Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(15)

I remember looking down at my hands, at the sweat that pooled beneath the two toy cars I held on to. Lightning McQueen in my right. Sally in my left. I took them everywhere with me, even in my sleep. “You’re my reason, Connor. Don’t ever forget that,” she said. She kissed my forehead, and I’d kept my gaze down, watching my three-year-old legs kicking back and forth.

I remember the heat.

The way the sun filtered through the open door, burning my flesh…

Right before she slammed the door shut between us.

No other words.

No warnings.

I watched her walk away, step by step until she disappeared between the rows of cars.

Minutes passed, and I started to worry.

She’d never left me before, not for that long.

I struggled to breathe.

It was so hot.

I kicked at the back of the front seat in frustration, dropping Lightning as I did.

I tried to reach for it, but my belt was on tight.

So tight.

So hot.

That’s when the tears came.

I remember the way the belt cut into me when I kept reaching for the car, over and over.

I squirmed.

I screamed.

I remember how my tears felt on the palms of my hands. Warm and wet.

I remember the marks those tears left on the windows. Handprints dragged down in desperation.

I remember the pain in my chest, the ache in my throat from crying her name, over and over.

Mama! Mama! Mama!

I remember the heat.

God, I remember the heat.

Like a fire burning inside me.

I remember the thickness of the air in my throat.

The sweat in my eyes.

And I remember the exact moment my body started to shut down.

To give in.

Give up.

I remember the heaviness of my eyelids.

The weakness in my limbs.

The anguish.

The despair.

I remember those last moments.

The world as a blur.

Right before it was coated in darkness.



I’m in a daze when I come to, eyes wet and weary as I watch the ball bounce away from me and into Ava’s arms. Fuck. I’d forgotten where I was, and worse? I’d forgotten who I was with.

I fold in on myself, exhausted, every muscle in my body screaming for reprieve.

But I’m not ready.

Not yet.

One hand on my knee to keep me upright, I extend the other. “Give me the ball, Ava.”

“No.”

I grind my teeth, irked beyond reason. “Not right now, okay?”

She shrugs. “Okay.”

I stand taller. “So give me the damn ball.”

She holds it behind her back. “Come and get it.”

I’m in no fucking mood for these mind games. Shaking my head, my eyes on hers, I take several steps to close in on her. But as soon as I’m near, she throws the ball away, and the next thing I know, her arms are wrapped tightly around me, her nose to my chest. I feel the heat of her breath against me, the way my shirt stretches across my torso from the strength of her hold.

“I’m so sorry, Connor,” she whispers, and everything inside me stills.

Breaks.

Shatters.

My inhale is shaky. My exhale the same. I close my eyes, take in the moment. Bask in it. If only for a second. “What’s this for?” I ask.

She looks up at me, liquid sorrow coating her eyes. “It just looked like you needed it.”

I reach up and palm the back of her head, hold her to me. Because of all the things I hoped could heal the memories of my past, the human touch and a single moment of compassion weren’t it. Maybe it was because it was never offered to me before. Or maybe it’s because it’s coming from her.

When I feel her start to pull away, I bring her closer. Hold her tighter. Because her touch…

…her touch is like fire.

Only this time,

I don’t mind the burn.





Chapter 14





Connor





Dad greets me at the door when I get home. It’s been a solid two weeks since we’ve seen each other in more than just passing. By the time I’d get back from school, he’d be asleep, and by the time he’d leave for work, I’d be getting ready for bed. “Can I help you?” he asks, hand pressed to my chest to stop me from going inside.

“What?” Confusion clouds my mind.

“Do I know you? I mean, you look like my son, but it’s been so long I can’t be sure.”

Chuckling, I swat his hand away and force my way inside. “Haha. You became a comedian overnight.” I start for my room.

“I ordered pizza,” he calls out after me.

“Can’t wait.”



In my room, I drop my bag and ball on the bed, dock my phone on the speakers and hit play on Kendrick Lamar. In my mind, I’m at Toyota Arena wearing number 13, James Harden, and I’ve just sunk a killer fadeaway against the Nets. In the real game, Harden walked away with one hand out pretending to hold a bowl, the other holding a utensil to mimic stirring the pot—his signature celebration. In my bedroom, I do the same while the imaginary crowd chants my name, Led-ger! Led-ger! Led-ger! I nod, hold my hand to my ear to encourage them. Louder! Louder! Louder! My eyes close, and I take in the moment, remember the feel of Ava’s body against me. The way her eyes locked on mine. Connor! Connor! Connor!