Chapter 5: The Morning After the Laughter
Pale light crept through the blinds, thin as skim milk. Ava surfaced slowly, dragged upward by the weight of something warm and unfamiliar across her waist.
An arm.
Jake's arm.
Her body went rigid before her brain caught up. Old instinct, lightning-fast, screaming danger. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. Her breath snagged in her throat.
She stared at the ceiling. Counted the fairy lights strung along her headboard. One, two, three, four, five. In for four, hold for four, out for six.Dr. Hartley's voice in her head, calm and steady.
The panic crested.
Then ebbed.
Jake's breath was warm against the back of her neck. Slow and even. He was still asleep. His arm was loose, not trapping her—just resting there, like he'd reached for her in his sleep and found her and settled.
She could move. Could slide out from under his arm. Could flee to the bathroom and splash water on her face and pretend last night hadn't happened.
She didn't.She stayed.
The panic faded to a hum in the background, present but manageable. She focused on the sensations instead. The weight of his forearm. The rasp of his breath. The heat of his body seeping through the quilt. The faint soreness in her lips from all that kissing.
A smile tugged at her mouth.
Behind her, Jake stirred. A low sound in his throat—not words, just a rumble. His arm tightened around her waist. Then relaxed.
"You awake?" His voice was thick with sleep.
"Yeah."
"Mmm." He shifted closer, his chest pressing against her back. "Time is it?"
Ava craned her neck toward the window. "Early. Maybe seven."
"Too early."
"Go back to sleep."
"Can't." He yawned, his breath warm against her shoulder. "You're here. Too distracting."
She laughed—a quiet sound. "That's a line."
"It's the truth." He propped himself up on one elbow, and she turned to face him. His hair was a disaster, sticking up in six different directions. His eyes were still half-closed, bleary and soft. There was a crease on his cheek from the pillow.
He looked ruined. He looked perfect.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
He reached out and traced her jaw with one finger. Slow. Lingering. Like he was learning the shape of her face.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Good." She paused. "Better than I have in a while."
"Same." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then her nose. Then the corner of her mouth.
She turned her head and caught his lips properly.
The kiss was slow and lazy. No urgency. Just warmth and the morning and the quiet click of the space heater in the living room. His hand slid into her hair, cradling her head. She pressed closer, her palm flat against his chest.
They kissed like that for a long time. Minutes or hours—she couldn't tell. The sun crept higher, the light shifting from pale to gold.
When they finally broke apart, Jake's eyes were fully open. Dark and steady. Watching her.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Depends on the question."
"The scars." His voice was gentle. "You said they're on your back. From the bomb."
The word landed heavy. Ava's stomach clenched.
"Yeah."
"Can I see them?"
She went still. Every muscle locked.
He must have felt it, because he pulled back. "You don't have to. I shouldn't have asked."
"It's not that." She swallowed. "No one's ever—I haven't let anyone see them. Not since it happened."
"Not even Mia?"
"Mia saw them in the hospital. Right after. But she's never—I don't show them. I keep them covered."
Jake nodded slowly. "Okay. I get it."
But he didn't push. Didn't coax. Didn't promise it would be fine. Just waited.
Ava's throat tightened. She thought about the mirror in her bathroom. The way she'd learned to angle herself so she never caught a glimpse. The way she'd stopped wearing tank tops, stopped swimming, stopped doing anything that might expose the ruined skin.
The scars were ugly. Twisted and raised and puckered. They ran from her shoulder blades down to her lower back, a mess of keloid tissue that would never fade.
She'd spent four years hiding them.
But Jake had seen her panic at the gym. Had watched her run. Had stayed anyway.
"Okay," she said.
She sat up. The quilt pooled around her waist. She was still wearing her t-shirt and underwear from last night, her hair a tangled mess.
Jake sat up too, watching her.
"Just—give me a second."
"Take all the time you need."
She turned her back to him. Her fingers found the hem of her shirt. They trembled. She closed her eyes, breathed in, breathed out.
Then she pulled the shirt over her head.
The air hit her skin. Cool. Exposing. She felt naked in a way she hadn't felt even last night. More than naked. Flayed open.
She heard Jake's breath catch.
Her eyes burned. She stared at the wall, at the fairy lights, at the framed photo of her and Mia on the beach. She couldn't look at him.
"Jesus, Ava."
She flinched. "I know. They're—"
"Can I touch them?"
The question stopped her cold.
"What?"
"Can I touch them? Your scars."
No one had ever asked that. Not once.
"I—" Her voice cracked. "Why would you want to?"
"Because they're part of you."
She didn't answer. Couldn't. Her throat was too tight.
Then she felt his fingers. Light as moth wings, tracing the edge of the worst scar—the one that ran from her left shoulder blade down to her spine.
She shivered.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"No. The nerves are damaged. I can barely feel it."
"Good."
His lips touched her shoulder. Soft. Warm.
She froze.
He kissed the next scar. Then the next. Slow and deliberate, like he was mapping her ruin with his mouth. Each kiss was a question. A reassurance. A benediction.
Her breath hitched. Then broke.
She was crying. Silent tears sliding down her cheeks, dripping onto the quilt. Not from pain. Not from sadness. From the unbearable relief of being seen.
Jake didn't stop. He kissed every scar. Every ridge and valley. Every place she'd hidden for four years. He kissed her shoulder blade, her spine, the curve of her waist.
When he reached the last one, he rested his forehead against her back.
"You're not broken," he said, his voice muffled against her skin. "You're not. You're the strongest person I've ever met."
A sob escaped her. She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Jake turned her around. Gently. Carefully. His eyes were wet too.
"Hey," he said. "Hey.Look at me."
She looked.
"You survived something terrible. And you're still here. You're still fighting. That's not broken. That's—" He shook his head. "That's everything."
She kissed him.
Hard and desperate and messy. Her tears smeared against his cheeks. He held her face in both hands and kissed her back like she was something precious.
They fell backward onto the bed. The quilt tangled around their legs. His hands stayed on her face, her shoulders, her waist. Never straying to her back. Never making her feel exposed.
She pulled at his shirt. He helped her tug it off. Skin against skin. His chest pressed to hers. His heartbeat hammering against her ribs.
They kissed until her lips were numb. Until the sun climbed high and the room turned golden. Until the sounds of the city woke up outside her window—traffic and birds and the distant rumble of a bus.
They didn't have sex. She wasn't ready. He didn't push.
But they touched. They explored. They learned each other in the quiet morning light.
She traced the lines of his abs. He traced the curve of her hip. She kissed the scar above his eyebrow. He kissed the freckle on her collarbone.
At some point, her stomach growled. Loudly.
Jake laughed. "Hungry?"
"Starving."
"I could make you breakfast."
"You can cook?"
"I can burn eggs with the best of them."
She grinned. "Sounds promising."
BANG BANG BANG.
Ava jumped.
"AVA!" Mia's voice, muffled through the door. "I smell testosterone and bad decisions. Open up. I need coffee and details."
Jake groaned. "Does she ever knock?"
"She knocked. Sort of."
"AVA, I SWEAR TO GOD. If you two are doing it in there, I'm charging you for the therapy I'll need."
"We're not doing it!" Ava yelled back.
"THEN WHY ARE YOU BREATHING LIKE THAT?"
Ava looked at Jake. Jake looked at Ava.
Then they both dissolved into laughter.
"Coming!" Ava shouted.
"You better not be!"
Ava pulled on a fresh t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Jake grabbed his jeans from the floor. They stumbled into the living room, still laughing.
Mia was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. She was wearing a silk robe and fluffy slippers. Her hair was in a messy bun. Her eyes were sharp.
"Good morning," she said sweetly. "Or should I say, good afternoon?"
"It's nine," Ava said.
"Nine is afternoon when you've been up since five doing God knows what."
"We weren't doing anything."
"Your neck says otherwise."
Ava's hand flew to her throat. Jake's neck, she noticed, was covered in faint red marks.
Mia smirked. "Coffee?"
"Please."
They settled around the kitchen island. Mia made three cups of coffee—strong and black and perfect. She slid one toward Jake.
"So," she said. "You're the boy."
"I'm a boy."
"You're THE boy." She sipped her coffee. "Ava's never brought anyone home. Not once. Not even for a study session."
Ava felt her face heat. "Mia."
"What? It's true." Mia turned to Jake. "She talks about you, you know."
"Does she?"
"All the time. 'Jake did this, Jake said that, Jake has nice forearms.'"
"I do not talk about his forearms."
"You literally said—and I quote—'his forearms are disrespectful.'"
Jake choked on his coffee.
Ava buried her face in her hands. "I hate you."
"You love me." Mia reached over and ruffled her hair. "And I love you. Which is why I'm going to ask the important question."
She fixed Jake with a stare. Not playful. Serious.
"What are your intentions with my girl?"
Jake set down his mug. Met her eyes. "Good ones."
"That's vague."
"I want to date her. For real. Not a hookup. Not a fling." He glanced at Ava. "If she wants that."
Ava's heart swelled. "I want that."
Mia studied them both. Then nodded. "Okay.Good."
She stood up and grabbed her coffee. "I'm going back to bed. Marcus wore me out. You two enjoy your morning."
She paused at the hallway. "Oh, and Jake?"
"Yeah?"
"Break her heart, and I'll make what I did to Marcus look like a spa day."
Jake's eyebrows rose. "Noted."
Mia disappeared. The bedroom door clicked shut.
Ava let out a breath. "She's terrifying."
"She's protective. I respect it."
They drank their coffee in comfortable silence. The morning light filled the apartment, warm and clean. Ava leaned against the counter, watching Jake over the rim of her mug.
He caught her staring. Grinned.
"What?"
"Nothing." She shook her head. "Just—thinking."
"About?"
"About how I almost didn't come to the gym that day. About how I almost ran away from you."
"But you didn't."
"No."
He crossed the kitchen. Took her mug from her hands. Set it on the counter.Then he kissed her. Soft and slow. His hands rested on her hips, thumbs tracing circles through her t-shirt.
"You're not running now," he said against her lips.
"No." She smiled. "I'm not."
The day stretched ahead of her. Bright and open and full of possibility.
For the first time in four years, Ava wasn't afraid to meet it.
The words hung in the air between them, soft and certain. Jake's hands were still on her hips, his thumbs still tracing those slow circles through the cotton of her t-shirt. She could feel the heat of his palms, the calluses on his fingers from the free weights.
"What time's your session?" he asked.
"Eleven."
"With a trainer?"
"No. Just me." She glanced at the clock on the stove. "I do legs on Sundays. Hips and glutes mostly. It's the only thing that keeps my head quiet."
Jake nodded slowly. "I get that."
"You do?"
"Gym's the only place I don't have to think." He stepped back, giving her space. "I was gonna hit the weights today anyway."
Ava bit her lip. The offer was right there, dangling between them. She'd never worked out with anyone before. Never let anyone into that part of her life.
"Come with me," she said.
Jake's grin was slow and bright. "You sure?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."
"Then yeah." He grabbed his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head. "I need to swing by my place first. Grab my gym bag. Change."
"Same." She gestured at her rumpled shorts. "I can't show up looking like I slept in these."
"You did sleep in those."
"Semantics."
He laughed. It was that low, warm sound she was starting to crave. He crossed the kitchen and kissed her forehead.Quick. Natural. Like they'd been doing it for years.
"I'll meet you there," he said. "Eleven o'clock."
"Don't be late."
"I won't."
He grabbed his bag from the floor by the couch. Paused at the door. Looked back at her.
"Hey, Ava?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you didn't run."
Her chest tightened. "Me too."
He left. The door clicked shut behind him.
She stood in the kitchen for a long moment, her coffee cold in her hands. Then she smiled. Wide and real and a little bit ridiculous.
She had a boyfriend.
A boyfriend who kissed her scars. A boyfriend who wanted to meet her at the gym.
She rinsed out her mug and headed to her room.
Ava stood in front of her closet, staring at the rows of black and gray. Her workout clothes were functional. Neutral. Designed to disappear.
She pulled out a tank top. Pale pink. Barely-there straps. It would leave her back exposed.
Her hand hovered over it.
Then she grabbed it.
The shorts were next. Black, tight, cut high on the thigh. She'd bought them two summers ago and never worn them. Too much skin. Too much attention.
She put them on anyway.
The mirror was a battle. She avoided her back. Focused on her front. Her hair was a mess, so she pulled it into a high ponytail. A few strands escaped, framing her face.
She looked... good.Different. Like someone who wasn't hiding.
She grabbed her gym bag and headed out.
The campus gym was a fifteen-minute walk from her apartment. The day was bright and cold, the sky a washed-out blue. She passed the quad, where a few students were tossing a frisbee. A couple making out on a bench. A guy walking his dog.
No crowds. No chaos. Just Sunday morning.
She pushed through the glass doors at 10:58.
The gym smelled like rubber and sweat and industrial cleaner. The usual Sunday crowd—a few dedicated lifters, a couple of girls on the ellipticals, an older man doing slow laps in the pool beyond the glass wall. The music was low, some generic pop station. The air conditioning hummed.
She spotted Jake immediately.
He was standing by the free weight section, phone in hand, wearing a dark green compression shirt that hugged every muscle. His sweatpants were black and loose, hanging low on his hips. His hair was damp—he must have showered at his place.
He looked up. Saw her.
His eyes traveled down her body. Slow. Deliberate. Not leering—just appreciative. Like he was memorizing her.
She felt heat climb up her neck. But she didn't look away.
He crossed the gym. Stopped in front of her.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
"You look—" He shook his head. "You look incredible."
"Thanks." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You don't look so bad yourself."
"I look like I sweat for a living."
"You do sweat for a living."
"Fair."
He reached for her hand. She took it. His fingers laced through hers, warm and steady.
They walked toward the mats.
Leg day.
Ava started with hip thrusts. The barbell pressed into her pelvis, the weight heavy and familiar. She focused on her form—chin tucked, core tight, glutes firing.
Jake hovered nearby, loading his own bar for squats. He watched her in the mirror. Not obviously. Just... present.
"Need a spot?" he asked.
"I'm good."
"Okay."
She finished her set. Racked the bar. Sat up.
He was right there. Hand extended. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet.
"Thanks."
"You're strong."
"I know."
He laughed. "Humble."
"Just honest."
They moved to the cable machines. Ava did kickbacks and abductions. Jake did pull-throughs and squats. They worked in silence mostly, their breathing syncing, their movements parallel.
She caught him watching her in the mirror.
"What?"she asked.
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"I'm admiring your form."
"My form."
"Your glutes. Your form. Same thing."
She threw a towel at him. He caught it, grinning.
They moved to the squat rack. Ava loaded the bar, lighter than usual—she was tired, her legs already burning. Jake stood behind her, close enough that she could feel his body heat.
"You good?" he asked.
"Yeah."
She descended. Slow and controlled. Her thighs screamed. She pushed up.
Jake was watching her ass in the mirror. Shameless.
"You're staring."
"I'm spotting."
"You're staring."
"Can't help it." His voice dropped. "Those shorts should be illegal."
She racked the bar. Turned. Raised an eyebrow.
"You like them?"
"I love them."
"Good."
She held his gaze. Something shifted in the air between them. Heavier. Warmer. The gym faded to background noise.
She finished her set. Grabbed her water bottle. Drank.
Jake was still watching her.
"You're doing that thing," she said.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you look at me like you're undressing me."
"Maybe I am."
Ava set down her bottle. Her heart was pounding. Not from the workout. From something else.
Something new.
She stepped closer. Close enough to smell his cologne mixing with sweat. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes.
She rose on her tiptoes. Her lips brushed his ear.
"Let's get out of here," she whispered. "Back to my place."
Jake pulled back. Looked at her. His pupils were wide.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
They grabbed their stuff. Didn't bother to change. Didn't bother to stretch. Just walked out together, hands locked, thighs burning, hearts racing.
The walk home took ten minutes. They didn't talk much. Didn't need to.
The apartment was quiet when they walked in. Mia's door was closed. A note was taped to the fridge.
Gone to brunch with Marcus. Back by 2. Use protection.
Ava rolled her eyes. Crumbled the note. Threw it in the trash.
She turned to Jake.
He was standing by the couch. Sweaty. Flushed. Beautiful.
She walked to the door. Locked it.
Then she turned back.
Their eyes met.
The air was thick. Heavy. Charged.
She didn't say anything. Neither did he.
They just moved.