Tickets and tension
779 Words
Chapter Four grok version
Kia Kingston woke up angry.
Not the loud, explosive kind. The quiet, heavy kind that settled deep in his bones and made the entire world feel heavier before the day even began.
His phone screen glowed 6:12 a.m.
He lay flat on his back in the master suite of his penthouse, staring at the ceiling while grey rain streaked down the floor-to-ceiling windows. Two years. Exactly two years since his mother died.
The date still hit like a fist to the ribs.
His jaw tightened as memories flooded in — finding Olivia in his shower with another man’s name lighting up her phone. The tabloids smelling blood. The drinking. The fights. The weeks where basketball stopped mattering and waking up felt pointless.
A sharp knock sounded on his door.
“Kia.”
His house manager’s voice. “You’re going to miss practice.”
For a moment, Kia considered ignoring the world. Staying in bed. Pouring whiskey at six in the morning and disappearing into numbness.
Instead, he sat up, voice rough. “I’m coming.”
Practice was brutal. Exactly what he needed.
The burn in his muscles, the squeak of sneakers on hardwood, the sting of sweat — it all silenced the noise in his head. Mostly.
Afterward, Coach Reynolds watched him from the sidelines as the rest of the team filtered out.
“You stayed late again.”
Kia grabbed a towel, wiping sweat from his face. “Needed it.”
Coach nodded. “I know what today is.”
The locker room grew quiet.
Kia looked down at the floor.
“I didn’t expect you to show up,” Coach admitted quietly.
A humorless smirk tugged at Kia’s lips. “Basketball’s the only thing I haven’t completely f****d up yet.”
Coach stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Your mother would still be proud of you, son. Even on the days you can’t see it.”
Kia’s chest tightened. He hated this kind of conversation. Instead of replying, he grabbed his bag and left.
The warm scent of espresso hit him the second he stepped into the café. Kia pulled his hood lower and headed straight for the back corner table. Today was not a day for conversation or pretending to be okay.
Then he saw her.
Ava.
Blonde hair loose around her shoulders. Soft brown eyes catching the warm lights. Her uniform hugged her curves in a way that irritated him for noticing.
She looked up.
Their eyes locked.
Just like yesterday, she froze for half a second. Her friend whispered something. Ava’s cheeks flushed pink.
Kia didn’t look away. He let her feel the weight of his stare — heavy, unrelenting, unapologetic.
A few minutes later, she approached his table, order pad clutched against her chest like a shield.
“Hi,” she said softly.
Kia lifted his gaze slowly, taking her in. Up close, she was even more dangerously pretty. Something about her softness clashed with the storm inside him.
“Black coffee,” he said, voice low and rough.
Her fingers moved quickly across the notepad. “Anything else?”
“No.”
The word came out harsher than he intended. He saw the slight flicker in her expression.
When she returned with the coffee, Kia spoke before she could escape.
“Hey.”
Ava paused.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his jaw. “Sorry. My mood isn’t… Today’s a bad day.”
Her expression softened with genuine concern instead of pity.
Kia stared at the coffee cup for a long moment before admitting, “It’s the anniversary of my mother’s death.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It felt… gentle.
“Oh,” Ava said quietly. “That must be really hard.”
Kia looked up at her. No fake sympathy. No awkward discomfort. Just real sadness in those soft brown eyes.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Kia.”
Something cracked inside his chest.
For the first time in a long time, someone’s words didn’t feel empty. They landed. And they hurt in the best way.
He held her gaze longer than necessary, his dark eyes intense and unreadable. The kind of stare that made most people look away.
Ava didn’t.
She stood there, letting him look. Letting him see her.
Kia’s voice dropped lower. “Thank you.”
She offered a small, sincere smile before turning to leave.
As she walked away, Kia’s eyes followed her every step.
He didn’t understand it yet, but something about this soft-spoken girl with tired eyes and zero agenda was slipping past every wall he’d built.
And for a man who hated losing control…
That was dangerous
- Writer
