All Chapters of Crossing the line : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Ethan's POV The arena smelled of polished wood, sweat, and the faint tang of concession stand popcorn. The roar of the crowd hit me the moment I stepped onto the court for the pre-game warm-up, muscles coiling with the familiar mix of adrenaline and nerves. Some nights, the energy of the stadium was electric enough to make the ball feel alive in my hands. Tonight… tonight it pulsed like a heartbeat I could feel in my chest. I tried to focus on the drills, on the rhythm of my teammates, the squeak of sneakers on the hardwood, the slap of the ball against the floor. But my attention kept slipping, like a rope fraying under pressure, to the corner of the stands where she always sat: Ava Reynolds. Her presence was subtle but impossible to ignore. Notebook open, pen poised, hair tumbling in a way that seemed careless but perfectly suited her, she was scribbling notes with a concentration that made the world around her fade. She didn’t need to be courtside to notice everything—she alway

Ava’s POV The cafeteria buzzed with its usual morning energy, trays clattering, the air thick with the smell of coffee and powdered eggs. But beneath the noise, there was something else—an undercurrent I couldn’t quite ignore. Whispers. Glances. The kind that lingered a second too long before darting away when I looked up. I stirred my coffee more than necessary, watching the swirl of cream dissolve, trying to pretend I didn’t notice. But it was impossible. Every time I lifted my eyes, someone was watching me. Not directly, not boldly, but in those sidelong looks people use when they think they’re being subtle. It had started the moment I walked in. Two girls from my journalism class had exchanged smirks before ducking their heads together, voices hushed. A group of guys near the vending machines chuckled, their laughter trailing as my name floated between them like a spark waiting to catch fire. I forced myself to keep eating, back straight, chin high. If I pretended not to hear

Ava's POV The article was still folded in my bag, its headline burning a hole through the leather like a scar I couldn’t erase. I’d read it too many times—my own words staring back at me—but tonight they sounded like they belonged to a stranger. Ethan’s face when he’d shoved the paper at me replayed in my mind: jaw clenched, eyes blazing, his anger not the shallow kind that flares up and burns out, but the kind that comes from someplace deeper. I hadn’t meant to wound him. I’d wanted to show his strength, the way he carried burdens no one else seemed to see. But maybe I’d crossed a line. By dusk, I couldn’t stand the dorm walls anymore. Lila tried distracting me with a movie, but my thoughts kept circling back to him. Finally, I grabbed my notebook, slipped on a jacket, and walked. The campus gave way to quieter streets. Houses and apartments lined the road, lights glowing in windows like little worlds carrying on without me. I told myself I was just clearing my head, but my ste

Ava’s POVWhen Maya announced the new media initiative at the next editorial meeting, I almost pretended to be sick just to escape. Group projects were bad enough; group projects with athletes were worse. They always ended with someone else doing the work while the “face” of the piece posed for the photo op. Still, nothing could’ve prepared me for the way her next words landed like a wrecking ball. “We’ll be pairing sports staff with athletes for a week-long feature series,” she said briskly. “Profiles that go deeper than stats. The human side. Ava, you’ll be working with Ethan Cole.” The room tilted. My stomach flipped. Across the table, one of the layout editors smirked, probably already imagining the drama. “Maya,” I started, my voice higher than usual, “maybe that’s not—” She cut me off with a raised brow. “You’re our strongest writer, Ava. And Cole’s the biggest story on campus. It makes sense.” It made sense the way walking into a fire made sense if you wanted to bur

Ava’s POV I wasn’t supposed to be there. Coach—my father—hadn’t officially approved sideline access yet, but Maya pulled strings, and suddenly I had a prime seat on the bleachers with my notebook balanced on my knees. The gym smelled like sweat and polish, the kind of air that stuck to your lungs. Players darted up and down the court, sneakers squeaking, the ball smacking hard against the rim. But my focus kept sliding to one person. Ethan. Number twenty-three moved like the court belonged to him, sharp and certain. Every drive, every pass, every pivot felt charged. He should’ve been unstoppable. And yet—I saw it. The half-second delay. The glance that cut toward me when he thought no one noticed. And I wasn’t the only one who saw. The whistle cut through the air like a blade. “Cole!” My father’s voice boomed, snapping the whole team to attention. Ethan jogged over, towel around his neck, his face unreadable. The players shifted uneasily. I lowered my head, pretending to scr