Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(84)

Connor: Is everything okay?

Ava: Yes.





I know I should head back to school, but once I’m in my car, the only place I can think to go is Ava’s.

I stand on her lawn and send her another message.

Connor: Any chance you can come out for five? I think we need to talk.





The curtains part on Ava’s front window, and a second later, she’s stepping out and sitting on her porch steps.

I sit next to her, my heart heavy, mind clouded with confusion. I swallow my nerves. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, there was just no one available to watch her today,” she says, her tone flat, her gaze distant.

I heave out a breath, keep my eyes on her. And I know it’s not the right time or place, but I can’t keep doing this. Going around and around like we are. “What’s going on with us, A?”

“I don’t know,” she says, her gaze trailing to mine. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“What does that mean?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Karen?”

“When?” I snap. “When would I have told you about it exactly?”

“I don’t know,” she deadpans. “This morning when I was standing right in front of you.” She huffs out a breath. “What happened last night, Connor?”

I run a hand through my hair, tug at the ends. This isn’t the conversation I was looking for. “With what, exactly? Me choking in the last five seconds of the game or you sending me a message proving you don’t care?” There’s a hint of anger in my tone that I didn’t plan on being there.

“I tried,” she whispers. “I watched the entire tournament and then my mom…” Her voice cracks and she sits higher, squares her shoulders. “What happened after the game?”

I sigh. “We went back to Rhys’s, and we drank, and some of the guys couldn’t drive, so Karen gave us rides home. That’s why my phone was in her car.” I don’t know why I lie, and it’s the first time I’ve ever done it, but none of this matters. That’s not why we’re here.

She’s silent a breath, her eyes lowering. “What time did you get home?”

I shake my head, curbing my frustration in my fists. “I don’t know. Like, midnight?” I know it was later than that. Much later. But I don’t need her focusing on that because, again, it’s irrelevant, and so I tell her that. “It doesn’t matter what I did or didn’t do last night, and Karen’s not the problem. The problem is between us, A. You and me.”

“Stop calling me A,” she grinds out. “Only Rhys calls me that.”

“Yeah?” I snort. “Was that before or after you fucked him?”

“Connor!”

I ignore her and keep at it, getting everything off my chest. “And while we’re on the topic of not telling each other things, why is it that everything I know about you, I hear from other people?”

Her eyes snap to mine. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I count off each point on my fingers. “I find out about your mom through my dad. Then I find out about you and Rhys through Rhys. That your mom was a POW through Trevor. And even Peter fucking Parker seems to think it’s—”

“My mom was a what?” she cuts in, her voice low, shaky.

Fuck. Everything inside me hardens, and I look up to see her watching me, her eyes brimming with tears, her bottom lip trembling.

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“Connor?” she cries, begging for answers. “Was my mom… was she…?

“No, Ava, she—”

“Tell me the truth!”

“Fuck,” I spit, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes. “Fuck, Ava, I wasn’t supposed—”

Her sob forces a sharp inhale as she stares at me, her mouth agape. “Why would you keep that from me!” And then she breaks, her shoulders shaking. Those small hands I fell in love with cover her entire face, and she’s crying, the loudest, most unconfined cry I’ve ever witnessed from her, and all the broken pieces of my heart fight for unity again because I remember everything about her, about us, everything I love. I fell in love with her vulnerability as much as I fell for her strength and “I’m sorry, Ava.” I sniff back my own tears, watching her shatter in front of me. “I love you. I’m so sorry.”

I try to reach for her, to hold her, to show her the magic… but she pushes me away. “Don’t fucking touch me.” She’s on her feet and heading for her door, and I try to grasp on to her, but she’s too… everything. She’s too determined and too angry and too… too damaged. She slams the door between us, and I don’t give up. Can’t.

I turn the knob and push, but nothing happens. “Ava, please,” I beg, my forehead against the door. “I’m sorry.”





I don’t bother going back to school, telling Dad that I’m not feeling well, so he excuses me from classes for the rest of the day. I spend the time in my room, my phone to my ear, calling, calling, calling. My thumbs move faster than ever as I write out text after text after goddamn text, each one going unanswered. I stand at her door four fucking times with my fist raised ready to knock, but stop myself, knowing it could make things worse.