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I paced the length of the gym, my strides eating up the mats. Ava loved her work, lived for the thrill of a tight deadline. It wasn't unlike my own drive in the ring. Yet, while I fought for that next rush, she crafted stories to touch people's hearts. I admired that about her. Writing was her ring, and she was a champion in her own right.
The thought of her checking out, abandoning the article and cutting ties with me twisted like a knife. If she did, I couldn't blame her. I'd been harsh, selfish, caught up in my own world.
Give her time. Emily's advice whispered through my thoughts. Patience wasn't exactly my strong suit—I was a man of action. But for Ava, I'd try.
THE MORNING SUN HAD barely crawled up the horizon when I found myself sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a strong cup of coffee, trying to shake the last bits of sleep from my mind. The abrupt end of things with Ava still left a dull ache in my chest—a constant reminder of what could have been. But this morning was different; my phone gave a loud buzz, breaking through my trance with its flashing screen and rattle on the table.
An article notification popped up. It was Ava's piece, an exclusive feature on me that had gone live while I slept. Scared and curious, I tapped the link.
There on the screen, a photo of me in my volunteer gear at the dog shelter filled the page, the headline reading "Ryder McKenzie: The Heart Beneath the Carnage."
Panic rose in my chest. At first, it sounded like she was going to talk about the brawl. I took a sip of coffee in preparation for what I was about to read.
McKenzie uses his match winnings to fund a service dog training program for the disabled community and veterans with PTSD, she wrote. Beneath the carnage of the ring lives a heart of gold.
My surprise grew as I read each line. Driven by the love of family and community, Ryder has channeled his energy into a relentless pursuit of excellence, not just within the competitive world of sports but also in his commitment to making a difference. Ava had captured my truths without exposing the wounds I kept hidden.
Admiration welled inside me. She understood. She saw beyond the gym walls and the competition, into the part of me I kept locked away. She talked about my drive to succeed and for the chance to give back.
With a deep, steadying breath, I finished reading and sat back, the full weight of what Ava had accomplished settling over me. She'd taken our brief but intense connection and transformed it into something that neither time nor circumstance could erase
Sunlight spilled across the kitchen tiles. As the likes, shares, and comments on the article continued to multiply with each passing minute, there was no denying that Ava's words had touched something in the hearts of the public. The article link was plastered across the major sports news outlet. Her talent brought my story to life, and now it seemed thousands were taking notice of her work.
I logged off the internet as my phone sounded an alarm. Today was Adoption Day at the dog shelter. I needed to get ready to head down there.
As grateful as I was for the viral sensation Ava had sparked, there was a part of my past—a senseless night—that she'd mercifully left untouched. The Carnage Brawl, my most shameful moment. While relief washed over me, so did a wave of guilt. She'd painted me in strokes of glory and grace when I knew I was also capable of fury and fault.
An hour later, when I arrived at the shelter, I was surprised to see the parking lot filled and a small crowd lined up at the door.
"Ryder," a volunteer approached, her tablet lit with notifications. "You won't believe this. Donations are pouring in. Big ones. People are calling non-stop, asking how they can help."
I glanced at the screen, my name alongside figures that made my heart skip a beat. Ava's article didn't just sell magazines. It sold belief in a cause. Her understanding of what these animals could do for people, her recognition of the healing we were trying to foster, it resonated far beyond what I thought possible.
Ava’s article had done more than share my story; it had breathed life into a dream I'd been nurturing. I watched as children giggled, pressing their tiny fingers against the chain link fences, eyes wide as the dogs licked their hands with unbridled affection.
"Keep track of every name," I told her, the weight of gratitude making my voice thick. "Every single donor gets a personal thank you from me."
"Will do." She grinned, clearly as caught up in the wave of goodwill as I was.
I realized then, as I watched a veteran gently stroke the fur of a golden retriever, that Ava had not only shone a light on my efforts but amplified them, sending ripples through the community that came back as waves of support. It was more than I had dared to hope for, and it was all because of her.
Inside the facility, after I had just finished explaining to a potential adopter the benefits of a service dog for his special needs son, she walked in. Ava, her presence like a sudden gust of wind that changes the direction of a sail.
"Ryder," her voice cut through the din of barking dogs and chattering families, making my heart leap into my throat. She was dressed casually, but even in a simple white blouse and faded jeans, she radiated purpose and grace.
"Hi," I managed, my lungs feeling like I needed to gasp for air. "You're here."
"Wouldn't miss it," she replied, her eyes scanning the bustling room before settling on mine with a familiarity that always seemed to see right through me.
As our gazes locked, the noise and excitement around us seemed to fall away.
"Can we talk?" Her voice was soft, almost hesitant.
"Of course.” I gestured toward a quieter corner of the facility, near one of the training pens.
Once we were out of earshot from the excited crowd, Ava reached into her tote bag and pulled out an envelope, thick and official-looking. She handed it to me, her fingers brushing against mine, sending an electric charge up my arm.
"This is from my editorial team. They read the article and were impressed by what you're doing here."
