Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
A va stared at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster, her mind snagging on the smallest imperfections. A water stain in the corner resembled a misshapen heart—fitting. Sunlight spilled through Reed’s guest room curtains, the ones she had insisted on replacing when she first moved in. The old ones had been flimsy, practically transparent, offering no barrier between her and the outside world. These were thick, a fortress against daylight when she needed the illusion of night, especially after shifts that blurred the line between exhaustion and oblivion.
But today, the curtains were open, and sunlight carved geometric patterns across the hardwood floor.
She should get dressed. She’d come in here after waking up in Reed’s arms, planning on showering and starting her day, but instead, she’d laid back down, letting her thoughts run away with her. She’d been in here for over an hour, her mind running in circles like a caged animal. Her body felt foreign, her skin stretched too tight, her fingers drumming restless patterns against her thigh. The bedside clock read 9:37. Late, by her standards. Early for a Saturday.
Reed had gotten up earlier. He was always up with the sun, even on his days off, unless he had the night shift. She could picture him moving through the kitchen—the soft clink of a mug against the counter, the low whoosh of the coffee maker, the scrape of a chair across the floor as he sat to drink it. Familiar sounds in a house that wasn’t hers.
This wasn’t supposed to be her life. Married to Reed, living in his house, sharing his bathroom, his kitchen, his space. Temporary, she’d told herself. Just until she secured the position, just until things settled. Then they could go their separate ways.
Then the accident happened, and nothing had been the same since.
Her stomach twisted at the memory. Jason. Seventeen years old, a regular at Reed’s recreation center. A kid full of cocky confidence and boundless energy, until the day a simple climb had gone wrong. The blood—thick, seeping into his hair, staining his shirt—his breathing labored, eyes fluttering in and out of consciousness. The edge in Reed’s voice when he relayed the details, his professionalism stretched thin beneath barely concealed panic.
That wasn’t just any patient. That was a kid Reed had mentored, someone he’d taken under his wing. Someone who reminded him of his brother.
She could still feel the terror that had gripped her when she thought the boy might die.
He hadn’t. That was the important thing. Three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, a concussion, a collapsed lung. He’d be fine. Physically, at least. No one blamed Reed. The parents praised him for his quick thinking, immediate care, and all the training he’d done with the kids at the rec center. Not that it had mattered to Reed. The weight of responsibility still sat heavy on his shoulders.
Everything had shifted after that night.
She had stayed with him, arms wrapped tightly around him as if she could keep the world at bay. He had held her, not just seeking comfort but offering it, anchoring them both in something solid. And the next night, when she’d made to return to her own room, she’d found herself back in his, drawn by something unspoken. No expectations. No lines crossed.
Just sleep.
Every night since, they had gravitated toward each other in the dark. Sometimes they talked, murmured conversations about nothing in particular. Sometimes they lay in silence, the air between them thick with everything left unsaid. His arm would curl around her waist, her head would settle against the hollow of his shoulder, and they would breathe in sync, lost in the illusion of peace.
Ava groaned and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes until she saw stars. This limbo was driving her insane. Reed’s touch was gentle, careful—platonic, in a way that made her want to scream.
The tension between them had always been there, simmering beneath the surface since the moment they met. A slow burn neither of them had acknowledged, both content to exist in the safe space of friendship.
But now, sharing a bed, breathing the same air, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm—it was torture. Sweet, unbearable torture.
It was only a matter of time.
The thought both thrilled and terrified her.
She wasn’t good at this—at emotions, at uncertainty, at the messy reality of feelings she couldn’t categorize or control. She was good at plans, at knowing exactly what to do in any given situation. But Reed had always been her blind spot. With him, logic crumbled.
And retreat wasn’t an option. This was his house. His space. She had nowhere else to go, not really, and the thought of leaving made her chest ache in a way she refused to examine.
So she remained frozen, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the house around her. The distant whir of the refrigerator. The soft whistle of wind through the cracked window. The steady inhale, exhale of her own breath.
A sharp knock at the door made her jolt upright.
“Ava?” Reed’s voice, bright and insistent, cut through the quiet. “Did you go back to bed? Come on, it’s a beautiful day. Let’s go do something.”
She frowned, pushing herself into a sitting position. She’d heard him earlier, assumed he was moving through his usual Saturday routine. Now curiosity prickled.
The door opened a crack, and Reed’s face appeared, his smile wide and easy in a way it hadn’t been for weeks.
Her pulse stumbled.
He was dressed in hiking boots and cargo pants, with a dark green fleece zipped up to his throat. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, still drying from his shower. His eyes were bright, carrying a spark she hadn’t seen since before the accident.
“I’m not hiking,” she said flatly. “Or camping. Or whatever outdoor torture you’ve planned.”
She pulled the blanket higher, suddenly acutely aware of the thin tank top and sleep shorts she wore. Reed’s gaze flickered downward—quick, instinctive—before snapping back to her face.
Something flashed in his expression. Something quick. Something hot. A barely there moment, gone before she could fully grasp it.
His grin widened. “Don’t worry. This is an indoor activity.”
She narrowed her eyes, unconvinced.
Reed leaned casually against the doorframe; arms crossed over his chest. “There’s coffee in the kitchen,” he added, his voice full of temptation. “And I bought those blueberry muffins you pretend not to like, but always eat three of.”
Her stomach betrayed her with a quiet growl. Damn him.
“Fine.” She sighed. “Fifteen minutes.”
Reed nodded, but didn’t immediately move. He lingered in the doorway, watching her in that way that made the air between them feel charged.
Then, just before he turned away, he murmured, “Don’t take too long.”
The house creaked as he walked away, and Ava let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her fingers curled into the comforter, restless energy coiling under her skin. The unease was still there, but it had shifted, changed into something else. Anticipation.
Whatever Reed had planned, it would get them out of this house. Out of this limbo. Maybe it would break this tension, this careful balance they had been maintaining.
Or maybe—maybe—it would finally push them over the edge.
Ava swung her legs over the side of the bed, stretching her arms above her head. Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
It was only a matter of time.
And maybe, just maybe, time was up.
R eed watched Ava glare at the climbing wall like it had personally insulted her.
“I am not climbing that,” she declared, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Or anything else.”
Her tone was resolute, but he could see the flicker of hesitation beneath it.
The recreation center’s indoor rock wall towered before them; forty feet of textured terrain peppered with multicolored holds that marked different levels of difficulty. To him, it was beautiful—a challenge waiting to be conquered, a puzzle of strength and strategy. But to Ava, it was clearly some medieval torture device.
Reed grinned as he buckled himself into his harness, the motions automatic after years of practice. The familiar press of worn nylon against his waist and thighs was grounding. Ava, on the other hand, held her own harness between two fingers, dangling it like it might bite.
“Come on,” he cajoled, checking his carabiners. “You said you wanted to assess the facility’s safety yourself. What better way than to experience it firsthand?” He paused, meeting her wary gaze. “Or…don’t you trust me?”
He watched the impact of his words land. Ava Spencer-Campbell was many things—stubborn, brilliant, maddening at times—but she wasn’t a coward. And, for all their issues, she did trust him. Maybe more than she should.
She scowled, but gripped the harness a little tighter. “Trust has nothing to do with this. I prefer my feet on solid ground and my neck intact. Thank you very much.”
Reed chuckled, the sound bouncing off the cavernous walls. “You’ll be fine.” He tilted his chin toward a small girl on a beginner route. “Look, if Maya can do it, you can do it. She’s in the second grade.”
Ava flicked him a glare, unimpressed.
Reed stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Suck it up and get moving, Spencer-Campbell.”
Her eyes flared at the use of her last name—the challenge in it. A reliable tactic when he wanted to rile her up.
She huffed out a breath, stepping into the harness. “Fine. But I’m only doing this once, and then you’re buying me lunch. Somewhere expensive.”
Reed’s grin widened in victory. “Deal.”
He crouched, adjusting the straps with practiced efficiency. The intimacy of the moment caught him off guard—his fingers brushing her hip as he tightened the webbing, her breath hitching almost imperceptibly.
Almost. He felt it.
The awareness between them had always simmered beneath the surface, but these past several weeks, it had grown unbearable. They spent nights tangled together, just sleeping, bodies drawn like magnets in the dark. And yet, in daylight, they danced around it, careful not to cross the invisible line between them.
“Too tight?” he asked, his voice lower than he intended.
Ava shook her head but didn’t meet his eyes. Her ponytail had come slightly loose, stray strands framing her face, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. He had to stop himself from reaching out, from tracing the soft skin where her pulse fluttered.
Instead, he grabbed the chalk bag. “Here. This’ll help with grip.”
She dipped her hands in, the fine white dust coating her fingers.
Reed clipped her harness to the rope, his hands steady despite the restless heat curling low in his stomach. “I’ve got you,” he said, softer now.
Ava’s lips parted slightly, her gaze flicking to his.
It was ridiculous how much he wanted her. And it wasn’t just about her body—it was the way she fought him, the way she trusted him even when she didn’t want to. The way she challenged him in ways no one else ever had.
But this wasn’t the time.
“Basic rules,” he continued, shifting gears. “Keep three points of contact at all times. Move with your legs, not your arms—they’re stronger.”
“Do I have to go at all?” she muttered, then sighed. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
He smirked. “You’re not walking to the gallows, Spencer-Campbell. People enjoy this.”
“Debatable.”
Still, she stepped forward, placing one tentative hand on the wall. Reed stepped back, letting out slack as she moved.
Her motions were cautious at first, feeling out the holds, her fingers testing for stability. But Ava was nothing if not determined. She found a rhythm, her body moving with an effortless grace that sent heat curling through him.
She was strong.
Her legs tensed, pushing herself higher, the muscles in her arms flexing as she pulled herself up. Her T-shirt lifted slightly with the movement, exposing a sliver of smooth skin at the small of her back.
Reed clenched his jaw. Focus .
“You’re doing great,” he called up. “Try the blue hold to your right.”
She hesitated, then shifted her weight, reaching for it.
Her confidence grew with each move, her hesitation giving way to a steady rhythm. Reed loved this part of climbing—the moment when instinct took over, when the world narrowed to just you and the wall.
Ava found it, too.
By the time she reached the top, her face was flushed with effort and exhilaration.
“I made it!” she called down, laughter bubbling up in her voice.
Reed grinned. “Told you.”
She rang the bell at the summit. The sound echoing across the gym. A few other climbers glanced up and smiled at her obvious delight.
“Ready to come down?” he asked.
She nodded. He began the descent, controlling her rope as she kicked off the wall in small, controlled bounces.
When her feet touched the ground, she turned to him, eyes shining.
“That was…amazing,” she admitted, still breathless. “I get it now. Why you love it.”
Reed felt something shift deep in his chest. Watching her climb—watching her conquer something she had feared—was exhilarating. Pride. Admiration. Something more.
“Want to go again?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
She glanced at the routes, sizing them up like an opponent. “Something harder this time.”
He smirked. “I like this side of you.”
Her second climb was even better, her movements more confident, more assured. A small crowd gathered as she neared the top, Maya among them, clapping enthusiastically when Ava rang the bell a second time. When she descended, the rush of victory still in her veins, she laughed—a full-bodied, joyful sound.
And before he could process it, she threw her arms around his neck. Reed stiffened for only a fraction of a second before wrapping his arms around her. She was warm against him, her heart racing beneath her ribs. She smelled like chalk and sweat and that vanilla shampoo she always used. She pulled back slightly, her face just inches from his. Her eyes, still bright with adrenaline, flickered with something else.
Something darker.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Reed stopped breathing. Then she kissed him.
A soft, insistent press of her lips against his, stealing the air from his lungs. He froze for half a second, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to relief. Then his hands tightened around her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened.
A sharp whistle from behind them shattered the moment.
“Get it, Coach Reed!”
Laughter erupted from the group of teens watching them, and even Janet, the center’s no-nonsense manager, smirked from behind the front desk.
Ava pulled back, lips slightly swollen, her breath uneven. She smirked. “Maybe we should continue this somewhere with fewer spectators.”
Reed’s grip on her waist tightened. “I like the way you think.”
As they returned their gear, Janet winked. “Took you two long enough.”
Reed couldn’t disagree.
It had taken too long. But maybe—just maybe—timing wasn’t the problem.
Because when Ava slipped her fingers through his as they walked out together, he realized something.
Some climbs were worth the wait.