Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(24)

Dad looks up from his meal and drops his knife and fork on the plate. “I feel like we have this same conversation every day.”

“Because we do,” I murmur. “But I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Well, I don’t know, Connor,” he says, running his hands through his hair. “Why don’t we talk about something else then? I feel like… I don’t know. Ever since we moved here, we’ve become so disconnected.”

Shrugging, I take a sip of my soda. “Remember that girl I told you about?”

Dad inhales, long and slow, and I already know what’s coming next. “Don’t let a girl distract you from—”

I rub at my eyes, frustrated, cutting him off.

“Connor, this is serious,” he says.

“I know, Dad. I know how serious this is. I’m the one who feels the pressure of it,” I rush out, then take a calming breath and regroup my thoughts. “But you want to sit here and have a non-mundane conversation with me; this is what I want to talk about. This is what’s happening in my life right now. This is what I want to tell my dad. I’m seventeen, and I’m interested in a girl. And I’m allowed to be. But my wanting to spend time with someone doesn’t take away from my other priorities. I know how important the end game is. For both of us.”

Dad’s silent a moment, his heavy breaths filling the small room. Finally, he nods, his eyes locked on mine. “You’re right,” he sighs out.

And I exhale, relieved.

“You’re absolutely right, Connor, and I’m sorry I haven’t been what you needed me to be.” The corner of his lips lift. “So, this girl… her name?”

“Ava.”

He smiles. “That’s a pretty name.”

I relax in my seat, let the words flow through me. “She’s a pretty girl.”

“I bet. Does she go to your school?”

“Yeah. Well, we met at school.”

“Psych paper, right?”

I nod, shocked that he remembers. “Turns out she lives next door.”

“No way!” he says, his enthusiasm genuine. “So, have you been hanging out outside of school?”

“Not really, I mean not yet. But she’s a cool girl. Remember that Trevor guy who helped me move in all the furniture?”

“Of course, yeah.”

“She’s his stepsister.”

“Ah, I see.” Then his face falls as if his mind suddenly became consumed by something else.

“Dad?”

“Which uh… which house? I mean, which side does she live on?”

I point in the general direction of Ava’s house.

“I see,” Dad mumbles, his gaze distant.

“What just happened right now?” I ask.

He gets up, picking up his half-eaten meal. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like something triggered you about her house. What... what do you know?”

Dad empties his plate in the trash, then dumps it in the sink. With his hands gripped to the edge of the counter, facing away from me, he says, “I’ve just heard things…”

“What things?”

He huffs out a breath but stays quiet.

“What things, Dad?”

He turns to me now, his arms crossed as he leans against the counter. “It’s not something I’d normally mention, but if you like this girl as much as you say you do, it’s probably important you know—”

“Dad, just spit it out already.”

His lips part, but no words form, and he’s looking everywhere but at me.

I push my plate away.

Dad rubs the back of his neck.

The clock tick, tick, ticks, the only sound in the room.

“Look,” he starts, crossing his ankles. “When I told Tony—”

“The guy you ride with?”

Dad nods. “When I told him where we moved to, he mentioned the house next door. Apparently, there was an incident a while back with the mother there. I don’t know if it’s your friend’s mom or—”

“What incident?”

“She’s a war veteran, the mom, and I guess she got injured in Afghanistan. A grenade went off too close, and she lost an arm and part of her face.”

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, my thoughts racing—every one of them on Ava.

“When she got home, things were pretty bad for her. People around here—they’re not used to seeing someone in that state. Anyway—and I’m only going by what he told me…”

I’m all ears now.

All in.

Dad takes a breath. And then another. Preparing. “Apparently, she went into a store one day, and maybe she overheard a couple of guys talking about her… no one really knows. But she lost it. Completely. She went through the aisles knocking products off the shelf, screaming and yelling and threatening people with whatever weapons she could find. They say she was inebriated because she was unintelligible, slurring her words and whatnot, but Tony thinks it might be a side effect of some form of head trauma from her injuries.”

I press my palms against my forehead, waiting for the pounding to stop.

“The kids around here call her the town drunk or the loony lady…”