Heartache and Hope: Heartache Duet Book One

by Jay McLean

  “What?” I yell.

  “Next week. To my party. On my boat.” She narrows her eyes. “Have you been listening to me at all?”

  “Yeah,” I lie, point to my ear. “It’s just hard to hear you with all the—” My phone vibrates, and I’m quick to check it.

  Dad: No drinking tonight, and if you do, no driving. I mean it, Connor. I don’t feel like peeling your brains off the concrete.

  Connor: Don’t stress. I’m not drinking.

  A tip I learned a while ago is that people tend to leave you alone if you have a drink in your hand. Nobody checks if you’re drinking it. And I’m not stupid enough to drink and drive, especially since Dad has enough stories of car accidents to scar me for life.

  “So, you’ll come?” Karen asks.

  “Hey, where’s the bathroom?” I need out. Of this conversation and this room.

  She points in the general direction of a large staircase, and maybe she’s beyond drunk, because in a house this big, there has to be at least five down here.

  “I’ll catch you later, all right?” I don’t wait for a response. Instead, I make my way through the already half-drunk party and start for the stairs where I know I can at least get some room to breathe. At the top are two hallways, and honest to God, I wonder if one of them leads to the servant quarters because the house is that big and that lush that it wouldn’t surprise me if they had full-time help. And also, where the hell are Rhys’s parents? Where the hell is Rhys?

  I open door after door looking for the bathroom just so I can shut myself in and get a moment of peace. It’s not like I’m not used to partying; I had my fair share back home, but they weren’t like this. I find the bathroom, but it’s occupied. Mitch has a girl pushed up against the counter, his pants down and her legs around him. “Sorry!” I shout.

  “Ledger! What’s up, man?” Mitch laughs. “You want in? I don’t mind sharing.” There’s not enough eye bleach in the world to stop me from slamming that door shut.

  The next door I open is an empty bedroom, thank fuck. Illuminated by a single lamp on the nightstand, I do a quick sweep of the room before declaring it safe. I close the door behind me. Lock it. And sit on the edge of the bed.

  I look at my phone. Still no message.

  Then I look around the room again, at the navy-blue paint and the Wildcats! Wildcats! Wildcats! poster. My eyes narrow, trying to adjust to the darkness. My gaze catches on a large framed picture on the wall. It’s the basketball team, Rhys front and center. Realization sinks in. I’m in his room. And because I’m bored, and maybe a little curious, I start to snoop. I scan the books on his shelf and the clothes in his closet that’s the size of my room. The guy’s got good taste in kicks, I’ll give him that. He owns every pair of Jordans ever released, but only in the classic colorways. Not going to lie, I’m a little jealous. I wonder if he’d notice a pair or two missing…

  I look over his desk, boring, and then the massive pinboard above it filled with photographs. Mainly of him. Not surprising. I scan the pictures, one by one. His parents are in them, along with a girl I assume is his sister. And right in the middle, the largest picture there… I look closer, but it’s dark, and my eyes… my eyes might be deceiving me. I unpin it from the board and take a closer look. He’s in his JV jersey in the middle of the court with a girl in his arms. She’s wearing a cheerleader uniform, her hair braided to the side, with his jersey number painted on her cheek. He has his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, and I fight the urge to rip the picture in half.

  A twist in my stomach has me searching for somewhere to sit. I find the edge of his bed again, flop my ass down, my eyes glued to the photograph. She’s the same Ava, but she’s different. Smaller. Younger. Less… broken.

  My eyes snap up at the sound of the doorknob twisting. I stand, hide the picture behind my back, and gear myself for whoever comes through the door. “Why the fuck is this locked?” I recognize the voice as Rhys’s, and I mentally punch myself for getting caught.

  The knob jiggles, and a second later the door’s open and his head’s poking through the gap. “Connor?” he asks, switching on the light.

  I blink away the brightness. “Sorry, man. I got lost and… I just needed a little time out.”

  Stepping into the room, he eyes me suspiciously as he closes the door behind him. “Are you stealing from me?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “Jesus. No.”

  His eyes span across the room, looking for evidence.

  Please don’t look at the giant empty space on the board. Please please please.

  But he does, and he sighs out loud. “What’s the deal with you guys anyway?” he asks, moving closer.

  “What’s the deal with you guys?” I counter.

  He chuckles. “I’m not interested in her in that way if that’s what you’re thinking. At least not anymore. Has she not told you about us?”

  And because I suck at hiding my jealousy, I say, “She hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

  “That’s not surprising,” he murmurs. “We didn’t exactly have the best timing.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means…” He rubs the back of his neck, contemplating. Then he opens his blinds, motions for me to look out the window, to which I comply. “See that house?” he says, pointing to a house only slightly smaller than his.

  “Yeah?”

  “Three years ago, Ava lived there.”

  My eyes widen, move to his. “No shit.”

  He nods. “I was so afraid to talk to her at first, because… well, you know what she looks like. She was so intimidating, and she had this fierceness to her like she wouldn’t take shit from anyone. When I found out she was crushing on me, too, I lost my damn mind.”

  I know that feeling, I don’t say.

  “We did a lot of back and forth trying to navigate our feelings. We were only fourteen at the time, so it was all kind of new to us.”

  I don’t know if I want to hear anymore, but I nod regardless.

  “Anyway, you know Karen?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She and Ava were best friends back then. Karen threw her this rager of a bonfire party for her fifteenth birthday, and I finally found the courage to shoot my shot.”

  “So, you dated?” If this is all he wants to tell me, he should just say it. I don’t need the details.

  Rhys shakes his head. “That night we uh… you know…”

  Well, now I know, but I wish to fuck I didn’t.

  “It was the same night they got the call.”

  “What call?”

  “About her mom.”

  “Oh.” Shit.

  Rhys exhales loudly. “We tried to make it work. Or at least I did. I gave her as much as I could, but she… she had so much going on, Connor, and then when her stepdad left them and—”

  “I uh…” I cut in. “I kind of would prefer to hear her story from her if that’s cool.”

  He nods, understanding. “I just want you to know that whatever goes on between you guys, I’m not your enemy or your threat or whatever. When it comes to Ava, I’m here for the same reason you are. I care about her. Truly.”

  I’m having an out-of-body experience; I’m sure of it. Because I can’t seem to process a single thought. It’s as if I’m watching Ava’s entire life play out and there’s no pause button, no rewind. I don’t know what to say or how to react, so I mumble, “I appreciate it.”

  I need to go. I need to get out of here. And I need to go to her. “I’m going to take off,” I say.

  We bump fists, and I start to walk away but stop when he calls my name.

  When I turn to him, his hand’s out, palm up. “Can I have the picture back?”

  I reluctantly hand it back to him and then make for the door. When I go to close it, he’s staring at the picture, his mind no doubt filled with memories.

  I stand there, watching him, wondering how much time will pass before I start doing the same.

  The sec
ond I’m in my driveway and out of my car, I send Ava a text.

  Connor: Everything okay? I haven’t heard from you all day. Just checking in.

  I’m halfway up my porch steps when I hear the notification, but it’s not coming from my phone. I send another one.

  Connor: Ava?

  I hear it again and hit reverse on my feet. Down the steps and down the driveway, my focus on Ava’s house. It’s pitch-black, no lights.

  I hit dial on her number and hold the phone to my ear. It rings twice on my end before hers goes off, and I follow the sound, see the screen light up.

  Ava’s sitting on her porch steps, her phone on her lap. She doesn’t make a move to answer it, and it’s too damn dark to see her clearly.

  Slowly, carefully, I make my way up her driveway until I’m standing in front of her.

  She’s staring straight ahead, her eyes wide.

  “Ava,” I whisper.

  She doesn’t respond.

  I look up at the house again, but there are no signs of life. So, I sit down next to her, keep my voice low. “What are you doing out here?”

  She doesn’t look at me when she whispers, “The fireflies are gone.”

  “What?”

  She turns to me now, and lit only by the moonlight, I see her face clearly. Wetness trails down her cheeks, remnants of the tears she’s been shedding.

  My chest tightens at the sight, and I reach for her hand, link my fingers with hers.

  Heartbreak forms in her words even though her features are void of emotion. “Mom says that when the world is at its darkest, that’s when the magic appears.” Anguish falls from her eyes, and she doesn’t make a move to wipe them away. “But there’s nothing but empty darkness and negative numbers and... and the fireflies are gone, and I’m finding it really fucking hard to believe in magic right now.”

  I wish I knew the right thing to say or the right thing to do. But I don’t. I let her words settle through me, every single one echoed in my mind. I hold her hand tighter, letting her know that I’m here, with her, for however long she needs me. Time passes without meaning, and I hear every one of her breaths, each one claiming a part of my heart.

  “I was dead,” I tell her, my voice calm. “There was a couple on their way to their honeymoon who spotted me in the car. A couple who just happened to be first responders. Apparently, they tried waking me by knocking on the window, and when I didn’t stir, they smashed it open with their luggage. I wasn’t breathing…” I pause just so I can push down the knot in my throat. “They got me out of the car, and the man did CPR while his wife called 911. They worked on me for ten whole minutes before I coughed out my first breath. Ten minutes. And who knows how long I was out before they got to me. I was barely conscious by the time help arrived.”

  Ava squeezes my hand, moves closer to me.

  “What are the odds? What are the chances that the people who saw me were the right people at the right place and the exact right time? They brought me back to life, Ava.” I turn my body to hers and gently place my hand on the back of her head, bring her ear to my chest, right above my heart. “Do you hear it?” I ask. “My heartbeat?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, her tears soaking through my shirt.

  I blink back my own and try to stay strong, for her. “If you need proof that magic exists, I’m right here.”

  Chapter 23

  Ava

  Connor’s grin is stupid, and I wish it didn’t give me butterflies like it does. “You made me lunch?”

  “It’s not a big deal,” I say, adjusting my school blazer over my knees, so we don’t have a repeat of previous days. “You won’t shut up about how bad the food is here, so…”

  Swear, his dimples have never been so deep. “So, you made me lunch?”

  “I didn’t make it for you. It’s leftovers. It would’ve just gone to waste.”

  “Uh-huh,” he murmurs, devouring a mouthful of last night’s lasagna. “I’m sure Trevor would’ve loved a second serving.”

  I wince. “Yeah, maybe don’t tell him.”

  “What? That you made me lunch?”

  “You’re such a pain in my ass.”

  He chuckles. “And yet, here we are.”

  I spend a few minutes just watching him eat, a comfortable silence shared only between us. But I have questions. So many of them. And somehow, he picks up on this, because he says, “Yes, I met the couple who saved me. Yes, I keep in contact with them. They’re retired now, but they send me a birthday card every year. Dad and the guy became close friends. He actually helped Dad become a paramedic.”

  Eyes wide in surprise, I open my mouth, but nothing comes.

  “I can read you like a book, Ava.”

  I lean forward, look right into his eyes.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, rearing back. “You’re creeping me out.”

  “I’m trying to read your mind,” I mumble. “Stay still.”

  With a laugh, he says, “I don’t think that’s how it works, but here—” he leans forward, his nose an inch from mine, bright blue eyes staring back at me “—do your best.” His hands are on my knees, moving higher and higher. My breath catches, the tension between us building and building. Then his gaze drops, a slight change, but one I notice. One I feel.

  “You’re scared,” I whisper.

  Defensively, he asks, “Scared of what?”

  Of me, I want to tell him. He’s afraid of the same things I am. That no matter how hard we try to fight it, we can’t stop the momentum. We’re getting closer, and these feelings we harbor are just getting stronger and stronger.

  I pull away.

  Look away.

  And come up with a lie. “You're scared about your first game tonight, right?”

  Connor huffs out a breath. “Yeah,” he admits, sighing heavily. His entire body seems to deflate with that single admission. “I actually am.”

  Pouting, I say, “I wish I could be there.”

  He nods. “I know. I understand why you can’t.”

  “Do you want to talk it out?”

  With a shrug, he replies, “I’m just nervous, I guess, which is weird because the game has always come so naturally to me. But I feel like I have a lot more riding on it now than I did before. I mean, we picked up our entire lives and moved to another state just for the chance to be seen, and God, Ava, if I don’t succeed…”

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him honestly. Connor was right; I am a sucky friend because I’d never really thought about it before. I never stopped to think about the pressures of his life that might weigh him down and keep him up at night. All this time we’ve spent together and all the stupid questions I ask about his past, I never once asked about his future. Shame fills me. “That must be hard, to feel like all that is riding on your shoulders.”

  “It’s all for the end game, right?” he mumbles.

  “Well, it’s good that your dad supports you with it. He moved here for it so…”

  His eyes drop, his hand flexing around his basketball. “Yeah, I guess,” he says, but his eyebrows are drawn, and there’s a sadness in his expression that has me scooting forward just to be closer to him.

  “Is he, like, pressuring you to be something you don’t want to be?”

  “No.” He shakes his head, adamant. “No,” he repeats. “I want to go pro. Obviously. And it’s not like he’d disown me if I didn’t make it, but… I don’t know.” He pauses a beat. “I feel like I have to be something. Something greater than average. Something big, because…” he trails off.

  “Because why?”

  His nostrils flare with his heavy exhale. “Because there has to be a reason I survived that day.”

  “Connor,” I whisper. “You’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

  He shakes his head, his eyes on mine. “What if I fuck it up, Ava? What if it was all for nothing?”

  I suck in a breath, hold it there. And I think about my life before Connor, and all the emptiness I felt from
scraping through each moment in my own version of zero-days. I sit down next to him, facing away from the field. Then I take his hand in mine, squeeze it, and hope that it gives him the same level of comfort he’d offered me. “What if it was something else entirely?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, spreading my fingers with the tips of his. Our hands are mismatched, his too big and mine too small, but when our fingers entwine, there are no empty spaces, no room for anything more.

  “What if five hundred miles away, there was a girl… a girl who was barely holding on to hope… a girl so close to giving up. And you just happen to move next door to her? Just happen to sit next to her in class. And you form this friendship with her, not knowing how badly she needed someone exactly like you, at exactly that time, to help piece her back together. To help heal her. And to show her that magic exists and… and maybe it’s not the NBA,” I say, my voice hoarse, throat aching with the force of my withheld sob. “And maybe it’s not what you imagined your purpose to be…” I look up at him, at his red, raw eyes holding mine hostage. “Would that be enough?”

  He settles his hand on my jaw, then places the gentlest of kisses on my forehead, making my eyes drift shut. “So, this girl you speak of…” he starts, his lips still on me. “Is she hot?”

  Chapter 24

  Connor

  “You got everything?” Dad asks, poking his head through my bedroom door.

  “Yeah.” I adjust the strap of my gym bag across my chest and take one more look in the mirror. Nervous anticipation crawls through my skin, and I wish Ava were here. I wish she’d hold my hand like she did today and calm the anxiety inside my chest, building a fortress, creating a home.

  “You okay?” Dad asks, walking behind me toward the front door. “Pre-game nerves always get to you, but once you’re on the court and the ball’s—”