Crossing the line のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

Ava’s POVThe morning I left campus felt strange — like standing between two worlds.Boxes lined the dorm hallway, echoes of other goodbyes mixing with laughter and the slam of doors. My room looked smaller now, the walls bare except for a single photo taped above the desk — me and Ethan after the final game, his arm around me, both of us smiling like we’d already figured everything out.We hadn’t.But maybe that was the point.Lila sat cross-legged on my bed, pretending to fold laundry but mostly watching me pace. “You know,” she said, “for someone who swore she wasn’t sentimental, you’ve been staring at that photo for ten minutes.”“I’m just—thinking,” I said.“Thinking,” she repeated, rolling her eyes. “That’s code for spiraling.”I sighed and sank beside her. “It’s weird. Everything’s ending at once—school, this place, the paper… and I still don’t know what happens next.”“You got the job offer, Ava. That’s what happens next. You go to Charlotte, become the hotshot journalist you

Ethan’s POVThe first thing I noticed when I woke up that morning wasn’t the ache in my knee — it was the silence. No rehab alarms. No trainers shouting. Just quiet.Six months ago, I would’ve called it peace. Now it just felt… empty.My phone buzzed beside the bed — notifications stacked like clutter. Mentions, tags, headlines. Everyone had something to say about the comeback.Ethan Cole Returns Stronger Than Ever.Redemption Story of the Season.Second Chances and Charlotte’s Golden Boy.All noise. All surface.The truth was simpler: I was still learning to trust my leg, my body, my instincts — and myself.I’d signed with the Charlotte Monarchs three months ago. Same city, different jersey, same pressure. A local paper had called it “a symbolic homecoming” — a line that made me laugh when I first read it. Because home? That word hadn’t felt solid in a long time.My old coach had moved on, but I still worked out with Marcus and Jordan in the off-season. Tyler came down on weekends

Ava’s POVThe message came just after sunset.Ethan: Meet me at the Southridge Gym. 8 p.m. You’ll understand when you get here.I almost ignored it.Almost.But by seven-thirty, I was already driving, headlights slicing through the quiet stretch of highway that connected Charlotte to the smaller districts. The night felt heavier than usual, like it knew I was heading somewhere I shouldn’t.Southridge wasn’t far — forty minutes from the city, tucked between worn-out warehouses and fading streetlights. The gym was old, local, the kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking.When I pulled up, I saw his car out front — same black SUV, same clean lines. He was leaning against the hood, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes on the pavement like he was waiting for a sign.When he looked up, it hit me all over again — how familiar it felt to be seen by him.“You came,” he said quietly.“You asked.”He smiled faintly. “I wasn’t sure you would.”“Neither was I.”He pushed open the door, motioni

Ava’s POVMorning light crept through the blinds, soft and too honest. My phone buzzed against the nightstand, the last thing I wanted to look at. The unread text stared back at me — the one from Ethan I hadn’t replied to.Ethan: Night, Ava.Now, as I sat up and pulled my hair into a loose bun, the air felt heavier than it should have. I’d covered dozens of stories since joining The Charlotte Chronicle — politicians, high school heroes, broken systems. None of them made my pulse stutter like this one man still could.I opened my laptop. The Chronicle’s homepage flashed with the headline I’d filed late last night:“Ethan Cole Returns: A Game Beyond the Scoreboard.”Dana had added a short editor’s note under my byline:Part of our ongoing “Heart of the Game” series — stories that remind us what it means to fight back.The article was performing well — high traffic, clean stats. Professionally, it was everything I wanted. Personally, it felt like swallowing glass.At work, the newsroom

Ethan’s POVBy the time Ava left the arena, I was still sitting on the locker-room bench, watching the condensation slide down a half-empty water bottle. Every sound in the place felt amplified — the slap of sneakers, the echo of a bouncing ball, the metallic click of a locker door. But the noise that stuck with me was her voice. Measured. Careful. Too careful.Redemption. Hate yourself less. Who you’ve kept close. I hadn’t planned to say her name, but when it slipped out, it didn’t feel wrong. It felt overdue.Tyler re-entered the room a few minutes later, backpack slung over his shoulder, eyes bright. “Bus leaves in twenty,” he said. “You dropping me or should I grab a ride with Marcus?”“I’ll drive you,” I said automatically. “I could use the quiet.”He raised an eyebrow. “You? Quiet? That’s new.”“Don’t push it,” I muttered, grabbing my keys.We walked through the tunnel side by side, the air thick with the kind of silence that only exists between people who know each other to