Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1) - Jay McLean Page 0,19

us.

“Okay.”

Connor: Hey, it’s Connor. From psych. I had an idea about the paper.

The swiftness of her response has my stomach flipping.

Ava: Hi Connor from psych :) What’s your idea?

Connor: I think I’ve come up with a subject that might set us apart.

Ava: Go on.

Connor: Serial Killers.

Ava: Dude

Connor: No? Too much? Too dark?

Ava: It’s fucking genius. I’m obsessed with true crime.

Connor: Me too! You should check out some podcasts. I listen to them on the way to and from school.

Ava: Shut up! Me too. Casefile is my favorite.

Connor: Mine too! The narrator…

Ava: So intense.

Connor: So good.

Ava: Lol

Connor: Cool.

Ava: Cool.

Connor: So.

Ava: So…

Connor: How are you?

Ava: Oh, you know, living the dream.

Connor: Money.

Ava: Money?

Connor: I don’t know. I’m trying really hard to sound cool here.

Ava: lol. What are you doing?

Connor: Homework.

Ava: Want me to let you go?

Connor: Hell no.

Connor: Wait.

Connor: Are you busy?

Ava: Not at all. I was doing the same. Could use the break.

Connor: Yeah?

Ava: Yeah.

Connor: So.

Ava: So.

Connor: We’re nailing this whole conversation thing.

Ava: I know, right? It’s… dare I say… money.

Connor: Are you teasing me?

Ava: A little. Don’t hate.

Connor: I couldn’t if I tried.

Ava: Yeah? Because for a minute there, I’m pretty sure you did.

Connor: When?

Ava: The whole Rhys thing?

Connor: …

Ava: About how you make me uncomfortable…

Connor: Ohhhh! You mean *that* thing.

Ava: …

Connor: So what exactly did you mean by that?

Ava: You don’t want to know.

Connor: I mean… I asked, right?

The three dots on the screen appear, disappear. Again and again. My anxiety builds. And builds. To the point of—

Ava: So these serial killers…

Shaking my head, I smile at her response.

Connor: What’s your middle name, Ava?

Ava: I have two. Elizabeth Diana.

Connor: Like, the Royal family?

Ava: lol. Yes. My mom was a little obsessed. What about you, Connor? What’s your middle name?

Connor: Jordan.

Ava: As in Michael? Lol. Did you have your whole life planned out before you were even born?

Connor: I’d love to say yes, but no. Just a fluke, I guess.

Ava: Got it.

Connor: Yep.

Ava: So…

Connor: So…

Ava: I should probably get back to this homework.

Connor: yeah, I should probably do the same.

Ava: See you at school?

Connor: Yep.

I drop my phone in my desk drawer, slam it shut. Keep it away from temptation. Because sending her useless, one-word texts is the second-best time I’ve had since I moved here. The best was when she was riding shotgun in my car.

I try to eat.

Try to study.

Try to sleep.

Nothing flies.

Hours pass, and I’m still wide awake, tossing and turning when my phone goes off in my drawer.

A text.

I stare in the general direction of it. It might be Dad, but he calls, not messages.

It goes off again.

And again.

Hope fills my chest—please be Ava—and I reach for it without getting out of bed.

Ava: Hey, I hope this doesn’t wake you.

Ava: I’ve just been thinking about you… about what you told me today. And I have a question but feel free not to answer.

Ava: I was just curious. Do you remember any of it… what happened to you?

My response is swift. Easy to formulate. Because I give her the same answer I’ve given everyone before.

Connor: Not a damn thing.

Chapter 15

Ava

Four thirty a.m. comes around quick.

After a hurried shower, I check over the notes that Krystal, Mom’s in-home caretaker, had provided. She’s here Monday through Friday, from 7 a.m. until I get home from school. On the weekends, it’s just Trevor and me. Or just me, most of the time. Trevor doesn’t like to leave me alone with her so much, but he works, and now and then I force him to go out and live a normal twenty-two-year-old life.

We’re so lucky he was able to pick up the family business when his dad left, and it only took him a couple of months to get certified. If he’d let me, I’d have dropped out of school and worked, too, but for him, that wasn’t an option. For him, it was vital that we look further into my future than just tomorrow.

Breakfast is already on the table when Mom appears from her bedroom at 5 a.m. sharp. No alarm clock needed. Years in the military can do that. “Mornin’,” she greets, kissing me on the cheek. She adjusts the hood of her robe to hide most of her battle scars as she takes a seat at the kitchen table.

“Morning, Mama. Did you sleep well?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. No screams in the night mean no flashbacks or memories of her real-life nightmares, and I’m grateful for that always, but last night especially because