Heartache and Hope: Heartache Duet Book One

by Jay McLean

  “Get away!” She kicks me again. “Go! Go! Go!”

  Ignoring Connor, I grab at Mom’s foot, blocking her kicks, and now Trevor’s on the floor behind her, pinning down her arms. “Connor, a little help!”

  Connor steps into the room, alarm evident in his voice. “What can I do?”

  I’m still wrestling with Mom’s legs when Trevor orders, “Hold her legs down.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” Connor says, panicked.

  “Just do it, Connor!” I plead.

  He drops to his knees in front of me and wraps his arms around her legs, holding them together.

  Liquid crimson on my hands, I hold on to Mom’s foot, but I can’t see through the blood. “I can’t see!” I cry out.

  “Get off of me!” Mom thrashes, trying to get out of all our holds.

  Distressed, Trevor says, “We need to call—”

  “My dad,” Connor cuts in, phone on the floor, on speaker, already dialing.

  His dad answers on the first ring, and Connor says, “I need you at Ava’s.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  For the few minutes it takes to hear the sirens approaching, the only one who speaks is my mom, mumbling words in a language only she understands. Trevor and Connor keep their hold on her while she thrashes around, screaming, then whispering, over and over. Outside, dogs bark, and inside… inside is the world at its darkest, and there’s no magic in sight.

  I look down at my hands, at the blood dripping from my fingers, and the only thing I can think is… at least she’s breathing this time.

  I take over holding down Mom’s legs while Connor opens the door for his dad and his partner to enter. As soon as they see us, they get down on the floor. Mom screams again, “Get away from me! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” She’s thrashing around again, harder this time, and I’m too weak… too fucking powerless.

  “I think there might be glass in her foot, but I can’t… I can’t…” I am empty. Void. Running on hopes and dreams that are entirely unattainable.

  Corey says, “We’re going to have to give her a little something to calm her down so we can—”

  “Ketamine?” I ask.

  Corey nods. “You’ve been through this before, huh?” He taps Connor on the shoulder, urging him to move out of the way. Connor gets up, leaves the room completely.

  He doesn’t want to be here.

  And neither do I.

  When it’s over, when the glass is out, and the bandages are on and the meds have done their job and Mom’s fast asleep in her bed, I stand in the middle of her room while Trevor gives a report, and Connor… Connor stands with me, holding my hand tight in his grasp. “So this is where all the pictures are,” he muses.

  I look up at him, my eyes dry for the first time since I heard the glass breaking, and then glance around the room. Every inch of every wall is covered in photographs—photographs I put up. From when I was a baby, through to now. Some with Trevor and William and Mom and me, as a family, and some of just us—Mom and me. I inhale a shaky breath, my voice barely a whisper, “Sometimes I hope that she’ll one day wake up and see all of this, all of her life, all of me, and that’s somehow going to be enough for her to… to miraculously snap out of it, as if it’s…” I break off, my emotions getting the best of me. “It’s so stupid.”

  “It’s not,” he whispers, holding my head to him. His heart beats against my cheek, and I close my eyes, listen. I try to hear the magic in there, but my thoughts are too loud, like a constant buzzing of words and memories and pain. So much pain. “It’s not stupid to hope, Ava. Sometimes hope is the only thing that gets us through to the next day.”

  In my mind, I know he’s right.

  But in my heart, I know the next day will be the same as all the other days. So what difference does it make?

  “I should stay,” Connor says.

  I shake my head, release his hand. “You should go. Try to get some rest. You have early practice tomorrow.”

  “She’s right, Connor,” his dad interrupts, standing in the doorway.

  “But—”

  Trevor stands next to Corey. “I’ll walk you out, Connor.”

  Corey waits until they’ve left the house, along with his partner, before saying, “This is a lot to handle, Ava. Even for a girl as strong as you.”

  I don’t respond.

  He steps farther into the room, glancing at Mom, and then the pictures on the wall.

  “Have you thought about putting her in a—”

  “I’m not abandoning her,” I cut in. Then mumble, “I’m not Connor’s mom.” Regret forces my eyes to shut the moment the words leave me.

  “He told you about that?”

  I nod, open my eyes again. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Corey offers a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know what I learned early on? Life is a series of decisions. You make them because they feel right at the time, but you’re not bound to them forever. She made the decision to leave, and you’re making the decision to stay. The difference is, her choices have done irreversible damage. Yours haven’t. Yet.”

  Chapter 43

  Connor

  I barely slept after what happened last night and could hardly get through the standard practice this morning. Luckily, most of the guys were hungover, so my lagging didn’t seem so bad. Now I’m in the cafeteria, sitting at the “jock” table because I know Ava isn’t coming.

  Connor: Just checking in, babe. How is she?

  Ava: She’s okay now. She’s on painkillers, so she’s been in and out all day. Krystal’s here. I’m just trying to get sleep in when I can.

  Connor: Anything I can do?

  “Are you in, Connor?”

  Ava: No. I’m just sorry you had to witness what you did. A little embarrassed, I guess.

  Connor: What I witnessed doesn’t change anything.

  “Connor!” Rhys nudges my side. “Earth to Connor.”

  I look up from my phone, see him motioning to Oscar sitting opposite me. “What?”

  “Game tape after school? Our next game is Philips Academy, and they’re fucking fierce.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I mumble and look back at my phone. She hasn’t responded.

  Oscar says, his eyes flitting between me and my phone, “Ava wasn’t in AP English this morning. Is everything okay?”

  My gaze drifts to him. “She had a rough night.”

  He nods, and I see the genuine concern in his eyes. “Ava’s a nice girl. It sucks what happened to her mom.”

  I look around the table, see all eyes on us, ears glued to our conversation. “Yeah, it’s uh… it’s tough.”

  “If there’s anything I can do,” he says, “for you or for Ava, just let me know, man.”

  Rhys adds, “That goes for the entire team, right, boys?”

  I look around the table, at my teammates who I’ve gotten closer to over the past few weeks, all of them nodding, agreeing. And maybe Coach was right, and I was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to get to know these guys beyond what they had to offer on the court. Because they all seem sincere, and maybe I’d spent all this time thinking they were judging me when I’d been doing the same thing to them. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

  A flurry of “no worries” and “all good” sounds around the table, and then Rhys speaks up. “Here’s trouble.” He motions to Karen, who’s walking toward us. She drops her tray on the other side of me, greets us all with a “What’s up, fuckboys.”

  “Was that your mom at the game last night?” Mitch asks her.

  Karen nods.

  “Did she get new boobs?”

  She nods again. “Provided by husband number six.”

  Mitch chuckles. “If they get any bigger, I might make a play. One day I could be your stepdad.”

  Karen throws a handful of fries at his head. “Gross, jerk.”

  Then Mitch waggles his eyebrows. “You
can call me Daddy.”

  I ignore the rest of the banter and check my phone.

  Still no reply.

  Connor: Ava, I love you. ALL of you.

  Chapter 44

  Connor

  Another week goes by in a blur, and my time with Ava is limited, at best. And while we try to make the most of what we have, I can feel the distance growing between us, the disconnect. I convince myself that it’s just in my head, that a lot is going on in both our lives and the last thing we need is to talk about my insecurities. Besides, it’s only for a few more months. Once I get accepted somewhere, anywhere, and the season is over, I can focus all my time and energy on her.

  On us.

  On the end game.

  The balloon on my porch brings a stupid smile to my face, and Dad says, “I don’t get it. Why the boo!?”

  “Because it’s Ava,” I tell him, following him to the car. “And it’s my good luck charm.” Once in the car, I pop the balloon, shove it down my boxer shorts. “And I could use all the luck in the world tonight.” Tonight’s opponents are currently on top of the leaderboard, a team full of all-stars. Every single person on their roster has already committed to various D1 colleges throughout the country, and my team is expecting me to perform, to outsmart, outrun, and outplay every one of them.

  “You’ll be fine, Connor,” Dad says.

  But I wasn’t fine. Not even close. I’m double-teamed during every second I’m on the court, and I can barely get a possession, let alone score. My frustration shows in the way I yell at my team, pushing them to go harder, stronger, and then halfway through the third, I hit my fucking limit. I throw my mouthguard across the court, get a technical and hand the opposition two free throws. I ride the rest of the quarter on the bench with my head between my shoulders and my pulse racing, blood boiling.

  It’s our first L for the season.

  My team lacks any form of responsibility for the way the game played out.

  Coach is pissed at me.

  Dad is disappointed in me.

  And I haven’t said a word to anyone since the final buzzer.

  For the past few weeks, I’ve come just short of killing myself to play as hard as I did tonight, and it wasn’t enough.

  I’m not enough.

  While Dad drives us home, in silence, I flip the phone in my hand, jumping every time a notification comes through. Usually there’s a text waiting for me when I get to the locker room, a good game, #3 or something similar. But there was nothing after this game or the last, and it just amplifies all the insecurities I’ve been trying to ignore.

  When Dad stops by the gas station to buy the bags of ice I’ll be soaking in later, I hit my limit of patience and send her a text.

  Connor: You okay?

  Ava: Can I call you later?

  My eyes drift shut, my frustration growing.

  Connor: Yeah

  I sit in the stupid bath, my teeth chattering, muscles recoiling, and my phone gripped tight in my hand, waiting for Ava.

  By the time I get out, she still hasn’t called, and I ignore all the other calls and texts from the guys on the team.

  I don’t need them.

  I need her.

  After checking that my phone is charging, working and the ringer is set to the loudest possible setting, I settle in my chair, college essay prep notes and applications in front of me. The screen of my laptop is bright against my eyes, the cursor flashing. I type, delete, retype, over and over, but nothing sticks because none of it matters.

  An hour passes.

  Then two.

  Three.

  I read over some past essays, make more notes.

  Four.

  Five.

  “Connor?” A hand on my shoulder forces my eyes open. I look up to see Dad standing beside me.

  I lift my head off the pile of papers on my desk and stretch my arms, my back, snapping my muscles and bones into place. With a grimace, I ask, “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

  “Son,” he says, eyeing me dubiously. “It’s morning. You must’ve fallen asleep at your desk.”

  “What?” I sit up straight, look at my watch. “Goddammit.”

  And then I check my phone.

  No sign of Ava.

  “Maybe you’re pushing yourself too hard,” Dad suggests.

  Disappointed and disillusioned, I don’t bother responding.

  He adds, “Why don’t you take the day off school? Maybe you just need a little reboot.”

  I nod, already getting into bed.

  “You need anything?” he asks.

  I stare up at the ceiling. “I’m good.”

  The second the door’s closed, I send her a text.

  Connor: Not at school today. I guess I’ll catch you whenever.

  And then I switch off my phone because I’m done waiting.

  Done hoping.

  I wake up to the sound of Dad’s voice, and when I peer through my heavy lids, I see him standing in my doorway. “You have a visitor,” he tells me, stepping to the side.

  In her school uniform, Ava stands just outside my room. I force my eyes to open wider so I can check the time. It’s mid-morning. “Shouldn’t you be at school?” I mumble.

  Ava shrugs, her gaze down, her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. She glances between Dad and me as if asking us both, “Can I come in?”

  She’s a vision of guilt and remorse, and my chest tightens, but it doesn’t give out, and I don’t give in. I’m still pissed, and I don’t have it in me to hide it. “If that’s what you want,” I breathe out.

  Dad closes the door once Ava’s in the room but leaves it ajar—his way of setting rules we haven’t yet discussed.

  Ava stands at the side of my bed, looking down at me. She’s chewing her lip, her eyes on mine. Tears pool there, and I look away.

  She fumbles over her words, starting and stopping, and I just want to go back to sleep where time didn’t exist, and I don’t have to deal with this. Not today. Not after last night. “I’ve been calling and messaging all morning, and when I couldn’t get through, I left school and I… I caught a cab here.”

  I push down my anger and frustration. “You didn’t need to do that. I’m fine.”

  She sits on the edge of my bed and is quiet a beat, then: “I told you I’d make a shitty girlfriend and you—”

  “You’re going to blame me?” I face her now. “Dammit, Ava. I waited all night for your call.” I sit up. “I needed you. You’re the only one who can refocus the mess in my head, the only one who can make everything inside me settle and allow me to see straight, and if you were too busy, I understand, but don’t tell me you’re going to do something and then just forget I exist.”

  “I didn’t forget—” She stops there, shaking her head. Then she blows out a heavy breath. “I’m going to go,” she says, standing. “I’m not making things any better by being here, so… I’m sorry, Connor. I’m sorry I disappointed you,” she cries out. “And I don’t know what else to say.”

  She starts to leave, but I grasp her hand, my heart and head pounding. I come back to reality. It was one fucking game. Just one. And if I want her forever, like I know I do, there are going to be other games, other moments where she can’t be there, and I’ve been selfish. God, I’ve been so fucking selfish.

  I won’t lose her over this.

  I can’t.

  She allows me to pull her closer, her back turned. I press my cheek into her open palm, kiss the inside of her wrist. “Don’t go,” I plead.

  She turns to me, her tear-stained cheeks cracking open my chest. “I want so badly to be everything you need me to be.”

  I pull on her arm until her knees are on my bed, my hands going to her face, thumbs swiping away her sadness. “You are, Ava. And I’m so sorry I made you feel otherwise.”

  She nods, grasping my wrists.

  “Stay?”

  Another nod, and I’m shifting until my back’s against the wall. She gets to her feet to slip off h
er shoes while I lift the covers to let her in. Her head on the crook of my shoulder and her hand on my heart, I ask, “Is everything okay with your mom?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She leans up to look down at me. “I’m here now. For you. I want to know everything.”

  I shake my head, push away the past twenty-four hours of my life, and start living for now. “You’re right. You’re here now. And nothing else matters.”

  She kisses me, her tongue swiping against my lips, and I’m suddenly awake and alive, and when she moves down to my neck, I stop her. I get out of bed, peek my head out the door to see Dad’s bedroom door closed. He’s asleep after his shift. I close the door. Lock it. Then strip out of my shirt and get back into bed with the girl I love.

  She sits up to remove her blazer, and then she unbuttons her top, dropping them both on the floor by the bed. I hold on to her hips, guide her until she’s straddling my lap. I pull at the front of her bra. “Off.”

  She complies and then lies on top of me, her bare breasts against my chest. I run a hand down her spine while the other settles on the back of her head.

  “Thank you for coming,” I tell her.

  She smiles against my skin. “I haven’t yet.”

  A chuckle erupts from deep in my chest, and she sits up again, starts removing her skirt. I place my hands on hers, stopping her. “Can this stay on?”

  She eyes me, questioning.

  I don’t bother hiding my grin. “And the socks, too.”

  “Oh, God,” she says through a giggle. “Do you have some weird schoolgirl kink?”

  I shrug. “I didn’t know I had one until you walked into class the first day of school.”

  “The first day?” she asks, incredulous, eyes widening.

  I nod. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”