Chapter Fifteen
Avery
T he whine of the electric drill downstairs barely registers as I drag a brush through my tangled hair.
It’s been a week since we moved back home, and I should be thrilled.
No more walking on eggshells in someone else’s space.
No more worrying about tabloid photographers popping up out of Nash’s perfectly manicured hydrangea bushes.
Just me and Benji, back to our normal routine.
So why does our house feel so foreign all of a sudden?
I toss the brush onto my dresser and glance around the room.
Everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be with my beat-up dresser, mismatched nightstands, and a sagging mattress I’ve been meaning to replace for years.
I guess after a month of sleeping in Nash’s guest bed, it’s no wonder why my bed now feels like a slab of concrete.
That’s all it is, I tell myself. Material comforts. I just got spoiled a little.
A loud thud followed by laughter drifts up from downstairs, but I don’t hear Benji joining in.
Since we’ve been back, he’s been uncharacteristically quiet, disappearing into his room after school instead of practicing in the backyard or planting himself in front of the TV like he normally does.
When I asked him about it yesterday, he just shrugged and mumbled something about homework.
I head downstairs, and Mike is measuring the newly installed banister for the staircase while two of his crew members pack up tools.
His crooked smile greets me. “Morning, Ave. Looking good down here, huh?”
I nod, running my hand over the smooth railing. “Yeah. I can’t believe how fast you guys got everything done.”
“Not hard to do with my dad breathing down our necks.” He chuckles. “Speaking of which, I’ve got your final invoice.”
My stomach tightens as he leads me to the kitchen and retrieves a bill from the counter. This is the moment I’ve been dreading—finding out exactly how much of Benji’s tuition fund has been sacrificed to termites.
He hands me the sheet of paper, and I blink twice at the figure. “Mike, this can’t be right. It’s nearly six thousand less than your estimate.”
He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dad says consider it the ‘Mildred Morrow’ discount.”
“The… what? ”
“I don’t know. Something about your grandma helping him out back when he was just starting the business?
Says she loaned him some money once when the bank wouldn’t.
Guess he wanted to repay the favor.” Mike leans against the counter.
“It’s funny because he was dead set against going down on the price until I told him who it was for.
”My throat tightens. “I don’t know what to say. ”
“I didn’t either at first. But he said it was the least he could do for Millie’s granddaughter. Just keep looking out for that kid brother of yours. That’s all Dad asked.” He gestures toward Benji’s room. “Speaking of… he’s been awfully quiet this morning. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I think he just misses living with Nash.”
Mike nods. “Oh, right. The baseball player.”
As if on cue, Benji’s door creaks open, and he shuffles into the kitchen, still in his pajamas even though it’s almost noon.
“Hey, buddy,” Mike greets him. “What do you think of the new staircase?”
Benji shrugs. “It’s alright.” His gaze drops to his phone, and I catch a glimpse of what looks like the Chicago Street Sweepers’ game schedule before he tucks it away in his pocket.
Mike gives me a knowing look before turning back to Benji. “You know, my nephew Davey’s about your age. He’s got a batting cage set up in his backyard. I bet he’d love to practice with you sometime.”
“Thanks,” Benji mumbles, “but we already have batting cages at my school.”
The words hang in the air as he grabs a can of Coke from the fridge and retreats back into his room.
“Kids,” Mike says, packing up the rest of his tools. “Give him some time. He’ll come around.”
I nod, but I’m not so sure. As I watch Mike and his crew leave, I realize that fixing the house was the easy part. It’s the look in Benji’s eyes—that mixture of disappointment and resignation—that I have no idea how to repair.
And the strange emptiness in my chest? That’s just readjustment, I tell myself. I’m sure it has nothing to do with missing a certain arrogant shortstop or his devastating smile. Nothing at all.
When Monday rolls around, I’m straightening my blazer outside Salvatore’s office as Summer appears beside me with two fresh cups of coffee.
“Nervous?” she asks, offering me one.
“Should I be?” I accept the cup, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.
“Please. We both know why he called you in.” She nudges my shoulder. “He’s not exactly subtle. I saw him with the paperwork yesterday.”
Before I can respond, Salvatore’s door swings open. “Avery! Come in, come in.”
I shoot Summer a quick smile as she gives me a thumbs-up and mouths “You got this.”
Salvatore’s office is impeccably organized, with framed photos of celebrities who’ve visited the Dugout Club lining the walls. He gestures for me to sit as he settles behind his desk.
“Avery, I’ll get right to the point. Your work ethic, your attention to detail, and even your ability to handle difficult clientele have finally paid off.
” He slides a folder across his desk and nods.
“Now that your training is complete, what do you say we make your position as our new General Manager official?”
Even though I’ve been expecting it, hearing the words sends a wave of relief. I open the folder to find a freshly printed contract, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the salary figure on the first page. It’s nearly double what I’m making now.
“The position comes with full benefits, including health and dental insurance,” Salvatore continues. “And there’s a three-thousand-dollar sign-on bonus once you finish filling out all the paperwork.”
“Three thousand?” I mouth the words with shaky hands. “Thank you, Sir. I promise I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t.” He stands and reaches out his hand. “Despite all the recent distractions, I’d say you’ve earned it.”
The subtle reminder of Nash and the tabloid fiasco isn’t lost on me, but today, I give myself permission to push it out of my mind as I shake his hand.
Outside the office, Summer waits with a knowing smile. “Well?”
“I got it! Full benefits, a sign-on bonus… and dental!”
She squeals and throws her arms around me, pulling me in for a hug. “I knew it! We’re celebrating tonight. Drinks at O’Malley’s after our shift?”
“I can’t. I promised Benji I’d be home early.” I say, even though what I really want to do is surprise Benji with something special when he gets home from school. Something that will hopefully make up for us leaving things with Nash the way we did.
“Fine, but I’m not taking no for an answer this weekend,” she warns, heading back toward the kitchen.
On the way to inspect my new office, I pull out my phone, and before I realize what I’m doing, I scroll to Nash’s contact. My thumb hovers over the message field, and I begin typing: I did it. I got the job!
The urge to hit send comes with an unexpected force as I imagine Nash actually being happy for me.
I even let myself believe that he’d insist on taking me and Benji out to celebrate at some ridiculously expensive restaurant if things were how they used to be.
But I know they’re not. That chapter of my life is closed.
Deleting the draft, I tuck my phone away and quickly lose myself in the pages of my new contract.
Standing in the middle of Big Al’s Sports Emporium, I stare at a wall of baseball gloves that all look functionally identical to my untrained eyes. I pick one up that has a $59.99 price tag and examine the leather.
“That’s our entry-level model.” A salesman with a nametag that reads Derrick says, after appearing out of nowhere. “Good for beginners, but if your son’s serious about baseball, I’d recommend something more like this.” He reaches for a glove with a $149.99 tag.
“My brother,” I correct automatically. “And he’s pretty serious.”
I turn the more expensive glove over in my hands, noting the difference in quality.
With the sign-on bonus, I could easily afford it.
But Benji’s birthday is only a few months away, and I’d planned to get him a nicer one then.
Plus, I’m still on the line to come up with the rest of the money for Benji’s tuition.
My mind drifts to Nash, who would probably buy Benji the professional model locked in the display case without batting an eye. You know? The one with the $400 price tag that probably costs more than my first car payment.
“The sixty-dollar one will be fine for now,” I say, handing it back to Derrick. “He has another one at home. This is just to get him by until his birthday.”
At the checkout counter, while one of the younger female associates checks me out, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m somehow letting Benji down—which I know makes no sense at all.
A few months back, I would have been thrilled to find a glove like this on sale.
So why, all of a sudden, do I feel like it’s not good enough?
Back in the car, I tuck the bag under the back seat so it’s out of sight.
I’ll give it to him tonight after dinner and make it clear that a better one is coming for his birthday.
Then, as I’m sliding my key into the ignition, I make sure and scold myself for measuring my worth as Benji’s guardian against the standard of a billionaire baseball player.
“Cheers to being your boss and finally having health insurance!” I say, clinking glasses with Summer. It’s Friday night at O’Malley’s, Benji’s sleeping over at a friend’s house, and the bar is buzzing with an energy I can’t match despite my best efforts.
“To the new boss lady,” Summer grins. “How’s Benji liking his new glove?”
“He says he loves it.” I take a sip of my drink. “Even though he refuses to get rid of his old one.”
“Probably wants to hold on to it until he’s all big and famous, then sell it for a fortune. That’s what I’d do, at least.” Summer takes another sip and sets her martini glass down on the table. “So, with all this luck coming your way, Benji’s academy fund should be looking pretty hefty, huh?”
My smile fades as I reach for my phone. “It was, until this morning,” I say, pulling up the email I’ve read at least a dozen times. “The Willow Grant Foundation regrets to inform you...”
Summer’s face falls as she takes my phone and starts reading. “Oh, no! That was the big scholarship you were applying for, wasn’t it? Sweetie, I’m so sorry.”
“Yep. That’s five grand off the table.”
She winces. “Geez, I bet that one hurt.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong.” I drain half my glass in one go. “But it’s okay. I’ve worked out the numbers, and with my new salary, I should be able to qualify for a loan to cover whatever’s left. So technically, I’m still on track.”
“That’s great but… if that’s the case, mind explaining why the long face?”
“What? I don’t have a—“
“Ave, come on. You got your promotion. Your house is fixed. You even have a plan to pay for Benji’s school. You should be ecstatic right now—not looking like you’re dragging a hundred-pound weight around.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Just tired from all the extra hours at the club.”
“Bull.” Summer leans in, challenging me with narrowed eyes. “You want to know what I think? I think you’re throwing yourself into all these practical problems because it’s easier than admitting you made a mistake with Nash.”
Heat rises to my face. “That’s ridiculous. My problems have nothing to do with Nash.”
“Funny. I think they have everything to do with Nash. Every time his name comes up in conversation, you get that same sad look in your eyes. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’re always glued to your phone anytime the Sweepers are playing.”
“Oh, please.” I scoff, diverting my attention to the server passing by with a tray full of desserts.
“Face it. You left his house like it was on fire, and you’ve been running ever since. Benji, work, your basement—all ways of distracting yourself so you don’t have to admit how miserable you are without him.”
While finding ways to prove that she knows me better than I know myself may be her superpower, it doesn’t make it any less infuriating every time Summer’s right.
“Ok, fine. But assuming you’re right, what else was I supposed to do? Stay and risk losing everything I’ve worked for? You saw the tabloids. Besides, he left first... remember? ”
“What I remember is a guy who cared enough to check on you at work the day after his mother insulted you at the dinner table and you telling him to get lost.”
My last defense finally crumbles. “So? What does it even matter anymore?” I ask, sinking into my stool. “I’ve said it a thousand times. Nash and I are from two completely different universes. We don’t belong together.”
“That’s just an excuse, and you know it.” Summer’s voice softens as she reaches out and covers my hand. “You’re allowed to be happy, Ave. Even if you’re too afraid to admit it.”
I stare down at my glass for a long moment, unable to fight the sting of tears I’ve been holding back another second longer.
“I really am an idiot, aren’t I?” I finally say, choking out a laugh.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand while Summer reaches out and squeezes the other. “The biggest. But that’s why I love you.”
I squeeze back, another tear sliding down my cheek.
I wish I could take back the way I handled things that morning.
I should’ve given Nash a chance to explain why he didn’t come home.
It might not have changed my decision to leave, but at least I wouldn’t hate myself so much right now for being too afraid to face him.
It’s a cruel world when fear drives people to do crazy things—and the cruelest part is realizing I’m the architect of my own misery.