Chapter Sixteen
Nash
T wo weeks. It’s pathetic that I’m keeping track, but that’s how long it’s been since Avery and Benji left. And what’s even more pathetic is how I still reach for my phone every morning expecting a text from her.
The doorbell rings, dragging me away from the business plans I’ve been reviewing all morning. When I finally open the door, Linda’s standing on my porch, clutching a briefcase and wearing that no-nonsense realtor smile of hers.
“Good news,” she says, breezing past me. “I found three potential spaces that would be a perfect fit. Each one has the square footage you asked for, decent parking, and they’re all in neighborhoods that could benefit from a new youth program.”
I follow her into the kitchen, where she spreads several pages of listings across my counter.
“This one’s my favorite,” she says, tapping a photo of a brick building with high windows.
“Former community center that closed due to budget cuts. Already has locker rooms and enough space for batting cages.”
“Looks like it could work.” I lean over the photos, glad to have something concrete to focus on. The Diamond in the Rough Initiative has consumed most of my waking hours since... well, since I needed something to consume them.
“Coffee?” I offer.
“Is that a trick question? When have I ever said no to a cup of coffee?” Linda laughs and settles onto a barstool. “You’ve been so busy with meetings that I hardly see or hear from you anymore. Seems like you’re really giving it your all.”
I shrug, pulling a few ceramic mugs from the cabinet. “I guess so. Anything to get my mind on something other than batting averages, right?”
“And certain people who shall remain nameless?” she adds, with a knowing look that I ignore.
When I open the refrigerator to offer her milk, her gasp is almost comical.
“Nash Fontaine. Is that caramel coffee creamer I see in your fridge? You, the same guy who once gave me a twenty-minute TED Talk about how real coffee drinkers only take it black?”
I grab the almost empty bottle and set it on the counter. “Whatever. It’s just creamer.”
“It’s taking up half your door shelf.” She picks up the bottle and examines the label like it’s evidence from a crime scene. “French Vanilla Caramel Swirl, huh? You’re not going all soft on me now, are you?”
“It’s Avery’s,” I admit, scratching the back of my neck when saying her name out loud makes my hair stand on end. “Guess I never got around to throwing it out.”
Linda gives me a look that’s equal parts sympathy and amusement.
“Interesting. Especially considering how, in the past, you couldn’t get rid of any traces of other women fast enough when things went south.
There’s a simple cure for this, you know.
Why don’t you just call up that Victoria’s Secret model you met at the charity gala last week?
Or maybe that PR exec from Adidas. I’d bet you’d bounce back quicker if you had someone new to focus on. ”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, pouring coffee into each mug.
But the truth is, I don’t want someone new.
Don’t get me wrong—I’ve had plenty of offers since Avery left.
All from beautiful, accomplished women who’d be happy to spend time with Chicago’s star shortstop.
Still, the thought of taking any of them up on it feels shallow, like I’d just be going through the same motions I spent years trying to perfect.
Linda pours the last of the coffee creamer into her mug, and a strange lump forms in the back of my throat as I throw away the empty bottle.
“I just want you to be happy. You know that, right?” she says, with a concerned look.
“Linda, I’m happy. See?” I flash a playful smile as she stirs her coffee, but deep down, an ache burrows its way into the pit of my stomach.
An ache reminding me that no matter who I date, no amount of connections will ever add up to the one I built with Avery.
“Better!” I call out as Benji connects with another pitch. “Way to keep that elbow up.”
Benji smiles and readjusts his cap before stepping back up to the plate. “Coach says he wants to start me at pitcher the next few games.”
“You should give it a try. That arm’s looking major league already.”
I’m leaning against the fence outside the batting cages, watching him work on his swing, when I notice a weight settle in my chest. Next week marks the end of the Street Sweeper’s contract with Play It Forward , meaning my official role as Benji’s mentor will be over, too.
It’s a thought that feels wrong on so many levels, even though I know we’ll stay in touch.
“So,” I say when Benji stops for a water break, “how are things at home? House all fixed up now?”
“Yeah, finally.” He pauses to take a swig from his water bottle. “Now that the basement’s done, Avery says she’ll think about letting me turn it into a game room.”
“That’s great. How’s she been doing? With the new job and all, I mean?” I know it’s wrong trying to dig up information on Avery through her little brother, but it’s not like I can text her every time I want to hear about her day like I used to.
Benji shrugs. “She works a lot, and she’s always coming home late. Even had to hire some dumb babysitter to come over and watch me after school since she can’t always pick me up and bring me to the club to hang out like she used to. But she’s happy, I guess.”
Both of my palms prickle, and the next question slips out before I can stop it. “Do you know if she’s seeing anyone? A new boyfriend, maybe?”
Great, Nash. Just great. Why not advertise on the jumbotron how you’re still hung up on the poor kid’s sister?
Benji gives me a funny look. “Avery doesn’t… have boyfriends.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” He fidgets and adjusts the strap on his batting glove before returning to the box. “She just doesn’t date. Never has. Always said it was a waste of time.”
As Benji makes contact with the next ball, sending it flying off into the corner of the net,, the thought of Avery never dating lands with the same cracking force.
All this time, I’d imagined her life before me was filled with guys who never appreciated her and were the reason she had so many walls up in the first place.
I never considered the idea that they might only exist to protect her from the possibility of being hurt.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, and a volunteer blows his whistle.
“Alright, pack it up!” he shouts. “Storm’s coming in fast.”
“Already? But we just got started.” Benji looks disappointed but starts gathering his gear while the other kids scattered around the batting cage do the same.
“Safety first, Champ,” I say, offering to help him collect the stray balls. “Tell you what, we’ll make up for it next time.”
While Benji texts Avery about our early dismissal, I stand near an entrance that leads to the field as the first fat raindrops fall. By the time we reach the tunnel, it’s coming down in sheets.
“Avery says to meet her at the club for dinner,” he says, huddling beside me under the overhang.
“Need me to walk you up?”
He shakes his head and laughs. “It’s okay. I got it. See you next week?”
After Benji disappears through the set of doors that leads to the locker room, I jog the rest of the way out to the parking lot.
Rain plasters my shirt to my back, reminding me of another night, not too long ago—standing in my kitchen with water everywhere, and Avery looking up at me with mischievous eyes.
It was the night everything changed between us and a look that still haunts me to this day.
The next week rolls by way too fast, and before I know it, I’m sitting in my Range Rover outside a local community center, staring at my phone. I’ve typed and deleted the same message at least a dozen times: Heard about your promotion. Congratulations. You deserve it.
I read the message again, just to be sure I’m giving off cool and friendly vibes, rather than the “I miss you so much it physically hurts” vibes that I really feel.
I add: Would you and Benji want to grab dinner later? Last official day as his mentor.
My thumb hovers over the send button, and I sigh. This is stupid. Avery and I used to text for hours on end. Yet here I am, sweating over my words like they’re my last shot at negotiating a multi-million-dollar contract.
A knock on my window makes me jump. I look up to see Coach standing at my door, balancing a box of trophies in his hand.
I delete the draft, then pocket my phone as I open the door to greet him.
“You coming inside, or are you just planning to sit out here and melt?”
Before I can answer, he hands me the box of trophies. “Take these inside for me, will you? I think I left my phone in my truck. He turns and jogs back the way he came, and I walk the rest of the way to the main entrance by myself.
Inside, the community center’s gymnasium is decorated with Street Sweeper banners, streamers, and colored balloons to match.
Mentors from the team, along with their “little brothers” mill around, getting their fill on punch and cookies while the parents gush about how honored they are to have their children picked to be mentored by a bunch of professional athletes.
I spot Benji, deep in conversation with another boy his age, but there’s no sign of Avery. She must still be working.
Our closing ceremony is mercifully brief.
Because it’s not one of Play It Forward’s sanctioned events, Milo isn’t here to make another one of his heart-felt speeches, but Coach does a good enough job thanking me and the rest of the team for our willingness to serve.
After he thanks parents and volunteers, trophies are handed out, and one of the parents orchestrates a group photo.
Throughout it all, I find myself watching the door, half-expecting—hoping even—to see Avery walk in.
“And in the words of Miles O’Donnel,” Coach says at the end of his speech, “I just want to emphasize that while the Street Sweeper’s Summer Tour with Play It Forward may be officially ending, the connections you’ve made don’t have to.”
I think about the short time I spent getting to know Milo, remembering his words and how differently they hit now that I’ve had three months to let them sink in.
What started as a PR obligation quickly turned into something that’s changed my life in ways I never could’ve imagined.
Benji isn’t just some kid I was assigned to mentor.
He’s become like family to me. And so has his sister.
After the ceremony ends, I’m walking Benji to the parking lot when I see her.
Avery is standing on the other side of the lot, leaning against her car.
Even though her hair’s pulled back into a simple ponytail, and she’s still in her Dugout Club uniform despite the ninety-degree heat, she still looks radiant.
My heart skips with anticipation.
“There’s Avery,” Benji says, waving.
We approach her car, and for a moment, none of us seem to know what to say. The distance between us feels both infinite and paper-thin.
“Hey,” I finally manage.
“Hey, yourself,” she says, with the hint of a smile.
“How’s the new job?”
“Good. Busy.” She tucks a longer strand of hair from her bangs behind her ear, and all I can think about is how the soft lines of her neck might feel if I were kissing them right now. “Congratulations on your big win last night. Benji’s been talking about it all day.”
“It was nothing, really.” I shrug, hyperaware of Benji watching our awkward encounter. “But thanks.”
When he finally starts loading his trophy and backpack into the car, I search for something else to say to Avery that won’t reveal how desperately I’ve missed her.
“So,” I say under my breath as Benji climbs into the passenger seat, “do you two have any plans for tonight?”
Avery seems surprised by the question. “Ice cream. I, um… promised him we’d go for ice cream. To celebrate.”
“Oh. Right. Well, have fun... celebrating.”
I reach out to open her car door, and she reaches for the handle at the same time.
Our hands brush, the brief contact sending electricity up my arm.
When our eyes lock, she must notice the way my gaze falls to her perfect lips, because as soon as it does, she slips between me and the car door and into the driver’s seat just as fast.
“See you around, Nash,” she says.
“Yeah. See you.”
She puts on her seatbelt, and I close her door. Then, like some kind of lovesick puppy, I watch her drive away until her taillights disappear around the corner.
There was your shot, Nash. And just like always, you blew it.