Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1) - Jay McLean Page 0,85
Is everything okay?”
My gaze drifts to him. “She had a rough night.”
He nods, and I see the genuine concern in his eyes. “Ava’s a nice girl. It sucks what happened to her mom.”
I look around the table, see all eyes on us, ears glued to our conversation. “Yeah, it’s uh… it’s tough.”
“If there’s anything I can do,” he says, “for you or for Ava, just let me know, man.”
Rhys adds, “That goes for the entire team, right, boys?”
I look around the table, at my teammates who I’ve gotten closer to over the past few weeks, all of them nodding, agreeing. And maybe Coach was right, and I was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to get to know these guys beyond what they had to offer on the court. Because they all seem sincere, and maybe I’d spent all this time thinking they were judging me when I’d been doing the same thing to them. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”
A flurry of “no worries” and “all good” sounds around the table, and then Rhys speaks up. “Here’s trouble.” He motions to Karen, who’s walking toward us. She drops her tray on the other side of me, greets us all with a “What’s up, fuckboys.”
“Was that your mom at the game last night?” Mitch asks her.
Karen nods.
“Did she get new boobs?”
She nods again. “Provided by husband number six.”
Mitch chuckles. “If they get any bigger, I might make a play. One day I could be your stepdad.”
Karen throws a handful of fries at his head. “Gross, jerk.”
Then Mitch waggles his eyebrows. “You can call me Daddy.”
I ignore the rest of the banter and check my phone.
Still no reply.
Connor: Ava, I love you. ALL of you.
Chapter 44
Connor
Another week goes by in a blur, and my time with Ava is limited, at best. And while we try to make the most of what we have, I can feel the distance growing between us, the disconnect. I convince myself that it’s just in my head, that a lot is going on in both our lives and the last thing we need is to talk about my insecurities. Besides, it’s only for a few more months. Once I get accepted somewhere, anywhere, and the season is over, I can focus all my time and energy on her.
On us.
On the end game.
The balloon on my porch brings a stupid smile to my face, and Dad says, “I don’t get it. Why the boo!?”
“Because it’s Ava,” I tell him, following him to the car. “And it’s my good luck charm.” Once in the car, I pop the balloon, shove it down my boxer shorts. “And I could use all the luck in the world tonight.” Tonight’s opponents are currently on top of the leaderboard, a team full of all-stars. Every single person on their roster has already committed to various D1 colleges throughout the country, and my team is expecting me to perform, to outsmart, outrun, and outplay every one of them.
“You’ll be fine, Connor,” Dad says.
But I wasn’t fine. Not even close. I’m double-teamed during every second I’m on the court, and I can barely get a possession, let alone score. My frustration shows in the way I yell at my team, pushing them to go harder, stronger, and then halfway through the third, I hit my fucking limit. I throw my mouthguard across the court, get a technical and hand the opposition two free throws. I ride the rest of the quarter on the bench with my head between my shoulders and my pulse racing, blood boiling.
It’s our first L for the season.
My team lacks any form of responsibility for the way the game played out.
Coach is pissed at me.
Dad is disappointed in me.
And I haven’t said a word to anyone since the final buzzer.
For the past few weeks, I’ve come just short of killing myself to play as hard as I did tonight, and it wasn’t enough.
I’m not enough.
While Dad drives us home, in silence, I flip the phone in my hand, jumping every time a notification comes through. Usually there’s a text waiting for me when I get to the locker room, a good game, #3 or something similar. But there was nothing after this game or the last, and it just amplifies all the insecurities I’ve been trying to ignore.
When Dad stops by the gas station to buy the bags of ice I’ll be soaking in later, I hit my limit of patience and send her a text.