Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1) - Jay McLean Page 0,80
doesn't speak, our breaths the only sound in the small room. I push away all other thoughts—thoughts that seem to invade my mind and ruin me from the inside out.
“Do you…” I start, careful. “Do you want me to wash you?”
Nodding, she sits up and bends over, allowing me to have access. I pour body wash on a loofa and start at her back, ignoring the ailing paleness of her skin, the way her spine sticks out far more than it should. I hear her sniff but stay silent. And then her shoulders… her shoulders start to shake. A single whimper fills the cold, dead air, and I reach up to her shoulder, move her hair to the side. “It’s okay, Mama,” I say through the knot in my throat. “Sometimes we all need a little help.”
She reaches up with her good arm, takes my hand in hers. “Thank you,” she whispers, and it’s all I need. All I want. For her to know that I’m here for her. Always.
She doesn’t say anything more, and neither do I. We finish in the bath, and I help her into fresh clothes and into her bed, pull the covers over her chest. She stares up at the ceiling, and I get on my knees beside her bed, put my hands on her upper arm. “Are you not tired?” I whisper.
Her head lolls to the side, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m scared,” she admits.
I sit taller. “Of what?”
She lets out a sob. “To close my eyes.”
“Oh, Mama.” I settle my head on her chest, my eyes drifting shut when she holds me to her.
“Stay with me, Ava? Just until I fall asleep?”
I wipe my tears on her covers, then suck in a breath, attempt to keep my broken heart bound. “Of course.” I get into her bed and try to be her courage while hiding my weakness. She holds me close, using just a portion of the strength of the woman she used to be. The mother she used to be.
I lie awake, listening to her breaths settle until I know she’s asleep. Then I get out, careful and quiet. I wipe the wetness off my cheeks before opening the door and facing Trevor.
“Is she down?”
I offer the most genuine smile I can come up with. “Yeah, she’s sleeping like a baby.”
Trevor nods, goes back to watching whatever game is playing. I go to the bathroom and retrieve my phone.
Connor: I figured something was up when there was no balloon. I hope everything’s okay?
Connor: Just got out of the tub. Is everything okay there?
Connor: Can you come out in five? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.
I look at the time stamp. It was sent over a half hour ago.
Ava: Sorry, I just got the message.
Ava: I can maybe come out now if you’re still up for it.
Connor: Slipping on my shoes.
I tell Trevor I’ll just be five minutes, and practically run outside, my heart racing, longing for the only person in the entire world who’s capable of letting me forget, even if it’s just for a minute.
I wait for him on the sidewalk, smiling when I see his door open. I’m in his arms a moment later, and it should be impossible—that one person can hold so much power in just their embrace—but I physically feel the tension inside me dissolve until it’s just him and me and now. “I miss you, Ava,” he sighs out.
“I know. Me, too.”
He pulls away but keeps his arms around my waist, holding me close. Looking down at me, his eyes shift, as if taking me in for the first time. “I promise, once the season’s over we’ll go back to normal.”
Normal. As in one class every other day and lunch breaks and the occasional ride together to and from school. As opposed to what it’s been like the past two weeks… when I get to see him in class but not really talk to him, and sometimes he’ll show up at lunch, sometimes he doesn’t. There are no more rides to and from school. The only reason he gives me is that it’s basketball related, but he doesn’t give me much else. Any other girl would become suspicious about who he’s with and what he’s doing. “I understand,” I tell him. Besides, he’s never once questioned my inconsistencies, and apart from that one time for the pep rally, he’s never asked for more of my time than I could give him.