Ava settles back against my chest, her fingers resuming their lazy patterns across my skin. “I grew up in a small town in Texas. My mom raised me on her own, and she worked long hours as a nurse to make ends meet, so my nana filled in the gaps. She’s an old-fashioned Southern woman through and through, which is to say she’s terrifying.”
I chuckle at that. “Terrifying how?”
“She has very specific ideas about how young ladies—heavy emphasis on ladies—should behave. Manners, modesty, and a whole lot of ‘yes, ma’ams.’ You know, all the things that come with growing up in a small Southern town with antiquated values.” Ava’s voice carries a mix of affection and exasperation. “Between watching my mom work her fingers to the bone, Nana’s lectures, and the crushing expectations of competitive gymnastics, I learned early on to smile and not make waves.”
“That’s right. You mentioned once before that you were a gymnast.” I smirk. “I guess that explains the flexibility.”
She swats my chest playfully.
“I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you I’m obsessed with your body.”
“Noted.” She laughs, deep and throaty. It’s quickly becoming my favorite sound. “But yeah, I was a competitive gymnast from age six to eighteen. It was my whole life.”
There’s something in her tone, a heaviness that suggests it wasn’t all glitter and gold medals. “What made you stop?”
“By the time I graduated, I was sick of the pressure. Between the constant judgment and the expectation of perfection, it was exhausting. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have every little flaw picked apart, from the size of your thighs to the way you style your hair? Worse, they expected us to smile and say thank you for the feedback.” She pauses, and I can feel the tension creeping back into her body. “And it wasn’t just the judges; it was the coaches too. That stuff takes a toll. In addition to dealing with physical injuries, there were girls at my gym struggling with eating disorders, anxiety, depression, or some combination of the three.”
“That’s awful,” I say, shaking my head. I’ve seen some shit in hockey, but nothing as rampant as what Ava’s describing, especially among such young athletes.
As if reading my mind, she continues. “We were just kids. Most of us didn’t have the tools or resources to cope with the mental toll the sport took on us.”
“That sounds brutal.”
“It was, but it’s also what inspired me to study sports psychology.” She tilts her head up to look at me, her eyes bright with passion. “I didn’t want to see other athletes struggle the way we did. The sport is getting better. The new generation of gymnasts is taking more control over their careers and speaking up about mental health, but there’s still so much work to do, and I don’t want to see anyone suffer if I can help it.”
The conviction in her voice, the genuine care she has for the athletes she works with, sparks a sense of pride within me.
“The work you’re doing is admirable, Ava, and it matters.”
A faint blush creeps across her cheeks. “I just want to make a difference, you know?”
“You are. Even if the guys on the team don’t always show their appreciation, we’re all glad to have you onboard.”
She laughs, her body vibrating against my chest. “Even when I make you talk about your feelings?”
“Especially then.” I meant it when I told her counseling probably saved my life. “Given a little more time, the team will open up.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t give up on us.”
“Never.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, and Ava’s breathing evens out. Just when I think she’s drifted off to sleep, she speaks.
“Knox?”
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Thank you for telling me about your parents. About Luke. About all of it.” She presses her hand to my chest, to the spot where my heart beats a steady rhythm just for her. “It means a lot that you trust me with your story.”
I’d trust you with my scars, my life, all of it.
I’d give her the whole damn world if she’d just let me.
But I don’t say that because this is supposed to be just sex. Instead, I tighten my arms around her and murmur, “Thank you for listening.”
She yawns, snuggling deeper into my embrace. “I should probably go soon.”
“Stay.” I should let her go. Every minute she’s in my bed is another minute I’m betraying Coach’s trust, another minute I’m risking her career. But I’m enjoying this moment too much to say goodnight.
Ava’s breathing slows, and within minutes, she’s asleep, her soft body pressed to mine.