Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1) - Jay McLean Page 0,53

in your life!”

“Like what?” I shout. “Basketball?”

“Yes!”

“It’s just a game! It’s not—”

“It’s more than a game! It’s a ticket out!”

“For you, Dad! It’s a ticket out for you!”

His arms unfold, anger pulling at his brow. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

I open my mouth but stop myself from saying something I’ll regret, something I’ve held on to for years. It means that he wants me gone, to a college far, far away, so he doesn’t have to deal with me anymore. So he can get rid of the unwanted burden that was left to him. “Nothing.”

“If you have something to say, say it!”

“I don’t,” I mumble, looking down at the floor. “But you can’t stop me from seeing her.”

“Bullshit, I can’t,” he says, his voice raised again. “She—that family of hers—they’re bad news, Connor. And you don’t need them in your life. Not now. Not ever!”

“I need to get out of here.” I step into my room and grab my ball, then shoulder past him to get to the door.

The moment my hand’s on the knob, Dad yells, “That girl is nothing but a bad distraction! She’s got problems, problems too big for you to shoulder, and she’s tearing you down with her! Look at you! Look at what she’s made you do! She has nothing good to offer you, Connor! Not one damn thing!”

I open the door.

Freeze.

Solid.

Ava’s standing on my porch, her fist raised, ready to knock. I slam the door shut behind me, my anger deflating. “How much did you hear?”

Eyes glazed, she slowly looks up at me. “All of it.”

I sigh. “If you’re here to tell me how much of a fuck-up I am, you can save it.” I drop the ball, lean against the porch railing. “I’ve heard it all already.”

Ava stands in front of me, her arms shielding her stomach. “Your dad’s right, you know?”

“No, he’s not,” I breathe out, wiping the dried blood from under my nose. I inspect my hand, then wipe it on my pants. “He’s right about a lot of things, Ava, but he’s wrong about you.”

I wince when she reaches up, touches a particularly sore spot on my jaw. I have no idea what I look like. I haven’t checked. “How hurt are you?”

“How hurt are you?” I retort.

She doesn’t respond.

“Come here,” I say, my fingertips making contact with hers. I gently tug, hoping she does the rest.

She takes a step toward me, and then another. I close the distance, wrap my arm around her waist and pull her into me, ignoring the pain in my ribs when she leans against me. She settles her cheek on my chest, while I hold her to me completely, not wanting to let her go. My lips pressed to the top of her head, I whisper, “I need to know what happened, Ava.”

She nuzzles closer to me, her arms going around me. “My mom happened.”

I swallow the truth I knew was coming. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “And I’ll go over tomorrow morning and apologize to Peter, too. I fucked up. I don’t—just the thought of someone hurting you… I… I lost it. I don’t even know what got into me, but…”

“It’s okay,” she says, looking up at me. Darkness looms in her stare, while sadness falls from her lashes. “I should’ve told you the truth from the beginning. It’s just—”

“Hard,” I finish for her. “God, Ava, I can’t even imagine how hard things are for you. But I’m here, whatever you need, whenever you need me. I’m here.”

“I can’t,” she says, slowly releasing me.

I grasp her hand. “Why?”

“Because—” Her phone rings, cutting her off. She looks at the screen, but I don’t want my question to go unanswered.

“Why?”

She ends the call, looks up at me. “Because your dad’s right, Connor.” Then she jerks out of my hold. “And I have to go.”

Chapter 32

Ava

They look like fireflies. The way the water falls from the sky, illuminated only by the streetlamps. I stand in the middle of the road, barefoot and barely breathing, my arms out, face to the sky.

I don’t know how I got here.

When I climbed out of my window, the sun was just setting and now… now I’m surrounded by dark skies and false hope.

I had to get out of the house. Krystal had left and Peter had called the crisis team to stay overnight again, and there were too many people under one roof. Too much pain and anguish. I couldn’t breathe, and yet, I didn’t want to.