Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(77)

“Guess what?” Connor says, pulling his phone from his pocket. He taps a few times and then hands it to me.

I read the email on the screen:

Dear Connor Ledger,

Please consider this your official invitation to the— I don’t read the rest because I’ve lost my breath entirely. “Connor!” I squeal. “You got into that—that thing with all the pros and the—” I imitate shooting, even though I’m sure my form is all wrong. “And the dunk thing! Thing!”

Connor laughs. “The invitational, yes, I got in!”

“Oh, my God.” My grin widens. “That’s amazing. That’s a big deal, right? What am I asking? Of course it is. It’s a huge deal.” I hug his neck, loving the chuckle that comes out of him. “I’m so proud of you.”

When I release him, he says, “Coach had to pull a lot of strings to—”

“No,” I cut in. “Don’t you dare undervalue your worth. There are only, what, a hundred spots you told me? They wouldn’t have sacrificed a single one of those spots if they didn’t think you earned it.”

“I guess,” he mumbles, but he’s not as excited as he should be. He’s definitely not as excited as I am.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, handing back his phone.

“It’s just… it’s four days over Thanksgiving break, and I was hoping to spend that time with you.”

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, babe.” I smack the back of his head playfully. “And I’ll be here when you get back.”

He smiles. “Promise?”

My shoulders drop. “Of course.”

Smirking, he says, his tone playful, “You’re not going to run off with Rhys and have all his babies?”

“Nah… Rhys’s genetics are all messed up. His parents are second cousins.”

“You’re kidding?” he asks, wide-eyed.

“Am I?”

He glares at me a moment, contemplating. Then he gives up on my shenanigans and leans back against the wall, his chin up, looking at himself on the poster. “Damn, Ava. Your boyfriend’s pretty.”

I laugh, loud and free. “He’s modest, too.”

“Thank you,” he says, sobering.

“For what?”

His head lolls to the side, his eyes on mine. “For being proud of me.”

I settle my legs over his and cuddle into him. “You make it easy, Connor.” I kiss his lips, and then his jaw, loving the way he brings me closer.

A deep throat clearing has me pulling away, hiding my face in his neck. Connor’s shoulders shake with his silent chuckle. “Coach,” he says in greeting.

“Ledger,” Coach Sykes returns. “Y’all leave room for Jesus now.”





Chapter 46





Ava





I swipe up on my phone, my hands shaking as I rush to read every word on the email Trevor has forwarded to me. It’s from our health insurance company about Mom’s coverage, but I don’t understand what it means. There are too many technicalities, withdrawals, and limitations, and every line, every paragraph has my heart beating faster and faster, my airways tightening.

“Ava!” Connor snaps, and I come back to reality. For a second, I’d forgotten where I was, too embroiled in what the changes to the coverage mean for my mom, for our future.

Connor has one hand on the wheel, his entire body leaning to the side, facing me. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve been saying?”

We’re on our way home from school, I remember that much, and I remember opening the email with the subject: URGENT and everything after that was filled with panic. “Sorry, what?” I try to focus on his words over the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears.

His brow lifts. “I was telling you about the tournament this weekend. How there are going to be twenty-five college coaches and eight NBA scouts…”

I peer down at my phone again.

“Ava?!”

“Huh?” My eyes snap to his. “Sorry.”

“It’s cool,” he mumbles, his expression falling. He focuses on the road again. “I was just confessing all my fears and doubts to you, but it seems like you’re preoccupied...” Shaking his head, he adds, barely a whisper, “Like always.”

“I’m sorry,” I rush out, dropping my phone in my bag. I turn to him, give him my full attention. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “Just start again.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

I grasp his arm. “Connor, no. Just tell me everything again.”

He pulls up in front of our houses, his gaze distant as he stares out through the windshield. “I have to get back to school. Coach is waiting for me.”

“What?” I huff out. Then realization dawns. “Wait, did you push back practice to give me a ride?”

Connor nods but keeps his eyes trained ahead.

My stomach sinks. “You didn’t have to drive me home.”

He turns to me now, his movements slow, and just like he stared out the window, he stares at me. Unblinking. But his gaze looks past me, and I feel… exposed. I watch him closely, see the disappointment in his eyes, the frustration in his brow. And I hear the defeat in his words when he says, “I just needed to talk to you.”