Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1) - Jay McLean Page 0,33

field, then down at her feet, at her hands, anywhere but at me. “Because my life is complicated enough as it is.”

“I’m not here to complicate things, Ava. If anything, I want to help.”

“I’m not a charity case.”

I shake my head. Sigh out loud. “That’s not what I meant.”

The warning bell sounds, and I curse under my breath.

Ava’s quick to stand. “We should go.”

I don’t see Ava for the rest of the day, and she doesn’t respond to my texts all afternoon. I’m tempted to go knock on her door to finish our conversation, but I remember what she told me about her mom’s reaction to knocking, so I force myself to let it go until the next morning.

Sleep eludes me, and just when I’ve tossed and turned for the millionth time, legs kicking out in frustration, my phone goes off.

Ava: I can’t date. I don’t even know what the meaning of dating is for people our age, but I know that I can’t do it. My life outside of school is… my life. My priority. I can’t be that girl for you. I can’t be the girl on the sidelines cheering you on. I can’t be the one you hold hands with when you go out to celebrate all your wins or commiserate all your losses. I can’t be the one you bring home to meet your dad or the one you call when you have off days. I can’t be anything more than I am right now. Which means *we* can’t be anything more. And as much as I hate it, as much as it hurts, I know in my heart that’s what you deserve. And it doesn’t matter how much I want you or how hard I’ve fallen for you. Because I have, Connor. In all the possible ways that absolutely terrify me, I’ve fallen for you. But nothing good can come of this. There’d be no happy ending to our story. There’d be an intense beginning, a shaky middle, and then heartache. And we’ve both been through enough heartache to last a lifetime.

Chapter 21

Ava

I spent first period in the girls’ bathroom because I was too afraid to face Connor.

This is my life now.

After I sent him the wall of text last night, I switched off my phone and managed to get a total of two hours sleep. I didn’t want to see what he had to say or fight him on my decision. It had taken me hours to come up with something I felt was worthy enough to send. I gave him the answers he needed, and with it, I gave him every piece of painful truth.

I was falling for him.

And I couldn’t do anything about it.

But even saying all that, it still hurt when I turned my phone back on this morning and there wasn’t a response from him. I know he’d read it, the proof was there, so maybe that was it for us.

The story of Connor and Ava: over before it began.

It’s what I wanted; I convince myself. It’s what I asked for, really. It doesn’t mean I won’t miss his friendship, or his banter, or the way he puts up with me… or the way he looks at me.

My stomach drops as I stare out at the football field. I pick up my phone, see that it’s been ten minutes since lunch started, and the ache in my heart doubles. Triples. I lock the phone, stare at the wallpaper: a picture of Trevor, my mom, and me on my last birthday. A zero-day. I can see it in her eyes, remember it like it was yesterday. There were no candles on the cake. No poppers. No singing. But there was us. Our mismatched little family; a gradient of skin tones. Trevor being the darkest, then mom, and then me. My reason.

“Sorry I’m late,” Connor shouts, practically sprinting up the steps. “I was stuck on a stupid conference call with Coach Sykes and my agent, something about UCLA. I don’t know; I tuned out.”

My mind does a double take.

My heart does a double flip.

“What are you doing here?” I breathe out.

His steps falter. “Are we...” He eyes me sideways. “Are we not allowed to be friends anymore? Because I swear, I read your text, like, eighty times, and there was no mention—”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to be,” I cut in. “Friends, I mean. I didn’t…”

He sits down on the bench in front of me, a step down, his usual