11. Chapter 11
Jack
Somewhere after Warrington Ava falls asleep.
At first it’s subtle. The kind of slow losing battle people fight when they insist they’re absolutely still awake. Her head dips forward, jerks back up, then tilts slightly toward me when the coach changes lanes.
I assume she’ll correct herself.
She doesn’t.
A few minutes later she’s properly leaning against me, her shoulder pressed to my arm like she’s surrendered to gravity. I stay still out of instinct more than anything else. Moving now would just wake her.
Then the coach hits a pothole and she tips fully into me.
There’s a small, sleepy sound of protest and then she just… settles. Curled slightly against my chest like she’s found the most stable option available and decided that will do.
And after that it feels unnecessary to move.
So I don’t.
Her hand ends up loosely gripping the front of my jumper. Not deliberately. Just instinct. Like she grabbed the nearest thing to steady herself and never woke up enough to let go.
I become very aware of how still I am.
Across the aisle Dave notices within about thirty seconds.
His grin suggests I’ll be hearing about this until Christmas.
I ignore him.
Ava looks different asleep. Not fragile. Just… off duty. The careful attention she carries when she’s awake isn’t there. No analysing. No observing. No preparing her next question.
Just someone who trusted the moment enough to stop thinking.
Her glasses are pressing awkwardly into her cheek where she’s leaning against me.
That can’t be comfortable.
I hesitate.
Touching her feels like a line. Even if it’s practical.
But leaving them like that feels worse.
So very carefully, I reach up and slide them off.
She shifts slightly, breath catching for a second, her fingers tightening briefly in my jumper like she’s checking where she is. Then she relaxes again, settling closer for a moment before going still.
Right.
I hold the glasses for a second, then carefully tuck them into the pocket of my jacket so they don’t get bent.
Problem solved.
Mostly.
Kieran turns around in his seat about ten minutes later.
“Gaffer.”
“What?”
He nods toward Ava. “You want us to put a blanket over you two or—”
“If you finish that sentence you’re doing extra sprints tomorrow.”
He considers that. “Worth asking.”
“Eyes forward, Kieran.”
He shrugs, but the grin on his face says this will be all over the dressing room in minutes.
The hours pass in that strange way long coach journeys do. Motorway noise. Music from someone’s headphones leaking badly. Periodic debates about music taste. Someone arguing about protein intake. Someone else loudly planning what they’re ordering for dinner like they haven’t eaten in weeks.
Through all of it Ava sleeps.
At one point she shifts again and I feel her breath against my throat. Warm. Steady. Completely unaware she’s doing it.
Don’t read into it.
She’s just tired.
Still.
My phone buzzes once with a message from Mum asking if we’ve left yet.
That thought grounds me immediately.
This is just… a quiet moment.
Nothing more.
At some point my arm starts to go slightly numb but moving now would definitely wake her, so I just flex my fingers slowly and ignore it.
It’s not exactly hardship.
We hit London traffic about three hours later. The stop-start motion makes her stir slightly, her grip tightening briefly like she’s orientating herself again.
I leave it another few minutes.
Then when the hotel finally comes into view I know I have to wake her.
I lower my voice.
“Ava.”
Nothing.
“Ava,” I try again, softer.
She makes a small sound but doesn’t wake.
I very gently touch her sleeve. Just enough pressure to bring her back.
“Ava… we’re here.”
She wakes slowly, blinking like someone trying to remember which reality she’s in.
Then she realises she’s very much not upright.
“Oh God.”
She pulls back immediately, sitting up far too quickly.
“I am so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” I say.
“I fell asleep on you.”
“You did.”
“I did not mean to do that.”
“I gathered.”
She presses a hand briefly to her forehead. “Please tell me that wasn’t for long.”
I hesitate just enough.
“…a while.”
Her eyes close. “I am never showing my face at training again.”
“You didn’t snore,” I offer.
“That is not the reassurance you think it is.”
She reaches automatically toward her face.
Then pauses.
“…where are my glasses?”
For a second she genuinely looks worried.
“I’ve got them,” I say, taking them carefully from my jacket pocket.
She stops.
“You took them off?”
“They were digging into your face.”
There’s a small pause while she processes that.
“Oh.”
Then, softer, “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
She puts them back on slowly.
“I don’t usually just fall asleep on people,” she says.
“Makes me feel special.”
That earns a small laugh.
“Please tell me nobody noticed.”
Dave immediately gives her a cheerful thumbs up.
She closes her eyes briefly. “Fantastic. Love that for me.”
“They’re just jealous,” I say.
“Of what?”
“They had to use the headrests.”
That gets another reluctant smile.
The coach doors open then and everyone starts standing, grabbing bags, stretching after nearly six hours of sitting.
“Right,” she says, straightening slightly. “Back to being professional.”
She stands, then hesitates for half a second like she’s not quite sure how to reset the distance between us.
“Thank you,” she says again. “For… letting me sleep.”
It’s not the words. It’s the way she says it.
“You looked like you needed it,” I say.
Her eyes lock with mine and I get lost for a second.
Then someone behind us calls, “Gaffer, you moving or you settling in there permanently?”
I stand. “Careful. You’re very close to extra fitness work.”
Worth it, he mouths.
As we step off the coach, Ava walks beside me for a few steps before the group naturally pulls us apart toward reception.
Hotel check-in happens the way it always does. Controlled chaos pretending to be organisation.
Nico from operations stands at the reception desk with a printed list, handing out key cards like exam results while the lads hover around pretending not to care which rooms they get.
“Pairs as usual,” Nico says. “No complaints, you all know the system.”
“Can I swap if he snores?” Kieran asks.
“You are the one who snores,” someone replies.
“That is slander.”
“There's audio evidence.”
Ava hangs back slightly, clearly unsure where she’s supposed to stand in all this. Not part of the team, not quite separate either. Just observing again, like she does. Taking it all in without making herself the centre of it.
I find myself drifting closer without really deciding to.
“Do I just… wait?” she asks quietly.
“Nico will sort you,” I say. “You’re on the list.”
She nods, reassured but still slightly out of her depth in the organised disorder of it all.
One by one the lads head toward the lifts, still arguing about dinner like it’s a tactical decision. Eventually the crowd thins until it’s just Ava, me and Nico left.
Nico hands her a key card last.
“Room 214. Second floor. Breakfast from six. Team meeting tomorrow at ten but you’ll get the media schedule separately.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
Then Nico turns to me.
“Your mum has the key to the suite.”
I nod. “Cheers.”
Nico gives a brief nod and walks off, already moving on to whatever organisational crisis is next.
Ava clearly heard the comment about my mum. I can see the question flicker across her face.
She doesn’t ask it.
Instead she just adjusts the strap of her bag and says, “I think I’m on the second floor.”
Like she’s deliberately giving me the option to say nothing.
I appreciate that more than she probably realises.
“Alfie’s here,” I say.
Her eyes lift to mine, surprised but not pushing.
“He’s on half term,” I add. “Mum brought him down on the train this morning. We're staying until Monday.”
Her expression softens immediately. Not curiosity. Just warmth.
“That’s nice,” she says.
“He thinks he’s on holiday.”
“I imagine hotel breakfast alone is enough for a five-year-old.”
“That’s currently his life highlight.”
There’s a small pause after that. One of those quiet, comfortable ones that feels like it could end the conversation.
Instead I hear myself say, “Do you want to meet him?”
The words are out before I properly examine them.
She looks surprised, not in a bad way. Just caught off guard.
“Only if that’s okay,” she says carefully. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t be intruding.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I say. “As long as you’re prepared to listen to a detailed presentation on dinosaurs.”
Her face lights up slightly. “That depends. Are we talking Jurassic period or full Mesozoic era coverage?”
I blink.
“…you know what the Mesozoic era is?”
“I used to proofread science textbooks,” she says. “I am dangerously overqualified for dinosaur conversations.”
“That might be the most reassuring thing I’ve heard all day.”
“I can also confidently confirm that Tyrannosaurus rex had one of the strongest bites of any land animal ever.”
I stare at her for a second. “You’re going to absolutely make his weekend.”
She smiles, a little shy now. “I take dinosaur credibility very seriously.”
I reach down without really thinking about it and pick up her suitcase before she can.
She doesn’t protest.
She just says, “Thank you.”
Like she understands it’s just a small kindness, not a statement.
We step into the lift together. I press two for her and eight for me. The doors close with that quiet hotel hush that always makes everything feel slightly more private than it should.
“Just drop your bag off and come up if you still want to,” I say. “Room 801.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“We’re just ordering room service. Nothing fancy. Mum refuses to let Alfie eat what the team eats.”
“That bad?”
“Let’s just say she doesn’t consider chicken and pasta a balanced emotional experience.”
That gets a quiet laugh.
“And Alfie doesn’t like the team dinners,” I add. “Too loud. Too many people. He lasts about five minutes before he looks at me like I’ve betrayed him.”
“That sounds familiar,” she says. “I also struggle with large groups of loud men discussing protein intake.”
“That’s basically the whole evening.”
“So room service sounds ideal.”
The lift slows.
“Second floor,” the automated voice announces.
“This is me,” she says.
I hand her the suitcase. She takes it carefully, our fingers brushing briefly. Neither of us mentions it.
“801,” I repeat. “End of the corridor.”
She nods. “801. Got it.”
There’s that small pause again. Like neither of us quite wants to just walk away.
“I’ll just drop this off,” she says. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Take your time.”
She gives me that same small, warm smile.
“Thank you again,” she says.
“For what?”
“For… letting me meet him.”
I nod. “He’ll like you.”
Her cheeks colour slightly at that.
“We’ll see,” she says.
The doors start to close and she gives a small wave before they slide shut between us.
As the lift starts moving again, I’m standing there thinking something I probably shouldn’t.
I hope she actually comes up.