Chapter 5 – Avery

The coffee shop they chose for the first official “date” was the kind of place that looked casual until you noticed the lighting had been adjusted for cameras.

I arrived ten minutes early because I refused to look like I was the one being summoned. Jax was already there, seated at a corner table with his back to the wall, hoodie up, taped knuckles resting on the table like a warning. A single camera was positioned near the pastry case. Another floated near the window. Dana stood just out of frame, smiling like this was a gift she was giving us.

I sat down without greeting him.

“You’re early,” he said.

“So are you.”

“Didn’t feel like giving them the entrance shot.”

I almost respected that. Almost.

A server appeared with two cups neither of us had ordered. Dana’s voice floated over. “Just act natural. Talk about classes. Or the weather. Or how you can’t stop thinking about each other. Whatever feels true.”

Jax’s mouth twitched. “None of that feels true.”

“Then pretend harder,” Dana said, still smiling.

The cameras rolled.

I wrapped my hands around the cup so they wouldn’t shake. The coffee was too hot. I kept my eyes on the table because looking at him felt like handing the show something it hadn’t earned.

“You always this quiet off-air?” he asked after a stretch of silence that the producers were probably already labeling ‘tension.’

“Only when I’m being paid to sit across from someone I wouldn’t choose to breathe the same air as.”

He didn’t flinch. “Fair.”

Another silence. The camera near the window adjusted. I could feel the lens like a second pulse.

“They’re going to ask how we met,” I said eventually. “Again.”

“I know.”

“We stick to the version we already agreed on. Running into each other. Nothing dramatic.”

“Got it.”

I risked a glance up. He was watching me the way he watched the ice—focused, calculating, a little too still. The golden-boy polish was thinner in person. There were shadows under his eyes that makeup couldn’t fully hide. The split skin on his knuckles had started to scab in uneven lines.

“Does it still hurt?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He looked down at his hand like he’d forgotten it was there. “Only when I think about it.”

“Do you think about it a lot?”

“Every time I close my eyes.”

The honesty landed between us like something dropped too hard. I felt the cameras lean in even though they hadn’t moved.

I should have changed the subject. Instead I said, “My sister used to date a guy on the lacrosse team. He talked to her like she was lucky he noticed her. When she finally left, he told everyone she was crazy. She transferred schools because of it.”

Jax’s jaw tightened. “I’m not him.”

“You don’t get to decide that. Not from where I’m sitting.”

He exhaled slowly, like he was measuring the air. “I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m asking you to keep collecting the check and not make this harder than it already is.”

“It’s already hard.”

“I know.”

The words were quiet enough that the mics might have missed them. I wasn’t sure I wanted them to.

Dana’s voice cut in from the side. “Beautiful. Keep that energy. Now—reach across the table. Just a light touch. Nothing big.”

I stared at her. “No.”

“It’s for the edit,” she said, still pleasant. “Viewers need to see the possibility.”

Jax’s eyes met mine. There was no challenge in them. Just a tired kind of resignation.

I reached across the table and let my fingers brush the back of his hand for exactly two seconds. His skin was warm. The taped knuckles felt rough under my touch. I pulled back like I’d been burned.

The cameras kept rolling.

We sat there for another twenty minutes of carefully empty conversation about class schedules and cafeteria food and the weather that neither of us cared about. Every time I looked up, Jax was already looking at me, and every time I looked away I felt the weight of the performance settling heavier on my shoulders.

When Dana finally called cut, I stood so fast the chair scraped.

“Same time tomorrow,” she said. “We’re doing the student union walk-through. Wear something that photographs softer.”

I didn’t answer. I walked out into the cold without waiting to see if Jax followed.

He did, but only as far as the sidewalk. The cameras stayed inside.

“Avery.”

I stopped but didn’t turn.

“You don’t have to keep doing the radio segments that go after the team,” he said. “It makes this harder for both of us.”

I turned then. The wind cut across my face hard enough to make my eyes water. “I’m not softening my show for your redemption arc. That’s not part of the contract.”

“I’m not asking you to soften it. I’m asking you to survive this without setting both of us on fire.”

I laughed once, sharp. “Too late.”

I walked away before he could say anything else.

That night I sat in the radio booth with the headphones on and the mic live and told my listeners exactly what I thought about athletes who got second chances while everyone else paid for their mistakes. My voice stayed steady. My hands did not.

When I signed off, the stipend deposit notification was already sitting in my banking app.

I stared at the number until the screen went dark.

Then I deleted the draft of the email I’d started writing to Dana—the one that said I was done.

I wasn’t done.

Not yet.