“Always.” Tate takes another bite of his granola bar, but gives the last piece to Morgan. “It’s going to be a partnership with HYFC, right?”
“That’s the hope.”
Tate and Ellie opened Hawkins Youth and Family Center last year. A new building where at-risk and homeless youth can participate in various after-school programs. When they found out I was working to open an athletic center, they jumped on board to help me.
Truth be told, the Hawkins have been critical in bringing this about. To partner with them and start working with the kids they’re already helping is amazing. Tate promises Micah and Mason they can both have parties at his house if they help Ellie with Morgan while he’s in the meeting, then follows me into the room.
A small gasp hits me the second I’m inside. Ice floods my veins. Ava stands two feet away, at a stand-still with one hand on a chair. As if she were about to sit down and stopped at the sight of me.
I preen a bit that I still have an effect on her, but school my face into something hard and unapproachable.
Tate glances back and forth between us once, then subtly steps forward, holding out his hand for Ava. “Tate Hawkins. I hear you’re the one who’s going to make the shell of this place pretty to look at.”
Ava’s cheeks flush with a splatter of pink, and all at once I want to push Tate away from her. Jealousy is stupid. Tate is happily married, but he’s a freaking rock star. Most women probably flush at the sight of them. A lot don’t care that the man is married either.
“Hawkins,” Ava whispers, a quiver to her voice. “I recognize you.”
Tate might be a rock star, but he doesn’t always like to be front and center. He shrugs. “Yeah, that billboard next to the stadium is a little in your face, I think, but—”
“No.” Ava chuckles softly. “No, I don’t mean from the band, I . . . well, I don’t want to embarrass you or bring up a bad time, but for a couple years I lived at the same group home as you. I remember you came back and taught music classes.”
Pressure clamps over my lungs. Ava rarely talks about her time in the system before she and Drake were adopted. Only to me. I knew Tate had a rough childhood, the reason he opened the Hawkins Family Center, but I didn’t expect they’d have a similar tie.
Tate’s face goes soft. “Are you serious?”
Ava nods, a sparkle in her eyes I can’t stop staring at. “You probably don’t remember me, but you taught me how to playJingle Bellson the piano. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see what you’ve done with your life.”
Tate’s smile widens. “It looks like you’ve made something of yourself too. I can’t wait to hear what you’ve got planned for this guy.”
I’m drawn back to her attention. She gives me a small smile, and I realize I’m smiling too.
The break in my defenses is a mistake I can’t afford again. I clear my throat, frown, and point at the table. “Let’s get started.”
My frown deepens as the meeting progresses. The board is rough to deal with on normal days, but the way they come at Ava’s design ideas with words likefrivolous spendingandunnecessary items, makes me want to grab them each by the collar and leave their lips so pulpy and fat they can’t talk anymore.
Tate was a wise addition. He might be a multi-millionaire, but he is the cheapest famous person I know.
He comes to her aid with ways to pinch pennies, then drops bombs like improved grades, family life, and motivation from statistics of the kids at the Hawkins center. I tack on studies about exercise, team sports, and general athletics in behavior for struggling youth, and after about an hour of arguing, they finally start to listen.
Ava’s ideas are convincing, practical, and the way she describes the general design, while pointing to the blueprints of the field house, paints a beautiful picture in my head. She’s always been a creative, always sketching things, but she has a true talent on seeing an ugly, useless space and pulling out the potential.
“I love the idea of these buddy benches,” Dallas says. “A small touch that encapsulates the whole idea of the field house.”
Ava beams. “I’m not an athlete, but I love the mission statement of everyone having a place. This way if no one has found a team, or their people, you could say, they can sit on the bench. A sort of signal to other kids that someone is still alone. I’ve read reports that these benches placed in schoolyards have decreased reports of bullying by twelve percent, and increased student productivity in grades first through sixth by a significant amount.”
“Buddy benches.” Tate looks over a drawing with the written report next to it. “I like this. Would’ve been nice to have in school.”
“Thoughts, Ryder?”
Dallas is looking at me. Everyone is, as if I might spout some dollop of wisdom, as if I can add to Ava’s solid plan. I have no thoughts since all my focus has unwittingly been placed on her for the better part of nearly two hours.
Unbidden, I’ve gotten lost all over again. Ava wouldn’t be so hard to shake if she wasn’t such a collision of soft eyes, bubblegum lips, and that dimple on her right cheek. Always there, taunting me, like she knows a secret but won’t tell me.
I try to maintain my composure. “I think we have a budget, a plan, and we don’t need to be wasting time going over silly details like if red paint for the checkered floor is more expensive than white.”
I shoot a glare at Dean. The man puckers his thin lips.
“Anything else?” Dallas presses, almost like he’s trying to get me to say something specific.
