by Jay McLean
She leans down, bites down on my collarbone. “So now that you have me, what do you plan on doing with me?”
My hands are already under her skirt, pulling down her underwear.
We spend the rest of the afternoon in my bed, under the sheets, in a state of half-naked. We tease, and we touch, and we taste, and we go as far as we can without going all the way. We’re lazy and we’re carefree, taking breaks to eat or nap, to laugh and to talk and to just be. With each other. Within the four walls of my bedroom, we find peace in each other’s arms, find solace in each other’s touch, and find a home in each other’s hearts… even if the space is limited.
Chapter 45
Ava
It’s the most time I’ve been able to spend with my boyfriend in weeks, and it’s in the form of a giant poster just outside the school gym. I had no idea that it was going to be there. I heard a few girls in my English class talking about it, so I had to check it out for myself.
I sit on the wall opposite with my paper bag lunch and make myself comfortable, smiling at the picture of him with a ball held at his side, standing tall. The poster takes up the entire height of the wall, and I couldn’t be prouder.
I take out my phone, snap a picture of myself eating my sandwich with the poster behind me, and send it to him with the caption:
If I can’t have the real you, I’ll have the next best thing.
I don’t expect him to respond, because I know he’s spending the lunch break on a conference call with his coach and agent.
“Damn, you look good, babe!” I whisper, holding my sandwich in the air as if I’m toasting him.
“What the hell are you doing?” I recognize the voice as Rhys’s and look up to see him walking toward me. His gaze shifts between fake-Connor and myself, and I say, “Talking to my boyfriend, who I miss dearly.”
Rhys laughs, plants his ass down next to me. “Yeah, he’s putting in the work at the moment. No off days for that kid.”
I nod.
“It’s nothing against you, A. You know that, right? He’s just trying to get as much exposure as possible.”
“I know,” I tell him. “I get it.”
He opens my paper bag and peers inside. Then he takes an apple and bites into it. I quirk an eyebrow. “You know I’m poor now, right? That apple was all I had for the rest of the day.”
Chuckling, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He hands me a twenty. “I hear that’s the going rate for an apple these days.”
Shrugging, I shove the cash in my bra. He can spare it.
“How’s your mom?” he asks.
I stare up at twelve-foot Connor. “I’m kind of getting over that question, to be honest.”
“Fair,” Rhys says. “Manage to get your license yet?”
“No.” I haven’t even gotten my permit. “I should really look into doing that with all the spare time I have.”
“You’re feisty right now.”
“I’m feisty always.”
“True. So how are you and Connor doing?”
“I don’t know.” I turn to him. “How are you and the rotating door of girls doing?”
He chuckles. “It’s been slim pickins ‘round these parts,” he drawls.
“You should head over to West High. I’m sure there are plenty of girls there looking for a sugar daddy.”
His nose scrunches. “I’m not that desperate yet.”
I shoulder him, shoving him sideways. “You’re a jerk.”
He straightens up, throws his arm around my shoulders, then looks up at fake-Connor. “Hey, Ledger. I’m making moves on your girl. Whatcha gonna do about it?”
Out of nowhere, Connor appears. “Get your hands off my girl before I rip them off and glue them to your balls.”
“Oooh,” I tease, giggling. “You’re in trouble now.”
Rhys removes his arm, slides a good foot away from me. “We were just playing.”
Connor sits down next to me at the same time Rhys gets to his feet. “I’d love to stay and be a third wheel and all but… no… I don’t really want to. Peace out, fuckers.” And then he’s gone, disappearing around the same corner from which Connor appeared.
“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 scou
ts…”
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.”
I exhale loudly, try to calm my thumping heart. “Connor, I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head, then reaches across me and opens my door. “I really do have to go.”
My stomach is in knots, and I don’t want to leave him, not like this. “How long will you be gone?”
Without looking at me, he says, “I don’t know, Ava.”
“Well, will you call me later?” I’m trying. I’m doing my best to fight for his forgiveness, but I don’t know how. “You think I can get my goodnight kiss?”
“Sure,” he says, but there’s no inflection in his tone. No promises.
And while my mind is back on that email trying to process everything it had to say, I get out of the car without another word and leave my heart in the driver’s seat, the distance between us growing with every second.
I spend the rest of the night worrying about Connor, or more specifically, Connor and me, when I know I should be more concerned about Mom’s insurance. It doesn’t escape me that I seem to be focusing on Connor when I’m around my mom and then my mom when I’m around Connor, and I really wish there was a switch for my brain. I wish I could train it to stop and go at the right times. I wish my mind weren’t always stuck in a fog. I wish… I wish for so many things. But right now, I wish for Connor. For him to message me and tell me he’s home and that he wants his kiss.
It’s eleven thirty, and I still haven’t heard from him.
Dread pools in the pit of my stomach, because I know how flakey I’ve been lately. I can see how frustrated he’s getting with me, and I want to make it up to him. I do. I just don’t have the time or the resources or the… I fight back the constant thoughts attempting to ruin what we have.
That he needs more.
Deserves more.
Ava: How’s that goodnight kiss coming along?
It takes him a few minutes to respond.
Connor: I’ll be there in five.
I open my blinds and lift the window. And I wait. And wait. And wait. Five minutes turns to ten, and I check my phone. Nothing. I wait some more, the frigid cold air forming goosebumps along my arms as I lean halfway out, searching for him.
After fifteen minutes, he finally appears, but there’s no swing in his step, no hint of a smile.
There’s no boy who loves me. All of me.
“Hi,” I whisper, waving.
He gets close enough so he can kiss me, just once. When he steps back, his eyes are on mine, tired and tortured. “Hey.”
I swallow the instant lump in my throat, but it just moves lower and lower until it’s wrapped around my heart, making it impossible to breathe. “What have you—” I break off when I notice him clenching his jaw.
There’s no life in his eyes as he scans my face. “Goodnight, Ava.” He turns on his heels and starts to leave.
“Wait,” I rush out, grasping for him.
My hand catches air, but he stops anyway.
“Did you…” I want him with me. I want to show him that I care. I want him in my bed, and I want to give him everything he’s wanted. And I don’t care if it makes me a whore. I just want him to not look at me the way he is. I need him to forgive me. “Did you want to come in for a bit?” I say, my entire everything timid and submissive.
Without a second thought, he shakes his head. “I can’t.”
“Oh.” My gaze drops, shame igniting my flesh. “Okay.”
He doesn’t look back when he says over his shoulder, “I’ll see you whenever.”
Chapter 47
Connor
Four balloons are waiting for me on the porch, one for each game if we make it through to the final of today’s single-elimination tournament. Thirty of the best high school basketball teams in the region all compete for a cash prize that goes directly to the school, but that’s not why we play. The arena will be filled with college coaches and NBA scouts, all of them searching for the one hidden gem. That one player who nobody knows about. And today, I’m hoping that one player is me. But so are hundreds of other kids.
I remove the balloons one by one, and I wish they gave me the same knee-jerk reaction as all the other times I’d seen them here. That feeling of elation, of pride, of wanting to do something great for someone else.
For Ava.
But it doesn’t.
And I don’t know if it’s because things are rocky with us at the moment or if it’s my nerves, because there sure as shit are a lot of those, too. I could barely sleep last night, my mind focused on every play, every opponent. This tournament is my chance to show up. To rise above the rest and make an impact. If this goes well, Coach assures me that colleges will have no choice but to make an offer. And I need that. God, do I need that.
Ava
“Trevor!” I call out, sitting on the couch with Mom in front of me while I do her hair. She’s having another zero-day, and in a way, I’m glad. Lately, zero days have been the best we can get out of her.
He storms out of his room, his eyebrows drawn, focused on his phone. “What’s up?”
“They’re streaming today’s tournament. Can you connect my laptop to the TV so I can watch it on there?”
Trevor nods, looking up and pocketing his phone. “How does Connor feel about it?”
“Connor,” Mom mumbles. “Six-five but is hoping for a growth spurt.”
My eyes widen. So do Trevor’s. I lean over her shoulder. “You remember Connor, Mama?”
She nods once, staring into the abyss. “Handsome boy.”
I can’t help but smile. “Do you remember anything else about that day?”
“What day?” she asks.
“The day you met Connor.”
“Connor, six-five but is hoping for a growth spurt.”
Trevor chuckles, shaking his head as he goes into my room to retrieve the laptop.
“We’re going to watch him play in a tournament today,” I say, more to myself than anyone else. “He’s going to kill it; I just know it.”
“Who is?” Mom asks.
“Connor.”
“Connor, six-five but is hoping for a growth spurt.”
Mom and I spend most of the afternoon in front of the TV watching all the games while Trevor sleeps or works or does whatever it is in his bedroom. When Connor’s not on the court, Mom and I do our usual weekend routine: flashcards, speech therapy, basic chores to remind her of daily tasks. She takes long breaks in between, her mental fatigue just as prevalent as her physical.
When Connor’s playing, I try to give him my full attention so that I’m present when he wants to talk about it all. But sometimes it’s hard. When Mom needs me, I have
to stop. But it’s always on in the background, and I try to retain as much of it as possible. I do my best not to squeal whenever he scores because sudden sounds and movements can set Mom off. So on the outside, I’m still, but on the inside, I’m jumping up and down and screaming and booing, and he’s such a phenomenon to watch. And even though I’ve managed to find shitty-quality live streams on students’ social media or post-game highlights online, I’ll never not be amazed at his skill, at his level of dedication.
The team flies through the first two rounds, making it to the semis, where their opponents give them more of a challenge. They scrape by with a three-point win and move on to the final.
The camera zooms in on Connor at the end of the game, sitting on the bench with Rhys beside him. He’s covered in sweat, his face red with exhaustion. His chest heaves as his lips part, clearing his airways for the stream of water he pours into his mouth from inches above. I stare, fixated, my heart racing, longing for the boy who carried me through the clear blue water and darkened cave. It seems so long ago; that one day of adolescent bliss, and I wish we could go back there. Both physically and metaphorically. I wish we didn’t have all this burden and pressure from things outside our control that always fight to pull us apart. Sometimes I think that fight is winning. But then he’ll hold me. He’ll kiss me. And he’ll pull my head to his chest, my ear taking in his existence, a reminder that magic is real, and it lives within him, within us.
I whip up a quick dinner between games, and we sit in front of the couch to eat. I don’t want to miss a single second. I’ve thought about messaging him between games, but I don’t want to be a distraction.
The final starts and I’m on the edge of my seat, my pulse racing, nervous energy flowing through my veins. The leading score is continually changing, and by the third quarter, it’s a draw.
“I think I’ll try my prosthetic today,” Mom says out of nowhere.