Heartache and Hope (Heartache Duet #1)(9)

“You ever watch that movie Little Giants?” Rhys asks, flopping down on the bench next to me. I thought I was the only one left in the locker room, but apparently, I was wrong.

I slam my locker shut and face him. “That one with the reject kids playing football?”

He nods. “There’s this line in it that I always think about whenever I have bad days. Football is 80% mental and 40% physical.”

I glare at him, my brow bunched in confusion. “That makes no sense.”

He taps at his temple. “Get out of your head,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “The rest will follow.” I force out a breath as he comes to a stand. He adds, “You know Miss Turner?”

“No.”

“She’s the school psychologist.”

I shake my head. Is this kid serious? “I’m fine.”

“I’ve made an appointment for you after school tomorrow.”

Frustration knocks on my flesh from the inside. “Dude, I don’t need—”

“Trust in the process,” he cuts in, and I’m reminded of Ross, of my dad, of the weight of expectation balancing on my shoulders.

He starts to walk away but stops just by the door. “And hey. Not that I’m assuming this has anything to do with you sucking—because you might just be a shitshow—but the whole Ava thing? Try not to take it personally, okay?”





Try not to take it personally.

It’s 3:00 a.m., and Rhys’s final words are plaguing my mind. Like a scratched record stuck on repeat. Over and over. Again, and again.

The thing is, I did try.

Just like I tried to forget what Dad had said.

And just like I tried to ignore the fact that I’ve made zero connection whatsoever with my new life.





The next day drags, every second filled with anxiety. By the time I sit my ass outside the psych office, I’m a ball of nerves. My knee bounces, my palms sweat, and there’s a throbbing between my eyes that won’t fucking quit. Elbows on my knees, I lower my head and pinch the bridge of my nose for some form of reprieve. I try to blame it on the lack of sleep, but I know the truth. I’ve been here too many times not to know.

The door opens, and I look up just in time to see Ava standing in the doorway.

“My door is always open,” a younger woman who I assume is Miss Turner tells Ava. “Whatever you need.”

Ava doesn’t respond to her because she’s too focused on me, her head cocked, eyes narrowed.

Great, now I’m the “self-entitled” new guy with issues. But she’s here, too, which means…

I try to offer a smile.

She returns it with a scowl.

Awesome.





“Tell me why you’re here,” Miss Turner asks.

I settle my hands on my knees to stop the shaking and take a breath. Her office is nothing but white walls and empty bookshelves. I squirm in my seat, unease filling my bloodlines.

“Sorry,” she says. “The seats aren’t very comfortable.” She waves a hand around the room. “As you can tell, I’m waiting on more funding to get my office up to scratch.”

“I’m sure the parents of a few kids here could throw you some loose change,” I remark, my gaze catching the files on the desk in front of her.

Connor Ledger. Beneath that: Ava Diaz.

“Sure,” she says, swiping both files together and placing them roughly in a draw. “But the parents here aren’t as interested in their kids’ mental health so much as their grades, or in some cases their triple-double stats.”

My eyes lift to hers.

She smirks. “So why are you here?”

I shrug. “My stats suck, and I guess my team captain wants to figure out why the hell I’m at this school.”

“Do you ever wonder why you’re here, Connor?”

Every damn minute of every day. “Nope. I know why I’m here.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“Because some people think I’m good enough.”

“And you don’t?”

Another shrug.

Her sigh echoes off the empty walls. “Let’s start from the beginning,” she says, grabbing a pen from a cup in the shape of a unicorn. “Tell me about your home life.”

Here we go…





The time with Miss Turner did nothing for my nerves. If anything, it just made things worse. By the time I finally make it out of the damn building, my heart is racing, sinking, and my mind? My mind is questioning what all she had to say about me in her too-messy-to-make-out notes that went on for five goddamn pages. I’m almost positive it’ll be the same generic diagnosis of everyone else before her.

Connor Ledger has a good head on him, but he lacks self-confidence due to his fear of abandonment.

At the end, she asked if I wanted to schedule another appointment. I imagined getting out of my chair and throwing it out the window, I was that exasperated. Instead, I politely declined, told her I’d do “better.” I don’t even know what I meant by “better,” but it sure as shit seemed to suffice.



In the student parking lot, my car is the only one left. By now, every single person knows who it belongs to, so there’s no shame left, and even if there was, I have absolutely zero fucks left to give.