Chapter Six

Nash

I t’s early Monday morning when I show up for our first day of batting drills with the Play It Forward kids.

Mentally, I congratulate myself on how this will go over with Coach.

Star player, Nash Fontaine—first to arrive for mentorship duties.

It’s the type of PR gold Carmen’s always harping about.

Too bad there aren’t any cameras around to document the occasion.

I cross the field toward an empty dugout and check my Rolex. The other mentors won’t be here for at least another twenty minutes, giving me plenty of time to review the practice lineup I had my assistant arrange.

I hear a sound near the tunnel entrance and look up to see Benji walking toward me with a baseball bag slung across his shoulder.

Something in my chest tightens. When I met him last week, this kid was bouncing off the walls like he just mainlined a case of energy drinks, but today he’s moving like he’s underwater.

“Hey, buddy!” I wave and jog back up onto the field to meet him. “Ready to put some work in?”

Benji’s million-watt smile comes out at half-power as he drops his bag by the fence. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and his Street Sweepers cap sits crooked on a pile of uncombed hair. It’s a sight that bothers me more than I expect it to.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, managing a weak smile. “Just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Before I can ask why, a few other mentors filter in with their kids, and a Play It Forward volunteer launches us into an official morning meeting to go over plans for the day.

When we split up for warm-ups, I keep one eye on the group I’m assigned to work on fielding exercises with and the other on Benji.

He stands over the plate with his bat, and my worry grows when he misses three pitches in a row—pitches I know he should be making contact with for as good as his file says he is.

He can barely keep his shoulder up, and his stance is all wrong. When he shifts his weight around like he can’t get comfortable, I know something is off.

“Time out.” I jog over to the plate and squat down so Benji’s eyes are level with mine. “Your form’s slipping, kid. You sure you’re okay? You said you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

He looks down at the plate and shrugs. “Sorry. It’s just that stupid hotel bed. It squeaked every time I’d move, and the springs kept poking me all night.”

“ Hotel bed? Why are you sleeping in a hotel?”

His eyes grow wide. “Please don’t say anything. It’s just… Avery’s stressed enough already, and she’d be so mad if she knew I told anyone— especially you.“ He says that last part under his breath like he doesn’t want me to hear.

“Your secret is safe with me, buddy. Tell me what’s going on. Anything I can do to help?”

“Probably not. We have termites.” He looks back down at his feet and starts digging a hole in the dirt with his cleat. “She said we could go home as soon as they fix the basement, but I heard her talking on the phone last night. I think she’s worried we don’t have enough money.”

The basement. An image of their staircase flashes through my mind, and it all makes sense.

“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice casual as I straighten his crooked hat by the bill. “Don’t worry about that right now. Just keep practicing. Remember your form and focus on your swing.”

He relaxes his shoulders but still has tension in his jaw when one of the volunteers blows his whistle, signaling that it’s time to rotate positions.

Benji jogs toward the outfield, and my mind races ahead to my next move. Time to pay Carmen a little visit.

A few hours later, I’m pacing the length of a glass wall inside one of the stadium’s many executive suites, running my hands through my hair while my agent watches with poorly concealed amusement.

“Wait,” she says, holding up a perfectly manicured hand. “You’re telling me that the same kid who was just gushing about you last week to every reporter who would listen is now living in some sleazy motel? And you want to… I’m sorry. What exactly is it you want to do?”

“Geez, Carmen, I don’t know. Help him, maybe?

There has to be something we can do.“ I stop pacing to face her as Brad, our team’s attorney, lets out a heavy sigh from his seat across the table.

After I texted her earlier to call an emergency meeting, she insisted we include him.

My guess is now that I’m a mentor for the Play It Forward brand, I’ll have even more eyes on me, and she’s worried I’ll find a way to screw it up.

She rolls her eyes and taps her Mont Blanc pen against a stack of contracts. “So, write them a check and be done with it. Isn’t that your usual move?”

I’m about to argue when Brad chimes in. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Carmen,” he says, pushing back in his chair.

“Any direct financial assistance like that could be viewed as… preferential treatment. Remember, Nash’s name is tied to that organization, now.

We have to think about the precedence this would set for other families in the program. ”

“Okay. So no financial help, then. I’m sorry, Nash, but I don’t know what you want me to do here.

Unless you’re willing to offer up a room in that private mansion of yours, I think you may be out of moves.

” She smirks, clearly meaning it as a joke, then looks up, my expression stopping her in her tracks. “You can’t be serious.”

But it’s perfect. The solution hits me with the same certainty I feel every time I connect with a fastball. “Well, why not? Think about it for a minute. I’ll be gone for away games half the time, so the place is practically empty anyway.”

Brad’s face pinches with concern. “Maybe you should listen to Carmen. The optics alone—“

“Are perfect!” I place my palms down on the table across from him and lean in.

“It’s discrete assistance through an approved mentor.

No money changing hands. No public attention.

No accusations of special treatment. Just a temporary solution while their house gets fixed.

Besides, how long could it possibly take?

No one outside this room would even have to know. ”

Carmen looks up from her phone, shooting me one of her signature “you can’t be this stupid” stares.

“Right. And next, I suppose you’ll try telling me that his sister—the same cocktail waitress you were ogling over just last week—has absolutely nothing to do with your decision to be charitable all of a sudden. ”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, ignoring the weird flutter I feel in my stomach when she brings up Avery. “If anything, her being an employee here should make it even more appropriate, right? Think of it as one colleague helping out another.”

I attribute the rebuttal to my ability to think quickly on my feet but wonder if Carmen makes a valid point.

What if inviting the same woman I’ve been trying to flirt with all week to move into my house is a bad idea?

Even if she’s impossibly gorgeous, I hardly know anything about her.

Besides, I’ve had my heart broken enough to know that I never want to fall in love again.

The last thing I need is to get attached to another woman who’ll take advantage of me, then drag my name through the mud the minute she doesn’t get her way.

But if I don’t help… What happens to Benji?

Carmen scoffs. “ Colleague? Wow. Is that what we’re calling her now?”

Brad pinches his lips together, as if considering what I’m suggesting.

“Listen, even if we could pull this off—and that’s a big if—what makes you think she’d even consider it?

I’ve looked into Ms. Morrow’s background, and she hardly seems like the type to accept the kind of help you’re willing to offer. ”

I think back to the first time I heard Benji’s infectious laugh and how it made me wish I had a little brother just like him. “She’ll accept,” I say with confidence. “She’ll do it for the kid.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in my Range Rover with sweaty palms, practicing different versions of my pitch to Avery in the rearview mirror when the gravity of it all hits me. Since when does Nash Fontaine have to rehearse a conversation with an attractive woman?

“Look, I know this might seem...” I trail off, shaking my head at how pathetic I must sound.

Grabbing my phone, I scroll through my contacts until I find my realtor.

“Linda? Hey! Remember that cleaning service you recommended? I need them. Today,” I say, anxiously drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.

“Yeah, the whole house. And maybe see about finding someone to make the guest bedrooms look a little less, uh...”

“Like storage units?” She laughs. “I’ll call Maria. She has a cousin not far from you who does home staging. But Nash—you do realize that same-day services like this won’t come free.”

“Spare no expense. Use your code to get in and tell them to move any boxes they need out of the way into the garage. I’ll need two of them sleep-ready for a few last-minute guests. And be discreet. I don’t want this drawing any unnecessary attention.”

“You got it. I’ll have my girls sign an NDA before any work begins.”

“You’re the best! Thanks for helping an old friend, even if I’m not always the greatest. It’s been nice having a familiar face around.”

“Any time. I know it’s been a rough transition, but hang in there. Chicago will feel like home in no time. You take care, and I’ll keep you updated on the progress.”

“Sounds good. Oh, and one more thing,” I say, remembering the current state of my kitchen. “Think you can have someone go in and stock the fridge and pantries with real food. I don’t want my guests knowing that the only things I keep stocked are light beer and protein shakes.”

“I’ll take care of it. Bye, Nash,” Linda chuckles, and the line goes dead.

Ending the call, my mind goes back to what it might look like if she actually says yes. Avery and Benji. In my house. The same Avery who’s been living rent-free in my head for the last seventy-two hours. The same Benji I’m supposed to be mentoring. What if my plan backfires?

“It won’t,” I argue with my reflection in the rearview. “Strictly professional. No more mixing business with pleasure, remember?”

Suddenly, a loud knock on my passenger window nearly gives me a heart attack, and the heel of my palm inadvertently grips the part of my steering wheel that activates the horn.

Hooooooonnnnnnnnk.

I let go of the wheel to make it stop and look up to see Benji peering at me through the window with wild eyes. And, as luck would have it, Avery is standing not too far behind him with an unamused look on her face.

“Nash! Guess what?!” His voice is muffled until I turn over the key and roll down the window. “Summer let me have a chocolate milkshake while I waited for Avery to finish her shift! With extra whipped cream! And sprinkles! ”

I smile, feeling a little less tense than before. Sugar. I guess this explains the renewed pep in his step after dragging his feet all morning. I’ll admit, seeing him back to his old, cheerful self sparks something in my chest that instantly puts me at ease.

“Hey, Benji. That’s awesome, Bud.” I clear my throat, feeling parched as my gaze drifts toward Avery. “Listen, I’m glad you’re here. Think I could, uh, talk to your sister for a minute?”

“Oh. Um… Okay.” He shrugs and turns toward Avery. “Nash says he wants to talk to you.”

I watch in anticipation as she narrows her eyes and squares her shoulders. Clearly, she’s not going to make this easy for me or my ego.

“Okay, why don’t you go start the car and get buckled up? I’ll make it quick.” She tosses a set of keys toward Benji, and he reflexively catches them in his chest before turning back to me with a look of disappointment.

“Fine. See you, Nash,” he says, giving a quick wave goodbye.

I nod, waving back at him, and when his back is facing me, I turn to Avery and her death glare.

“What’s this about?” she asks coldly.

“I, uh...” All my rehearsed lines vanish, and in my stupor, a string of words I hadn’t considered comes tumbling out. “I think you and Benji should come live with me.”