Ava
she spotted the aged WELCOME TO WAYBROOK sign from the backseat. She pushed off her headphones, and Izumi, sitting beside her in a car seat, rattled her fists hard.
“Home!”
“That’s right, Izu.” Chase leaned over from the front passenger and winked at Ava. “We’re back home.”
Weeks had passed since their trip abroad, bringing September into October. Jetlag hit Ava harder than she’d experienced in ages. However, she immensely enjoyed Japan for the time she, Korin, Chase, and Izumi spent there. Outside of competing at the Japan Open and being interviewed by journalists, Korin carved out a special itinerary for the four to explore the country.
Yet, Ava held the relief close to her chest when they boarded a plane to Michigan. As impressive as Japan was, part of her felt ready to head back to Waybrook. She had begun to enjoy small-town life much more than her suburban upbringing.
She returned to the States one year older—nineteen now—with another gold medal. Even in past seasons with her mother in command, she had never swept straight gold at the major tournaments. More gold meant more time in Waybrook.
Korin hummed from the driver’s seat, turning down the road leading into town, “I hope everyone enjoyed the extended vacation, but Ava and I will get back to work soon. We have less than two weeks before Skate America . . . where she’s projected to win gold.”
Ava perked up in the back. “Right. I’m sure it can be done.” She fixed her headphones, resting around her neck. “Besides, I would never slack off with a Grand Prix event upcoming.”
“Ava? Slacking off? She loves being on the ice more than any figure skater I’ve ever met, and I married you,” said Chase.
Korin tapped his fingers along the curved top of the wheel, “You have a point.”
“Thanks, Chase.”
“Anything for you, Sparkles.”
Ava’s loyalty to training was never in doubt, and she leaned forward. She stretched over the center console, "Can we stop by the rink? We should still have my skating gear in the back. I haven't put them on for at least a week!"
“Sounds good,” Korin agreed. Ava noticed his mouth fight off a smile. "Chase and Izu will drop us off and then head home. Unless we want her to tantrum, Izu's due for her midday nap."
Izumi’s grouchy huff from behind Ava promised exactly what Korin suggested, but Chase would have her sleeping within an hour. Ava desired the feel of the cold against her face and the scruff of the ice underneath her sharpened blades, desperate to feel alive.
She flopped back into her seat and readjusted her seatbelt over her chest, turning to stare out the window. She waited for the passing scenery to become familiar as she hadn’t explored the whole town yet.
Martha’s gleaming sign slid into view when Korin drove into the heart of town. Ava perked up; she expected to see the ice rink moments after, but her view of the ice rink became obscured by a packed parking lot.
"There's not a parking space to be seen," Korin sighed while settling into the driveway. He parked the truck and handed the keys to Chase. "You and Izu head home. Ava and I can see what's happening."
“Alright. Be safe. I love you two.” Chase accepted the keys for the price of a tender kiss laid to the bridge of his nose. Korin and Chase opened their doors, allowing the rush of screams and chanting of Ava’s name to enter the car before they shut the doors.
The crowd's energy awakened a rush of anxiety within Ava's stomach. She barely braced herself for the noise when Chase pulled open her door, rushed by screams. Ava accepted his help out of the car, and she emerged into the crowd's view, getting a better look at all the signs held by people.
CONGRATULATIONS ON GOLD
WELCOME HOME AVERIE
GOOD JOB AVERIE!
AVERIE LAURIER: WAYBROOK'S STAR ATHLETE
Her cheeks heated when the crowd spotted her, and their chanting grew frantic, deafeningly loud. Ava tucked her hands into the pocket of her plaid skirt, and her sheer leggings brushed together when her knees bumped in the middle, realizing she started shaking.
Korin materialized behind her, carrying her bag with her training gear, and she studied his face for some sign of how to feel. Unfortunately, the shock in his eye told her he had no idea, kicking her back at square one. People consumed the parking lot—strangers and Waybrook residents alike—and her anxiety skyrocketed.
"Come on," said Korin, his hand settled against her upper back like an anchor. Ava stepped forward, a tad skittish, and her stomach buzzed nervously when she noticed a gaggle of girls with merchandise sporting her lamb logo. "We should see what's happening and disperse everyone quickly."
“Good plan.”
“No need to be nervous. Everyone from Waybrook is here to support you. They’re proud, I’m sure.”
Ava swallowed and plastered a smile on her face, focused on looking pretty for the pictures snapped by the crowd. She waved like a pageant queen. In her mind, she heard her mother's disapproving hiss yell to correct her posture. Champions don’t slouch!
She and Korin headed for the rink doors, and the people who mulled around the steps parted to the side for them. Ava shrank protectively into Korin’s side, and he shielded her from the crowd, focusing on her comfort.
At the doors, Terrance Poole beamed with a wad of cash gripped between his meaty fingers; Ava suspected he saw dollar signs above each body in the crowd. From what June told her and Korin's slightly disgruntled attitude whenever his name was mentioned, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for a buck or two.
“There she is! Waybrook’s beloved champion has returned!” exclaimed Terry, but his tone boomed out to the crowd instead of greeting her and Korin. Ava’s stomach twisted even tighter.
“Yes, I was hoping to skate today. Will that be possible?”
"Oh, certainly. However, people heard you were returning to Waybrook today, and they wanted to take some pictures with a superstar. It would be a great opportunity to fundraise for the rink and encourage more people to return."
Korin cleared his throat aggressively, “It’s up to Ava if she feels comfortable taking pictures. Our agreement included advanced notice of photo opportunities, so we might accept or decline. She’s not a prop for photographs.”
Ava knew Korin wouldn’t stop there, deeply disgusted with the dehumanization of celebrity culture turning people into props, but she tugged on his sleeve. She didn't want him to be upset or cause a conflict, which might limit her access to the rink. Photos were harmless.
Ava smiled at her coach, “It’s alright, Korin. I’m happy to meet my fans and thank them for their support. They’re why I skate.” The words flowed from her with how frequently she rehearsed perfect, canned answers.
Korin’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t protest. He and Terry grabbed the double doors and held them open for her, escorting her inside. Ava waved to the crowd as she disappeared inside, letting her smile drop once out of sight.
She couldn't afford to disappoint people or sully her image simply because she felt tired. If a few pictures placated the masses and brought in some much-needed funds to the rink, she could smile for the photographs and drudge through greetings with fans.
Ava stopped at the foot of her newest shrine, now on the upper level of the rink. She tucked her hands behind her back and forced the smile back onto her face, preparing for the first of many fans.
A girl no older than twelve sprinted through the double doors with her parents behind her. Their exhausted eyes begged her for relief, and Ava braced as the young girl crashed into her arms, hugging her waist. She wore a Laurier Lamb hoodie in the classic lavender shade, constantly sold out according to her father’s disinterested monotone over the dinner table.
Her parents handled the sale of all her merch and distributed the proceeds into her account. She paid little attention to sales numbers; her mother blew up on her the first and last time she asked, reminding Ava that her place was to skate and look beautiful for the audience’s enjoyment.
"Oh my god! I'm your biggest fan ever! I own every piece of Laurier Lamb merch, and I've watched every performance since your junior career,” the girl squealed, bouncing on her heels.
"Thank you for your support. Let's take a picture," Ava remarked, and she looped her arm over the fan’s shoulder. For such a tiny girl, her fan squeezed hard around her waist and strangled the breath out of Ava’s chest.
The parents snapped pictures, and Ava counted the seconds with a gnawing plea for the next fan. Eventually, the fangirl let go and waved to Ava, skipping out the doors with her parents scrambling after her.
Ava exhaled hard before the next fan came in, and she felt the world slip away from her, everything becoming dull. The fans' voices reached her ears like a garbled mishmash of noises, but her replies sounded awfully similar. A low buzz filled her head, and she smiled through photos, losing count after the first few.
She held her smile despite a disconnect from reality, remaining prim and proper for every photo taken of her. Her fans left smiling while she faked hers. Ava’s thoughts wandered somewhere else, disassociating from the present. She thought about Skate America, practicing her routines, and her plan for dinner in the evening.
She hadn't checked how much time had passed or how many people she greeted, focused on emerging out the other side. Although the prospect seemed impossible, the setup had her mother’s handiwork written all over it.
But the world dragged Ava back into focus when the doors opened for a new fan. She could’ve choked on her tongue when Logan walked through the doors. With his hands jammed into his jeans pockets and shifty eyes, he looked ready to be anywhere but there. Ava didn’t blame him.
"Logan?" she blinked, unable to muster a more intelligent greeting than his name. But his eyes avoided hers, finding the wall more interesting, and he stopped before her.
“Ava.”
“What are you doing here?”
The exchange brought Korin over, ditching his spot against the nearby wall. He clapped a hand on Ava's shoulder, and she saw his brows raised, eyes darting between her and Logan. "Is he a friend of yours?"
“No.”
“Not in the slightest.”
“What he said.”
Korin’s brow arched higher, threatening to disappear into his hairline, “Alright . . . what brings you by then, Logan?”
Korin's face pulled into an intimidating frown, and Ava had seen plenty of boys squirm underneath his gaze. However, Logan didn't flinch or react to his silent challenge. He met Korin's eyes and shrugged.
"I'm the placeholder in line for them." he shrugged, and the double doors pushed open again, revealing a beautiful woman and a little boy seated on her hip. The little boy looked identical to Logan with jet black hair and brown eyes, considerably softer and more innocent than Logan's.
He held a tiny sign on purple construction paper with glitter glue stars and a sweet Congratulations, Averie! written on it. With the handwriting, she assumed the woman had written the message for the cute little guy.
Speaking of the woman, a fuzzy scrunchie pulled her hair out of her face into a sensible ponytail. She wore a work uniform that faded from wear and tear. Pale brown eyes flashed with an apologetic gleam, and she set the little boy down, “Sorry for the delay. Go say hi, Issac.”
Even when she set Issac on the ground, he gazed wide-eyed between her and Ava. He clutched his little sign between his hands and waddled closer, hiding behind Logan’s legs. Ava’s heart threatened to melt into a puddle of goo.
Logan sighed, "Issac, buddy, Ava has people waiting their turn. Please go say hi and tell her what you want to say.”
He nudged Issac from around his legs, and the resemblance hit Ava like a freight train. She didn't realize Logan had a little brother, but the two were a perfect side-by-side comparison. Issac was so stinking cute!
She kneeled to be closer to his level and beckoned him over, "Issac? That's your name, right?”
Issac perked up when Ava called his name and nodded, glowing in awe. He waddled a little closer, and Ava beckoned him with her arms. She'd be a little more present and a little happier for him.
She smiled, “It’s very nice to meet you, Issac. I’m Averie, but you can call me Ava. Did you make this poster for me?”
“Yes.” Issac handed it to her, and Ava wrapped her arm around his shoulder, admiring the handcrafted sign. “My mommy and I made it. Logan helped, too."
"Did he?" Ava glimpsed at Logan, whose eyes looked at the fascinating wall again, and the subtle shake of his head seemed like a denial. "Well, I love it. I'd like to keep this one and put it on my wall."
Issac's mouth fell open, and he nodded excitedly, rescued from any lingering shyness. His arms circled her waist, and he nuzzled his face into her chest, eliciting coos from her and his mom. His mom grabbed her phone. “Let’s take a picture.”
"Of course!" Ava scooped Issac into her arms and smiled hard for the camera, watching Logan and Issac’s mom snap a few photos.
“Logan, you get in there.”
“Uh, I’d rather not.”
“Logan, be nice.”
“It’s alright, ma’am.” Ava adjusted Issac on her hip. “Logan doesn’t have to take a picture with me.”
“I want one for me. Logan, please take some photos with Issac for me, please,” his mom protested and stared at Logan with a slight frown . . . until he sighed and wandered to the opposite side of Issac. He stood there stiffly, waiting for the photo.
A few clicks of the camera went off. Logan leaned away, but his mom held her hand out. He groaned, "Mom."
"One of you and Ava solo, please," his mom said. Ava's head snapped to see his reaction, almost giving herself whiplash. Logan's mouth twitched, and he looked ready to plead, argue, and beg until his mom allowed him to go.
But Ava took the initiative to set Issac down and scoot a little closer. Her elbow almost brushed against Logan's, which caused him to scowl. "Fine. Hurry up, Mom."
He and Ava stood together, and she couldn’t bring herself to do more than smile, feeling stiff and stoic like stone. Korin stood next to Issac and Logan's mom. Korin's bewildered expression would make her laugh if the situation had been with someone else.
Logan’s mom sighed, “Logan, please smile for the camera. You look like I told you Issac ate your leftovers again.”
"Did you have to bring that up?" mumbled Logan, but he faked a smile for the camera, and Ava caught a glimpse. The same smile he wore during his interview with Carmen at Martha's. She heard the click of the camera, and her eyes snapped forward. "Is that good?"
“One more. You and Ava were looking at each other, not the camera.”
“What?”
“Smile!”
Ava smiled hard so Logan's suffering would end quicker, and his mom dropped the camera, flashing a thumbs up. Immediately, Logan scooted away from her and picked up Issac with a single arm.
Issac leaned on his brother’s shoulder and giggled, “Miss Ava, can I tell you a secret?”
“I’d love to hear a secret. What is it?”
“Logan watches you skate sometimes.”
Ava’s heart stopped. Logan’s face fell, and she would've assumed he was angry, but the bright red tinge of his ears told a different story. Did he watch her competition performances?
No way.
“Can we go now?” asked Logan, sounding antsy to leave.
“Logan, please be nice. Thank Ava for her time.”
"Thanks. Can we leave?"
Logan’s mom faced Ava, “I’m sorry about him. Logan needs to work on being less grouchy. How about you come to our home this week and enjoy a home-cooked meal?”
Shocked, Ava knew she should politely decline and not impose on Logan’s family, but she stuttered hard, “That sounds lovely. Thank you.” She refrained from cringing and retracting her statement. One dinner sounded nice.
Logan’s face betrayed shades of different emotions, mixed with a sour scowl and narrowed eyes. He hiked Issac to a comfortable position on his shoulder, pivoted around, and walked toward the double doors. His disapproval left a stinging, bitter air in his wake. Ava's eyes lingered on his back, turned off by the suggestion of spending time in her presence.
She heard the message loud and clear.
***Standing on the porch outside Logan’s home, Ava checked her last reservations at the foot of the stairs. She brushed off the billowy pink sleeves of her blouse and adjusted the tucked fabric in the waistband of her pencil skirt, satisfied with how she looked.
After hours with her hair in vintage rollers while she baked, her hair cascaded around her face in loose waves. She matched her lipstick to the pink on her top, added a little mascara and liner, and dabbed floral perfume around her body. She wanted to impress after such a kind offer from Logan’s mom.
Carrying the blood orange tiramisu in a glass tray, she shifted her balance and knocked on the door. A worrisome thought ran through her head about mistaking the address as Logan's mom handed it to her in a hurry, rushing after an angered Logan. Maybe she changed her mind about having her over for dinner.
She waited momentarily before the door swung open, and Logan greeted her with his presence. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, blocking the entry into his house.
Ava’s eyes raked over his attire. He wore a long-sleeve shirt of heather gray tucked into simple black jeans tapered at his ankles over sneakers; he called her overdressed without a word. Logan's eyes spoke volumes when they stared at her silently.
Underneath his gaze, Ava resisted the urge to sway awkwardly. She should've swapped her dark ballerina flats for a pair of nice heels, saved for rare occasions. Logan's height made her feel small . . . or smaller than she already felt in life.
"Hello," Ava greeted, breaking the silence. She cocked her head to the side until a loose curl fell over her eyes, and she rushed to brush it away. “I brought dessert.”
Logan said nothing, but their eyes connected. Ava expected him to shut the door in her face or launch a snarky comment about her outfit. Instead, Logan lingered in silence, saying nothing beyond the occasional clearing of his throat. More than animosity, the air reeked of awkwardness.
However, Logan’s mom swung by the door and clicked her tongue, “Logan Henry, please let our guest in and stop hovering in the doorway.”
"Yes, Mom," Logan grumbled and moved out of the way, opening a space for Ava to squeeze through. He returned to avoiding eye contact altogether, but his shoulder held the door open for her.
Ava stepped inside, and Logan's mom smiled at her, whisking the dessert tray out of her hands, "This looks gorgeous. You didn't have to bring anything for us."
“I wanted to. You were so gracious to invite me into your home for a meal. I’d feel terrible if I took advantage of your kindness.”
“Oh, you’re such a dear. Thank you. Logan never brings girls home, so you’re already my favorite.”
“Mom,” Logan hissed. Ava swore the tips of his ears flushed red like earlier. “Are you intent on embarrassing me in front of her?”
“That depends. Will you be nice from now on?” his mom questioned, one hand propped on her hip while she expertly balanced the tiramisu.
Logan’s jaw clenched, “I’ll be the perfect host.”
"Good. We have a bona fide superstar in our house," his mom remarked, still smiling, but Ava witnessed the darkening of Logan's eyes. He slinked into the kitchen, causing Ava to reconsider pulling out of dinner. But Logan's mom escorted her to the kitchen before she did.
She admired the giant pot of homemade chili and the side rack of cornbread, struck with a sudden bout of queasiness. The familiar taste of her stomach crawled up her throat in a slow trickle, giving her enough time to bow out graciously.
Ava shuffled to the back of the line and filled her bowl halfway. She didn't want to offend her lovely host by not eating dinner, but the prospect of losing her stomach at the table lurked in the back of her head.
She sat at the table last, directly across from Logan, and focused on him scraping his bowl. If he ate two bites, she would force herself to take one. Yet, he stared into the chili with a blank expression and lazily scraped the side of the bowl.
So, Ava tried a bite or two and choked down the heavy but delicious taste of homemade chili, “Mrs. Beckett, thank you for dinner. This is lovely.”
"Aww, thank you." Logan's mom wiped her mouth with a napkin and reached over to clean Issac's chili-stained cheeks. The four barely began dinner, and Issac already had sauce smeared on his face, but he was a little guy. "But you can call me Eliza. Mrs. Beckett was my mother. I'm not married anymore."
“Alright, Eliza. I’m surprised about the invitation, to tell you the truth. I met you and Issac two days ago . . . but I like you both.”
“Why surprised? You and Logan have known each other for a few months, longer than Issac and I.”
Ava paused and glanced at Logan, curious if he would say anything. “We can’t stand one another" didn’t sound appropriate for a dinner with his mom and little brother, who loved him more than they idolized her.
Ava cleared her throat, "I haven't made many friends in Waybrook, not as many as I'd like. Dinner invitations usually were extended to my parents, and I tagged along." She smiled after another bite, ignoring the urge to push the bowl away. The heady, well-seasoned meal twisted her stomach into knots.
Issac raised his hand like he might in a classroom, blinking innocently, “Miss Ava, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course! What would you like to ask?”
“Do you know boys who figure skate?”
"As a matter of fact, I do. Plenty of talented young men learn to figure skate, dance, and express themselves artistically through the sport."
Issac played with his hands. “I don’t know if I like hockey or figure skating better because I can only play one. Boys at my school play hockey, football, or baseball, but no boy figure skates."
“Well, maybe that’s true.” Ava leaned forward and winked at him. “But you could be the first if you wanted to figure skate. But I’m sure that you’ll like hockey. Your big brother seems to love it.”
Issac giggled, and so did Ava, high-fiving his clean hand. The other one appeared stained with chili from rubbing his face before Eliza cleaned him up. The environment of the Beckett household radiated closeness, a cozy familiarity even to a stranger like herself.
Eliza reached for another slice of cornbread in the center of the table, “If you don’t mind me asking, Ava, how old are you?”
"Not at all. I'm nineteen. My birthday was a week ago. My coach, his family, and I celebrated in Japan."
“Wow. I knew you were young, but being so accomplished at nineteen seems unbelievable.”
The comment would’ve made her smile if the scrape of Logan's chair hadn't followed Eliza's words. Ava witnessed as he scooped up his untouched chili and mumbled, "I forgot I have an assignment due tonight. I'll finish this later."
Logan didn’t wait for permission before excusing himself from the table. He left the bowl of chili on the counter and walked out of the room.
Sneaking a glance toward his mom, Ava noticed the slump in her shoulders and her softened gaze staring at the doorway. Guilt killed the last shred of her appetite, and she politely dropped her hand away from her spoon, drowning inside a bowl of chili.