44. Nathan

We won state.

The sun was already setting by the time we got home the next day.

I was exhausted but so proud of the team, so proud of Avery.

But even though I was proud, there was a heaviness that felt so hard to face reality with. The fact that we won and I still felt as if I’d lost was something so hard to come face-to-face with.

After being greeted by my family with a little dinner celebration at my mom’s house, I headed back to my place to find a surprise on my porch.

Avery.

I narrowed my eyes as I approached her. “Hey. What are you doing?—”

“Can we have an impromptu OSS meeting on your field?” she blurted out.

“What?”

She shook her head. “You know… OSS. Oldest Sibling?—”

“Oldest Sibling Syndrome, yeah, I know what it means.” I tilted my head, studying her for a moment’s time. I wished I could understand that messy brain of hers and help her shift through her files. But she was there, in front of me…

I could tell she was scared, but still, she showed up.

That had to mean something.

I gave her a nod and walked her out to the field. I grabbed a bat and handed it over to her. “I’ll pitch you some,” I told her as I placed a helmet on her head.

“Sounds good.”

She took the bat from me. I grabbed a bag of balls and moved out to the pitching mound. I pulled a ball from the bag before dropping it beside me. She moved over to home plate and kicked off some dust resting on it.

I tossed the ball in the air a few times. “I’m glad you’re here, Coach, but there’s going to have to be a few new ground rules to the OSS.”

“New rules?” she nervously asked. “Like what?”

“Rule number one,” I said, getting into the pitching position. “You can’t run away just because you get scared.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

I threw the ball; she hit it.

“Rule number two,” I said, grabbing another ball. “We have semimonthly meetings out here on the field. No breaking that rule.”

“Okay.”

I threw the next ball. She hit it, and it skirted over third base.

“Rule number three, we find reasons to laugh. Even when it feels hard.”

“That works for me.” I threw another ball, but she missed it. “Is that all the rules?” she asked.

“Yup. That’s all the rules.”

Her head lowered for a moment as she fiddled with the bat in her hands. “Can I add one more rule?”

“Shoot.”

When she looked up, tears were falling down her cheeks. “Rule number four. You set me up with the wellness clinic in Chicago?”

Geez…

Avery Kingsley and my fucking heartbeats…

I stood there frozen, because I wasn’t certain what to make of her words. My brain was spinning, uncertain if I was even allowed to comfort her when all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around her and tell her that everything would be okay. She pushed me away. She wanted distance, not me. Still…I wanted to hug her. But I couldn’t.

That killed me.

She began crying harder, shaking her head as the bat fell from her grip. “I’m so sorry, Nathan. I don’t mean to be this broken and scared.”

“It’s okay, Coach. You’re okay.”

“But that’s the thing. I’m not. I know I’m not, and even though I want to give myself to you fully, my mind won’t let me with these thoughts I have. I need something more than hope. I need real help.”

“We’ll get you what you need, Ave. I promise.”

“How are you so…so…good?” she asked. “I’ve been awful toward you.”

“Shame kink,” I joked. “Seriously, though, Avery…I’ve felt broken before, too. I had a lot of people who didn’t show me grace, but I had plenty who did. It’s what we all desire in life?—

a few moments of grace as we walk through the darkness.”

“I’m not sure what I have to offer you right now,” she confessed, shame written all over her face.

“Just be my friend, Coach. I don’t need anything else. All I need is for you to feel better. All I care about is you walking down that path of healing, and all I want to do is walk that path right there beside you. If that means we are only friends, then that’s more than enough for me.”

“Swear?” she whispered, looking up at me.

“Swear.”

“Can I give you a hug?”

“Always.”

She fell into me, wrapping her arms around me. I held her close. I’d hold her for as long as she needed me to do so.

“And don’t worry about the journey to healing, Ave. It’s okay to go slow,” I swore.

“Go slow,” she echoed with a nod. “I think that’s what I need to do. I need to go slow.”

“Take your time.”

“I know I don’t deserve it, but…” She stepped away and gave me a small, broken smile. “Thank you for walking with me.”

I grinned back. “My favorite steps yet.”

We did exactly as we said we would do, too—we went slow.