series, when the guys would go out to hit the town, I’d head back to the hotel early.
I told them I needed rest, but really, I just wanted to text Avery. Sounds pathetic, right?
But there’s something different about her.
Like the way she rolls her eyes any time I mention my contract numbers, or how she insists on cooking every meal, even when she knows I have Jorge on my payroll.
It’s like she’s completely immune to my fame and my money.
And somehow, that makes me want her to notice me even more.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table with a text from Carmen.
Good news, superstar. Don’t know how you’re doing it, but keep up the good work. Morrison Athletic just sent over an endorsement offer. TWO MILLION for a three-year deal. Call me tomorrow.
I stare at the message, expecting to feel a rush of satisfaction. But instead, I feel… nothing. Last month, two million would’ve had me out buying rounds for the house to celebrate. Now, I’m wondering if Avery would think it’s stupid for a company to pay me that much money just to rep their brand.
From upstairs, I hear Benji laugh, followed by Avery’s stern voice telling him he didn’t brush long enough. It’s a sound that makes me smile like no endorsement deal ever could.
Maybe it’s time I do something more meaningful with my life besides being just another insanely rich jerk who knows how to hit a baseball. Something that would make Avery look at me like she did the day I gave her that rose. Like maybe there was more to me than just what the world sees.
The next morning, I’m leaning against the dugout fence at Clearway Park, watching Benji practice batting.
With a little elbow grease, his form has improved by a mile in the last month.
And that’s not just my own biased opinion either.
Benji mentioned yesterday that his Little League coach nominated him for the All-Star team.
As Benji connects with the next fastball and sends it sailing into right field, something catches my eye.
His glove, tucked under the bench beside me, looks worse than ever.
I pick it up to examine it and feel my chest tighten.
The leather is cracked along the pocket, and there’s a fresh strip of silver duct tape wrapped around a new hole in the webbing.
When Benji jogs back to the dugout, I casually hand him the glove.
“Nice hit, Champ, but what happened here?”
Benji shrugs and reaches for his water bottle. “The webbing started coming apart during practice last week. Avery tried to fix it, but we didn’t have any leather strips, so...” He trails off, suddenly looking embarrassed.
“And this is your only glove, right?”
He nods. “Avery says I’ll get a new one for my birthday.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good news. When’s your birthday?”
“August.” He takes a swig of water, eyes fixed on the next batter stepping up to the plate.
Across the field, I notice Justin Banks, another mentor in the program, handing his mentee what looks like a brand-new bat.
The boy barely glances at it before adding it to his collection of top-of-the-line equipment.
I remember being that kid—privileged, oblivious, and always thinking that I deserved the best of everything.
My father never missed an opportunity to remind people how much my first “professional quality” glove cost.
What did I learn from it? That money solves problems. That value equals price tag.
August is still three months away. I know I could buy Benji the best glove on the market right now—ten of them, in fact—and never miss the money. But I’ve also been around Avery long enough to know she would never let him keep it.
When Benji finally returns to the batting lineup, I stare at his taped glove as a new idea takes shape.
What if there was a way to help kids like Benji without just throwing money at them?
A way to preserve their dignity while still providing opportunity?
It may be the first time in my life I’ve wondered how my privilege could be used for something other than my own comfort, but better late than never.
By noon, storm clouds are rolling in fast, and Benji and I have to make a mad dash to the parking lot after they call it a day.
We’re both soaked by the time we slide onto the leather seats of my Range Rover, rain hammering against the roof as I blast the heat to stop Benji’s shivering.
“That was awesome!” he says through chattering teeth. “Did you see how far I hit that last one?”
I laugh, handing him an extra towel from my bag to dry his wet hair. “Sure did, All-Star.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re both laughing as we burst through the front door and start tracking puddles across the hardwood.
At the sound of the commotion, Avery looks up from her laptop at the kitchen table.
“Oh my gosh, you guys are soaked!” Her eyes are wide as she jumps out of her chair and grabs a stack of dish towels from a nearby drawer. “Wait! Just… don’t move! You’re dripping water everywhere.”
“Relax, Ave. It’s just water,” I say, flashing a grin as I take one of the towels and run it over my hair.
She narrows her eyes, and the way her cute little nose scrunches up when she’s irritated makes the urge to kiss her even more unbearable.
“Upstairs. Shower. Now,” she says to Benji. “You too,” she adds, pointing at me with a stern look that makes my stomach flip. “You’re going to track mud all over the place.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a mock salute. This earns me another one of her adorable eye rolls. Only this time, I swear I see her blush when I smile and wink.
By the time I come back downstairs in dry clothes, Avery is setting the table for dinner, and the normalcy of it all hits me at once.
Coming home to home-cooked meals every night.
Benji chattering about his day between bites at the dinner table.
Avery asking questions about my day and actually caring about the answers.
All of it makes me wish it didn’t have to end so soon. Then again, maybe it doesn’t.
After dinner, Benji heads upstairs to finish his homework, leaving Avery and me alone to clean up. She loads the dishwasher while I clear the table, and for a moment, it feels like we’ve been doing this dance for years.
“Benji’s really improving,” I say, setting a stack of plates by the sink. “His coach nominated him for the All-Star team.”
Her face lights up. “Really? Well, why didn’t he say anything!?”
“Probably too busy stuffing his face. Jorge might quit on me after I tell him I like your lasagna better.”
“Oh, now I know you’re full of it!“ She laughs out loud and snaps at me with a kitchen towel. Her smile is so big, it makes my heart hammer against my chest. “But seriously, thank you. For working with him.” She places a hand on my arm, and I lean into her touch.
“He’s a great kid. You’ve done an amazing job with him, you know.”
I watch a flush creep up her neck as she turns back to the sink. “He’s the one person I can’t afford to fail.”
Something in her voice lures me in, and before I can stop myself, I reach out and run a hand over her shoulder. “You’re not failing him, Avery. Not even close.”
She looks up, and when our eyes meet, she doesn’t pull away. The moment that stretches between us is charged with something neither of us is ready for.
Then, without warning, she flicks on the sink sprayer and aims it directly at my chest.
“Hey—!” I splutter as cold water soaks my clean shirt. “You did not just do that!”
She’s laughing now, a full, uninhibited sound I’ve never heard before. “Your face!”
I lunge for the nozzle, but she dances away, keeping it trained on me. Water shoots across the kitchen as we struggle for control, both of us laughing like a couple of teenagers. Finally, I’m able to grab her wrist and pin her against the counter with my body to stop the assault.
We’re both breathing hard now, our faces only inches apart. Water drips from my shirt onto her, and somehow, my hands find their way to her waist. Her laughter fades, and intensity fills her eyes.
“Nash.” Her voice is quiet, and I swear it’s the first time I’ve ever heard my name sound like a prayer.
I don’t remember which of us moves first, but suddenly my lips are on hers, and everything else fades away.
Her mouth is soft, hesitant at first, then increasingly confident as her hands slide up my chest. I cup her face, brushing my thumb across her cheek and marveling at how perfectly she fits against me.
When we break apart, her eyes are dark. Questioning. I kiss her again, slower this time, my heart hammering against my ribs. I know I’ve kissed plenty of girls before, but Avery is the first ever to make me feel like I’m flying and falling at the same time.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I gave you that rose,” I whisper against her lips.
“Certainly took you long enough,” she says with a sly smile.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it, losing myself in another kiss. When it buzzes again, Avery pulls back slightly.
“You should probably get that,” she says.
I step back and reluctantly pull out my phone, the smile on my face dying as soon as I read the text from my mother.
In town for a few days. Dinner tomorrow night. Non-negotiable. —Mom and Dad