Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1) - Jay McLean Page 0,86

okay?

Ava: Can I call you later?

My eyes drift shut, my frustration growing.

Connor: Yeah

I sit in the stupid bath, my teeth chattering, muscles recoiling, and my phone gripped tight in my hand, waiting for Ava.

By the time I get out, she still hasn’t called, and I ignore all the other calls and texts from the guys on the team.

I don’t need them.

I need her.

After checking that my phone is charging, working and the ringer is set to the loudest possible setting, I settle in my chair, college essay prep notes and applications in front of me. The screen of my laptop is bright against my eyes, the cursor flashing. I type, delete, retype, over and over, but nothing sticks because none of it matters.

An hour passes.

Then two.

Three.

I read over some past essays, make more notes.

Four.

Five.

“Connor?” A hand on my shoulder forces my eyes open. I look up to see Dad standing beside me.

I lift my head off the pile of papers on my desk and stretch my arms, my back, snapping my muscles and bones into place. With a grimace, I ask, “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Son,” he says, eyeing me dubiously. “It’s morning. You must’ve fallen asleep at your desk.”

“What?” I sit up straight, look at my watch. “Goddammit.”

And then I check my phone.

No sign of Ava.

“Maybe you’re pushing yourself too hard,” Dad suggests.

Disappointed and disillusioned, I don’t bother responding.

He adds, “Why don’t you take the day off school? Maybe you just need a little reboot.”

I nod, already getting into bed.

“You need anything?” he asks.

I stare up at the ceiling. “I’m good.”

The second the door’s closed, I send her a text.

Connor: Not at school today. I guess I’ll catch you whenever.

And then I switch off my phone because I’m done waiting.

Done hoping.

I wake up to the sound of Dad’s voice, and when I peer through my heavy lids, I see him standing in my doorway. “You have a visitor,” he tells me, stepping to the side.

In her school uniform, Ava stands just outside my room. I force my eyes to open wider so I can check the time. It’s mid-morning. “Shouldn’t you be at school?” I mumble.

Ava shrugs, her gaze down, her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. She glances between Dad and me as if asking us both, “Can I come in?”

She’s a vision of guilt and remorse, and my chest tightens, but it doesn’t give out, and I don’t give in. I’m still pissed, and I don’t have it in me to hide it. “If that’s what you want,” I breathe out.

Dad closes the door once Ava’s in the room but leaves it ajar—his way of setting rules we haven’t yet discussed.

Ava stands at the side of my bed, looking down at me. She’s chewing her lip, her eyes on mine. Tears pool there, and I look away.

She fumbles over her words, starting and stopping, and I just want to go back to sleep where time didn’t exist, and I don’t have to deal with this. Not today. Not after last night. “I’ve been calling and messaging all morning, and when I couldn’t get through, I left school and I… I caught a cab here.”

I push down my anger and frustration. “You didn’t need to do that. I’m fine.”

She sits on the edge of my bed and is quiet a beat, then: “I told you I’d make a shitty girlfriend and you—”

“You’re going to blame me?” I face her now. “Dammit, Ava. I waited all night for your call.” I sit up. “I needed you. You’re the only one who can refocus the mess in my head, the only one who can make everything inside me settle and allow me to see straight, and if you were too busy, I understand, but don’t tell me you’re going to do something and then just forget I exist.”

“I didn’t forget—” She stops there, shaking her head. Then she blows out a heavy breath. “I’m going to go,” she says, standing. “I’m not making things any better by being here, so… I’m sorry, Connor. I’m sorry I disappointed you,” she cries out. “And I don’t know what else to say.”

She starts to leave, but I grasp her hand, my heart and head pounding. I come back to reality. It was one fucking game. Just one. And if I want her forever, like I know I do, there are going to be other games, other moments where she can’t be there, and I’ve been selfish. God, I’ve been so