21. Ava
21
AVA
My muscles strain, aches overwhelm my every limb. The line between pain and pleasure has never been thinner. Last night was a fantasy fulfilled. I had never stretched my legs so wide and exerted pressure on them simultaneously. All while enduring the relentless thrusts of Jack’s formidable length. It was mind-shredding, bordering on torture, but I actually thought about making a pact with the devil so my man and I could keep doing it until we’re both old and wrinkled.
“Lift! Good work. Again!” Jack, switching gears from being my lover to being a fitness coach, encourages me as I push through my leg lifts. “Did I tell you this is my favorite exercise?”
I huff and puff, forcing myself through the pain.
“Come on, lift! Ten more.” He leers at my ass, then runs his arm along the back of my legs. “God, you’re so sexy, baby.”
My core pulsates mercilessly, along with my glutes. Pleasing? A little. Helping? Absolutely not. With only six reps to go, my body gives way, and I collapse.
Jack flashes me a cheeky smile and extends his hand. I grasp it, and he effortlessly pulls me back up. I’m drenched, my face flushed as if I was sunburned.
“Did I break you?” Jack teases.
“Last night or this morning?” I tease him back.
“Both.”
“Last night, yes. This morning, not really,” I maintain my pride.
He smirks with a shake of his head, but he stops short of forcing me to admit otherwise.
Last night, he certainly broke me, but in the process, he granted me the most intense orgasms I’ve ever experienced—yes, multiple.
I smear my sweat onto his equally damp tank top as he sensually rubs me through my Lycra pants. “If I may, I’d like exclusive access to your ass,” he hums.
“You already have.”
I take my medications and then check on our assistant coach, Quinton, who has been quiet all morning. We’ve been working out at the Red Mark gym. Being considerate of others, we always come at a quiet time. Bringing a baby along means things can be unpredictable. We ensure this kind of disturbance doesn’t bother anyone.
Seeing me, Quinton cries in his stroller. I wrinkle my nose and ask Jack, “Can you smell it?”
“I’ll take care of him,” he replies jovially, taking the baby out of the stroller. “Come on, Q-Bear. Your Paw Patrol clown is at your service.”
Jack heads to the bathroom to change Quinton, and his cries gradually fade as they leave the gym. Just in time, as a row of gorgeous strangers getting ready for their workouts start coming in. They politely nod and smile as they pass me by. I’m faithful to one man, but the tempting sight of these Red Mark agents flaunting their toned physiques has caused me to sprout horns and a demon tail.
Bruno Mars’ “Runaway Baby” plays in the background. If I had control of the playlist, I would’ve chosen “It’s Raining Men.”
Among the beats, I hear my phone ringing inside my bag that’s hanging on Quinton’s stroller. An unknown number flashes on the screen. Dragging the empty stroller with me, I retreat to a quiet corner.
I press the device against my ear, chills forming at the nape of my neck. My fingertips tingle. My instincts tell me to hang up immediately, but part of me craves to hear what he has to say. And I’m desperate to say my piece.
“So you’ve been keeping busy,” I reply with a controlled tone. “But I guess nothing’s new there. How’s Mr. Branson?”
“Ava, Ava,” Willem says calmly. “When did you suddenly become interested in my business affairs?”
I know that tone all too well. It’s the one he adopts when he tries to mask his true emotions. In the past, more often than not, his anger would get the better of him, and he ended up taking it out on me. Thankfully, this time, distance is on my side. Plus, with the people I’m surrounded by, this wretched man wouldn’t stand a chance even if he were here.
Neither of us utters another word as if gauging each other’s position.
I restart, “What do you want, Willem?”
“Before you unleash whatever is on your mind, I called to tell you that I forgive you.”
“Forgive me for what?”
“The betrayal, and for running away.” If he were standing in front of me, I would have slapped the audacity right off his face. But he continues, undeterred. “Let’s forget about everything. Start fresh. You, me, and Quinton. And our future kids. Didn’t you tell me you wanted at least three?”
“Have you no shame?” I retort. “You kidnapped your own son and placed him with strangers just to play your game?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. If anything, it’s you who kidnapped my son,” he scoffs. Of course, he wouldn’t admit to his own crimes.
“I will never return to you, Willem. And you will never lay eyes on Quinton again.”
“Ava, I know I haven’t been the best partner, but I’m really trying to change. Doesn’t every man deserve a second chance?” he speaks, his tone familiar. It reminds me of when he begged me to take him back after I initially left him.
“Save your breath,” I reply coldly.
“No, no. I need you to understand that I’m not a monster. I’ve proven this to you, haven’t I?” He pauses, exhaling into the phone, seemingly trying to convey his emotions intentionally.
I remain silent, giving him the space to continue.
Taking the cue, he goes on. “Do you remember those days? The days when you and your parents received that devastating news about your cancer? I was there for you, by your side, supporting you every step of the way.”
“I’m grateful for that, Willem. But I can’t repay your kindness with my life.”
He releases a disappointed sigh, then continues, “I held your hand during your chemo treatments. I urged you to persevere even though the outcome was bleak. And have I ever asked for anything back when I picked up the hospital bills? I even helped your father with his struggling business. I did everything I could to keep you alive and your family afloat, Ava.”
The memory assaults my mind. He did spend countless hours with me, offering support. He went out of the way to help my parents, too. My mother always said, ‘Willem was too kind.’ He was, perhaps, driven by the fact that he was practically an orphan after his mother left him and his father remarried. That was why his generosity ended up costing me my own freedom and happiness. It was all for himself, whether he realized it or not.
I could give him a lecture about abandonment, but I simply say, “You did it because you wanted me.”
“Of course I did. But may I remind you? You were dying, Ava! So, think about what was in it for me. I simply cared about you.”
“Willem, you helped me, yes. And I will forever be grateful. But if you genuinely cared about me, let us go.”
“I will do whatever it takes to reclaim my family!”
“We’re not your family,” I counter. I will not fall for his sorry plea this time.
“Quinton is my son.” His tone tightens.
“No, he isn’t!” My words may come across as harsh, but the fact that someone is a biological father holds no significance for me or Quinton. I refuse to accept that my son should be burdened with being an asshole’s prodigy. I will do everything in my power to protect him, and when the time comes, I will tell Quinton the truth.
“Ava, don’t resurrect what nearly destroyed you. You are nothing without me.”
“I am everything when I’m without you! So look in the mirror, pack your sorry ass, and never call me or try to see us again!”
At this moment, Jack is standing behind me. Quinton is already back in his stroller, and Jack angles it so he’s looking away and sheltered from the tension of our conversation.
He snatches the phone from my hand, his voice firm, “If you ever dare to come near her or intimidate her again, I will leisurely chop off your fingers, one by one. Then, I will cut off your ears and scoop out your eyeballs. But I will let your tongue remain intact because I want to hear you curse at me, and I want to relish the moment when your voice fades away.”
From the speaker, I hear Willem speaking over him, but Jack doesn’t back down. It’s more than just a clash of egos—it’s a clash of two men seeking to possess me for two different reasons.
Jack then delivers his punchline. “So, like my girlfriend said, pack up your sorry ass!”
He quickly ends the call, almost slamming the phone down, but then realizes that it’s mine. He hands it back to me.
I take a moment to compose myself as Jack steps away and begins pacing the room toward the shelf where the dumbbells are. I lift Quinton from the stroller, gently swaying him back and forth. He appears happy in his fresh diaper, expertly put on by Jack. The air around me is filled with the soft scent of baby powder. I can’t help but wonder if the tough guys on the opposite side of the gym can also detect the scent.
Soon, Jack comes back to me, asking if I’m okay.
I nod, placing Quinton back in his stroller and leaving him to play with his giraffe teether. Then, under my breath, I mutter, “That man had the nerve to call me like that.”
“Did he mention anything about the kidnapping?”
“No. Not surprising, really.”
“This has to end!” Jack declares with determination. I embrace him, agreeing with him. But how we’ll make it happen remains uncertain.