Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(29)

“He hasn’t told you about her?”

“Nah. He doesn’t really talk about her or what happened, and to be honest, I kind of prefer it that way.”

“Aren’t you at all curious?”

“About?”

“God, so many things,” she says, eyeing the sky. “Like where she is or what she’s doing, or I don’t know… why she did it.”

I run my hands through my hair, replay her words. Lightheartedly, I reply, “Maybe she was a sociopath.”

Ava jumps down off the bench and stands in front of me, her head tilted back so she can look me in the eyes. “I’m serious, though, Connor. I mean, if she had some form of mental illness then she should get help.”

I swallow, painfully, and try hard to not let her thoughts consume me. “I get where you’re going with this, Ava. I do. But my mom and your mom—they’re two completely different situations.”

“Because something happened to my mom to make her that way?”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

“Maybe your mom was born like that.”

“Or maybe…” I start, grabbing my ball. I spin it around on my finger, so I have something else to focus on that isn’t her. “Maybe it’s a lot simpler than that.”

“Like what?” she asks.

“Like maybe she just didn’t want me.”





For the next few days, Ava and I ride to school together when our schedules align. She hasn’t invited me over again, and besides the few text messages we send to each other at night, we don’t really interact. Psych class and lunch are the only times we see each other, so we make the most of what we get. At least I do.

We sit in the bleachers away from the crowds and talk, learn more about each other. She finds new ways to get under my skin, and I find new excuses to touch her.

“Why are you hanging out with me?” she asks out of nowhere.

I push aside the so-called “food” attained from the cafeteria. School this rich, you’d think they’d supply something a little more… edible. “What do you mean?”

She picks up her sandwich—turkey on rye, the same as always—and takes a bite. With her mouth full, she says, “Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your team?”

“Eh.” I shrug. “You’re nicer to look at.”

She flicks her shoulder, rolls her eyes. “I mean, obviously.”

“Modest, too.”

She laughs, the kind that starts deep, comes out low and slowly turns higher and higher. It’s my favorite of her laughs, and I pity the world for not hearing it as often as it should. “Honestly, though. Don’t they wonder why you’re not part of the jock-patrol?”

“I don’t really click with anyone on the team as much as I do with you.”

“You haven’t made friends?” she asks.

“No, Mom. I haven’t. I told you the first time you were in my car. You could be the suckiest friend in the world, and you’d still be the best one I have. And, to be honest, you’re pretty fucking sucky.”

“Shut up,” she says, shoving my shoulder.

“Nah, the guys aren’t too bad. Rhys seems like a decent dude, but talking to him is like talking in circles—which yeah, is basically like talking to you—but with Rhys comes Mitch and—”

Ava makes a gagging sound, cutting me off. “Yuck.”

“You’re not a fan?”

“That guy’s a self-entitled dick.”

“Hey, remember when you called me self-entitled?”

She stretches her arms in the air, then settles them behind her. “I remember it fondly.” Nose in the air, she adds, “It was the morning of August—”

I reach over and cover her mouth, gently push until she’s on her back, another new excuse to touch her. “You’re such a smart-ass.”

“You love it,” she mumbles beneath my palm.

With her heavy breath against my hand, our eyes lock, stay. And I don’t know why my mind chooses now of all times, why the urge I’ve held on to for so long is at its strongest.

I want to kiss her.

In so many ways.

For so many hours.

My gaze drifts to her throat, the movement sharp as she swallows.

I could kiss her there.

“Connor?” she whispers beneath my touch, her eyes drifting shut.

I could kiss her there, too.

She reaches up, yanks at my wrist to uncover her mouth.

I could kiss her there the most.

“We can’t do what you’re thinking right now.”

My heart sinks. “Why?”

Hand pressed to my chest, she pushes me away and sits up. She refuses to look at me when she says, “Because we can’t.”

And I have no other words but a repetition of “Why?”

“Because,” she starts, looking out onto the field, then down at her feet, at her hands, anywhere but at me. “Because my life is complicated enough as it is.”

“I’m not here to complicate things, Ava. If anything, I want to help.”

“I’m not a charity case.”

I shake my head. Sigh out loud. “That’s not what I meant.”