24. Nathan

Ihated this plan.

But dammit, it was a good plan. A great plan, even.

Sarah was the definition of a bad ex-girlfriend. Ever since River found out about her hooking up with his best friend, she’d been trying to get back with him on an unnatural level. Even with him blocking her number, he’d get calls from random phone numbers, only to find Sarah was trying to weasel her way back into his life.

I followed Easton to the front of the barn and peered out of the window as we spied on Avery walking out to where River and Sarah stood. Sarah, of course, was in a fit of emotions, tears streaming down her face, and poor River stood there looking as if he’d kicked a puppy. I knew whatever crap Sarah was feeding him was making him feel guilty, and that infuriated me. The poor guy had a heart of gold, and it made me angry that Sarah was manipulating his emotions post-breakup the same way she had during said “relationship.”

Before Avery walked over to the two, she pulled her high ponytail out and raked her hands through her long hair, allowing it to fall past her shoulders. She then pushed out her chest and headed straight to River.

“Hey, babe. The food is getting cold and”—Avery’s eyes moved to Sarah—“Oh, hi there.” Without a moment of hesitation, Avery wrapped her arm around River’s waist and slipped beneath his arm, forcing River to place his arm around her shoulders. “Who’s this?” she asked with the sweetest voice I’d ever heard.

I wish she used that voice on me more often.

For a moment, River hesitated. The swirl of confusion sitting in his bent brow almost made me burst out in laughter. Then realization settled in, and he pulled Avery closer to him. My chest tightened from their proximity to one another. I knew they were acting, but still, a sting of jealousy slapped me hard.

“Oh, this is just someone I used to know, babe,” River said, rubbing Avery’s shoulder in a circular motion.

Sarah’s eyes danced up and down Avery with a look of disgust. She wiped away her crocodile tears and huffed. “Who’s this?” she demanded.

“This is Avery. My girlfriend,” River said proudly as he puffed out his chest.

“Since when do you have a girlfriend?” Sarah barked with a disgusted tone, letting her true colors show.

“We’re new,” Avery mentioned as she stared at River with lovey-dovey eyes. “But I’m pretty sure we’re going the distance.” Avery stood on her tiptoes and kissed River’s cheek.

I wanted to slug my brother in the jawline for getting that kiss on the cheek.

It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fucking fake, Nathan. Chill out.

“You moved on?” Sarah questioned, those fake tears falling from her eyes. Or maybe they were real tears from the realization that River was not wrapped around her finger anymore.

“Yeah,” he said with a confidence that made me proud of the fucker. “I suggest you do the same.”

With that, he pulled Avery in closer to him, turned around with her, and headed back inside to the barn. Sarah stood there with a look of shock for a second before walking back to her car and driving away.

And that, my friends, was what one called a mic drop.

The second Sarah was gone, Easton and Grant began jumping up and down all over River and Avery, celebrating the epic scene that just unfolded before us. Even Evan had a small smirk on his face as he stood there with his arms crossed.

“Not bad, Kingsley,” Evan stated, giving Avery a slight nod. That was the biggest compliment in the world from Mr. Grump.

“You fucking rock star,” River said, playfully shoving Avery. “First you get us a baseball win, then you gift me with another win.”

“I had a good feeling you’d bring some good vibes to the property,” Grant said, complimenting Avery.

She laughed and bowed. “What can I say? I’m a useful woman.”

“Damn straight you are,” River said, placing his hands against her shoulders in celebration.

“Drop the scowl, you’re starting to look a little too much like me,” Evan whispered as he nudged me in the arm.

I shook my head. “I’m not scowling,” I said with, indeed, a scowl.

He chuckled slightly and shrugged. “Whatever you say, Nate. Whatever you say.”

After the guys were done celebrating with Avery, she walked over to me with the kind of smile that made my own grumpiness dissipate.

I gave her a slow clap. “Not bad, Coach.”

“I bet you didn’t know I was such a good actress.”

“Some might’ve said you weren’t acting at all,” I sarcastically remarked. “It seemed a little too realistic.”

Raising an eyebrow, she shifted her stance, hands on her hips. “What’s that, Nathan? A tinge of jealousy?”

Dismissing her accusation, I heavily sighed and shook my head. “Jealous? Me? Not in the slightest.”

She stepped closer to me. “Maybe a little slightest?”

Her proximity felt foreign to me. Like a dream I’d been dreaming of for a long-ass time coming true. Was that…playfulness in her stare, too? Was Avery being playful with me again? This day was taking a turn I didn’t expect it to take.

“Maybe a little,” I confessed, stepping in closer, too. I’d move in closer and closer as long as she allowed it. “A tiny bit.”

“Don’t worry, Nathaniel.” Her smile grew, and she placed a comforting hand against my forearm. “River’s not my type.”

“And what is your type, Coach?”

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she gave me a once-over, a playful look on her face, before she coyly started off toward her table. “I need more mimosas.”

This woman was going to be the end of me.

I followed her footsteps like a puppy dog in need of its owner’s attention. “I’m just saying. Wesley didn’t exactly seem like your type to me.”

She glanced back at me and arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“That’s so.”

“And what about Wesley didn’t seem like my type?”

“He seemed weak.”

“You think I don’t have a thing for weak men?”

“I know you don’t have a thing for weak men.”

“Okay, wise guy. You seem to know me well. So you tell me,” she said as she picked up her Mason jar and took a swig. “What do you think my type is?”

I swiped her Mason jar from her grip and took a sip, too. “Someone with a dash of cockiness and a sprinkle of charm.”

“True. And maybe handsome, too. And funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” I said with a wide grin. “Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Your future husband.”

She rolled her eyes. I loved when she rolled her eyes at me. She did it so dramatically that I couldn’t help but feel turned on.

“You’re not my type, Nathaniel,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

She snatched her drink back. “Because you annoy me too much.”

“That sounds like a compliment.”

“That’s only because your peanut brain doesn’t know how to decipher insults from compliments.”

I smirked. “Thanks, Coach.”

Another eye roll. “Truthfully, I don’t have a type. I don’t like men, so that makes it next to impossible for me to have a type. Most of you just piss me off.”

“You seem to like my brothers well enough.”

“That’s because they aren’t major pains in my ass.”

“I don’t have to be a pain in your ass.” I narrowed my brows. “Unless you request me to be a pain in your ass, if you’re into butt stuff.”

She laughed.

I liked that even more than the eye rolls.

“This conversation is over,” she ordered as she took a seat back at the table.

I sat across from her. “Okay, what do you want to talk about now?”

“I was somewhat interested in our conversation before Easton interrupted it.”

A knot formed in my gut as she said those words. The last thing I wanted to talk about was me and my mother’s concern about me. I’d rather talk about anything else in the world but that. “That was a pretty boring conversation. I’d rather go back to talking about putting a pain in your ass.”

Her eyes narrowed as she studied me, a seriousness finding her stare. “What does the rest of your day look like today?”

“Nothing too much. Why?”

She leaned in toward me. “Do you want to hang out with me today on the field here and hit some balls?”

I leaned in toward her. “Yes.”

“Around seven this evening?”

“It’s a date.”

“It’s not a date.”

“It’s hanging out between two friends.”

“We are not friends.”

“It’s a batting round between two roommates.”

“Okay. That works.” She shoved her plate toward me. “Now, go get me some more of your sausage. I’m still hungry.”

Didit seem like a setup that Avery asked me to hang out with her on the field? One hundred percent. Was I willing to overlook it since all I wanted to do with my time lately was hang out with her? One million percent.

I showed up to find her already standing on home plate with a bag of baseballs beside her. She wore black leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, and a baseball cap as she held a bat in her hands. The second she saw me, she said, “You’re late.”

“By two minutes.”

“Late is late.”

“I like to make an entrance,” I joked, walking toward her. “So what’s the catch here?” I asked.

“The catch?”

“Don’t play dumb, Avery. That’s my role. I know you didn’t just invite me out to hit some balls for a casual conversation. So out with it.”

She placed the head of her bat against the ground and held it around the neck. “You didn’t want to talk about your mom worrying about you at brunch.”

“True.”

“I figured it would be easier to talk about it on the field. This is my favorite place to talk about hard things. Or at least, think about hard things. I’m not big on conversation when it comes to my feelings.”

“I guess we have something in common.”

“Who would’ve thought?” she quipped. She held the bat out toward me. “So you want to talk while we hit balls around?”

“Since when do you care about my feelings?”

“Since I decided that I don’t hate you as much anymore.”

I arched an eyebrow. “No full-core hatred?”

“Trust me, I’m as shocked as you are,” she stated. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s still hate. But the more time I’ve spent around you, the more I realized something major.”

“And what’s that?”

“We aren’t that different, you and I.”

I moved in toward her. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. We both suffer from the same disorder.”

“And what disorder is that?”

“Oldest Sibling Syndrome.”

I snickered. “Is that the official medical term?”

“Sure is. Look it up on WedMD. It’s called OSS for short, though.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone to search it. Avery held her hand out toward me and stopped me. “Later. Look it up later.”

I slid the phone back into my pocket and crossed my arms over my chest. “All right, I’ll play. What are some of the symptoms of OSS?”

“Oh, there are plenty. Especially when a parental figure is missing from the equation.”

“Enlighten me.”

She swirled the bat back and forth between the palms of her hands. “Well, for starters, you are extremely reliable and find yourself responsible for your siblings. Almost as if they are your own kids, seeing how you helped raise them.”

I narrowed my brows. “Go on.”

“You are overly protective over your family and go out of your way to make sure everyone’s okay. You’re a workaholic. You put your own wants and needs on the back burner in order to make sure everyone else is good. You let your dreams sit on the sidelines if it makes sure others are happier.”

My mouth twitched a little.

She was hitting a little too close to home.

I took the bat from her and grabbed a ball from the bag. I tossed it up and swung, hitting the ball into the distance. “Go on,” I said.

She took the bat from me and stepped onto the plate. “You suffer from a hyper-independence, which seems like a good thing, but it’s not.” She tossed a ball up and knocked it out. “It’s actually a trauma response because you feel like you can’t rely on others, seeing how it was always your job to be the reliable source.”

“Too loud, Coach.”

She handed the bat back to me. We switched positions.

“You also worry about messing up and letting people down. Which is why you are so achievement-oriented,” she explained.

I hit the next ball.

She whistled low. “Nice hit.”

“Thanks.” I flicked my thumb against the bridge of my nose. “So with this OSS, what’s the treatment plan?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Still trying to figure that out myself. Because as someone suffering with OSS, I know that we hate all eyes on us, and we hate the thought of people worrying about us because it shows that we aren’t as strong as we should be, and we should always be strong.” She took the bat from me and performed another hit. “But I think it helps to struggle in numbers. Makes it a little easier to breathe.”

“Are you suggesting we start an OSS club?”

“A secret society where we share our struggles with each other since only us eldest children can truly understand.”

I put a hand against my chest. “Did we just become best friends?” I asked, quoting the movie Step Brothers.

She laughed. “No. Absolutely not. We aren’t even friends. We are just two people who come to the field once a week to vent, to talk, and to feel better with one another.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all.”

“Okay. I can get behind this secret society of two. Is this our first official meeting?”

She held the bat out toward me. “It is.”

“Okay.” I took the bat and swung. “So how does the conversation start?”

“Should your mother be worried about you?”

I glanced back at her and saw the seriousness in her stare. I considered lying, but that wasn’t exactly the point of the OSS club. “Sometimes. Yes.”

The corner of her mouth twitched as she frowned. “Should she be worried about you right now?”

I shook my head. “No. Right now, I’m good.”

“Happy?” she asked.

“Right now? Yes. But I don’t strive for happiness. It’s a temporary, fleeting thing.”

“What do you strive for?”

“Contentment,” I replied. “It’s a longer-term state of satisfaction. Happiness is fleeting. Contentment is stable and solid throughout life.”

“I thought I was content in my last relationship.”

“Oh.” I shook my head. “That’s different. One should never be content in love.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I just feel as if love deserves a word, a feeling bigger than that.”

“And what word is that?”

“Don’t know yet. But once I figure it out, I’ll be the first to inform you.”

She smiled a little, but then fell once again into a worried frown. “But you’re okay, right?”

“For someone who isn’t my friend, you sure show a lot of friendship tendencies.”

“What can I say? I’m a good person.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “You are.”

She grew bashful and snatched the bat from me to shake off her nervous energy. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my follow-up question.”

“Before we move on to if I’m okay, don’t I get to ask you the same question about whether your father should be worried about you? Should I be worried about you?”

“Oh no. Today’s OSS meeting isn’t about me. It’s just about you.”

“That seems unfair.”

“What can I say? I don’t make the rules.”

“That’s funny because it feels as if you do, indeed, make the rules.”

She bit her bottom lip. For a second, I thought about biting it, too. Then those moist, full lips parted, and she said, “Why are you single?”

“What?”

“Pretty straight-forward question, Coach,” she replied. That was the first time she called me Coach, and it did things to my lower region. A twitch in my crotch area from a five-letter word. She wasn’t lying. She didn’t hate me as much anymore.

That was refreshing.

“I just haven’t found the right person,” I said.

“Are you looking for the right person?”

“No. I’m not.”

She nodded with her lips puckered out as she pointed the bat at me. “You know what that is?”

“What’s that?”

“Hyper-independence and a fear of intimacy. A classic case of Older Sibling Syndrome. You think that no one will be able to love you on a deep level because you haven’t even managed to love yourself on said deep level, and you have a fear of letting go of the reins in your life, because you don’t trust others to guide you.”

Well, damn.

Okay, Dr. Phil.

I cocked a brow. “How did you get past it?”

“Oh. I didn’t.”

“Bull. You had a whole fiancé. You were minutes away from being married. You had to let go of some of that independence to get there.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing…I didn’t. Wesley and I had a very scholarly relationship. When he asked me out, he used a pie chart and told me the statistics of a woman like me being paired with a man like him. When he proposed, he asked me with three different rings because he knew I liked to be in control of the outcome. At least, that’s what I told myself. Looking back, I think it’s just because he didn’t know me well enough to know what I’d want.”

“How long were you two together?”

“Three years.” She almost smiled, but it fell short. “Turns out you can sleep in the same bed as someone for years and still not know who was lying beside you. Ask me three things that he and I had in common.”

“What are those three things?”

She shook her head and shrugged. “I’ve been trying to figure them out over the past few days. I also have been trying to figure out why I don’t miss him more. I feel like I should, you know? I should miss him.”

“Maybe you’re still processing the whole situation.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. She bit her bottom lip. “But can I tell you a secret?”

“I’m the best with secrets.”

“When I called off the wedding, I was upset. Devastated, even. But after a little time, there was a moment when I felt…relief.”

“You loved him, though.”

“Yes, but that’s the problem. I think I loved him up to my self-enforced limit of love. Which isn’t saying much at all.”

“Well, look at us. Two broken peas in a pod.”

“I hate peas.”

I smiled. “I know.”

We stayed on the field for a while longer, then headed back to my house to call it a night. I watched television for a while before deciding it was time for sleep. While heading to my bedroom, and I knocked on Avery’s door. She’d just hopped out of the shower. She had a towel wrapped around her body and one wrapped around her hair as she opened the door. It took everything in my power not to allow my eyes to move up and down her figure.

“What’s up?” she asked, gripping the towel to her body.

“You never answered my question.”

“Which one?”

“Should I be worried about you today?”

She smiled. It was so tiny and short-lived, but it sat against her lips for a moment. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not today.”