“What should we do?” Laurie piped in from the back. “Should we all go in or just one of us?”
It was the first thing either of them had said I actually listened to. “Considering I got kicked out last night, I suggest one of you go.”
Henny was suspiciously quiet.
Laurie stared at her nails.
They were cowards.
I got out, putting my hands in my pockets, looked both ways, and then went across the street. I knocked on the door, praying Ava opened it and nothing was wrong. Maybe she was avoiding me. Best case scenario.
A man answered the door, the same man who’d been in the pictures in the hallway.
He looked tired and haggard, like he hadn’t slept all night. “How can I help you?” When he ran a hand over his face, I saw that he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring; there was a faint impression of where one used to be.
“I’m Ava’s friend. I was wondering if she was here.”
His eyes narrowed. “Ava’s friend? What’s your name, son?”
“Bishop.”
“How old are you?”
Yeah, yeah, I didn’t look like a short, seventeen-year-old should. I was taller than him. “I’m seventeen.”
“Hmm.” He held my eyes for a long time. Mine didn’t waver. I didn’t hide what I thought about him, even though he couldn’t possibly know what I was thinking, he knew I was thinking something. Finally, he sighed and looked behind him before returning his eyes to me. “Ava’s sleeping. She had a rough night.”
My body chilled. I wanted to shove him out of the way and run upstairs. See for myself. I had to see for myself that she was all right. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine.” He said it too fast.
I pushed down my frustration. “How long is she going to be sleeping? It’s the middle of the afternoon.”
He bristled. “Look, son, I’ll tell her that you stopped by when she wakes up. Until then, there’s nothing more I can do.”
I could take him. I thought of him as an opponent in my way between me and my goal. His daughter. I’d have him on his ass in less time than it would take me to get upstairs and see her. “Where’s her phone? She isn’t answering it.”
“Sammy!” he whined, presumably tired of dealing with me.
A weak reply came from somewhere in the house.
“Come here. There’s someone here for Ava.”
Her mother came over and once she saw me, her tired face became exhausted. “What are you doing here, Bishop?”
“You know him?”
“Yeah. Sort of. He’s been hanging out with Ava a lot. I think they’re dating.”
Her father’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Dating? What the hell do you mean dating?”
Her mother rolled her eyes, the animosity between them clear. “Don’t start, Lyle.”
I cleared my throat. “We’re not, uh, dating. We’re just friends.”
They both snorted.
“Can I talk to her?” I asked her mother; she seemed to be the more reasonable one.
“She’s sleeping.” Her eyes filled with tears and she looked at her husband. “You can go back to watching your dumb hockey game.”
My eyes twitched.
Her father grumbled under his breath and stomped off. Her mother stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. She hugged herself and held my eyes. At least she could. Mine weren’t nice. They never were, but this time, I wanted them to be mean.
She flinched.
“What happened?”
“She had an episode after you left. The doctors called it a panic attack.”
“Doctors?”
“She passed out last night. I called her father. I didn’t know what to do. We took her to the hospital. She’s fine.” She touched my arm, her eyes glistening. “I mean she’s not fine, obviously, but she’s okay. She won’t talk to us. Not me or her father. She’s been in her room since we got home this morning. She finally fell asleep; I don’t want to wake her.”
I shook her hand off, stepping away. “Are you two getting a divorce?”
She nodded, her tears spilling over.
“Did you tell her? Is that why she did that?”
“No, actually. We didn’t get a chance to tell her.”
“Oh great,” I growled. “What’s going to happen when you do tell her?”
She looked down. “I was hoping you could.”
“Me?” I exclaimed, my voice booming in the echoes from the doorway. “I’m not her parent.” Unbelievable. “You break her and then can’t even look at the pieces.”
She sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “I didn’t know things were that bad. I thought… I thought we were hiding it so well.”
I refused to let her tears bother me. Refused. “It’s not the fact that you’re getting a divorce that’s bothering her. It’s the rug getting pulled out from under her. She could handle all of this, she’s strong, but she can’t handle having nowhere to stand.” I paced, wanting to punch something. Or her father. Yeah. That idiot deserved a broken nose. Her mother was also breaking. She’d lost her husband; she lost her footing, too. And that sucked, but she had a daughter to worry about first. I was never first to anyone. But if I had been, I knew what it was like starving on your own. “Can I talk to her, or what?”
She couldn’t look at me as she said, “I don’t think you two should see each other anymore.”
I thought I knew disappointments. Most of my memories were disappointing or too empty to even remember. But when Ava’s mom said those ten words, each one was infinitely worse than any memory I could never be bothered to remember, worse than the endless nights spent lonely and hungry in a bed that was uncomfortable and four walls that were never mine.
The bottom fell out of me and my heart went with it, leaving this dull, panicked ache in my chest. I felt sick. Like I’d puke all over her if she didn’t move. And then defiance immediately moved in. “Why not?”
She stepped back, still looking away. “Because I know my daughter, and she’s never looked at anyone the way she looks at you.” Finally, her eyes flicked to meet mine. “And she didn’t have a panic attack until I told her she couldn’t see you again. You’re not good for her, Bishop. I think we both know that. Right, honey?”
No. She couldn’t say that to me.
I stepped back, my fists shaking.
It was one thing for me to know it.
Another for Ava to suspect it, but deep down she was too nice to ever really think that—I knew it now.
But it was an entirely other thing for her mother to look at me and tell me my worst fear.
That Ava was too good to be hanging around me.
Right when I finally realized that Ava was the only girl, person, human—the only somebody I wanted around.
She was the only girl who bothered to wonder about my day, my injuries, my growling stomach—she cared about me when no one else had.
I looked her mother right in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not the one who goes out and leaves my daughter alone. I’m not your crappy husband who blamed you for something he shouldn’t have. I’m your daughter’s friend. And you can’t stop that from being true.”
She pointed, her bottom lip trembling. “You’re going to leave her alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Unlike you two, I’ll never abandon her.” As I said it, I realized it was true. I may not have had anything in my life to fight for, but now I did, and I’d figure out a way to keep that fact true.
Even if that meant proving her mother wrong.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ava
I closed my eyes, lying in my bed in the dark.
My dad was walking around, hands in his pockets, awkward where he had never been, trying to make conversations I didn’t want to have. I flung my blanket over my head, wanting to melt into that weird plain of nothing I’d fallen into last night.
A panic attack.
That’s what I’d been having since las
t summer when mom had her miscarriage and I’d been the one to drive her to the hospital. I kept them quiet, almost as if not mentioning them would keep them a secret. But every time my control slipped, which was a lot lately, my brain tried so hard to grasp onto something solid that it broke itself.
Anxiety. A panic disorder.
That’s what I’d been feeling—according to the psychiatrist at the hospital.
A mental illness.
That’s what I had. Mom and dad were devastated by the diagnosis. But I wasn’t. At least I had a name for the feelings I felt. At least there was a reason I couldn’t breathe. At least I wasn’t broken.
Whenever my father got close as he paced my bedroom, I studied his ring finger. Bare of the ring he’d worn my entire life; I closed my eyes and let the emptiness take my fears. Let it swallow them whole. Until there was nothing left.
It was Thursday night and I hadn’t said a word since we got home from the hospital. Flashes from the night before were all I had. Once the panic set in, my memory went with it. I remembered my bedroom door closing after Bishop, and then not much else.
Whenever I thought of him, my stomach felt uneasy. Like there was something missing and I couldn’t have it back. I wanted my cell phone, but Mom had taken it.
“Ava!” my father snapped. “Stop moping and get out of bed.” He pulled my blanket away, leaving me cold and exposed.
I shivered and scrambled for my blanket, wanting to be wrapped in something.
“I bet you’d get out of bed for that boy,” he grumbled.
I froze, popping my head out. “What boy?”
He glared at me. “The one who came over here looking for you this afternoon.”
My heart stuttered. “Bishop was here, and no one told me?”
He waved my words away. “He’s too old for you.”
“We’re the same age.”
“He doesn’t look seventeen, Ava.”
What my father really saw was an older looking boy who was handsome and immune to his aggression. The same boy he’s been afraid of my whole life. The idea of Bishop being so close without me knowing it made me so mad, I could have screamed. “What did you say to him?”
“Your mother did what she had to do.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t need to focus on a boy right now. You need to focus on your… issues.”
I flinched. “My issues? Wow, Dad, your support’s uncanny.”
“You have my support. You always have.”
“Okay then.” I sat up straight, folding my hands on my lap. “What’s going on with you and Mom? Tell me the truth. All of it.”
He sighed a sigh so deep, I felt it. He collapsed onto the end of my bed and put his face in his hands. “People fall out of love, Ava.”
There it was.
My fingers shook around my panic. But I knew this was coming. I knew it. I didn’t like it, but I sensed it. “Should I be thankful that you at least waited until I was almost done with high school to do this?”
“This has nothing to do with you. Things with your mother have been bad for a long time. Things were bad before we even tried to get pregnant. In fact, getting pregnant was supposed to fix things. When we had you,” he said, pausing to smile a smile so real my eyes burned, “you made our lives so happy. We had a main focus, and that was you. But you grew up, we were left with each other, and that’s when you have to realize that wanting to love someone as much as you did doesn’t mean you will. Your mother and I don’t love each other anymore. We have love for each other, but not with. We only stayed together this long for you.”
That panic attack was so brutal, I let him hold me. I let him try with all his might to stave off the panic he created. I let him scream my name when I couldn’t breathe.
I. Couldn’t. Breathe.
The black around my eyes was going to swallow me.
It wasn’t that my parents didn’t love each other anymore. It wasn’t that they would separate. It wasn’t even that what I once had would now be a memory.
It was the change.
The falling into a false sense of calm. It was loving something one day, and then not having it anymore.
I couldn’t remember who I was.
Every happy memory was a lie.
Had I ever really been that happy, or had I just thought I was?
My mother wrapped her arms around me from behind. My father had me from the front. And I still felt like I was going to float away and never come back.
Like I would stop existing.
And reality would never be the same.
Mom ran and got one of the pills the doctor had given her and forced it under my tongue. It was tiny and white and tasted like rusted metal. But it worked. Fifteen minutes later, I felt too tired to panic.
My mother’s sobs were the last thing I heard as I fell into a restless, nightmare-ridden sleep. When I woke up, I was groggy and empty. There was a warm body beside me. I sat up carefully to see my mom sleeping, her grip tightened in my shirt.
Liar.
I tore her grip free and tripped and stumbled into my bathroom. The lights downstairs were still on. I used the bathroom, avoiding myself in the mirror, and then tiptoed back into my room. Mom was still sleeping. I got dressed quietly, put my hair in a ponytail, and then went into her room to get my cell phone. I knew where she hid it when I was grounded. In her nightstand under the fashion magazines.
I didn’t want to risk powering it on yet, so I carefully took the stairs. When I got down, I saw my dad passed out on the sofa, his face slack with sleep.
Liar.
I put my shoes on near the door and then I did my absolute best to slip out the front door without anyone hearing me. The moment it was closed, I took off, running and running. I stopped in the middle of town, finally turning on my cell phone.
A million texts from Bishop, Henny, and Laurie popped up. I read them all, feeling a sense of choking need. I needed to see them. All of them. Right now.
I called my girls first. It was a little after nine that night, but something must have been in my voice because neither one of my friends said anything about curfew and promised to meet me once I told them where.
Lastly, I called Bishop.
He picked up before the first ring was over. “Ava,” he exhaled into the phone.
His voice immediately grounded me. It wrapped around me. Brought me back to a me I knew. I knew who I was. I was cold and afraid, and I just wanted to be around people I cared about. Who cared about me. “Do you care about me?” I asked him, my voice wobbling.
He didn’t hesitate. “More than I care about anyone else.”
It was such a Bishop answer. I smiled. And then I cried.
“Where are you?” he asked.
I told him I didn’t know.
“You’re not at home?”
“No. I snuck out and… ran.”
“Describe where you are.”
“There’s a doughnut place, an intersection, and a hunting store.”
He chuckled patiently. “That could be any street in Duluth. Can you give me a street name?”
“It’s so cold.” A shiver racked me, and I looked down to realize I was wearing flip flops. At least I’d put on jeans and a sweater. I walked down the street and spied a road sign, reading him the name.
“That’s not too far. I’ll be there. Don’t hang up.”
I sat down at the bus stop and hugged myself. “Can we meet up with Henny and Laurie?” My teeth chattered and it took me a bit to get out. “If… if you don’t want to, I can—”
“We can do whatever you want,” he promised, the sound of his blinker ticking in the background.
“Th-thank you.”
He didn’t say anything to that. He just sighed. Which said a lot. Especially if you’re Bishop.
He didn’t say anything more and I couldn’t. I waited for him. When his car pulled up, my phone call ended, and he got out of his car wearing a plain white
shirt and jeans, his hoodie clutched in his fist. He flipped it over and found the top, holding it out for me. I put my phone in my pocket and ducked my head, pushing my arms through the holes one at a time. He tugged it down around my waist. The moment I was encapsulated in his warmth—he must’ve just taken it off—and his scent, I was righted.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
He moved first.
I moved second.
His hands came for me, cradling my face in his large grasp. He tilted my face toward his and looked at me. At my eyes for a long time. At my lips. At my nose. My cheeks. My chin. The streetlights overhead shone down on us both.
And I looked at him. At his blue eyes that were more icy than dark right now. At his messy, black hair that looked like he hadn’t stopped running his hand through it all day. At his soft, kissable lips. At his angular jaw and the frown between his brows that was semi-permanent.
“I was so worried about you,” he revealed in a breathless rush. He pulled me close and pressed my head to his chest.
His scent assaulted me. So spicy and so perfect. My face was pressed right below his sternum. I listened to his heart pound, strong and steady. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing a kiss right to his heart over his shirt.
He pressed one to the top of my head, inhaling me.
“You don’t smell like peaches,” he said, disgruntled.
“What do I smell like?”
“Me,” he muttered.
I smiled against his chest. “Good.”
He hugged me harder, holding my head to his chest, and then led me over to his car. He opened the passenger seat and closed the door, running around to his side. He turned the heater on. “Tell me what happened before we pick up your friends. The unedited version.”
It felt good to get it out, and once I had, I felt like I wasn’t completely alone anymore.
“I used to have anxiety attacks,” he revealed, staring straight as we drove. I’d punched in Henny’s address on his phone and occasionally we were interrupted by the GPS’s voice. “A more internalized version of panic attacks. When I was really little. I can’t remember why I would panic, but whenever I had to go home to the foster house, I’d stop being able to move. I’d stand still and it’d feel like someone was holding me down.”
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