All Chapters of Crossing the line : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Ava’s POV The noise of the crowd was a living thing — loud, chaotic, overwhelming — but in the middle of it, I only saw him. Ethan, flat on the hardwood, his body unnaturally still, the victory that had belonged to him seconds ago already eclipsed by fear. “Ethan!” My voice tore from me, raw, but it was swallowed by the roar of panic around us. The trainers rushed in, whistles shrieking, clearing space. But Tyler got there first, pushing through teammates and dropping hard to his knees. “Stay with me, man,” he demanded, voice breaking but steady. He caught Ethan’s hand in his, gripping it like an anchor. “Don’t you quit on me. Not now.” Ethan’s chest rose shallowly, too slow, too uneven. My own breath seemed to match it, jagged and broken. “Get the stretcher!” one of the trainers barked. The next seconds blurred — straps securing, oxygen mask lowering, hands lifting his body from the court where he had fallen like a warrior cut down. Tyler climbed right into the ambulance, his

Ethan’s POVThe hospital room was too still. Too white. Even with the steady beep of the monitor and the faint shuffle of nurses outside, it felt like the world had stopped in this square of sterile walls. My body ached, heavy with exhaustion, but my mind refused to rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the court lights blurring above me, the sound of sneakers screeching as I went down, the terror in Ava’s voice cutting through the chaos.I shouldn’t have let it get this far.The thought looped like a punishment: if I had listened to my body, if I had pulled back before it gave out, I wouldn’t be lying here, tethered to machines while everyone else hovered on the other side of this thin wooden door. And more than that — Ava wouldn’t be in the middle of it.She had been here, sitting beside me, her hand folded in mine like it belonged there. I could still feel the trace of her warmth. I’d asked her not to leave, and for that fragile heartbeat, it had been enough. But after she left

Coach Reynolds’ POV Newspapers age fast in this business, but some mornings the paper on my kitchen table felt like an indictment. I was supposed to be down at the gym by sunrise, watching film, setting drills, running plays. Instead I found myself still sitting at the table, the sports section spread before me like a thing I’d been warned about but had refused to see. I’d been told last night — a call from the station, voice clipped and professional: Your daughter filed something. You’ll want to see it. That phrasing had the courtesy of a grenade with the pin removed. I wasn’t going to show weakness by caring. I took my coffee and read anyway. The headline sat bold and brazen: More Than the Game: The Man Behind Ethan Cole. By Ava Reynolds. I rest my palm on the page and let the room narrow to ink. I have coached enough players and weathered enough seasons to expect certain patterns — the way a story can ruin a program if it’s turned the wrong way, the calls you get before the le

Ethan’s POVThe hospital walls felt like they were closing in. Too white, too clean, too loud with the constant beep of monitors that reminded me I was still a patient, not a player. Three days since the collapse, and the doctors still wouldn’t clear me. My ribs ached when I breathed too deep, my shoulder throbbed from the fall, and my head buzzed with the memory of the crowd’s gasp.But it wasn’t my body that kept me awake.It was the whispers.Nurses moving past my door slowed just slightly. Their voices dipped low, their eyes flicked toward me like I was something on display. At first, I thought it was just the game — the collapse, the way my body gave out. But the longer it went on, the more it felt different. Not pity. Something sharper.I shifted in bed, restless, when the door cracked open. Tyler slipped inside, shoulders tense, hoodie pulled low over his head. He carried his phone in his hand, grip too tight. His eyes darted around the room before settling on me.“You okay?” h

Ethan’s POVGame day.The words used to light a fire in my chest—adrenaline, anticipation, that clean rush before stepping into the arena.Today, it feels heavier. More like a question mark than a rallying cry.I stood in the locker room, the noise around me fading to a low hum. Jordan joked with Marcus in the corner, Coach Reynolds mapped out plays on the whiteboard, and I just… breathed. The brace around my knee felt snug, stable—but not invincible. One wrong move and everything could end.Or maybe it already had.“You ready?” Jordan's voice cut through my thoughts. He bumped my shoulder, eyes sharp but kind. “You don’t have to prove anything, man.”I nodded, forcing a half-smile. “I know. Just want to leave it all on the court.”“That’s the spirit.” He grinned, then lowered his voice. “And hey—she’s here.”My pulse jumped.I didn’t have to ask who he meant.When we jogged out onto the court, the roar hit me like a wave. Lights blazed overhead, banners rippling, cameras flashing. Bu