Chapter 38 Electric
Liam Carter
The celebration was electric. My team was still buzzing, the adrenaline from the game pulsing through us as we shouted, drank, and relived every second of the match. The reporters had swarmed me, shoving microphones in my face, asking how it felt to be back, to win, to prove that I wasn’t just a washed-up player trying to reclaim his former glory.
But none of it mattered. None of it meant a damn thing.
Ava wasn’t there.
I had scanned the crowd until my vision blurred, searching for her in every corner of the arena, waiting for her to appear with that smirk, that glint in her eyes that said she knew I’d win. That she had never doubted me for a second. But she never came.
And now, hours later, I was home…alone.
The house felt hollow without her.
I had tried calling. Texting. No response. It was driving me fucking insane. My mind was running through worst-case scenarios, had something happened? Was she mad? Had she… left?
I stormed to her room, throwing the door open, and her scent hit me instantly. That soft, lingering vanilla with a hint of something floral. It was intoxicating. It was hers.
I ran a hand through my hair, cursing under my breath. My eyes swept across the room, landing on her unmade bed, the sweater she had left draped over her chair, the little messes that made it Ava’s space.
I wasn’t proud of what I did next
But I needed something.
My hands found the drawer where she kept her underwear, fingers grazing over the lace, the silk, the cotton. My heart pounded as I picked up a pair, pressing them between my fingers before lifting them to my nose. Fuck, I was losing it. But I couldn’t stop.
She wasn’t a fucking distraction. She was everything.
And I needed to remind her of that.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, jerking me back to reality. I yanked it out, my breath heavy as I answered.
It was Ethan.
“Dude, where’s Ava?” I cut in before he could say anything.
“You don’t know?” Ethan paused. Are you in pain”
“Do you want her dad to kill me if I lose his daughter?” I conjure an excuse
“She’s at the bar down on Sixth.”
“With who?” My grip on the phone tightened.
“Nathan.” He replies casually
Nathan.
That motherfucker.
I didn’t even say anything before ending the call and storming out. My blood was boiling, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.
She wasn’t on a date. No fucking way.
I was speeding before I even realized it, my hands gripping the wheel as I ran every red light, pushing past every limit, until I screeched to a stop in front of the bar.
Ava was there, sitting at a corner table, her fingers running over the rim of her glass, her expression unreadable. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t happy.
I stormed inside, straight to her.
“Get up.” My voice was sharp
“What the hell, Liam?”
“Get. Up.”
“No.” She crossed her arms. “I’m waiting for Nathan. He just went to take a call outsi…”
“I don’t give a fuck where he went.” I grabbed her wrist, ignoring the way she tensed, the way her mouth parted in shock.
“We’re leaving.”
“Liam”
I didn’t let her finish.
I pulled her to her feet, gripping her tightly as I led her through the bar. She struggled, whisper-yelling my name, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t give a shit about the looks we were getting.
Ava wasn’t walking out of here with another man.
And she was about to find out exactly why.
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I don’t know what pisses me off more.
The fact that she left the game the second it was over, the fact that she was out here with another guy, or the fact that she actually thought she could run from me.
Ava. My Snowflakes.
She looks up at me now, standing between me and the bathroom door like she’s debating whether she can slip past me. Like I’d fucking let her. Her hands are wrapped around her arms, knuckles white, with her chest rising and falling a little too fast, like her body knows what’s coming before her mind will let her admit it.
"Are you done?" she says, voice steadier than I expected. "Because I have to get back to…"
"To who?" My voice is sharp. "Nathan?" I practically spit his name.
"That why you left the second the match ended? Because you had plans with him?"
"It’s none of your business, Liam." Her mouth tightens.
I laugh. A bitter, dangerous sound.
"None of my business?" I step closer, watching the way her breath catches, the way her fingers dig into her skin. She feels this too. She always fucking does.
"We had a deal, Ava. I win, the distance ends. And guess what, baby?" I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me. "I fucking won."
"It was a stupid deal." Her eyes flash, and she yanks away.
I go still. My heart pounds, my blood thick with adrenaline, rage, and something else. Something darker.
"Say that again," I dare her, my voice sounding like a lethal whisper.
She swallows but holds her ground. "It was a stupid deal, Liam. I should have never agreed to it. This whole thing was a mistake."
The words land like a slap. A direct hit to my chest.
She doesn’t fucking mean it. I know she doesn’t. She wouldn’t be looking at me like that if she did, wouldn’t be breathing like she just ran a marathon, wouldn’t be gripping the edge of the sink behind her like it’s the only thing keeping her standing.
She’s lying. To me. To herself. But why?
"You don’t get to decide that," I growl, stepping into her space, so close I can feel the warmth of her body against mine.
She huffs out a frustrated breath, eyes darting to the door. "I need to go."
"No." I shake my head.
"Liam…" Her jaw clenches.
"No." My hand slams against the door beside her head, making her jump. "You're not leaving this bathroom until you admit what we both know."
"Which is?" She glares at me.
"That you don’t want to run. That you’re only doing this because you think you have to." I press my hands against the sink, caging her in completely. "That every time you push me away, you’re lying through your fucking teeth."
She lets out a shaky exhale, looking everywhere but at me.
"You need to focus on your recovery," she says softly. "I’m just your physiotherapist. My dad… he’s your coach, Liam. We could never work."
My vision blurs with fury. I laugh, but it’s void of any humor. "That’s your reason? That’s what you’ve convinced yourself?"
I drag a hand down my face, trying to hold on to the last shreds of my patience, but it’s slipping fast.
"You know what, Ava?" I lean in, my mouth a breath away from her ear. "Fuck this."
Then I kiss her.
Hard. Rough. Punishing.
It’s not sweet. It’s not gentle. It’s every ounce of frustration, anger, need, that I’ve bottled up for weeks. It’s a demand. A claim.
And she? She fucking melts.
She gasps, her hands flying up to push me away, but then she’s yanking me closer instead, her fingers twisting in my hoodie like she can’t get enough. Like she wants me to ruin her.
My hands grip her waist, lifting her onto the sink as I step between her thighs. Her legs wrap around me without hesitation, her body pressing into mine so perfectly it makes my head spin.
I kiss her harder, deeper, swallowing every sound she makes.
"Tell me to stop, Snowflakes." My voice is rough against her lips, my fingers digging into her hips. "Say the words, and I will."
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she pulls me closer, her nails raking down my back, her breath hot and desperate against my mouth.
"That’s what I fucking thought."
I kiss down her jaw, her neck, nipping at the soft skin until she gasps, arching into me. My hands slide up her thighs, pushing her dress higher until my fingers graze the lace of her panties. I groan against her throat. "So fucking perfect."
She whimpers as I sink to my knees in front of her.
"You're not running from me again, Ava." My voice is dark, possessive. I grip her thighs, holding her still. "And by the time I’m done, you won’t want to."
Then my mouth is on her, and she’s gone.
Completely. Utterly. Mine.