Page 138 of Heartache Duet

“You barely packed anything,” he mumbles.

“I did so.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“Shut up, brat.”

“How are you twenty-two?”

“How are you your face?”

I bust out a laugh, and God, does it feel good. It’s been weeks since I’ve felt even a semblance of joy, and a part of me wonders if that’s the real reason why Trevor wants to suddenly pretend like Christmas is A Thing when we haven’t celebrated it once since Mom’s return.

“Found it!” he announces.

“Oh, look. A clear box,” I mock, taking it from him as he starts his descent. “Who would’ve thought?”

We’re making our way out of the garage when a stretch Hummer pulls up to the curb. “What’s that about?” Trevor asks.

“Winter formal,” I tell him, my heart sinking. It’s been impossible not to count the days along with the entire school, but while everyone else is excited about it, I’d been dreading it. And I definitely don’t want to be here to see it.

“Let’s go,” I tell Trevor at the same time the limo door opens. Karen hops out in a tight, red dress, followed by Rhys in a tux. Karen waits by the car while Rhys walks toward us.

“What’s good?” Rhys greets Trevor, doing some weird bro handshake that only bros do. Then he turns to me. “Say it.”

“Say what?” I ask.

“Tell me I look good.”

I scoff, roll my eyes.

He adds, “I have a date in the car, but I can fuck her off real quick if you want to replace her.”

Trevor chuckles.

I say, “Sure, give me five minutes to change.”

Rhys gives me his megawatt smile that has girls falling for him. Had me falling for him. His eyebrows rise. “I’ll wait.”

“Shut up.” I playfully kick his leg, my hands busy holding the lights.

“Just one picture,” Connor’s dad calls out, his steps fast as he tries to keep up with his son walking down their driveway.

“Dad, no!” Connor whines.

Karen laughs. “Give the man what he wants!”

I stare, fixated, my throat closing in when Connor stands in front of Karen. He’s in a perfectly fitted tux, his red tie matching her dress. Connor lifts a corsage between them, the same shade, as if they’d planned all this in advance. Then he takes her hand, places it on her wrist, and she brings that same hand up to rest on his chest: magic.

Pain blocks my airways, but I can’t look away. Not even when she rises to her toes, her lips pressed to his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies. “You look nice.”

“Ava,” Trevor says, but his voice is distant. So far away. “Maybe we should go.”

“I’m okay,” I rush out, the words burning my throat.

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