Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(16)

A stupid grin sweeps my entire face.

“Connor!”

My eyes snap open. Dad’s at my door, his hand on the knob. He eyes me sideways, looking from me, to my speakers, and back again. Shaking my head, I move to the speakers and switch off the music.

Dad says, “Pizza’s here.”

I walk past him and toward the kitchen.

“I take it you had a good day,” he muses.

I shrug. “Same old.” Then I ask, only slightly embarrassed, “How much did you see?”

“Enough to know you’ll never be able to grow a beard as majestic as Harden’s.”

I rub my chin, and for a split second, I wonder if Ava likes beards. “I could grow a beard.”



“So…” Dad says, settling in the chair opposite me.

I pick up a slice of pizza, take half of it in one bite. “So?” I mumble around a mouthful of food.

He throws a napkin toward me. “So, tell me everything. We haven’t had a real conversation since school started. How are the classes?”

I swallow. “Good.”

“And the team?”

“Also good.”

“Welp. I’m glad we had this talk,” he jokes, standing. He opens the fridge, eyeing the drink selection. I watch his every move, waiting for the right time to bring up what went down today. Besides the people who were there that day and my dad’s parents, no one else knows what happened to me. Until Ava. I figure I should ease into it, so I say, “So, I met a girl…”

His shoulders tense. “Oh yeah?” he says, refusing to turn to me.

“Yeah,” I edge. “She’s uh… she’s in my psych class. We’re working on a paper together.”

He moves again, and just when I think I can proceed, he asks, “Psych, huh? What’s that like?”

I ignore his question, sit higher in my chair. “Her name’s Ava.”

“Right.” He turns to me now, his eyes trained on the floor. “Just remember we need to keep focused on the end game, Connor.”

Irritation fills the emptiness inside me. “We?”

“You,” he sighs out. “I mean you.”

Puffing out a breath, I slump in my chair, throw the napkin in the almost full pizza box. I’m frustrated. It’s obvious. And the truth is, I’ve tried to understand why he’s like this. Why he seems to have a distaste for all women. In all the years post-Mom, I’ve never known him to date, or even have a random hook-up. I guess, in a way, I get it. The one woman he loved enough to have his child left, abandoned not just me, but him, too. Only he wasn’t there. What happened to me didn’t happen to him. I’m the one who should have his level of hatred and distrust. Because in truth, as much as I hate to think about it, she only left him. But me? Me she wanted dead. And that’s a hard fucking pill to swallow no matter how I try to spin it. I inhale deeply and swallow all those thoughts. Bury them deep inside me. Like always. “It doesn’t matter,” I say, mask back in place. “I’m pretty sure she’s not interested in me.”

Dad nods. “That’s probably for the best.”

“Yeah.” I stand, done. “Thanks for the pizza… and the talk, I guess.” I start to leave.

“Connor,” he calls after me.

“It’s fine.”





I knew going into this year that the schoolwork would be hard. I thought I was prepared. I was wrong. The workload is insane, which is okay for now, but once the season starts, I’ll probably have to give up sleep. It’s my only option. Most of my free nights I split between studying game tapes, memorizing plays, and doing homework. But tonight, I can’t seem to focus on anything. Well, anything besides the girl who appears to have infiltrated my mind. I know it’s wrong to be this infatuated, and I’m not one to be making moves on a girl. And I won’t, I assure myself.

Unless…

Sitting at my desk, I reach into my bag and pull out the team folder. The first page has a list of numbers, including the coaching staff and all the players. My finger moves down the page until I find the one I want. I stare at the name, flip my phone in my hand. Then I stand. Pace. Convince myself that surely even James Harden had moments like these growing up.

I type out a text.

Connor: Hey.

Rhys: Who’s this?

Connor: Connor.

Rhys: Hey man, what’s up?





I stop pacing.

Start again.

Drop my phone on the bed.

Pick it up.

Suck it up.

Connor: Do you have Ava’s number? I need to talk to her about the psych paper.





Seconds pass.

Then minutes.

Fricken eons.

When he finally responds, he has her number attached and the words:

Rhys: Remember: whatever she does, don’t let it affect you. And whatever you do, don’t fucking hurt her.

Connor: Thanks… I guess?





I go back to pacing. Preparing—out loud—the first message I’ll send. “Hey… Hi, it’s Connor… Hey, it’s me, Connor… Yo… Yo, it’s Connor from school…”

Dad opens my door without knocking, interrupting my absurdity. “You okay?”