LOGIN“She’s the coach’s daughter. He’s the captain. Together, they’re breaking every rule.” Ava Reynolds has one rule—never let her life be defined by basketball. As the coach’s daughter, she’s spent years dodging whispers and expectations, determined to make her mark through journalism. But when her editor forces her to cover the university’s star team, Ava finds herself colliding with Ethan Cole—cocky, brilliant on the court, and infuriatingly impossible to ignore. Ethan lives for basketball. It’s his ticket out, his shot at protecting the only family he has left—his younger brother. The last thing he needs is a sharp-tongued reporter questioning his every move, especially when she sees more than he wants anyone to. What starts as a battle of words spirals into undeniable chemistry, leaving Ava torn between loyalty to her father and the pull of a boy who breaks every rule she set for herself. But when a secret threatens to ruin them both…will crossing the line cost them everything?
View MoreAva’s POVThe moment the door clicked shut behind me, something inside my chest gave way—quietly, like a thread snapping under too much tension.I leaned against the door, eyes closed, breathing in the leftover scent of cold air and Ethan’s cologne, the ghost of his voice still vibrating in my head.If all you can give is a little… then I’ll take a little.I should’ve felt relief. He didn’t push. He didn’t demand. He didn’t look at me like I was broken beyond repair.And yet—My hands were still shaking.Because everything I didn’t tell him was still sitting between us, heavier than anything I had confessed.Because he had looked at me like he knew I was lying even when I hadn’t said a word.Because I didn’t know how long I could keep pretending I wasn’t drowning.I pushed away from the door and walked into the apartment. It felt small tonight—too small, too quiet, too aware. I set my phone on the counter and stared at it like it might start buzzing with another threat.Nothing.Just
Ethan’s POV I didn’t sleep. Not for more than a few minutes at a time. Every time I drifted off, something jerked me awake—noise from the street, the hum of my phone, my own pulse kicking too hard. By sunrise, I was up, showered, and pacing the length of my living room like an animal in a cage. Ava’s text from last night was still burned into my screen: Yeah. Tomorrow. No emojis. No softness. No breath between the words. Just a yes that didn’t feel like a yes at all. Something was wrong. Not “bad day” wrong. Not “work stress” wrong. Something deeper, sharper, the kind of wrong that gets under your skin and doesn’t let go. I felt it before I saw her. Felt it again watching that damned op-ed blow up online—everyone arguing about ethics and silence and scandals like they were entertainment. And somehow… Somehow her name kept circling the edges without ever being said out loud. I didn’t know why. I just knew she was in the middle of it. And I hated that she didn’t call me.
Ava’s POVThe Chronicle’s legal notice sat in my inbox like a live wire. I’d closed the email, reopened it, closed it again, then turned my laptop off entirely—as if shutting the lid could shut down the consequences waiting on the other side.It didn’t.Every time I blinked, the words rewrote themselves behind my eyes: Ms. Reynolds, this is a formal notice. We need to discuss today’s developments. Please call us back immediately..I wasn’t even breathing right. Each inhale felt shallow, each exhale too quick. I paced my apartment because sitting still made it worse, but moving didn’t help either. The storm outside had thinned to a soft drizzle, but somehow the quiet in here felt louder.My phone buzzed again.Not a friend.Not Ethan.Unknown number.I stared at it as the call faded out. They weren’t giving up.I shoved the phone under a pillow like it could muffle the problem.My new job schedule was on the fridge, a neat little lineup of stability—morning check-ins, afternoon coordi
Ava’s POV The morning after Ethan’s game, the city sounded different — thinner somehow, stretched tight like a wire pulled too far. My phone hadn’t stopped vibrating since dawn, not with messages or calls, but with notifications from strangers, trending hashtags, clipped game footage looping on timelines like a wound on repeat. Ethan Cole Losing His Calm —Is Pressure Cracking Him? The Scandal Season Continues. No one was calling it what it really was: a man unraveling under the weight the world kept dropping on him. I shut off the screen and exhaled. My apartment was quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet that didn’t soothe — it scraped. A reminder of how everything in my life had been ripped open and rearranged in the span of weeks. The Chronicle badge no longer hung on the hook by my door. My inbox was nearly empty. My notebook, once overflowing with interviews and deadlines, now held a list of shifts from my new administrative job at a literacy nonprofit. It was good work. Hone






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