Heartache and Hope: Heartache Duet Book One Read online

  “Wait.” I sit up higher, my heart racing. “You think I’m good-looking?”

  Those small hands of hers cover her entire face. “Jesus. That’s not—I didn’t mean—what I meant is that… I gotta go!”

  Chapter 9

  Ava

  I practically run away from Connor’s car, past Trevor’s truck with the Knight Electrical decal plastered on the side. When I enter the diner, I keep my head down but my eyes up, searching. I spot Trevor almost immediately, working on an old jukebox. Pressing my hands to my cheeks, I try to feel for any visible signs of the blush I’m positive I’m wearing. I could blame it on all the people I’m sure are staring, but it’s not them. The real reason just drove away after letting me escape so I could yank the foot out of my mouth. You’re a good-looking jock… God! What an idiot! Who even says that?

  I kick the heel of Trevor’s shoe when I get to him and wait the few seconds for him to pop his head out from behind the jukebox. His eyes widen when he sees me, and I tap my imaginary watch on my wrist. “Did you forget about me?”

  “Shit, Ava. My bad. I got caught up.”

  I drop my bag and sit in the booth next to his tool bag. “It’s cool. I just hitched a ride from some beefy dude with full-sleeve tats and a ferret named Roger.”

  Trevor rolls his eyes. “I’m guessing he had a blacked-out van?”

  “Motorcycle actually. Cool guy.”

  He focuses on his work again. “Where was the ferret riding?”

  “Shirt pocket. Obviously.”

  Chuckling, he swaps one tool for another. “I’m almost done here. Grab a drink if you want.”

  “I’m good.”

  A few minutes later, Trevor’s being handed a check by the diner owner, and we’re on our way. Walking side by side toward his truck, he nudges my shoulder. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “We got the Preston job.”

  “Trevor!” I squeal, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “Are you serious? That’s amazing!” I wrap my arms around him, my laughter unconfined. God, we needed this. Even without the extra money or job security, we needed this; a tiny ray of light to help clear the darkness.

  He returns my embrace with the same enthusiasm, and when he releases me, he asks, “Honestly, though, how did you get here?”

  “Some guy from school gave me a ride.”

  “Some guy?” he asks, eyebrow quirked.

  I shrug, try to play it cool. “Apparently, I’m his new best friend.”

  I haven’t stopped smiling since Trevor delivered the news, and neither has he. “So, tell me everything!” I all but shout, moving around the kitchen like it’s my job. Around us, music blares, filling our souls with a semblance of hope.

  Tomorrow we’ll go back to worrying, to eating ramen and potatoes. But tonight? We celebrate. Tonight, it’s a three-course meal with all of Trevor’s favorites. He deserves it every day, but we’ve never been in a position to splurge like we are now.

  Trevor sits on the counter, his legs swinging as he licks the wooden spoon from the cake mix I’ve just made. “The contractor they used for all their electrical work retired, so they were after someone new. I applied, went in for the interview with Tom Preston, told him about our situation—”

  “You used our sob story to land the job?”

  His brow bunches. “I did what I had to do, Ava. This job gives us an iota of breathing room, and it’s something we really need right now.”

  “Oh, I know,” I assure. “I don’t blame you. I would’ve done the same.” Hell, I would’ve thrown in some waterworks if it guaranteed us the job. Everyone in town knows Tom Preston is a giant softy, especially when it comes to matters of family.

  I shove the cake tin in the oven, slam the door, and turn to Trevor. He’s wearing a shit-eating grin, and I think I know why. “So…” he sing-songs, rocking back and forth. “Who’s the guy?”

  I turn my back to him, pretend to be engrossed in the salad I’m spinning. “What guy?”

  “What guy?” He repeats, mocking. “The guy who’s got you in a daze since you walked into the diner.”

  “Pshh. What are you talking about?”

  He points at me. “You think I don’t know you, Ava…”

  True. He knows me well. Too well. I throw a piece of lettuce at his head. He ducks it, of course, and doesn’t bother with the cleanup.

  “So?” he pushes.

  “Trust me, there is no guy. And even if I were interested in someone, it’s not like I could—”

  “You could.”

  “Could what?”

  “Date.”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” I snap. And even though I know he’s just teasing; I can’t ignore the microscopic ball of disappointment settling at the pit of my stomach. “Because I’d be the world’s flakiest girlfriend, that’s why.” And I can’t help comparing myself to the type of girl Connor could easily attain. I mean, the guy’s a god. And I don’t know why I’ve never noticed him in that way before because his presence is pretty hard to ignore. Well over six foot, eyes so blue you’d mistake them for puddles. His hair, that unintentional blend of messy perfection, parted in ways that let you know he spends many seconds running his fingers through it. His body—God, it’s a wonder the girls at school haven’t devoured him to pieces and spat out his remains. And don’t even get me started on his dimples. I didn’t even know he had them until I was riding in his car. But I think the thing I’m most drawn to is the way the blood rushed to his cheeks and his eyes lit up when I mentioned he was good-looking. I mean, he has to know, right? If the mirror doesn’t show him, then there are plenty of girls, and even guys, who would tell him, who would be more than happy to prove it to him.

  When I saw the car in the lot, I put two and two together and assumed it was his. In a way, I was kind of hoping it was. I imagined what it would be like to sit with someone who (hopefully) knew nothing about me or my past or the moments that led me here. It felt like a blessing. Until I was sitting in that confined space with no way out, and I couldn’t ignore the way his forearms looked beneath his rolled-up sleeves or the way his large hands wrapped around the wheel. And I definitely couldn’t ignore the way his eyes drifted from the road, lower, lower, until they focused on my legs, and guh!

  It’s so pointless. Stupid, really.

  “No, you wouldn’t, Ava,” Trevor says, hopping down from the counter, and I can feel his pity from across the room. “You’d make a great girlfriend because you’re a great girl. You just—”

  “I just what?” I interrupt. “I just need to find a few extra hours in the week, so I can make time to hang out, go on dates… no. It wouldn’t work. And I don’t want it to, so there’s that.”

  Trevor watches me warily. One second. Two. Then he nods, slow, as if afraid to say anything else.

  I make my way over to him and place my hands on his back, pushing him toward the living room. “Will you please go and relax. Let me do something for once.”

  He grabs a beer from the fridge before taking my instructions.

  We eat dinner at the table—just Trevor and me—and we laugh, and we talk, and we go back to who we were before. Before the weight of uncertainty and responsibility crashed into us, wave after wave of hopelessness and desperation. We become people again, individualized by what little hopes and dreams we have for the future. And when we’re washing up at the sink once we’re done eating, I look outside, see the fireflies glowing like embers searching for freedom.

  “They’ll be gone soon,” I murmur, motioning toward them. “They’re so beautiful.”

  Trevor takes a moment, watching them with me. Then he settles his hand on my shoulder, presses his lips to my temple. “I’m glad she was here to see them this year, Ava. I’m glad we all were.”

  Trevor’s fallen asleep on the couch, hands on his chest as he breathes to a steady rhythm. But even with his eyes closed, muscles relaxed, his b
row is bunched, as if his troubles never truly leave him. There are electrical plans scattered on the coffee table, his laptop sitting atop them. I go to close it but freeze when my gaze catches on the screen. There’s a picture of his ex, Amy, with another guy’s arms wrapped around her. She’s smiling as if their heartbreak had no history. I look over at Trevor again, at the stress lines that mar his youthful face, and my chest tightens. Heat burns behind my eyes, my nose, and I cover my mouth, so my single sob doesn’t wake him.

  Amy had been his girl two weeks into college, and if I ever doubted that true love existed, I’d go to them. When my fourteen-year-old self questioned life, I’d go to them. Not just one or the other. But both of them. They were a team, a fortress, a love so strong I thought nothing could break them. But I did. I broke them. I still remember listening in on Trevor’s call to her—he here and she in Texas—the way he struggled to get through his words without his voice cracking. “I can’t come back,” he’d told her. “And I can’t hold you back because of it.”

  I sat in my room that night, tear after tear, cry after cry. Hopelessness swam through my veins, pulsed through my airways.

  I see the empty bottles of beer on the floor, and I fight to keep it together, to contain my emotions. To conquer them. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I hold back my cries. But it’s useless. I’m too far gone, and I wasn’t built with the strength my mother holds. Trevor wakes, and he’s quick to sit up. To notice my anguish. “Hey,” he coos, his arms around me like a shield. A protector. Always. “Ava, it’s okay. What happened?” I cry into his chest, tears of self-loathing soaking into his T-shirt. I can’t speak; I can’t say the words.

  Remorse.

  Regret.

  Guilt.

  He holds on to me—my Knight—and I try to remember why it was I called him. Why amid the darkest and most terrifying moment of my life, I couldn’t fight my need for him, for anyone, just so I wouldn’t have to go it alone. It had been a year since his father had walked out, a year of Trevor calling every other day to check in on me when he had no real reason to. And so when I look back on it—at the crimson life seeping into my hands, the way the liquid pooled on the glass layer of my phone, making it impossible to see—as if the tears weren’t enough, as if the scene in front of me wasn’t enough to force my eyes shut… I know I should’ve called 911.

  But instead, I called Trevor. And I gave him no other choice but to come home and carry the burden of what should have been his father’s. The difference is, Trevor stayed.

  Because for Trevor, love is enough.

  Love is everything.

  He is the conqueror.

  He is.

  He is.

  Chapter 10

  Ava

  In my desk drawer lives a check.

  A check for six figures.

  Signed by Peter Parker.

  The sum is enough to put my mom in a treatment center full-time.

  In my mind,

  I wonder what it would be like not to have to worry as much as we do.

  In my heart,

  I try to imagine what it would feel like to abandon her like that.

  The check is made out to me.

  I can take care of you, Ava,

  Peter said.

  But it’s our little secret.

  In my mind,

  I wonder why he didn’t offer it to Trevor.

  But in my heart,

  I already know.

  In my desk drawer lives a picture.

  Me and Mom surrounded by fireflies.

  When the world is at its darkest,

  that’s when the magic appears,

  my mom says.

  So, in my mind,

  I question if the check is a form of magic.

  But in my heart,

  I believe that hope creates the magician.

  Chapter 11

  Connor

  I’d been killing it during practice. Every shot, every play, every move of my feet had been perfect. I was back to the old me, or as the team saw it—a new me. And then she walked into the gym, and I forget who I am and why I’m here.

  The girl is something else. Even beneath her school blazer, those knee-high socks and completely modest skirt, I could tell she was hiding things some girls go above and beyond to flaunt.

  I’m staring.

  “Ledger!” someone calls out a split second before a ball hits the side of my head, knocking what little sense I had right out of me.

  I take a time-out and head for my water bottle.

  Still staring.

  Because I can’t not.

  “How’s that going for ya?” Rhys asks, motioning to Ava as he slumps down next to me.

  She’s at the corner of the gym now, picking up a random backpack I didn’t know was there. “Huh?”

  “You got a little drool,” he says, chuckling, and hands me a towel.

  I wipe at my mouth because I’m too far gone.

  Bending down to tie his laces, he says, “She told me you gave her a ride yesterday.”

  “She did?” So, she and Rhys are friends. Noted. I clear my throat, try not to sound too… inquisitive. “What—I mean, what else did she say about me?”

  He all out laughs now, coming to a stand. Shaking his head, his gaze floats between Ava and me. His hand on my shoulder tells me “You poor, pathetic little dude” but his words—his words say, “She said you make her uncomfortable.”

  The first class I ever had at this school was psychology. After doing everything I needed at the office to register, I was late. It was only a minute, but it was enough to make my already anxious mind go into overdrive. When I walked into the room, there was only one desk free, two chairs, and so I took what was offered. A few people watched me walk through the rows, but no one said a word. It was a relief. A few minutes after that, Ava walked in. Initially, I thought she might be new, too, but I didn’t see her in the office and going by how the teacher spoke, I figured she was just late.

  Now, I was walking toward that same room, and I wish I were late again. Or better yet, I wish the floor would swallow me whole. Unfortunately, I can’t come up with an excuse or some form of sudden chronic illness that would excuse me from attending classes for the rest of the year, so I grab the door that someone holds open for me and make my way into the room.

  She’s here, in her seat, a textbook in front of her, staring into the abyss. You know, Classic-Ava. I walk painstakingly slow, but not slow enough because I still end up next to her. My chair drags as I pull it out, causing her to glance up, then right back down.

  I clear my throat, and with my voice low, I ask, “Is it okay if I sit here?”

  Her eyes lock on mine. Hold. She offers a smile filled with pity and laced with what I’m sure is disgust. “Of course,” she murmurs. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I don’t know,” I breathe out, taking the seat. “The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

  A sound falls from her lips; a squeak of sorts. And she turns in her seat to the person behind us.

  Rhys.

  She shakes her head at him, her eyes wide.

  Rhys laughs. Fucker.

  And me? I spend the rest of the day in Classic-Ava mode.

  Chapter 12

  Ava

  “Your grades are fantastic, Ava. Your GPA hasn’t dropped once since you started here. There are a lot of colleges that would be lucky to have you,” Miss Turner says, an assortment of catalogs spread out on her desk. “UNC, Duke, NC State. Given your circumstance, I assume you’d like to stay local?”

  She’s only half right. I do plan on staying local; I just don’t plan on furthering my education—much to Trevor’s dismay.

  I don’t tell her this, though. I simply nod, watch the minutes tick by. I don’t want to be here a second longer than I have to. I want to get to first-period psychology early enough to get a few words in with Connor, if he’ll even listen to me.

  “Have you thought more about where you’re
going to apply?”

  One minute until the warning bell.

  “Everywhere, anywhere,” I rush out.

  “Well, that’s great, Ava!” She beams. “I’m glad you’re—”

  “I have to go,” I say, cutting her off. I stand quickly. “I have a thing I need to do.”

  Connor’s already in his seat when I walk in, his head on the desk, arms folded beneath it—a vision of hopelessness.

  There’s a sudden sinking in my gut. An ache so strong it has me frozen to my spot. Around me, students swarm, bumping into me with zero apologies. My feet drag when I make my way over to him. Standing beside him, I whisper, “Hey.”

  Tired, tormented eyes lock on mine. One second. Two. Then he goes back to his original position.

  My heart drops.

  “Take a seat, Ava,” Mr. McCallister says, walking into the room. “Are you with us, Connor?”

  Connor sits up, grumbles under his breath, “Unfortunately.”

  Mr. McCallister waits for the rest of the class to settle in, and when enough silence descends, he announces, “It’s your lucky day, people. My laptop has decided to die, so you’ll be working on your nature versus nurture assignment, and since it’s such a lovely day out, I’m going to let you partner up and work wherever you like. Within reason, of course.”

  A flurry of excitement fills the room. Beside me, Connor groans. “Jesus. No.”

  Connor silently, reluctantly, agrees to follow me outside. With his backpack in one hand, a basketball in the other, his feet drag as he tracks behind me.

  I take him to the school gym.