Chapter Seventeen
Avery
I ’m already half an hour late when I pull into the community center parking lot. The “General Manager” title on my new business cards might look impressive, but it also means I couldn’t get out of today’s last-minute budget meeting—even if it meant missing my brother’s closing day ceremony.
Guilt twists in my stomach as I park. This was Benji’s big day, and I missed it. Another item on the growing list of ways I’ve been failing him lately.
I spot them immediately. Benji is talking, using wild hand gestures, while Nash nods with a megawatt smile that makes my chest ache. They look so comfortable together that, for a moment, I consider staying in the car to give them a little more time together until Benji sees me and waves.
“There’s Avery,” he calls out.
I watch Nash’s expression shift from relaxed to guarded in an instant, then straighten my uniform skirt and smooth my ponytail, suddenly conscious of how I must look after today’s insane lunch rush. Not that it matters. I know better than to care about what Nash Fontaine thinks of me.
Except I do care. Heaven help me, I really do.
“Hey,” Nash says, the single syllable sending a ridiculous flutter of butterflies through my stomach as he and Benji approach.
“Hey, yourself,” I reply, hating the way my voice betrays me. The last thing I need is for Nash to think I’m flirting, but it’s pretty hard to do when the words come out sounding more like a sultry moan than a casual greeting.
“How’s the new job?” His eyes study my face like he’s searching for something.
“Good. Busy.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, hyperaware of his gaze tracking my every move. “Congratulations on your big win last night. Benji was talking about it all morning.”
“It was nothing, really.” He shrugs, his expression remaining carefully neutral. “But thanks.”
Benji loads his gear into the car, and I secretly hope he hasn’t picked up on the current of tension running between Nash and me.
As Benji climbs into the passenger seat, Nash leans closer. “So, do you two have any plans for tonight?”
The question catches me off guard. “Ice cream,” I blurt out. “I um… promised him we’d go for ice cream. To celebrate.”
“Oh. Right. Well, have fun... celebrating.”
I reach for my door handle and immediately start second-guessing myself. Was there an invitation hidden somewhere behind Nash’s question? Our fingers touch, and the contact sends a jolt through me that has nothing to do with static electricity.
His gaze meets mine, and his focus drops to my lips. Suddenly, everything feels too intense, and I’m afraid I might do something stupid like beg him to forgive me. Or… let him kiss me.
“See you around, Nash,” I manage to say as I quickly duck under his arm and slide into my car seat.
“Yeah. See you.”
He closes my door, and as we drive away, I watch him in the rearview mirror, growing smaller with distance.
“You should have invited him.”
The sound of Benji’s voice breaks my train of thought, and I grip the steering wheel tighter. “What?”
“For ice cream.” He gives me a knowing look. “He would have said yes.”
I don’t answer, silently cursing myself for not thinking of the idea first. Although, in my defense, how was I supposed to think clearly with Nash looking at me the way he was? I’m surprised I managed to form words at all, let alone entire sentences.
Just another missed opportunity to fix what I broke. Surprise, surprise.
“You sure you don’t want the last bite?” I hold out the half-melted remains of my hot fudge sundae, but Benji shakes his head.
“I’m good.”
We’re sitting in a corner booth at The Scoop Shoppe, winding down, with Benji growing suspiciously quiet now that the initial excitement’s worn off. He’s been pushing the same sprinkle around his bowl for the last five minutes.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I ask, setting my spoon down. “You finally crashing from a sugar rush, or is there something else on your mind?”
He shrugs, the universal preteen response to any question that involves emotions.
“Come on, Benji. Talk to me.” I reach across the table to touch his hand. “Is it about the mentorship ending? Because you know Nash said you guys can still hang out.”
“It’s not that.” He hesitates, fidgeting with his spoon. “Well, not just that.”
“Then what is it?”
Benji looks up with a more serious expression. “Do you ever miss it? Living at Nash’s house?”
The question catches me off guard. “I... sometimes. Why?”
“I miss it. All the time,” he admits quietly. “And not just because of how much nicer it was compared to our house. Things felt different when we lived there. Like we were a...” His voice trails off, and he looks at me like he’s too afraid to finish.
“Like we were what?”
“Nothing. It’s stupid.”
I squeeze his hand. “Hey. Nothing you feel is stupid.”
He takes a deep breath. “Like we were a family.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I’ve been so focused on trying to give Benji stability and protecting him from disappointment, that I hadn’t realized what he’d found with Nash—what we’d both found.
“Benji, about that night we left...” I start, unsure how to explain my fears in a way that would make sense to a twelve-year-old.
“I already know why you wanted to leave,” he interrupts, “but you didn’t even ask Nash why he didn’t come home that night. So, I did.”
I freeze. “What? Benji…when?”
“At practice. Last week.” Benji’s eyes meet mine, and suddenly my baby brother is all grown up.
Only, I’m not so sure I’m ready for what him being all grown up looks like.
“He said there were photographers following him after that article came out. He was afraid they’d follow him home, and it would make things worse for your job. ”
“He told you that?”
Benji nods. “He said sometimes the best way to protect people you care about is to stay away, even when it’s the last thing you want to do.”
My chest tightens. Summer tried to tell me I had overreacted, but with Salvatore breathing down my neck, what was I supposed to do?
Even if Nash was trying to protect me, he would’ve only been delaying the inevitable.
I just wish I’d given him a chance to explain instead of packing up and running at the first sign of smoke.
It was a cruel thing to do. And Nash didn’t deserve it.
“Did he say anything else?”
“Just that he was sorry everything got so complicated.” Benji studies my face. “He really liked us living there, Ave. And I liked it, too.”
I swallow hard as my heart sinks. “So did I.”
“Then why did we leave like that? Why didn’t you just talk to him?”
The honest question deserves an honest answer. “Because I was scared. And when I get scared, I run. It’s easier than risking getting hurt.”
“Like Mom and Dad did to us?” Benji asks quietly.
I nod, unable to speak as tears fill my eyes. I’ve spent years judging my parents for taking the easy way out and walking away when things got hard. And then I did the exact same thing to Nash.
“Do you think it’s too late?” Benji asks with a hopeful voice. “To fix it?”
I stare at my melted ice cream, wondering the same thing. I’m not sure if there’s a road back after the way I left things, or if Nash would even have me if there was.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to try.
“Pepperoni or cheese?” I ask, scrolling through the menu for Mr. Guy’s Pizza in my Door Dash app.
“Both!” Benji calls from the living room where he’s already flipped on the game. “Nash is up to bat!”
Excitement courses through me as I hurry and place our order, then rush to join Benji on the couch.
The pizza arrives half an hour later, and Benji and I stuff ourselves while Nash’s team dominates the field. Or at least, I would be stuffing myself—if I wasn’t so fixated on the ache in my chest that grows by the inning. There must be some way to win back the heart of number fifty-five.
When the game ends with another Chicago victory, Benji’s phone buzzes.
“It’s a text from Nash!” His eyes widen. “He says turn it to Channel 8!”
I grab the remote and quickly change the channel. My heart flips when Nash’s face appears on screen. He’s standing at a podium covered in microphones, and I immediately recognize the space as the inside of Clearway Park’s press center.
“Thank you all for coming.” Nash’s familiar voice fills our living room, making my skin tingle.
“I’m here tonight to announce something that’s been in development for quite some time now.
It’s called the Diamond in the Rough Initiative—a program designed to provide quality baseball equipment and mentorship to underprivileged youth in Chicago. ”
My breath catches, and I listen intently as he goes on to explain details for a new outreach program.
“Benji, do you know anything about this?”
He shakes his head, eyes still glued to the TV. “No, but it sounds really cool!”
I look back at the screen in time to catch Nash’s green eyes smoldering as he stares into the camera.
“Someone very special once told me that the most valuable things in life... you can’t buy with money,” he says.
My heart stops. Those are… my words. “It took me longer than it should have to understand what she meant, but I get it now. The value of a baseball glove isn’t in its price tag.
It’s in the dreams it helps our young athletes chase. ”
Benji elbows me with his arm while bouncing in his seat. “Avery! He’s talking about us!”
Tears blur my vision as Nash describes how mentoring with Play It Forward changed his perspective on what it means to be a role model. He never mentions Benji by name, but I know this change is because of him. Because of us.
Realization hits me like a bolt of lightning. “I have to tell him,” I say in a whisper.
Benji’s already jumping off the couch. “Tell him what?”
“That I’m sorry. And I was wrong. And that I—“
“That you love him?“ Benji grins and starts making kissing sounds.
I grab a pillow from the couch to hit him with, but I’m distracted when a reporter asks Nash about his upcoming road trip. My stomach drops.
“We leave tomorrow morning for a two-week stretch,” Nash confirms. “First stop, Cincinnati.”
“We have to go tell him. Now! “ Benji shouts, already running toward the door.
“Whoa, hold on a minute. I can’t go like this!” I glance in the hallway mirror—hair still damp from my pre-pizza shower, no makeup, and sporting a pair of old sweatpants and a Chicago Street Sweepers T-shirt I may or may not have stolen from Nash’s laundry room. “Besides... what would I even say?”
Benji stops, and his face lights up. “I have an idea!”
He dashes to his room and returns seconds later with something in his hand—a red paper rose crafted from an origami kit I bought for him last Christmas.
“You can give him this,” he says, pressing the flower into my palm. “You know... to say you’re sorry.”
I stare at the rose, amazed by how tender Benji’s heart is. “Since when did you become so grown up?”
He rolls his eyes and grabs my hand, tugging me toward the door with an infectious smile. “Come on, Avery! Let’s go already!”
Halfway to the stadium, the skies open, and rain pounds against the windshield as I drive. My heart races to the rhythm of the wipers, and I tuck the paper rose safely into my coat pocket, praying it survives the storm.
Twenty minutes later, we’re splashing through puddles in the employee parking lot, both of us completely soaked as I try not to think about how ridiculous we must look.
My makeup-free face is dripping wet, hair plastered to my head, and Benji’s dinosaur pajama pants are now completely stuck to his skin.
But none of that matters now that we’re here.
“This way!” I shout over the rain, pulling him toward the back entrance.
We finally burst through the doors, dripping water everywhere, and my determination to see Nash before he leaves is stronger than ever. Everything depends on this moment.
I just hope we’re not too late.