Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1) - Jay McLean Page 0,23
that I hear… holy shit. Deep and smooth and so intense… he could easily host a podcast, and I’d listen to it regardless of the topic.
“Ava? You there?”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Yeah, I’m here.”
The speaker distorts with his light chuckle. “So what’s up? What about me has your curiosity piqued?”
I pick at the blanket covering my thighs and stare at the wall opposite me, trying to find the courage, the words… “It’s about what happened to you.”
A loud sigh from his end. “Yeah, I figured. I mean, I hoped it wasn’t that, but here we are.”
“Do you not like talking about it?” I ask.
“It’s not that I don’t like it, so much as… it’s not really something I’ve shared with anyone besides professionals, you know?”
“Wait. I’m the first real person you’ve told?”
“Well, yeah. I guess.”
“But why—”
“I don’t know, Ava,” he says through an exhale. “It just kind of came out in frustration.”
“Because I pushed you?”
“A little.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Moments pass, neither of us saying a word. I listen to him breathe, and I wonder if he’s doing the same.
Finally, he says, “I don’t know what happened to her if that’s what you’re wondering.”
It was exactly what I was wondering.
He adds, “There was no evidence she got on a plane, at least under her name. And there’s been no evidence of her existence since.”
“Do you—” I start, my voice cracking with emotion. “Do you remember when you stopped looking for her?”
“It happened when I was three. The last time my dad ever mentioned anything about it, I was in third grade. That was probably when we stopped looking. But looking and hoping are two very different things.”
I want to ask him when he stopped hoping, but I’m almost afraid of the answer. I get through each day searching for hope, so the idea of losing it the way he has…
“Connor?” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For so many things. But mainly… I’m sorry about what happened to you. About how it happened, and what that must’ve felt like. I think, as kids, all we truly need are our parents, and your mom—I think I feel the sorriest for your mom... because she missed out on you.”
Chapter 16
Ava
“Where the hell is my wallet?” Trevor’s walking around the house as if we have all the time in the world.
“Did you check your pants pocket from the last time you remember having it?” Krystal offers.
“I don’t even know when I had it last!” he grumbles.
I put my hand on the doorknob, twist. “Hurry up!”
“Ava,” Mom scolds. “Give him a minute.”
Trevor walks out of his room with three different pairs of pants, patting down each pocket.
“I’m going to be so late,” I mumble.
Now Trevor’s looking behind the TV because of course it’s going to be there. “Why do you have to get to school so early, anyway?”
“Because someone,” I say, glaring at him, “made me see the school shrink.”
“Ava,” Krystal admonishes. “We don’t use that term.”
“Sorry.” I lower my gaze, my voice. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Where the hell is it!” Trevor utters.
“I’ll be outside,” I announce to whoever is listening. I open the door.
Freeze.
On my doorstep is Connor, one hand raised, ready to knock.
“Connor?” I shriek.
“Ava?” He looks as confused as I feel.
“What—” My voice is too high, too loud. My pulse thumps wildly, beating on my eardrums. I try again. “What are you doing here?”
Trevor shoves me to the side.
Connor lifts Trevor’s wallet, but his eyes are glued to me.
“Thank you,” Trevor says, relieved as he grabs for it. “I’ve been looking all morning.”
“You left it in my car,” Connor tells him. To me, he asks, “What are you doing here?”
I say, “I live here.”
Trevor laughs. “I’d introduce you both, but it seems like you’ve already met.”
“Wait,” replies Connor, his feet planted on our porch. “You live here?”
Now Trevor’s pushing me out the door as if he’s the one in a rush. I stop inches short of slamming into Connor, while Trevor shuts the door behind him.
I’m practically sniffing Connor’s shirt; I’m that close to him.
“I told you I lived with my sister,” Trevor says, moving past us and down the porch steps.
I ask, “How do you know each other?”
Trevor answers, “I told you about him, no? He just moved in next door.”
He told me we had new neighbors. He didn’t mention him by name or give any other information.
“Your sister?” Connor asks, confusion evident in his tone.
“Stepsister,” Trevor and I respond at the same time.