by McLean, Jay
Just when I expect her, she appears, walking down the sidewalk. She has to pass my house to get to hers, and so I run down the driveway. “Ava!”
She jumps when she hears me but doesn’t look up. I stop in front of her, blocking her path. “Ava, please.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls away. And then she looks up, her eyes puffy, red, completely exposed to the heartache she carries. The sight alone has me taking a step back.
I caused this.
I did this.
Every thought, every pulse, every breath flowing through me slows.
Stops.
Dies.
Lids heavy, she lets a tear fall from those maple-colored eyes, the same ones that once held so much strength and courage and fight to keep them clear. To keep them dry. I once told her that she never had to hide those tears from me. But now I wish that she had. Because I can’t wear her pain when I’m the one who created it.
“I can’t right now, Connor,” she says, and I find myself nodding because I can’t either. “I just need time.”
So do I, I want to tell her. Instead, I step to the side and give her what she wants, what she says she needs, in the hopes that soon, she’ll give me the same in return.
Chapter 30
Ava
There’s no good morning from my mom the day after I skipped school. No kiss on the cheek. No what’s for breakfast? Nope. The first thing she says is: “Is Connor here?”
“Not right now,” I tell her, mustering a smile. “But he might come over tonight.” I don’t want to break her heart and tell her that maybe—maybe she won’t be seeing him at all. Ever.
I tried.
I went through every possible scenario in my head of who Wendy might be, and I went back to his reaction when I confronted him about it. First was the anger when he realized I’d seen the message, then came the apologies. And it was enough to convince me of what was painfully true, no matter how much it hurt.
I had every intention of going to school yesterday, but the idea of seeing him made my stomach turn. And so I roamed around aimlessly until it was time to go home, hiding in places no one would find me, crying at moments when hope seemed like a dream.
When Trevor wakes up, he asks the same thing. I tell them both, “He’s really busy with basketball at the moment, trying to get as much practice in before school’s over… and he needs to rest, and my bed’s too small for him to get a decent night’s sleep.” There. That should cover everything.
“We should buy you a new bed,” Mom says, looking over at Trevor. “We can afford that, right?
“Sure,” Trevor lies. Then to me: “Don’t worry about making breakfast for me; I’m going to work early.”
My brow raised, I ask, “You are?”
He nods, his eyes on mine, a silent message. He’s taken on extra work… for extra cash… and not to buy me a new bed.
I get ready for school, planning on actually attending because I can’t hide out forever. When Krystal arrives, I leave and head for the bus stop, praying Connor doesn’t stop me. Halfway there, the sky turns gray, and the heavens open. Thunder claps, followed by rain so thick I can barely see a foot in front of me. “Fuck my life,” I grind out, removing my bag and holding it above my head as if it’s somehow going to protect me. Luckily, I don’t wait long for the bus to arrive, and when I get to the stop around the corner from school, I get off and bolt to the school for some cover. But the gates are closed, padlocked. I grip the iron gates with both hands and shake, cursing at the sky. “What the fuck?!”
I pull out my phone, dial Rhys’s number.
“Ava?”
“Why is school closed?”
“Student-free day. Why?”
“Goddammit!” I scream, and he laughs. “Can you give me a ride home? It’s pouring out, and I caught the bus.”
“Um… I’m a little… pre-occupied right now.”
Through the phone, I hear a girl giggle, then say, “Harder, Rhys!”
“Gross!” I hang up, take a second to feel sorry for myself, and then walk at a snail’s pace back to the bus stop. There’s no point in running; I’m already drenched, and there’s no shelter at this bus stop because rich kids don’t take buses. They have drivers or their parents’ credit cards to Uber everywhere.
I drop my bag on the ground and lie across the bench, letting the raindrops fall directly on my face, mixing with the tears that can’t seem to quit. Cars drive past, splashing dirty road water on me, and I don’t even care enough to move.
Then a car approaches, it’s engine rumbling as it slows and then stops beside me. I keep my eyes closed, even when I hear the window wind down. I’m about ready to tell them to fuck off, but then I hear Connor say, “Get in!”
I sit up, grab my bag, and get to my feet. “Fuck off!”
“Ava!”
I walk away, my bag gripped tight to my chest. He drives away. Thank fuck. But then I hear his tires spinning as he turns around, yelling at me from the other side of the road. “Get in the fucking car, Ava!”
I almost laugh at the absurdity, but I’m too angry, too tired, and so I hasten my steps. I don’t know where the hell I’m going; I just need to be gone. His truck turns into the parking lot of a restaurant a few feet ahead of me, and so I turn on my heels, start walking back from where I came. He can drive around as much as he wants, but he’s not getting me in there. Arms reach around me, yanking my backpack from me, and I scream, “Help!”
“Shut up!” he yells back.
I turn to see him running to his car with my backpack. He opens the passenger door and throws it in there, then closes it. He stands, rain falling all around him. He’s in basketball shorts and a loose tank, and all of it clings to his flesh, exposing the muscles I love running my hands across. Loved running my hands across. But so does Wendy. Probably.
Fuck him. He can take my bag. I start running, and it doesn’t take long before I hear his footsteps behind me. His arms circle my waist, lifting me off my feet. I kick my legs out, scream, “Help!” again. He covers my mouth with his palm while spinning me around, walking us back to the truck. Cars drive by, and no one seems to care that there’s an actual kidnapping happening right in front of them. We get to his truck, and without pause, Connor opens the passenger’s side door and throws me inside. I flip to my back, kick at his chest. He grasps my ankles, pushing me farther across the bench seat. “Knock it off, you fucking brat!” He flicks the child lock on the door, preventing me from opening it, and slams it shut. Then runs to the driver’s side just in time to stop me from escaping through there. He sits behind the wheel, his jaw ticking, and starts the car. I try to open the door, but nothing happens, and so I sit, my teeth clenched, arms crossed. The restaurant’s closed so there are no cars in the lot, and the rain is too heavy that no one would hear me screaming. Connor seems to take a breath, or ten, trying to calm himself down, and I don’t know why he’s pissed when I’m the one being held against my will. He steps on the pedal, the tires spinning before we move. He drives, his rage controlling our speed as he goes around the back of the restaurant. “Connor,” I scream, grasping his arm when the chain link fence comes into view. He stops a foot in front of it, barely noticeable through the sheets of water falling around us.
“Fuck!” he spits, punching the steering wheel.
Great. Hulk Connor. I’ve only seen this side of him once before, and it was when he concluded that Peter had hurt me. He was wrong then. He’s wrong now. I try to look for an escape, see the button for the window and press down on it. The window lowers, and hope fills my bloodline. I start to climb out when Connor curses again, his grip on my hips digging into my flesh when he pulls me back.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” he yells.
He holds me to him while he winds the window up again from the controllers on his door. Then he locks them, too.
I kick his dashboard.
Because fuck him.
“Calm the fuck down, Ava!”
He releases
me, his hand instantly going to his face, rubbing at his eyes. “Why are you making this so fucking impossible!?” he shouts. His chest rises and falls with every breath as thunder cracks above us.
I look around, but I can barely see a foot in front of me, barely hear my own thoughts. But I hear his breaths, each one harsh, until slowly, slowly, they begin to settle. With my back to the door, I watch his throat bob with his swallow, watch his eyes move from his lap to my legs, then up at me. Raindrops fall from his hair, cascade down his high cheekbones and past his jaw. “Ava,” he says quietly. “I need you to listen to me.” He exhales. “Can you do that? Please?”
I nod, my traitorous fingers itching to touch him.
“I don’t want to do this with you,” he murmurs.
“Good,” I say, lifting my chin. “Neither do I, so just let me go, and we don’t have—”
His heavy sigh cuts me off. “That’s not what I meant.” Another breath. “What I mean is, I don’t want to go around in circles with you. I don’t want to fight and get back together and then fight and do it all again. I don’t want to fight with you. Ava…” He shakes his head, his gaze distant. “You’re it for me. If there’s no you, then there’s nothing else. No one else.” He laughs once, bitter, and locks his eyes on mine again. “I nearly killed myself for you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He swallows, his eyes showing his exhaustion, both mentally and physically. “I had one plan in life, Ava. It was four years at college and then the NBA. And then I met you, and I met your mom, and all that changed. I pushed myself so hard and so quickly so that I could get into a decent college and hopefully get the attention I needed so I could do my one year and get drafted and get a decent enough contract that I could take care of you both—you and your mom. I put my mind and body through so fucking much; you have no idea. I never showed you how bad it was, but I nearly lost you once because of it.” He pauses a breath, his words filled with clarity. “Everything I’ve done since the first day I met you has been for you. Every sacrifice I’ve made, every decision...” He holds a hand to his heart. “Every beat of my fucking heart has been for you. And I’ve tried so hard to be there for you through everything. No matter what was going on in my life, I pushed it all aside so that I could be your strength…” Tears well in my eyes as I listen to the truths that fall from his lips. “And I’m not saying this because I want your pity,” he adds, blinking away his heartache as he lowers his gaze. “I’m saying it because I need you to see that, to understand that. Because right now, I need you to trust me. I need you to have faith in me. In us.” A single tear falls from his lashes, and he holds his thumb there, blocking it.
I shift closer to him, his magic calling for me, and take his hand in mine.
He looks up, his withheld cry ruining me completely. “I’m hurting, Ava, and I need you. I need you to be there for me even if… even if I can’t tell you why.”
I hold his face in my hands, kiss away the staggered breath he releases. “Okay.”
His arms go around me while I hold him to me, his mouth finding my neck, kissing me there. “Tell me you love me.”
I capture his lips again. “I love you.”
He chokes out a breath as he pulls away. “Don’t abandon me, Ava. Not you, too.”
My eyes shift between his, drowning in the vulnerability I’m witnessing. “I swear, Connor.”
His mouth claims mine, his urgency forcing me onto my back as his hand slides up my thigh. I part my legs, giving him what he wants.
What he needs.
Even if it costs me my pride.
Chapter 31
Ava
“Is there anything I can do for her?” Connor asks, his gaze shifting from Mom, sitting on the couch in the living room, back to me.
I finish up washing the last of the dishes and hand it to him to dry. “Not really, it’s just part of who she is.” It’s a lie, and he seems to realize that going by the way he’s staring me down.
It’s been a couple weeks now since Connor and I fought and around the same amount of time since the doctors were here. They couldn’t find a solution to our financial problems that didn’t mean cutting some of Mom’s meds and giving her alternatives. They’d hoped the change in her wouldn’t be drastic, but it’s the third zero-day in a row now, and things are looking bleak, at best. But at least she hasn’t hit the negative numbers.
Yet.
“Maybe I should get her back to the sports park. That might help, right?”
I dry my hands on a dish towel and look up at him. “I don’t know, Connor. You can ask, but not right now.”
He nods, looking out the window. “Fireflies will be out soon. That could help, too.” It warms my heart that he’s this thoughtful, especially when it comes to her. I just wish it was enough to take away the constant dull ache in my chest. Things with us haven’t been the same since Wendy. I still don’t know who she is, and I’m not going to ask. But it’s there, nagging, always at the forefront of my mind, and maybe that’s why I’m struggling with my feelings toward him. Or maybe I’m just placing all the blame for our disconnect on that and not everything else that seems to be going on around us.
Headlights shine through the living room window, and I look at the time. It’s close to 8 p.m., and Trevor’s just now getting home. He enters a moment later, his eyes instantly finding Mom on the couch. He greets her with a kiss on the cheek before making his way to the kitchen. “Hey, man,” he says to Connor. Then to me: “Please tell me we have food.”
“Yeah. I saved you a plate in the fridge.”
“Are you just finishing work now?” Connor asks him.
Trevor nods, his head in the fridge, searching for the plate that’s no doubt right in front of him. “Yep. I have to somehow dig myself out of this debt.” He looks at Connor. “You know anyone who needs any work done? We’re kind of desperate right—”
I clear my throat, stopping him from revealing too much. I don’t want Connor to know, to worry.
Trevor’s focus flicks between Connor and me, but Connor’s the first to speak. “How bad is it?”
“It’s not bad,” I lie.
Trevor shakes his head at me. “Ava, Connor knows people around here. More than you do. He could probably use some contacts from the team to help us out. Contacts with money.”
“Trevor, stop,” I sigh out. “It’s not his problem.”
Connor pushes off the counter. “Wait, it’s that bad?”
“No.” Another lie from me.
“Yes,” says Trevor, narrowing his eyes at me. “Would you rather Connor hand out some of my business cards or I make the call to Peter, because—”
“Hang on,” Connor cuts in.
I grind my teeth, my lashes lowering.
“What does Peter have to do with—”
“Nothing,” I interrupt. “He’s got nothing to do with this. And neither do you.” I look at Trevor. “This is my problem. No one else’s.”
“And mine,” Trevor says. “Mainly mine.”
“I just need time,” I whisper, glancing at Mom. She hasn’t moved from her spot. In fact, she hasn’t moved at all. She’s fallen asleep sitting up.
“You keep saying that, but I don’t—”
“I’m not doing this right now,” I snap, filling a cup with water. I reach up, turn the combination lock for the top cupboard where we keep all Mom’s meds, glasses, and anything sharp that could possibly harm her. I gather all the pills she needs at night and turn to Connor. “I’ll meet you in my room. Can you set everything up?”
He nods, but he doesn’t move.
I go to Mom, wake her gently, and help her to her room, where she downs multiple pills and falls back asleep without any issues. When I get to my room, Connor’s sitting on my desk chair, a tripod set up in front of him. He has his phone attached, the camera angled to my bed. We’re working on the multimedia project we were given early in the semester. For the past few days, we’d been do
ing the research and working on the script, and tonight we’re supposed to be filming it. “Should I change?” I ask, looking down at my baggy T-shirt and sweatpants.
“I think you look perfect,” Connor says, a sad, crooked smile playing on his lips.
I open my drawers, one by one, without really looking at anything in there. I hear the desk chair rolling across the carpet before I feel Connor’s touch on my waist. I turn to him, see the anguish coating his expression. “Why are you trying to keep this from me?”
“I told you, it’s not your problem.” Besides, who is he to question me when it comes to secrets?
“It is my problem.” He pulls me down until I’m sitting sideways on his leg, my feet between his. “You know how much I care about you, right?” I stay quiet because I don’t know how to respond. He kisses my temple, keeps his lips there. “What’s happening with us, Ava? I feel like we’re falling apart.”
Because we are.
“I don’t know, Connor. There’s just so much going on right now…”
“Why can’t you let me be a part of that?”
“You have your own things.” Wendy things. “We should just do this assignment and call it a night.” I get up, sit on the edge of my bed in front of the camera, and start going through my notes. Connor stays where he is, his head lowered. “Or we can do this tomorrow if you want.”
“No.” He shakes his head, then looks up at me. “We’ll do it now.”
He sets up behind the phone and presses record. I read off the script, doing my best to perform for the camera, but every time I look up, I see Connor’s face. See the way he looks at me through the screen of his phone. Something is missing. The brightness in his eyes has dulled, and he doesn’t look at me the way he used to, the way I love.
Gray.
Everything is gray, and there’s no color around me, no life.
