Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(42)

“The Great Wall of China?”

“Same thing.” He shrugs. Then adds, “So Peter’s home?”

“I guess. How do you know him?”

He scoffs. “Everyone knows Peter Parker.”

“That can’t be his real name,” I mumble, bewildered.

Chuckling, he says, “Oh, but it is.”

In the cage, Oscar asks for the bat, and Karen tosses it toward him, but he’s too slow, and it hits him right in the nuts. Oscar howls in pain, folds over himself. I turn to Rhys, ask him something that’s been consuming my mind all afternoon. “Hey, do you and Ava talk a lot?”

He faces me, expressionless. “Define a lot.”

I shrug, look through the cage again. “Just seems like you know a lot about what’s going on in her life.” More than I do, I want to add, but don’t.

“I told you it wasn’t like that,” he says, clearly irked by my question.

“No, I know,” I assure. “I’m just… I’m trying to work out what we are exactly—Ava and me—and I can’t seem to get it out of her, so… I don’t know. I’m just looking for validation, I guess.”

Rhys sighs. “My sister graduated two years ago. She took most of the same classes that Ava’s taking now, and she kept most of her notes because she’s a giant fucking nerd, I guess. She lets me give them to Ava for the classes she misses because that girl misses a lot of classes. We talk about that stuff mainly, but yeah, sometimes I’ll ask how she’s doing, and she’ll tell me.”

“She must be telling you more than she tells me. I can barely get her on the phone.”

“She has a lot going on,” he tries to convince. “And it’s got to be hard for her.”

“Hard how?”

“I don’t know, dude.” He rubs the back of his neck, frustrated. “I guess, trying to juggle and prioritize school while having to be a parent to your own parent, add to that the normal teenage anxiety and emotions and trying not to get too attached to people.” He backhands my chest. “People like you.”

“She can attach herself to me,” I say. “I won’t mind it.”

Shaking his head, he laughs under his breath. “You say that now, but it’s harder than you think. Trust me, man. You think I don’t know your situation, but I do. I was you.”





I get home just in time to shower, change and get ready for the showcase—a “fun” afternoon for the fans where the team plays three-on-three, and we do nothing but show off our skills. I’m one foot out the door when I stop in my tracks. It’s a different balloon, but the same writing, same number, same insult.

My stupid grin matches my foolish glee.

I bet Rhys never got balloons.





Chapter 29





Ava





I startle when my alarm goes off, even though I’m wide awake. The biology paper I’m working on has kept me up the entire night—the only time the house has been peaceful enough to work. I set the phone down. I need the A. Not for me, but for Trevor. He works too damn hard to pay for this education, no matter how hard I’d fought him on it. “When it’s over,” he’d told me—whatever over means—“your high school education is going to be important.” And then came the argument about college that ended with me promising I’d apply to some even if I had absolutely zero intentions of going. “You can defer,” he’d said. “And we’ll work out the rest when the time comes.”

I’m typing and typing and typing, rushing through the final two paragraphs when I hear Mom’s bedroom door open. Shit. I look at the time. 5:05. Shit. Shit. Shit. I shut the screen, get to my feet. “Sorry, Mama. I lost track of time. I’ll get your breakfast going.”

Mom’s eyes are dead as she stares at me, and I can’t stand to see it. I look away, start on her food. Flames heat my face when I turn on the stove. I quickly set the pan on top, drop in some oil. Then I go to the fridge, pull out the bacon and eggs. I rush around the kitchen, dropping bread in the toaster, and she stands at the doorway watching me. “Five a.m., Ava,” she says, her voice as chilling as her presence. “I have breakfast at 5 a.m. every goddamn morning.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” I turn my back to her so I can work over the stove, my heart beating out of my chest. My hands shake as I try to pick up an egg, and then she’s beside me, looming over and around me.

“Move!” she orders. “I can make my own damn breakfast.”

“No, Mama,” I say, trying to keep as calm as possible, but I can feel the darkness wavering above us, the doom and gloom like a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode. I inhale deeply, exhale the same way. “I got it. Please sit down. I’ll only—”

“Move!” she shouts, grabbing at the pan handle.

I fight to get it back, even though I know I shouldn’t. She’s too strong, too wired, and I’m weak… God, I’m so fucking weak. Tears spring in my eyes, and I say, refusing to let go, “I’ll make it! I’m sorry.”

“Goddammit, Ava! I said MOVE!” she screams, pulling at the pan until I finally release it, but she wasn’t expecting it, and neither was I, because the pan flips up and burning hot oil catches on my neck, my chest. I shriek, the pain unbearable, and run to the tap. Tears fall from my eyes, mixing with the oil, burning through my flesh.