Chapter 18 #2
What’s left is Ava in my arms, my hands locked under her thighs—well, her ass, actually—and her, staring at me with wide, gleaming eyes.
The world keeps turning, but the curve of her hips anchors me, and the sound of her laughter from a second ago echoes in my chest.
I want this moment to last forever.
I want to bottle her joy, the softness of her smile, and how her breath stops when she looks at me. I’ve waited my whole damn life to find the woman.
I promise Bells, I’m not a mistake.
The air sizzles when she presses against me, a slow collision of breath and want, her heartbeat brushing mine, our lips are so close, they’re almost touching. The world is still dancing behind us, but nothing exists outside this moment.
One more inch.
My tongue darts out over my bottom lip. “What’s next, Ava?”
Her wide eyes search mine—unsure, but burning.
“Do you want—”
She kisses me.
Every cell in my body explodes.
It starts out soft, tender, a door creaking open to reveal a bigger room. Her lips are warm, parted, and I forget how to think. All I can do is feel. And holy hell, do I feel everything.
Ava’s fingers knot into the front of my shirt. Mine slides down her waist, over her hips, fastening her to me as the kiss deepens. Her body rocks into mine, and that’s all it takes. My control snaps like a dry twig.
A guttural sound rips from me as I twist, pinning her to the wall.
The thud vibrates through both of us. She gasps, and I take it, my mouth hungry, claiming.
Pressing my hips forward, I grind against her, chasing that sharp edge of friction.
The kiss turns rougher—tongue, teeth, breath—heat rolling off us in waves until there’s no space left to fill, no air left to steal.
Ava grasps at my shoulders, arching into me, hips rolling forward in a rhythm that sends blood surging south with alarming precision.
And then—
WHAM.
A loud clang reverberates as the frame of a poorly mounted dartboard rattles off the wall and lands squarely on our heads.
Jerking back with a grunt, I manage to set her down gently. “Mother—ow!”
Giggling, Ava’s hands fly to her mouth. “Oh my God, did the wall just attack us?”
“Apparently, the bar is anti-PDA.”
Ava starts laughing harder, even as she tries to apologize. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see it! I was too busy—”
“Kissing me senseless?”
She stops to take a breath. “Yeah.”
I sigh dramatically, rubbing the sore spot. “Worth it.”
She brushes invisible dust from my shirt–an excuse to touch me, which lights me up.
“You sure?”
I eye her. “Depends. Are we done?”
Fisher’s voice cuts in, “And post.”
We both freeze.
“ShelfSpace is gonna eat that one up,” he adds, followed by the unmistakable sound of a wink in his tone.
Ava stiffens. Within seconds, the moment transforms into one that’s no longer ours.
She steps back a fraction. Her smile dims, not all the way, but the sparkle behind it definitely dulls. Like a beautiful flower that got plucked too soon.
I don’t say anything because I get it now. She wanted that moment for herself. Now it belongs to everyone.
After the kiss at the bar—the one she initiated, the one I wish never stopped—Ava got weird.
In the car, she insisted the boys sit up front while the girls rode in the back. She didn’t say a word on the drive home. Emily and Fisher did all of the talking.
When we got back to her family’s, the four of us all sat around the fire pit for hours, trading stories. Emily slipped in details about college Ava—wild streaks and hidden rebellion I wanted to pocket and keep for myself.
Eventually, Emily declared she was heading home. Then, Fisher, being Fisher, eventually proclaimed he was going to “take care of his blue balls” and disappeared inside, leaving me and Ava in the glow of dying embers.
That’s when she did this fake yawn and said she was heading to bed. I let her go. Put out the fire. Gave it some time.
I finally made my way upstairs, crawled in beside her, careful to get as close as I could without crossing into creepy.
She slept on her side, her breathing even, lashes fanned across her cheeks.
I wanted to wrap myself around her, pull her close, but I settled for brushing a kiss against her temple.
“Thank you,” I whispered so quietly it dissolved into the dark. “For tonight. For letting me in a little. For kissing me. For not running.”
The words kept spilling, tiny confessions meant for her walls. “You undo me, Bells, more than you know. You feel like home. And I don’t even care if you never hear this, because at least I finally said it.”
Her chest rose and fell steadily, untouched by my restless truths. And still, I stayed there, staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind my head, wondering how I could spend an eternity next to her.
When I wake, darkness seals the room–a velvet curtain pulled tight across the world. Silence hangs between walls creaking with the heaviness of night and old bones settling in the house.
My hand reaches across the bed on instinct, searching the far side.
Empty. Cold.
Fingers skim over the sheets that are still holding the shape of her. She’s always curled tight to the edge, as though claiming space costs her something. But even that narrow corner of comfort has been abandoned tonight.
Sitting up, I rub sleep from my eyes. My phone on the nightstand reads 4:12 a.m. Wind brushes dry branches against the roof, a scratchy rhythm that slithers beneath my skin.
The weight of the hour presses in on me as I creep out of the room. The stairs groan beneath my weight, and every creak slices through the quiet as I pad down them.
A faint silver glow spills from the living room, drawing me forward. Ava is curled on the couch in the shape of a question mark.
Lurking in the shadows, I take her in. Ava’s knees are tucked beneath her in a way that makes her look younger than she is, like a kid who wandered out of bed chasing nightmares.
She’s wearing a threadbare hoodie that swallows her frame, the sleeves bunched around her fists, the collar pulled up to her jaw.
Armor. Her hair’s a messy knot, strands falling loose around her temples, wild and sleep-tousled.
Her eyes are locked on her phone, lit by the glow of ShelfSpace, where my face fills the screen.
I know the video. It’s me, mocking the ending to a Halloween rom-com she wrote, complete with fake tears and a dramatic reading in a bad Dracula accent. She watches without anger, but there’s no smile on her lips.
In the glow of the screen, the edges of her face are different, fragile in a way she never lets the world see. The pressure to be adored. To entertain. To build a version of herself that always delivers, even when it costs more than she’s willing to show.
The sight of her unguarded and alone in the middle of the night is heartbreakingly human. She isn’t the stage version tonight. Not the silver-tongued rival or the viral name. She’s not just watching a video of me mocking her book. She’s holding her breath through it, bracing herself.
It makes my chest ache in ways I can’t explain.
Whatever she’s carrying with her runs deeper than I understood initially, with unspoken expectations she’s placed on herself. Outside of the ones the industry throws at her. I can see now how they’ve piled up in her silence, and how she smiles through the exhaustion.
This is Ava. Unfiltered. Unmasked.
She knocks the wind out of me in this quiet, unraveling moment. It’s a blow I never saw coming until now, standing here, watching. I’m breathless.
I take a step forward, but a soft voice stops me.
“Ava?” Her mother shuffles into the living room, wrapped in a robe the color of warm sand.
Ava jumps a little, locking her phone and shoving it under a pillow.
Mandy’s slippers barely make a sound as she crosses the room. A silk scarf wraps her curls into a careful tower on top of her head. Tired eyes pass over me, but I’m too far hidden in the shadows for her to notice. They catch on Ava immediately.
“Honey,” she murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. “What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Everything okay?”
Ava presses her lips together and nods. By the way she closes her eyes, I can tell she’s fighting back tears, and that fucking guts me.
Her mother nods, then moves toward the kitchen. “Come on, honey.”
Mandy flicks on the kettle, leans against the counter, and watches her daughter with practiced ease.
Sinking deeper into the shadows, I plan to head back upstairs when Mandy says, “You know, snuggling a warm man is therapeutic.”
Ava exhales hard, more a breath than a response. But her mother keeps going on about it. I almost laugh.
“What?” her mom says, completely unbothered. “It’s true. Your father has the body heat of a radiator. You should take advantage while you’ve got one.”
Ava groans, pulls the hoodie higher over her face. “Mother.”
The kettle whines to life, a mechanical sigh filling the room. Steam starts to rise. Her mom goes quiet.
She turns, eyes sharpening as only a mother’s can. “What happened. Did you two fight?”
“No.” Ava shakes her head. “He’s been...perfect. But I don’t think he and I are meant to be.”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck, and an edge of nervous energy coils tight in my stomach. I’ve stumbled into a moment too unguarded and too vulnerable for my ears. And suddenly, my chest is packed with everything I haven’t dared to show. Yet.
Her mom stills. “Ah. And there it is.”
“What?”
“The problem.” She moves closer. “You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Ava doesn’t respond.
“Honey,” her mom says, softening. “You always do this. Focus so much on what could go wrong that you don’t give yourself time to see what’s going right.”
“It’s not that simple.”