First and Forever (Heartache Duet #2) - Jay McLean Page 0,116
a crush. I never thought that we’d end up here, that I’d be in this deep.
Because I’m still crazy about her.
Hopelessly.
Endlessly.
Crazy in love with her.
Her eyes are wide, unblinking, as she stares at the TV. Loose strands of curls curtain her face. I reach up, pull one aside so I can see her more clearly. I’m ogling, fascinated by every inch, every curve, every quiver of her lips when she inhales a breath. Then she turns to me, slowly, and I can tell that she’s nervous, that whatever is going through her mind right now has her hesitant. “So… this place where my mom is…”
I swallow. “Yeah?”
“Um, the doctors and therapists there—they’re really great.”
“That’s good, right?”
Nodding, her gaze drops, her voice quieter when she says, “It only took them a couple of weeks to diagnose Mom with bipolar disorder and mild schizophrenia.”
My eyes widen, my breath catching in my throat, but I try to hide my reaction. “Well, at least they know now… it means she can take the right medication and get the right kind of—”
Ava’s nodding cuts me off. “Yeah. They suspect that the head trauma caused a lot of it; add that to everything else she was already experiencing…” She inhales a huge breath, lets it out slowly. “It kind of explains a lot, especially with how quickly her moods could switch.”
“Yeah,” I breathe out, thinking about all the time I’d spent with her, all the different versions of her I’d witnessed. “But she’s good now, right? Like, stable?” I don’t know if I’m using the right terminology, and I hope it doesn’t offend her or take away from her mother’s mental health in any way.
Ava nods again, then lowers her gaze. “They also diagnosed me with PTSD...” My chest tightens at her words, a lump forming in my throat. I open my mouth to speak, but she beats me to it: “I just thought you should know, because… because you’re looking at me a certain way and—”
“How am I looking at you?”
“The way you used to,” she says, her voice strained. “And maybe you shouldn’t be doing that, because I’m not the same person I used to be, Connor. I’m not that girl you fell—”
“You’re right,” I interrupt. “You’re not that same girl. Not even a little bit. Because you’re so much more.” I lift her chin, force her to look at me through her tear-stained eyes. “Ava, a label isn’t going to change who you are, and it’s not going to change how I feel about you or how I look at you,” I tell her, sitting taller. “But a label is going to help me understand you more… and, really, it’s not that surprising.” I shake my head. “I mean, after everything you went through and everything you saw, you witnessed…”
“I’m working through it,” she croaks, as if trying to convince me.
I settle my palm on her jaw, my heart racing when she presses into it. “I know you, and you’ll get there, babe. And I’m going to be right here. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. Always.”
Her gaze lifts, locks on mine. Seconds feel like minutes. Finally, she says, “It’s getting late, and I’ve got an early class tomorrow.”
My heart sinks, just an inch, but I can see it in her eyes. She’s afraid of what’s happening between us, or what never stopped happening. “Okay.” I get to my feet, ignore the tightening in my chest as she follows me to her door. She reaches around, opening it for me, and I step out, turning to her as I do. “Thanks for dinner.”
She offers a smile. “You’re welcome.”
“Don’t go disappearing on me, okay?”
“I won’t. I promise.”
I shove my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching out and touching her. Anywhere. As long as it’s her. “I’ll see ya.”
“Uh huh.”
I rear back when she practically slams the door in my face. Confused, I force myself to step away. One step. Two. A thud sounds from behind her door, and I freeze, wait. She’s talking now, and curiosity gets the better of me. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I walk back, my footsteps light, and press my ear to her door.
“Stupid, Ava. Stupid, stupid, stupid!” The door rattles with each of her stupids. There’s shuffling, and then footsteps fading, and I almost walk away when seconds of silence pass. Then I hear her again: “Amy!” She’s almost yelling. “Yeah, he just left.”