I pause, gearing up for the hard part. For the ugly truth everyone knew, but no one acknowledged.
“He was a functional alcoholic. He could hold his liquor well enough that most people didn’t notice, but my mom knew. She begged him to get help, but he refused.” The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. “On occasion, my mom would accompany him to events when he needed to reinforce his familyman persona. It was after one of those events that he wrapped his Mercedes around a tree, killing himself and my mom instantly.”
Ava’s hand tightens around mine, and she sounds as broken as I feel when she says, “Knox, I’m so sorry.”
“Fortunately, no one else was injured.” I swallow past the lump in my throat, and a familiar ache takes root deep in my chest. “Losing my father was a shock, but he wasn’t really involved in my life anyway.”
“That must have hurt.”
“It did. But I had my mom.” A genuine smile crosses my face at the memory of her. “She’s actually the one who introduced me to hockey.”
“Really? Did she play?”
“In high school and college. She started teaching me to skate when I was four. By six, I was a menace on the ice, and by seven she decided I needed some balance, so she taught me to bake.”
Ava smiles. “So it was your mom who taught you how to make all of these amazing desserts?”
I nod. “It became our Sunday ritual. It was my job to assemble and measure the ingredients. If I didn’t make a mess, she’d let me lick the spoon afterward.” The bittersweet memories play like a highlight reel in my mind. “My father didn’t want her working—another one of his appearance things—so she poured all her energy into raising me.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She was.” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “Losing her was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through.”
Ava shifts, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. The gesture is so tender and full of compassion that tears prick my eyes.
“No one could take her place,” I continue, blinking furiously, “but I don’t know if I would’ve gotten through it all without Coach’s help. I think he saw a bit of himself in me—hurt, angry,desperate for direction—and he knew if someone didn’t step in, I’d self-destruct. I can never repay him for all he’s done over the years.”
The guilt crashes over me like a tidal wave. Here I am, blubbering about how much Coach means to me, how he saved my life, how I owe him everything, all while lying naked in bed with his daughter.
His daughter, whom he explicitly told me was off-limits.
His daughter, who could lose her job if anyone finds out about us.
You’re a selfish bastard, St. James.
I need to change the subject before the guilt consumes me entirely.
“I bought my parents’ old house,” I blurt out, the words tumbling out faster than I intended. “I’m in the process of fixing it up. The last owners didn’t take great care of it, so there’s a lot of work to do.”
Ava pulls back slightly, her expression shifting from sympathy to surprise. “You bought your childhood home? That’s the worksite Sam was referring to the day we went golfing? “
“Yeah. It came on the market about six months ago, and I couldn’t let it go to someone else.” I shrug, trying to play it off as no big deal, even though it’s one of the most important things I’ve ever done. “I’m doing a lot of the work myself—new floors, updated kitchen, landscaping. It’s taking longer than expected, but it feels right. Like I’m reclaiming something I lost.”
“That’s really nice, Knox.” Her smile is soft and genuine. “I’m glad you were able to get it back.”
“Me too. It’s been therapeutic in a way I didn’t expect.” I brush a thumb across her cheek. “I’d love to show it to you sometime. If you want.”
“I’d like that.”
The way she says it—so simple and sincere—makes my chest tighten with something that feels dangerously close to hope. Maybe this thing between us isn’t just physical for her either. Maybe she feels the same pull, the same need to see where fate takes us.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. She made the rules clear.
Right. Just sex. Nothing more.
Except it feels like so much more.
I shift gears, turning the focus back to her. “What about you? What was your childhood like?”