Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1) - Jay McLean Page 0,93
my frustration. “Why the hell not?”
I grab another six-pack on the way out and tear into it the second I’m in Karen’s coupe. Top down, I welcome the cold chill against my face.
I don’t ask Karen where we’re going because Karen seems to have a plan. Karen’s also got good taste in music. I turn up the stereo to full volume and rest my head on the seat. I close my eyes, get comfortable, and don’t bother opening them until the car’s stopped. We’re parked just outside the sports park gate, and Karen turns off the car, filling my ears with silence.
“Are we breaking and entering, because if so, I should call my dad and warn him about the bail money. We’re poor, Karen.”
“You’re not poor,” she tells me, her blond hair blowing in the breeze. “You’re middle class. You just live in an area that has too many one-percenters.”
“Perspective,” I mumble.
“What?”
I heave out a breath. “It’s all about perspective. You have good perspective.”
“Riiiight,” she drawls. “And no, we’re not breaking and entering. Stepdad number five owns this place.” She hops out of the car, taking her keys with her, and uses them to open the giant padlock on the gates.
“Will you get in trouble?” I ask when she’s back behind the wheel.
With a shrug, she says, “He gave me a key for a reason.” And then she puts the car in drive and makes her way through the park, around the batting cages, and parks right in the middle of the basketball courts.
Great.
More basketball.
Just what I need.
“Let’s go, baller.”
I force my body to move. Hand on the door, pulling at the handle. I use all my weight to push open the door. One leg first, then the other. Karen’s at her trunk and she pulls out a basketball, and if she wants to play one-on-one, I’m noping the fuck out.
I’m done for the day.
Dee-plee-ted.
She stops a foot in front of me, slaps me across the face. Hard.
“What the fuck?” I cry out, hand to my cheek.
“Wake the fuck up, Connor! I’m not here to baby you.” She takes the beers from my hand, dumps them in her open trunk. “Let’s go.”
“I don’t want to play,” I whine.
She eyes me, hand on her hip. “You have ten minutes to sober the fuck up and get back to reality. If this is how you’re going to act after every loss—”
“It wasn’t just a normal loss.”
She slaps me again.
“What the fuck, woman! Knock it off.”
“Ten minutes,” she says, setting a timer on her watch. “I’ll wait.”
I sit my ass on the ground, legs bent in front of me, arms outstretched behind me. And I look up at the stars, breathe fresh air into my lungs, again and again, and I let the coolness of it wash through me, my vision slowly returning to normal.
I ask, because it’s something I’ve often wondered, “Why did you and Ava stop being friends?”
Karen’s quiet a moment, and when I glance at her, she’s sitting cross-legged, staring down at her hands. “I don’t think we ever really stopped. Things just got too hard after everything with her mom. We couldn’t really hang out, and too many calls went unanswered, and after a while, I just stopped trying to reach out to her.” She looks up now, her eyes on me. “I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault. At least I hope she doesn’t feel like I’m to blame. I tried, Connor. We all did, but…”
“It got too hard,” I finish for her.
She nods. “How are you guys doing?”
I shrug. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“You brought it up.”
“Then I’ll bring it back down.”
Her watch beeps, and she gets to her feet. “Time’s up.”
Moaning, I stand, catch the ball she throws at my chest.
“Where were you?” she asks, pointing to the three-point line.
“What do you mean?”
She stands around the area where I made my choke shot. “Was it here?”
“About, yeah.”
She motions for me to join her at that spot, and so I do. I stand there while she walks off the court.
“Shoot your shot,” she says.
I chuckle. “I’m still kind of drunk.”
“Do it anyway.”
I shoot, sink it.
She grabs the ball, throws it back. “Again.”
I do it again.
She returns the ball to me. “Again.”
I make the next five shots. Miss one. Then sink the next two.
When I’m done, she takes possession of the ball and holds it to her hip. “Nine out of ten and you’re drunk, Connor,” she states.