Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(68)

“I’m not hungry.”

“But you should at least try to get something in your stomach, Mama.”

“Where are my cigarettes?”

My head drops forward, my shoulders lifting with the force of my inhale. I squat down beside her, hold her hand in mine. And then I push down the knot in my throat, kiss the scars that created this stranger. “I’ll get them on the way home from school, okay?”





Connor


I knock on the door of Coach’s office and wait for him to look up from whatever he’s reading. When he does, his eyes widen, and he looks at his watch. “You’re going to be late to first period.”

“I know,” I say. “I was hoping to talk to you in private.”

He settles back in his chair, his arms crossed. “If it’s about the suspension—”

“It’s not,” I interrupt. “I know what I did, and the punishment stands.”

Nodding, he motions to a seat on the other side of the desk. “Let’s talk.”

Nervous energy swarms through my bloodline as I take a seat, my knees bouncing.

“What’s got you on edge?” he asks, eyeing me.

“Nothing.” I lie. “Well, yeah. Something.”

“Spit it out, kid.”

“I need your help,” I rush out. “I mean, I’d like some extra help. Please. Whatever you can offer me. I need to start focusing more on basketball, or else…” I take a breath. “I’m not getting any offers, Coach, and I need to do something about it.”

He laughs once, closing the newspaper in front of him. He trashes it under his desk, then opens his drawer, pulling out a pile of envelopes three inches thick. “These are letters of interest,” he deadpans.

My eyes widen. “For me?”

He chuckles, killing any form of hope I’d momentarily allowed. “You heard of Graham Sears?”

I nod. “Spurs, right?”

“Yep. He was one of mine junior and senior year. An import, like you. These are the letters he garnered during those two years. You want to see yours?”

I nod.

He reaches into his drawer and pulls out air. He pretends to drop it on the desk. “That’s your pile.”

Discouraged, I look down at my hands.

“Sears was taken third to last in the NBA draft, Connor, and that’s the amount of interest he had. So, if you want just a taste of what he had, you better get ready to work.”

I look up at him. “I’m here for it, Coach.”

“Good,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “You know what the main difference is between you and Sears?”

“He was better than me?”

“No,” Coach says, adamant. “That’s the thing, Connor. He wasn’t. But off the court, he was with his team, building relationships and team camaraderie. He treated his teammates like they were his brothers, and in turn, those men made him look better, made him stand out. So, if I were you, I’d start there.”

I lift my chin. “Okay.”

He picks up his phone, calls the office to excuse me from first period. Then he makes another call, and a moment later, his office is occupied by the entire coaching staff and a few trainers.

All eyes are on me when Coach says, “Son, if we do this, we do this, you understand?”

I nod, puff out my chest. “Yes, sir.”





Ava


Connor said he had to get to school extra early this morning, so Trevor ended up giving me a ride. I sit in my usual spot first period, my eyes glued to the door, my heart waiting for just a glimpse of what she desires the most. When the bell rings and he still hasn’t shown up, I send him a text.

Ava: Where are you?





“Psst,” Rhys hisses from behind me. “Connor said he was meeting with Coach after practice so he might be late, or not show up at all. He said he’ll see you at lunch.”

Oh. I nod, put my phone away. “Is he in trouble?” I ask.

Mr. McCallister calls out, “Connor’s not, but you two might be if you don’t stop talking.”





Connor


We spend all of first period going through a game plan that includes extra practices, one-on-one coaching with all the coaches. More gym time. More studying. More of everything. Coach even puts in a call to an old friend about getting me into a four-day invitational held by some big name pros around Thanksgiving. It would be a dream, but I’m not holding my breath.

At the end of the period, Coach says, “Today, you have lunch with your team.”

“I spend time with my girlfriend at lunch,” I tell him.

He eyes me over the rim of his glasses. “Do you now?”

I shake my head, my heart heavy. “I guess not.”





Ava


Lunch comes around, and I spend the first half sitting in the bleachers without my partner in crime. When he does appear, he’s grinning from ear-to-ear. “Hey, girlfriend,” he says, kissing my cheek. He sits opposite me with the lunch he acquired from the cafeteria. “Sorry I’m late. I had a thing I had to do.”

“A thing?”

He shrugs. “Just a basketball thing. It’s not important.”