Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(14)

A flurry of excitement fills the room. Beside me, Connor groans. “Jesus. No.”



Connor silently, reluctantly, agrees to follow me outside. With his backpack in one hand, a basketball in the other, his feet drag as he tracks behind me.

I take him to the school gym.

“Here?” he asks, moving to the center circle. “You want to work here?”

I shrug. “I figured it’s where you’re most comfortable.”

Dropping his bag by his feet, his eyes take in the surroundings: from the championship flags strung off the ceiling to the retired jerseys hanging on the walls. I try to make small talk. “First game of the season’s in a few weeks, right?”

He eyes me sideways, a rush of air falling from his lips. I watch the way his shirt shifts beneath the muscles of his broad chest, strong shoulders, and I look away, hoping he isn’t witness to the heat forming on my ears, my cheeks, my entire damn body. “So, I think we should talk about—”

“The paper,” he interjects.

“—what Rhys said,” I finish.

He drops the ball, sweeps it up again, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “So, this paper…” he says, deflecting. “I’ve taken some notes. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to give us a starting point.” After reaching into his bag, he pulls out a few sheets of paper and holds them out between us.

Okay.

So.

He obviously doesn’t want to deal with what happened, and I’m clearly not going to get anywhere.

I step into the circle so I can take the notes, flipping through them without actually reading a word. My mind works in overdrive as I try to come up with a way to fix things for us, for me. I need a way to settle my guilt. “I was thinking,” I start, needing a moment to catch my breath. It’s as if we’re in his car again. Close. Almost too close. And there’s no one here but us. “I was thinking…” I repeat, coming up with a plan on the fly. It’s a selfish plan, one that will help me find a way to gain his forgiveness. “We should maybe put our own spin on it.”

“How?” he asks, and when I look up, I catch him watching me. He averts his gaze a moment later, focuses on the ball in his hand.

“I thought we could make it more personal? Have an actual test subject rather than resources we find online so it’s not the same old, same old, you know?”

He bounces the ball. Again and again. Contemplating. “You have a subject in mind?”

“You.”

His eyes widen. “Me?”

I nod.

“And what exactly would that entail?”

“You have to tell me about you. Genetics versus upbringing.”

He takes a step back, shaking his head. Jaw tense, a fierceness flickers in his gaze, a wall dropping down between us. It’s as instant as it is intense. He closes his eyes, slowly, his dark lashes fanning across his cheeks. By the time he opens them again, all emotions have been wiped. “I wouldn’t be the best subject for this,” he says, his voice flat. “We should use you.”

“Hell no.” A giant Fuck No. There’s no way I’m willing to reveal the details of my life.

Not yet.

Not to him.

“Well, I’m out.”

“But—”

“But nothing, Ava. We’re not doing this,” he says, his voice firm.

“But you need the grades, right? To play, I mean. This is the perfect—”

“I said no!” His voice echoes off the walls, and he cringes at the sound. Annoyance fills his every word. “Just leave it alone.”

I shrink into myself. I hate being spoken to like this. Being yelled at. “Jesus, what’s your deal?” I snap, combative. “I’m just trying to get to know you here, and you’re—”

“I’m what?”

“You’re fighting me.”

“Fine!” he barks, frustrated, and looms over me. “I can’t do what you’re asking because I don’t know shit about my mom.” His voice cracks on the last words.

My breath catches on an inhale, my stomach giving out. I lower my gaze, wishing for a damn shovel to dig a hole that I could crawl into. I stumble through my speech. “I’m so sorry, Connor. Did she, umm… did she die or…?”

“No,” he breathes out. His voice softer, calmer. “I mean, I don’t know. She abandoned me when I was young.”

I look up again. Right into his eyes already focused on mine. “As in, she left?”

His lips part, but nothing comes out. A sharp inhale. Steady exhale. His throat moves with his loud swallow, but he doesn’t break eye contact. Finally, he speaks. “As in she drove us to the airport parking lot on a hundred-degree day in the middle of July, made sure I was buckled in nice and tight in my car seat, kissed me goodbye, and walked away. She walked away, and she never came back. So no, Ava, she didn’t just ‘leave me.’ She fucking abandoned me.”





Chapter 13





Connor





My ears fill with the sound of the ball bouncing off the hardwood, the backboard, the rim. Again and again. Echo echo echo. My shoes scrape. Muscles in my arms, my legs, my heart burning. Sweat pools, drips down my face, but I can’t stop. Won’t stop. I push harder, further. It’s the only way to get out of my head, to stop the memories from flooding in.