First and Forever (Heartache Duet #2) - Jay McLean Page 0,57

place I used to call home, where music was loud and laughter was louder, until… until all the blood seeped into my hands…

“I want to go,” I repeat, stepping back, trying to get Connor to do the same.

Gaze laced with pity, he rushes out, “But the patio and the lake and the memories, Ava. The good ones, remember?”

Tears well in my eyes again. “I don’t care,” I lie. I want to remember the good. I just don’t know if I can.

“You want to go to the patio?” the woman asks, nodding. “You can do that.” She motions to the side of the house. “Come through the yard if you don’t want to come in.”

Connor keeps his eyes on mine, eyebrows lifted in question. “It can’t hurt,” he pushes, and he looks so damn hopeful and eager.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

I nod.

“Give me five minutes,” the woman says. “Meet me at the side gate.”

Connor keeps his arms wrapped around me while we wait, no words spoken between us. I don’t know how we got from him drowning his losses, to celebrating Duke, to this. Now. And I know I should be grateful, but the truth is, I’m scared.

“We’ll go, you’ll see it, and you’ll know right away if you want to leave or stay, and I’ll do whatever you want,” he says as if reading my mind. “No pressure.”

The side gate opens, and the woman smiles. I should really get her name, but I don’t think I could talk through the knot in my throat. “Please,” she says, waving us in, “take your time.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Connor says, all hints of alcohol in his tone gone. I lead him past the main house, the pool and pool house, and beyond the greenhouse to where the yard opens up. The lake is prettier than I remember, and I stand still, my eyes drifting shut as I inhale a breath, basking in the memories of that scent alone. When I open my eyes again, Connor’s watching me, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You good?”

“Yeah.” I nod, slowly, then look over around him to the patio. The chairs are different from the ones we had, but there are two there, a small table between them. Fairy lights hang from the pillars around the patio, lighting up the small space. We make our way over, noticing the jug of iced tea and slices of pie set out on two little plates. Connor laughs. “Y’all do things so different on this side of town.” He sits down on one of the deck chairs and tugs on my hand until I’m sitting on his lap, his hand on my stomach. “It’s nice out here,” he murmurs, his chin on my shoulder. “Tell me a memory.”

I half turn to him. “What do you mean?”

“Tell me something about your mom before. What did you talk about right here, in this very spot?”

I try to go back to a different time, a different life. Clearing my throat, I adjust on his lap until I’m sideways so I can look at him when I speak. My arm around his neck, I say, “When she was home before her last deployment, we sat out here, and we talked about Karen being boy-crazy.”

Connor nods, his smile widening when his eyes focus on my lips, at the way they turn up at the memory. It’s so pure—the way he looks at me—as if he’s happy just because I am. “What did she have to say about that?”

“She said that we were too young for love,” I tell him. “And she said that the only fear she’s ever had is that she won’t be around to watch me grow, to watch me fall in love for the first time.” I choke on the memory and the recollection of what she said next. Because I feel it in my heart. I feel it in Connor’s. With my eyes on his, I don’t hide my tears when I say, “She said that her hope for me was that I’d find a boy who would hold me through my pain and lift me through my triumphs. Who would love unconditionally. And she hoped that I would understand what that meant—love—in every sense of the word. But I didn’t know, Connor…”

“Know what?” he asks, his thumbs swiping at my cheeks.

“I didn’t know it would feel like this. Like I didn’t have a choice.”

“In love?”

“I don’t think we can choose the direction in which our heart beats. Because I didn’t