Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(34)

Pouting, I say, “I wish I could be there.”

He nods. “I know. I understand why you can’t.”

“Do you want to talk it out?”

With a shrug, he replies, “I’m just nervous, I guess, which is weird because the game has always come so naturally to me. But I feel like I have a lot more riding on it now than I did before. I mean, we picked up our entire lives and moved to another state just for the chance to be seen, and God, Ava, if I don’t succeed…”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him honestly. Connor was right; I am a sucky friend because I’d never really thought about it before. I never stopped to think about the pressures of his life that might weigh him down and keep him up at night. All this time we’ve spent together and all the stupid questions I ask about his past, I never once asked about his future. Shame fills me. “That must be hard, to feel like all that is riding on your shoulders.”

“It’s all for the end game, right?” he mumbles.

“Well, it’s good that your dad supports you with it. He moved here for it so…”

His eyes drop, his hand flexing around his basketball. “Yeah, I guess,” he says, but his eyebrows are drawn, and there’s a sadness in his expression that has me scooting forward just to be closer to him.

“Is he, like, pressuring you to be something you don’t want to be?”

“No.” He shakes his head, adamant. “No,” he repeats. “I want to go pro. Obviously. And it’s not like he’d disown me if I didn’t make it, but… I don’t know.” He pauses a beat. “I feel like I have to be something. Something greater than average. Something big, because…” he trails off.

“Because why?”

His nostrils flare with his heavy exhale. “Because there has to be a reason I survived that day.”

“Connor,” I whisper. “You’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

He shakes his head, his eyes on mine. “What if I fuck it up, Ava? What if it was all for nothing?”

I suck in a breath, hold it there. And I think about my life before Connor, and all the emptiness I felt from scraping through each moment in my own version of zero-days. I sit down next to him, facing away from the field. Then I take his hand in mine, squeeze it, and hope that it gives him the same level of comfort he’d offered me. “What if it was something else entirely?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, spreading my fingers with the tips of his. Our hands are mismatched, his too big and mine too small, but when our fingers entwine, there are no empty spaces, no room for anything more.

“What if five hundred miles away, there was a girl… a girl who was barely holding on to hope… a girl so close to giving up. And you just happen to move next door to her? Just happen to sit next to her in class. And you form this friendship with her, not knowing how badly she needed someone exactly like you, at exactly that time, to help piece her back together. To help heal her. And to show her that magic exists and… and maybe it’s not the NBA,” I say, my voice hoarse, throat aching with the force of my withheld sob. “And maybe it’s not what you imagined your purpose to be…” I look up at him, at his red, raw eyes holding mine hostage. “Would that be enough?”

He settles his hand on my jaw, then places the gentlest of kisses on my forehead, making my eyes drift shut. “So, this girl you speak of…” he starts, his lips still on me. “Is she hot?”





Chapter 24





Connor





“You got everything?” Dad asks, poking his head through my bedroom door.

“Yeah.” I adjust the strap of my gym bag across my chest and take one more look in the mirror. Nervous anticipation crawls through my skin, and I wish Ava were here. I wish she’d hold my hand like she did today and calm the anxiety inside my chest, building a fortress, creating a home.

“You okay?” Dad asks, walking behind me toward the front door. “Pre-game nerves always get to you, but once you’re on the court and the ball’s—”

“I’m fine, Dad,” I interrupt. I don’t need a pep talk, at least not from him. I just need to stay in my head, stay focused.

I open the front door and freeze momentarily. There’s a single, sad looking balloon hanging off the porch railing. Bright orange, like the team colors. And written in black marker, a large #3, my jersey number. I notice more writing on the other side, and so I flip it between my hands and take a closer look. A laugh erupts from deep in my throat. BOO!





My back squeaks against the hardwood as I slide a few feet, leaving a trail of sweat in my wake. The crowd that’d been deafening all night is suddenly quiet. I start to raise my hand to shield my eyes from the bright gym lights, but Rhys stands over me, blocking them. He offers me his hand, and the crowd goes crazy. His grin matches mine when I use his hand to help me get back on my feet. “They’re going to keep knocking you down until you can’t get back up!” he shouts into my ear.

I make my way to the free-throw line, hands out for the ball. “They can keep trying,” I yell back. “But I can go all damn night!”

I sink both shots without even trying.