Page 58 of Heartache Duet
A car drives past us, turning at the end of the cul-de-sac, and parks behind mine.
“That’s him now,” Trevor states, already making his way toward it.
I can’t ignore the inkling of jealousy when I see the car—a Mercedes G-Wagon—or the guy. He’s around Trevor’s age with surfer boy good looks that would be there even if money wasn’t. And the jealousy turns into animosity at the thought that this is the guy who’ll be spending the next few days with Ava, seeing her when I can’t, talking to her face-to-face and not through a fucking phone screen. He’ll see her just woken up, or just before bed. Hell, he’ll probably even see her in bed. Bile rises to my throat, but I push it away the moment Ava appears on her porch.
“Ava, Peter’s here!” Trevor calls out, looking right at her.
Ava’s smile seems unrestrained as she rushes down the steps and greets the guy, completely ignoring the fact that I’m here.
My nemesis—aka Peter—wraps his arms around her the moment she’s close enough. The hug lasts too long, and I want to clear my throat and yell, hello, I’m here, too. But that would be pathetic. More pathetic than me just standing here watching them. Peter pulls back an inch, takes her in from head to breasts and back again.
Yeah, I already don’t like this guy, and I know nothing about him.
He holds her face in both his hands, and I want to rip off those hands and beat him to death with them. “Bad night, huh?” he asks, and there’s no possible way he would know that just from looking at her.
Ava finally, finally, notices me standing on the sidewalk like a lost fucking puppy and releases her embrace. She tells him, “Just give me a second.”
I stand, my hands in my pockets and my pride in her grasp. “I’m going to be late this morning.”
That’s it?
Where’s my fucking hug?
I know I shouldn’t be this upset, so I do my best to hide it. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, tugging on the lapels of my blazer. “I should be there by lunch.”
Nodding, I glance up to see Peter on their porch watching our every move. Ava asks, “I’ll meet you at our usual spot?”
Peter crosses his arms, his eyes narrowed.
Ava tugs on my blazer again. “Okay?”
My eyes drift back to the girl in front of me, the morning sun hitting her eyes, turning them orange. I smile when she does. “Yeah. I’ll be waiting.”
On her toes, she reaches up, plants a kiss on my cheek. It’s not the kiss I wanted, the kiss I thought I needed, but it’s something. And something sure beats all the uncertainty I’d been drowning in.
* * *
Lunch comes around, and I skip the cafeteria just so I can get those few minutes more with her. I’m at our spot before she is, so I wait and wait and wait. My excitement turns to confusion, and then confusion turns to worry. I send her a text, ask if everything’s okay. Then I wait some more. By the time the warning bell sounds and there’s still no reply, that worry turns to envy, to jealousy.
And I hate that it does. Because I realize that this reaction burning a hole inside me isn’t because of this guy’s car or his looks or even the fact that he gets to spend time with Ava. It’s because whoever the hell he is, Trevor trusts him enough to be around her, and more? Ava trusts him enough to be around her mom… something I haven’t earned.
And something I’ll probably never get a chance to.
TWENTY-EIGHT
connor
It’s nearly midday Saturday, and the only communication I’ve had with Ava was a text last night with a simple “sorry.”
There was nothing else to accompany it, and I don’t even know if she’s sorry she stood me up yesterday or sorry she didn’t let me know or sorry because she’s giving one or all of my eight kisses to a guy sleeping in her house.
My brain is broken. Obviously.
Which is probably why I’m sitting on the front porch with my phone in my hand, staring at the unsent message that’s been flashing on my screen for the last half hour.
It says: