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Rhys: No, but yeah. Just drive to my house. You’ll see us.
Rhys rushes to my open window the second he sees my car. I spot Ava sitting on the sidewalk, her legs crossed, staring up at her old house. “She won’t talk,” Rhys says, his voice low as he pulls on the car door to get me out faster. “I tried, man, but… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”
“All right,” I tell him, calm. As if I have all the answers. I’m as lost as he is, if not worse, because I should know what to say. Or do. But I don’t. And maybe it’s worse that I’m here, because maybe I’m the one who caused all of this, but I’m not willing to walk away like I did before. “Just go home; I’ll take care of her.”
He leaves without another word, and I gather what little strength I have left and slowly go to her. Her cheeks are wet, but there are no tears in her eyes. At least not yet. “Ava?” I whisper, and she blinks, looks down at her hands. “Can I sit with you?”
She nods slowly but refuses to meet my gaze.
My heart races as I sit behind her, my legs on either side. I wait a moment, pray she doesn’t push me away. When enough time passes, I scoot forward until my chest is pressed to her back and wrap my arms around her waist. A single sob escapes her, and she drops her face in her hands. “What’s this for?” she whispers.
“I don’t know,” I say, remembering the first time she’d been there for me. “It just looked like you needed it.”
Another whimper, and I’m moving to the side so I can see her. I reach up, hesitant, and cup her jaw. I wait for her response, because if she’s done with me, with us—if I fucked up beyond forgiveness, I’ll hate myself, but I’ll have no choice but to wear it.
Right now, the most important thing is her… and I need to make sure she’s okay.
Her eyes finally lift to mine, holding more pain than I know what to do with. And then her head tilts, her cheek pressing to my palm. She reaches up, holds my wrist in both her hands to keep me there.
Air fills my lungs, and I exhale, relieved.
I finger the strands of loose hair away from her eyes and bring her face closer to mine. “I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have asked you to—”
My hands move with her head shake. “No, I’m sorry, Connor.” She releases a staggered breath. “I didn’t mean to say all those things to you. I needed someone to blame, and you were there. I’m so sorry. And I’m so fucking embarrassed.”
“Why? Because of what that asshole—”
“No, because of the way I was.” She cries harder, her tears falling fast and free. I swipe them away with my thumbs, kiss them off her lips. “Connor, I never wanted you to see me like that, to see me break and fall apart and… God, why are you here? Why do you still care about me?”
“Ava,” I breathe out. “You had every right to feel the way you did... Jesus, I had no idea it was like that for you at school, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for asking you to do something I knew you weren’t comfortable doing. I’m sorry that shit happens to you and to your mom. I’m sorry it happens period. But you have to believe me; nothing you said or did today changes the way I feel about you.”
She grips my forearms, a single sob falling from her lips.
“Babe, look at me.”
Tear-soaked eyes lock on mine.
I kiss her once. “Promise you believe me.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t possibly tell me that you still look at me the same.”
My response is there, on the tip of my tongue, but it’s not enough. And even though I want to tell her how I truly feel, that I’ve fallen so hard and so fast and so deep… that my every thought, every action is consumed by her, this isn’t the right time or place, and so I take her hand in mine. “Let’s get you home. Your mom will be worried.”
* * *
I get ready for the game, but my heart’s not in it like it’s always been. There are too many thoughts flying through my mind, and every single one of them begins and ends with Ava. I peek out the living room window through the gaps of the blinds and wait.
“What are you doing?” Dad asks, slipping on his shoes.
“Waiting for Ava.”
“Is she coming to the game?” he asks, a hopeful lilt in his tone.
I shake my head. “No, but she always…” I trail off when I see her on the sidewalk, her steps slow, a single balloon on a string flopping down by her legs. “I’m going to need five minutes,” I tell Dad, now waiting by the door.
I wait a few seconds, my ear to the door, listening for the sound of her footsteps on our rickety porch. I count to three, then open the door, and sweep her into my arms from behind. She squeals, and a tiny bubble of laughter comes next, eliminating all prior worries about how she’d be feeling.
“Jeez, Connor, give the girl some room to breathe,” Dad jokes.
