Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1) - Jay McLean Page 0,42

Rhys sitting next to me, my eyes narrowed in annoyance. “What?”

“Your phone’s going off,” he says, and I look up and around me, and everyone is staring. Then reality hits and hits hard. I reach for my pocket, see Krystal’s name on the screen. I answer it without any regard for where I am or what I’m doing.

“Your mom’s having an episode, Ava. You should come home right now. Trevor’s on his way.” I don’t even respond before I’m on my feet and heading toward the door.

No one asks what I’m doing or where I’m going; they already know.

The two minutes waiting for Trevor in the school parking lot feels like hours.

I send a quick text to Connor to let him know I had to bail and practically jump into Trevor’s moving truck when he arrives.

Dread.

Dread replaces all other emotions, all other thoughts, and my blood heats, rushes through my entire body. I can’t sit still, can’t stop the worst possible scenarios from circling my mind.

“It’s okay,” Trevor says, hand on my knee to stop the bouncing. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“How do you know?” I whisper.

He doesn’t have an answer, so he doesn’t respond.

I burst through the front door and can hardly set foot inside. Magazines and broken glass are scattered throughout; picture frames hang crooked on the walls. Krystal is in the middle of the living room, her hands on her hips, and Mom—Mom is sitting in the corner, head in her knees, an arm covering her face. She’s rocking back and forth, whispering words too unintelligible, even for my ears.

Krystal inhales a long, sharp breath before turning to me. “She’s okay now,” she breathes out. “She’s in the—”

“Aftermath,” I finish for her, taking the steps to get to my mother. Slowly, quietly, I squat down, ignoring the shattering of glass beneath my shoes. I fight back the tears, hold back my cries. “Mama?” I am a conqueror. I am. I am. “It’s Ava. Remember me?”

Mom stills, looks up at me with eyes glazed, fighting a battle between chaos and calm. “Of course, I remember you,” she says, her voice low. Her warm, wet hand settles on my jaw, taps gently. I fight back the urge to recoil. But then she breaks, a single tear falling from her eyes. “My Ava, Ava, Ava.” She starts rocking again. “Ava, Ava, Ava.”

I take her in my arms, hold her to me, and sway with her motions.

“I’m sorry, Ava, Ava, Ava.”

“It’s okay, Mama,” I assure, looking up at Trevor. The sadness in his smile creates an ache in my chest.

Mom’s shoulders start to shake, and I bring her closer, hold her tighter. “They came for me, Ava. They came for me and they found me… and it was so dark and so…”

“Shh,” I hush, letting her bury her face in my neck. “It’s okay. It’s all over now. You’re home, Mama. And you’re safe.”

Mom has “episodes” and with them comes “aftermaths.”

We’ve experienced more than a few of them since she’s returned, and even a couple between deployments. When Krystal writes up her report about this particular episode, she’ll call it a “mild” one. Most of the time I’m with Mom, or at the least, I’m near enough that I can be there to help her through it. When the aftermaths are harder to reach, Trevor has to step in, physically. Emotionally, it’s all on me.

It took a half hour to get my mom to calm down enough so I could get her into bed. She was asleep within minutes. The episodes take a lot out of her.

“Ava?” Trevor says, standing in my doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I nod, saving the final changes to Trevor’s calendar. Having him leave work for an emergency like today means having to reschedule his appointments. I always offer to make the calls so he doesn’t have to. It’s one less thing he has to worry about, and the very least I can do.

“Krystal just left,” he says, entering my room. He sits on the edge of the bed, his arms outstretched behind him. “But I gotta be honest, Ava. Things aren’t the greatest right now, and I really don’t think I should be leaving you alone this—”

“Stop it,” I cut in, already knowing this was coming. “I’ll be fine.” I hope. “Besides, you need to be there. You’re the best man.” At his old man’s wedding. The same man I used to call my stepdad. The same man who split when