Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1) - Jay McLean Page 0,90
make it up to him. I do. I just don’t have the time or the resources or the… I fight back the constant thoughts attempting to ruin what we have.
That he needs more.
Deserves more.
Ava: How’s that goodnight kiss coming along?
It takes him a few minutes to respond.
Connor: I’ll be there in five.
I open my blinds and lift the window. And I wait. And wait. And wait. Five minutes turns to ten, and I check my phone. Nothing. I wait some more, the frigid cold air forming goosebumps along my arms as I lean halfway out, searching for him.
After fifteen minutes, he finally appears, but there’s no swing in his step, no hint of a smile.
There’s no boy who loves me. All of me.
“Hi,” I whisper, waving.
He gets close enough so he can kiss me, just once. When he steps back, his eyes are on mine, tired and tortured. “Hey.”
I swallow the instant lump in my throat, but it just moves lower and lower until it’s wrapped around my heart, making it impossible to breathe. “What have you—” I break off when I notice him clenching his jaw.
There’s no life in his eyes as he scans my face. “Goodnight, Ava.” He turns on his heels and starts to leave.
“Wait,” I rush out, grasping for him.
My hand catches air, but he stops anyway.
“Did you…” I want him with me. I want to show him that I care. I want him in my bed, and I want to give him everything he’s wanted. And I don’t care if it makes me a whore. I just want him to not look at me the way he is. I need him to forgive me. “Did you want to come in for a bit?” I say, my entire everything timid and submissive.
Without a second thought, he shakes his head. “I can’t.”
“Oh.” My gaze drops, shame igniting my flesh. “Okay.”
He doesn’t look back when he says over his shoulder, “I’ll see you whenever.”
Chapter 47
Connor
Four balloons are waiting for me on the porch, one for each game if we make it through to the final of today’s single-elimination tournament. Thirty of the best high school basketball teams in the region all compete for a cash prize that goes directly to the school, but that’s not why we play. The arena will be filled with college coaches and NBA scouts, all of them searching for the one hidden gem. That one player who nobody knows about. And today, I’m hoping that one player is me. But so are hundreds of other kids.
I remove the balloons one by one, and I wish they gave me the same knee-jerk reaction as all the other times I’d seen them here. That feeling of elation, of pride, of wanting to do something great for someone else.
For Ava.
But it doesn’t.
And I don’t know if it’s because things are rocky with us at the moment or if it’s my nerves, because there sure as shit are a lot of those, too. I could barely sleep last night, my mind focused on every play, every opponent. This tournament is my chance to show up. To rise above the rest and make an impact. If this goes well, Coach assures me that colleges will have no choice but to make an offer. And I need that. God, do I need that.
Ava
“Trevor!” I call out, sitting on the couch with Mom in front of me while I do her hair. She’s having another zero-day, and in a way, I’m glad. Lately, zero days have been the best we can get out of her.
He storms out of his room, his eyebrows drawn, focused on his phone. “What’s up?”
“They’re streaming today’s tournament. Can you connect my laptop to the TV so I can watch it on there?”
Trevor nods, looking up and pocketing his phone. “How does Connor feel about it?”
“Connor,” Mom mumbles. “Six-five but is hoping for a growth spurt.”
My eyes widen. So do Trevor’s. I lean over her shoulder. “You remember Connor, Mama?”
She nods once, staring into the abyss. “Handsome boy.”
I can’t help but smile. “Do you remember anything else about that day?”
“What day?” she asks.
“The day you met Connor.”
“Connor, six-five but is hoping for a growth spurt.”
Trevor chuckles, shaking his head as he goes into my room to retrieve the laptop.
“We’re going to watch him play in a tournament today,” I say, more to myself than anyone else. “He’s going to kill it; I just know it.”
“Who is?” Mom asks.
“Connor.”
“Connor, six-five but is hoping for a growth spurt.”