Page 193 of Heartache Duet

“How fucking stupid can two dipshits be?” Connor yells, white-knuckling the steering wheel as he drives us home from school.

I don’t respond, because there’s nothing I can say to make this okay.

The team made it to regionals.

The problem? Mitch and Rhys are suspended. Out of the game. And no amount of their parents’ money or offers to build an entirely new building on school grounds is enough to make the school board renege on their decision.

The whole giant dildo superglued to the door and lubed up to make it impossible to remove thing? That was done by the two dipshits Connor’s referring to. Which means that Connor—he’s going to have to carry the entire fucking team on his back to even have a chance at winning.

This all went down only a few hours ago. And the regional final is tonight. To say he’s pissed would be the understatement of the century. His phone’s been ringing non-stop ever since we got out of school, and he’s ignored every call, besides his coach, who wants Connor to get back to the school right away so they can rework their entire roster together. I told him he could’ve stayed, that he didn’t have to drive me home, but he assured me he needed to get out, to blow off steam. And so this is what he’s doing… while driving.

“Over a stupid, useless fucking prank, Ava!”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.”

His nostrils flare, his jaw ticking. I reach over, anxiously place a hand on his leg. His gaze lowers to the touch, and his chest heaves. Without warning, he pulls over to the side of the road, gravel spinning beneath the wheels. My seatbelt catches when he brakes hard. He takes a few calming breaths before turning to me. “I’m sorry, Ava. I’m taking this out on you.”

“It’s okay,” I assure. “I understand.” Truly, I do. This is so important to him. After this, it could be state.

“I know you do, but still, I—”

“Connor, I get it. What can I do to help?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes out. “Besides punching those two in their lopsided nutsacks, I got nothing.”

“I could do that,” I tell him. “I’d be happy to. Especially Mitch.”

A hint of a smile plays on his lips, and he leans over to me, places a kiss on my temple. “You’re going to watch the game, right?”

“Of course. We wouldn’t miss it for the world. I guarantee Mom’s already wearing your jersey.”

His smile widens. Then he reaches into his school bag, fumbles around until he finds a thick black marker. He hands it to me and says, “Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can you write Miss D on my hand?”

I bite back a smile as I do as he asks, his hand settled on my bare thigh.

“And Ava underneath that.”

My eyes widen when I look up at him. “You want my name there, too?”

He nods once, motions for me to do it. “You’re my reason, Ava. You both are.”

* * *

“There he is!” Mom shouts, getting to her feet as the stream of the game starts, and Connor appears on the TV. “There’s my boy!”

“Um, technically, that’s my boy, Mama.”

“Oh, hush. Don’t be greedy now!”

Within minutes of the game, we can see Connor struggling without Rhys and Mitch on the court. He’s really the only one on the team worth a dime, and Philips Academy, their opponents, stick to what they’ve always done when it comes to Connor: they double-team him.

“Jesus Christ!” Mom yells at the TV. “Give the boy room to breathe!”

“Dammit,” Trevor grunts, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “He can’t fucking escape these bastards!”

---