Page 22 of The Rookie

Although we’ve gotten mildly serious in a short-ish timeframe, we still haven’t figured out what we’re doing after senior year.. I want to move abroad. Gavin wants to move to the panhandle and get started in the oil business.

So, you know. There’s that. I’m all for him following his dreams. But sometimes I think he’s prone to getting caught up in the latest ‘thing’ without necessarily thinking it through. He watched one episode ofLand Manand now he wants to be Billy Bob Thornton in that show.

I hit the call button, and he picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, babe,” Gavin says, his voice familiar and steady. “How’s Mexico?”

“Good,” I say, smiling. “We went to the market today. Did a scavenger hunt. Played volleyball on the beach. It was really fun. I even spiked a couple.”

“Volleyball, huh?” he says, his tone light but tinged with something else. “Who were you playing with?”

“Just some classmates,” I reply, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “It got pretty competitive. You know how I am.”

“Yeah, I do,” he says, but the warmth in his voice is gone. “Were there guys on your team?”

I blink, caught off guard by his strangely jealous line of questioning. I’m loyal and I’ve never given him reason to question that. “Uh, yeah? It was co-ed. Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and the pause feels heavy.

“Avery,” he says finally, “I don’t get why you’re even on this trip. You already speak Spanish. What’s the point? I’ve told you the plan. I make the money, you make the babies.”

He laughs like it’s a joke, but I don’t find it funny. Not that Idon’twant babies, but it’s his tone that’s disturbing to me. Like I don’t have a choice in the matter.

I sit up straighter, my chest tightening. “Gavin, we’ve talked about this. I wanted to improve, and it’s good for my career. It’s only two weeks. It’s literally a blip on the relationship radar.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need it,” he says, his voice sharper now. “Iwill be going into the oil business.”

“Don’t need it? What are you even saying? Did we not cover this last night? My planned career trajectory to work international next year?” I feel my face heating.

“You’re just running off to do your own thing, like always. I’m over here trying to plan things. Withus.”

I blink, stunned. “Like always? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means,” he says. “You’re always chasing these big dreams, Avery. Moving abroad, saving the world. Meanwhile, I’m here, trying to build a real life. A future. For us.”

I feel the familiar frustration rising in my chest. I’ve looked past his neediness a few times—because I like the guy. But he’s really pushing it. “A future for us? You meanyourfuture. Gavin, I’ve told you—I want to live abroad. I’ve wanted that since before we even met. Is it too much to ask for you to listen to me?”

My heart starts pounding, and it’s halfway between anger and anxiety. I like that Gavin is into planning for us—that’s a good sign in so many ways—but he’s also got this controlling bent to him that makes me wonder if he’s really listening to me, or if he just likes me because he thinks I look great in a bikini. Which, let’s face it, I do.

Case in point: we even met because he slid into my DMs after I posted a thirst trap from the cruise my family took last winter during our break. I was lounging on a white sand beach in Turks and Caicos, wearing a black bikini with gold accents that might’ve been a size too small. Okay, it wasdefinitelya size too small. I’d posed with my sunhat tilted just so, the turquoise ocean behind me sparkling like a travel ad. The caption—something generic about “Vitamin Sea”—was really just an excuse to show off my legs. And Gavin? He wasted no time liking, commenting, and messaging me with some lame opener about how I “must be a mermaid.”

At the time, it was flattering. Cute, even. But now, his fixation on that version of me—the carefree, bikini-clad girl in the picture—makes me feel boxed in. He doesn’t seem to understand that I’m more than that. I want adventure. Independence. Something bigger than sunbathing on a beach and waiting for him to get home from work.

“And I’ve told you it’s not realistic!” he snaps, pulling me back into the present. “You’re going to throw away everythingwe’ve built for some fantasy? I’m going to be the breadwinner. You won’t have to worry about anything.”

I blink, stunned by his tone, by the way his words sound more like an ultimatum than a partnership. “What do you mean, ‘you won’t have to worry about anything’? Do you even hear yourself? That’s not the kind of life I want.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches uncomfortably between us, thick with unspoken accusations. It’s like we’re standing on opposite sides of a canyon, and instead of trying to bridge it, he’s busy stacking rocks to make the gap even wider.

“You don’t even have an idea of where you’d go. It’s senior year—almost graduation—and you haven’t even applied anywhere. I thought we both knew that was just a fantasy.”

“It’s not a fantasy,” I say through clenched teeth. “It’s my dream. I-I was looking at that Fulbright scholarship.”

“Pssh. I mean, I don’t mean to be rude but you’ve gotta be realistic, Avery. Those are competitive.”

“And I’m not? Why can’t you just support me?!”

“Because it’s selfish!” he says, his voice rising. “You don’t care about us. You only care about yourself.”

---