I wake up at six a.m. to texts from Ava. A voicemail from her where I can tell she’s been crying. A couple of missed calls from her.
And a text from her mother.
Fable Callahan: Please call me when you get this message. It’s an emergency.
My heart racing, I fumble with my phone and call her, breathless as I wait for her to answer. The moment she says hello, I don’t even wait for her to say anything else.
“What’s wrong? Is Ava okay? What happened? Is she all right?”
“Eli, calm down. I need you to listen to me.”
“Okay. Yeah. Sorry.” I swallow hard, trying to control my breathing. My heart rate. When she remains silent for a few seconds longer, I can’t take it anymore. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Oh, Eli.” A sob leaves her and for the briefest moment I’m fucking terrified over what she’s going to say. “Ava—”
No, no, no, no.
“—she lost the baby.”
I say nothing. I hear her soft cries, my ragged breaths. I rest a hand against my forehead, rocking gently back and forth, the same thing running through my head on repeat.
Ava’s okay. Ava’s okay. Ava’s okay.
Then what her mother told me sinks in, punching me right in the face.
She lost the baby.
Oh fuck. She lost our baby.
“What happened? I can’t believe I didn’t hear my phone. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up. Where are you? I’ll come to you right now. I need to see Ava—”
“Eli, seriously. Listen to me right now.” Fable’s voice is firm, and I go still, my shoulders drooping. “Let me explain to you what happened first. She woke up cramping and bleeding. It started to get heavier, so she woke me up and I drove her to the urgent care. She was losing a lot of blood so the doctor on call came in, and he ordered a D&C. They’re performing it on her now. She should be in recovery in the next thirty minutes or so.”
I have no clue what she’s talking about. “What’s a D&C?”
“A procedure they perform when they worry that not everything—comes out during the miscarriage,” she explains.
“Ava’s not pregnant anymore.” My voice is flat. Emotionless.
“No. I’m a-afraid she’s not.” She starts crying again. “I’m so sorry, Eli. Ava told me how excited you were about this. I’m sure you must be devastated.”
I am. But what’s weird is I’m having no emotional reaction whatsoever. I feel…numb. Like what she’s saying isn’t sinking in. Maybe I’m in shock. “Is Ava going to be okay?”
“Oh, she’s doing really well. She’s such a trooper.” Her voice rasps and I can hear the pride in it.
“That’s my girl,” I whisper, clearing my throat. “Should I wait?” There’s no way I can wait, I don’t know why I said that. “Or do you need me to come help you out? I can leave right now—”
She interrupts me. “Do you have class this morning?”
I bark out a laugh. “I’m skipping class, Mrs. C. There is no way I’m not coming up there at some point this morning to be with Ava.”
“I’ll text you when we’re on our way back to the house. You can leave then,” she says.
“Okay. I can do that. I’ll hop in the shower real quick.” I’m already climbing out of bed.
“Eli?”
I pause. “Yeah?”
“You need to be strong right now. For Ava. For the both of you. She was so upset. Crying, asking for you earlier. You need to be here for her, and not make this about you. She’s gone through something that was very traumatizing to her. She’s going to need you now more than ever,” Fable explains.
“I will be there for her,” I tell her. “I promise.”
I go through the motions of getting ready for my day, as if it’s another regular day. I take a shower. Brush my hair, brush my teeth. Don’t bother shaving. Get dressed. Check myself out in the mirror, reminding myself that everything’s changed.
Just like when Ava told me what…a week ago? It’s changed again. It’s back to the way it was.
Does that mean Ava and I are going back to the way we were? Broken up and about to go our separate ways? Will she go to San Diego? Leave me behind?
No way.
I can’t even stomach the thought.
Not bothering with breakfast, I wait in my room for the text from Ava’s mom. I don’t go out to the living room either. I don’t want to see Caleb and have to explain to him what happened to Ava, and what’s going on.
I’m not sure of the exact details myself. How can I explain it to someone else? And I definitely don’t want to see everyone’s pity. Their sadness. I can’t deal.
I don’t want to deal.
I need Ava—right now. I need to talk to her and make sure everything’s going to be okay. I want to hold her in my arms and tell her I love her and that nothing is going to change. I still need her in my life.
She’s still mine.
A sigh leaves me and I shake my head, cradling my head in my hands and closing my eyes. She told me not to tell anyone and I should’ve listened to her. Now we’ll have to explain to our friends what happened.
And that’s going to be painful.
When the text comes, I nearly jump out of my skin. I leave the apartment in a hurry, grateful I don’t run into Caleb. I hop in my car and groan when I start the engine. I need to get gas.
Damn it. Of course I do.
I stop at a gas station on my way out of Fresno and fill up, impatient as shit, hating how slow it feels. How long it takes. The moment the gas pump clicks, I’m putting everything away and getting the hell out of there. I race up the highway, my lead foot in action. Every passing lane I’m zooming past cars, grumbling under my breath when I get behind a slow car. Throwing caution to the wind because I’m hellbent on getting to my girl.
By the time I’m pulling in front of her house, I’m a wreck. My insides feel as if they’re twisted around each other and my palms are sweaty. My stomach cramps with nerves as I walk up the front porch and I almost want to collapse when I ring the doorbell.
Fable Callahan answers it almost immediately, and I realize in this moment she looks so much like Ava, my knees almost buckle. This is what my girl will look like when she’s older. Just a little taller. Blonde and beautiful with those bottomless green eyes.
“Eli,” she says, opening her arms to me.
I walk into her embrace and clutch her to me, my face in her hair, my eyes falling closed. She rubs her hands up and down my back, offering me comfort like a mom should. I think of my own mother, how I haven’t talked to her since Ava told me the news. How my mother doesn’t even know she was a grandma.
Even if only for a few days.
Fable pulls away from me, her hands grabbing hold of mine. “Don’t look so stressed. Ava is fine.”
“Is she really?” I sound skeptical because, come on. She’s probably not okay at all.
“She’s doing as well as one would after losing a baby. It’s hard no matter how many weeks along you are.” Her faint smile turns rueful. “I lost a baby in between Ava and Beck.”
“You did?” I want to see Ava, but I appreciate her mom’s offer of comfort and reasoning too. It’s more than I’ll get from anyone else right now.
“Yes.” She nods. “I was about eight weeks, just like Ava. It was tough. The experience tore Drew up, but the beautiful thing of it all, is we were blessed with Beck a few years later.”
I nod, following Fable into the house. She shuts the door behind her and I notice there’s a lit Christmas tree standing tall in the window, no decorations on it yet though.
“I’m telling you my little story because this isn’t the end of the world, Eli. I’m not downplaying what happened to Ava. It was a lot. But she needs hope right now, not wallowing in her sadness. She will have other children. Miscarriages are very common,” Fable explains.
I nod. “Okay.”
“You don’t need to give her stats or anything. Just—be there for her. Like she’s always been for you.” Fable sends me a stern look. “Don’t fuck this up.”
I gape at her, surprised at her choice of words. The look on my face must amuse her because she starts laughing. “Oh, you should see yourself right now. Bet you didn’t expect to hear that, did you? Back in the day, I was a real tough talker. I even used to smoke.” Her voice lowers. “Cigarettes.”
“No way.”
“Yep. I’ve come a long way.” She approaches me, reaching up to pinch my cheek like a little old grandma would. “So have you. Go up there and show your girl some love, Eli. She needs you right now.”
I’m about to head up the stairs, but I pause at the base, turning to look at Fable. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I understand why you kept it to yourselves. Some things are just for you.” Her smile is soft.
“Yeah.” I was really looking forward to telling her parents about the baby though.
Damn.
I race up the stairs, slowing my pace as I draw closer to her room. The door is partially open and I hear voices inside. Mostly a male speaking.
Her dad.
Shit.
I knock on the door before I peek my head around it, relief filling me at seeing Ava sitting up in bed, looking like her normal self. A little pale, but I was getting used to that. She’s listening to whatever her dad is saying, his broad back to the door until I knocked.
He turns and when he spots me, his face falls a little.
“Eli.” He nods, his expression stern.
“Mr. Callahan.” I nod in return, intimidated. He might hate me. I knocked up his baby girl and put her through all this. In his eyes, this could be my fault.
My gaze cuts to Ava, whose face is crumpling.
She’s crying.
Damn it.
“Eli,” she whimpers.
Forgetting her dad is there, forgetting that he could blame me for all of this, I go to her, settling on the edge of the bed, right next to her. She leans into me, her arms going around my neck and I hold her carefully, not wanting to hurt her.
But her familiar scent and soft hair have me gripping her tighter. As tight as I can get. Until we’re clinging to each other, lost in each other. And I only realize her dad said, “I’ll leave you two alone,” after he already slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Don’t cry,” I whisper when he’s gone. I pull away so I can stare at her, wiping the stream of tears from her cheeks with my fingers. “Your tears absolutely destroy me, baby.”
“I’m sorry. It’s such—a relief to see you, Eli. I’m so glad you’re here.” She presses her face to my shoulder, holding onto me.
I rub her back much like her mom did to me earlier, letting her cry on me. “Are you okay?”
“Now that you’re here, yes.” She lifts her head, her mouth against my jaw, breathing me in. “I lost the baby.”
A shuddery breath leaves me. “I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”
“You were sleeping.”
“Yeah.”
“I figured.” She kisses my cheek, her hand reaching for one of mine. “It was awful. Just—so much blood.”
I squeeze her hand. “Don’t talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“I was scared. But my mom took care of me.” A shuddery exhale leaves her and her still shiny with tears eyes meet mine. “She’s a good mom.”
“The best.” I rest my palm against the side of her hair before I stroke it away from her face. “Just like you’re going to be someday.”
Her eyes fall closed and her lips tremble. “What if I can’t have any more? What if that was our—one—shot?”
“Don’t say that,” I say fiercely. “We’ll have a bunch. Six, remember? I want at least six.”
She laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. “I don’t know about that.”
“Whatever you want, I’ll do. It’s all for you, Princess.” I mean every fucking word.
“I’m going to be okay,” she says.
“You’re damn right.”
“We’re going to be okay?” She’s asking me. Needing the confirmation that we’re still going to stick together.
The relief I feel at hearing her say that nearly sends me to my knees.
“You’re damn right,” I repeat, leaning into her and brushing her mouth with mine. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she whispers. “I’m sorry it happened.”
“Oh my God, it’s not your fault. Don’t ever think it was.” I kiss her again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“That’s not your fault either.” Another kiss. “You should know I’m not going to San Diego.”
My heart feels ready to fly right out of my chest at her words. “You staying here with me?”
She nods, her expression hesitant. “You’re going to get drafted, Eli. And I want to go where you’re going. If you’ll have me.”
“If I’ll have you?” I can’t help it. I start to chuckle. “Baby, I can’t do any of this without you. You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not.”
Ava rests her hands on my chest, brushing her nose against mine. “I love it.”
I crush her to me, trying to be careful. I don’t want to hurt her, but she plasters herself to me anyway. “I love you.”
* * *
I stay there all day, spending as much time with Ava as I can, before I finally head home. I skipped practice—I called Coach and explained what happened, and he was cool with me missing it. After that call, I confessed to Ava I told the guys about her being pregnant and she wasn’t mad, but she did say that’s why she warned me not to mention it yet.
Because of situations like ours.
I sent a group text to the boys letting them know what happened, and they were cool, of course. Full of sympathy, saying all the right things. Even Caleb. I couldn’t tell them something like that to their faces. I might’ve broken down.
So I took the easy route.
It’s early in the evening and I’m reluctantly leaving the Callahan house, exiting through the garage when I hear a familiar voice call my name. I pause and turn to find Drew standing there, watching me.
“Hey,” I tell him, shoving my hands in my front pockets. We’ve barely talked all day. He makes me nervous. Like he might want to kick my ass for putting his baby girl through so much trauma.
Slowly he approaches me, his steps careful, his expression serious. “How are you?”
I frown, tilting my head to the side. “What?”
“I asked, how are you? How are you dealing with all of—this?” He waves a hand around, seeming at a loss of what to do.
A ragged breath leaves me and I glance down at the ground for a moment, overwhelmed by his question. I’ve been so focused on Ava all day, it’s hitting me that no one has really asked how I’m doing.
And that’s cool. I’m fine with it. Ava’s the one who’s been through so much.
Not me.
“I’m—I’m sad, but it’s okay.” I lift my head to find him watching me. “I’m just glad Ava’s all right.”
“She is. She will be. She’s strong.” Drew’s smile is faint. “Like her mother.”
“Yeah,” I croak, hating how tore up I suddenly feel. “I was really excited about the baby.”
“Ava mentioned that.” Drew steps closer, settling his hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to make a great dad someday, Eli.”
Oh damn. My eyes are stinging and I shake my head once, trying to rid myself of the urge to cry. I need to keep it together in front of this man and not sob like a wimp.
“Thanks,” I tell him, my voice rough. “I hope you’re not—mad at me. For what happened.”
“Why would I be mad at you? It’s not your fault,” Drew says, his voice low. “Just—take care of my daughter and love her as much as you possibly can, okay? That’s all I want.”
I nod, unable to look at him, surprise coursing through me when he tugs me into his arms and gives me a hug. I hug him back, in shock.
His words, his offer of comfort reassures me though. That he doesn’t hate me.
That he loves me like I’m a member of his own family.
And it feels good, to be okay with the Callahans again.
Well, with the exception of Jake. I’ll have to work extra hard to win that guy over. Autumn might want to kick my ass too.
It’s all right. I’ll figure it out.
I don’t really remember the drive home. And when I walk into my empty apartment, I wish I could’ve brought Ava with me. But she needs to rest, and she needs to stay at her parents’ house, in her own bed. She’s going to remain there for a while, until we get our shit straight and figure out what the hell we’re doing next.
And where we’re going.
Even though I’m tired, I’m somehow full of restless energy and I decide to clean my room. I make the bed and gather up the clothes strewn everywhere, tossing them in the hamper that’s in my closet. I throw away some old receipts then come across the box containing the ring I bought Ava yesterday and pop it open.
A two-carat round diamond in a simple platinum setting. It’s beautiful, like Ava. I can’t wait to give it to her.
Someday.
Soon.
I straighten up the disaster that is my desk, cramming shit in the drawers that are already full of miscellaneous crap. Gather up my notebook and textbooks and shove them in my backpack so I’m ready for school tomorrow. Come across a bag from the student store that’s stashed at the bottom of my backpack and I crack the bag open, momentarily forgetting what I bought there.
Until I see the red fabric.
I pull it out, staring at the tiny onesie, checking the size. Zero to three months.
I hold it in my hands, trying to imagine a baby filling it.
Man, that’s tiny.
The tears start then. Flowing down my cheeks as I crumple the onesie in my hands and tell myself to man up. Don’t cry. I never cry. I have to be the strong one here. For Ava.
For myself.
But it’s no use. I’m sobbing like a baby, for the baby we lost. Remembering how scared I was, thinking for one terrible moment, that I lost Ava.
I didn’t lose her though. I’ve still got her.
I’ve still got my heart.
My soul.
My love.
My princess.
My Ava.