Chapter 32 Fucked
Liam Carter
I should let her go. I should.
But just as I turn to set my cereal bowl in the sink, something stops me.
Ava’s still standing there.
She’s halfway down the hall, but she hasn’t moved. Her hands grip the water bottle so tight that I hear the faint crackle of plastic. She’s staring at the ground, frozen, like she’s fighting herself on something.
And I feel it. That tug.
That stupid, insistent pull that’s been there since the moment she crashed into my life.
"Ava."
She tenses. Her shoulders rise, then fall, before she finally turns to face me.
Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes. God, her eyes, they tell me everything. There’s too much going on inside her head, too many things she isn’t saying.
So I take a step forward, then another.
"Come here."
She hesitates, lips parting slightly. But she doesn’t move away when I close the space between us.
I don’t know who reaches first, me or her.
All I know is that, suddenly, we’re sitting on the couch in the dim kitchen light, knees almost touching, her fingers still gripping the water bottle like a lifeline.
For a while, neither of us says anything.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, staring at nothing in particular. Ava leans back, head against the couch, eyes flicking between me and the ceiling.
Then, finally, she breaks the silence.
"Do you ever think about what your life would’ve been like… if none of this happened?"
"This?" I glance at her.
She gestures vaguely. "The injury. Hockey. Mia. The fact that I…" She pauses, biting her lip. "We happened."
“All the time.” I take a slow breath.
“And?” She tilts her head slightly.
I exhale a quiet laugh, running a hand through my hair. "I don’t know. I think about it, but it’s pointless. It’s not like I can go back and change shit."
She’s quiet for a moment, like she’s weighing her response. Then…
"But does it still hurt?"
That question punches me straight in the chest.
I look at her, and for once, there’s no teasing in her expression. No challenge in her tone. Just pure, quiet curiosity.
Does it still hurt?
The answer is yes.
It always has been.
But I’ve spent so much time pretending it doesn’t, acting like I’ve moved on, that saying it out loud feels too much.
Instead, I shrug.
"You tell me. If you could go back and change things with your dad, would you?"
She flinches.
It’s subtle, but I catch it.
She grips her bottle tighter, jaw tightening, and for a second, I think she’s going to snap at me. But then, she sighs.
“That’s not fair.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”
She exhales sharply, leaning forward now, elbows on her thighs, mirroring my posture. “I don’t know,” she mutters. “I used to think so. That if I could change things, if I could somehow fix it, maybe it wouldn’t feel so…” She trails off.
"Raw?" I finish for her.
Her throat bobs as she swallows. "Yeah."
We sit there, both of us lost in our own thoughts, both of us carrying shit we don’t talk about.
Then she speaks again. Softly.
"Mia really fucked you up, huh?"
"We’re talking about that now?" My chest tightens, but I force out a dry chuckle.
She shrugs, trying for casual, but I see the way her fingers tap restlessly against the bottle.
"I heard the guys talking about it."
Of course she did.
I sigh, leaning back against the couch. "Yeah. I guess she did."
But she doesn’t say anything, she’s waiting. Listening.
So, for the first time in a long time, I talk.
I tell her about Mia. About how I thought she was it for me. About how I thought I was in love with her that I let her rip me apart without even realizing it. How she left, no warning, no closure, just fucking vanished from my life.
And how I pretended it didn’t hurt.
That it wasn’t one of the reasons I lost my focus. One of the reasons my game started slipping. One of the reasons I got injured.
And she listens through it all. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t make a joke, doesn’t brush it off.
She just listens.
And when I’m done, when I finally stop talking, she says something I don’t expect.
"You deserved better."
The words are simple, but they knock the air out of me.
Because no one’s ever said that to me before.
Not my teammates. Not my brother. Not even myself.
“Yeah. Maybe.” I swallow.
Ava looks at me for a long time. "And you’ll be better."
It’s not a question. Not a maybe. It’s a statement.
And for some reason, I believe her.
We sit there a little longer. The silence isn’t heavy anymore. It’s just there.
Then Ava exhales, a slow, soft sound, and shifts on the couch.
“I should go to bed.”
I nod, but as she stands, I catch her wrist. Not hard. Just enough.
She looks down at me, questioning.
I don’t know what I want to say.
So I just say, “Stay.”
Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t move away.
I tug her forward, just enough for her to sit back down, just enough for her to lean into me.
And she lets me.
We don’t talk after that.
We just exist, side by side, sitting in the dim kitchen light, until exhaustion finally pulls her under.
And for the first time in a long time…
I feel okay.
“Snowflakes” I call, knowing my next sentence will undo us in way I did not know
“Yes captain” she answers in a tired tone
“You are better”