Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(19)

Connor: Of course I do. But so would Ted Bundy so…

Ava: I think we change Richard Ramirez for Blanche Tyler Moore.

Connor: Who’s that?

Ava: She was a serial killer in the early 1900s who met her victims via newspaper (aka text messages). She promised them love (told them they were good-looking), then when they came to see her (psych class paper), she’d poison them, chop them up into pieces and bury them on her farm. Then she’d take whatever life insurance and money they had.

Connor: Ha! Joke’s on you! I have no money :(





I cover my mouth, stifle my laugh.

Ava: What are you doing on this fine day, Connor?

Connor: I have a multitude of dates.

Ava: Do you now?

Connor: Yep. First with my basketball, then with my laptop, and later, if I’m feeling frisky, with some leftover pizza. So, yeah. Not much. You?

Ava: About the same.

Connor: You play basketball?

Ava: Not even close. I can throw a mean spiral, though.

Connor: You’re into football?

Ava: It’s a family thing. I don’t have a choice.

Connor: Right.





“You got that list for me?” Trevor asks, hand out waiting.

Dropping my phone, I quickly fish the list from my pocket and hand it to him.

“What’s with your face?”

I touch my cheeks with the back of my hand. Fire.

Trevor smirks. “Are you texting some guy from school?”

“What guy from school?” Mom asks from her spot on the couch.

I look out the window. “It’s such a beautiful day outside…” I deflect, even though it’s true. The sun’s out, leaves are starting to turn orange. If only I could leave...

“This guy who—” Trevor starts.

But I interrupt, “Don’t skimp on my chocolate. I’ve got cramps.”

“Dammit, Ava, I don’t need to know this shit,” he grunts, recoiling away from me as if he’ll catch The Menstruation.

“It’s such a heavy flow!” I yell after him.

He slams the front door shut.

I laugh harder.

Mom says, “Don’t you think that boy goes through enough?”

I shrug. “I have to get my kicks where I can.” Then I turn to her, my smile fading. “You think you might want to try wearing your prosthetic today? Just for a little bit?”

“Not today, Ava.”

“But Krystal—”

“No.” She turns away from me, her facial scars in full view. “We’ve been through this before—”

“But—”

“But nothing. It’s not growing back, so there’s no point in pretending like something’s there when it’s not!” She’s quick to stand and march to her room. Before kicking the door shut, she mumbles, “I have one good arm; it’s all I need.”





CONNOR


Of all the things my dad and I are, handymen are not it. I searched the entire house and garage for a measuring tape and came up empty-handed. Now I’m on the porch measuring the fucker with a 12-inch ruler. A bunch of kids rides past on their bikes, no older than ten, and I watch them, feeling a pang of childish jealousy. They dump their bikes and start throwing a football around. I check for Trevor’s truck, but it’s not there. When I’m done with the measuring, I head back inside, get on YouTube and spend the next hour watching old men build porches from scratch. I thought we’d just have to replace the top; turns out, it could be the foundation, which means getting under there. With a grunt, I get my ass back up and out but freeze when I see the kids messing with Trevor’s house. Rolls of toilet paper in each of their hands, they make quick work of stringing that shit all over the front chain-link fence, giggling maniacally at their masterpiece.

“Hey!” I shout, at the same time Trevor’s truck pulls up to the curb, brakes screeching.

He hops out. “Get the hell out of here!” he yells, chasing after them at a speed much slower than I know he’s capable of.

The boys bolt to their bikes, cursing, and I take the steps down to meet him on the sidewalk.

“What the hell was that about?” I ask, helping him remove the toilet paper.

Trevor shakes his head. “Just dumb kids being kids,” he murmurs, pulling on a longer piece. I watch his face, the tension in his jaw, the frustration in his brows. “What’s been going on? How are you settling in at St. Luke’s?”

“As well as can be expected.” I hand him all the trash I’ve collected. “You know anywhere good to eat around here?”

“Yeah.” He balls up all the toilet paper with both hands. “Best place on a Saturday is the sports park. They have a bunch of food trucks. Take your pick.”

“Sports park?”

“Yeah, there are batting cages, basketball courts, sometimes they put up the rock-climbing thing. It’s pretty cool. You should check it out.”

Nodding, I push away my awkwardness and ask, “You want to come with?”

His eyes widen, and he offers a crooked grin. “Yeah?”

I shrug. “On me.”

Pointing to his truck, he says, “Let me just bring in the groceries.” He hands me the toilet paper. “Take care of that for me?”