47. Ava
AVA
I n the weeks following my release from the hospital, I spend the first two buried in my bed, hiding away from the world.
I’m exhausted. Whether from the hole in my shoulder or the one in my heart, I don’t know.
Mila and Bella stop by and try to coax me out of bed.
They bring food and cheap wine, even though I can’t drink it because of the pain medicine, but it’s their presence that makes it worthwhile.
No expectations. Just company in a world that feels empty since I left half my heart behind in the hospital the night I told Levi I needed time.
Even Paulina showed up and, bless her soul, helped me wash my hair. I was so grateful to her that I forced a hug on her, which she eventually softened to.
Bella and Mila begged me to come to Christmas, but it didn’t feel right, showing up there knowing I can’t look at Levi and not think about how much I ache for him.
My body literally craves his. His warmth, his scent.
Knowing that no matter what, there’s still a huge part of me that wants nothing more than to crawl into his arms and let him chase away the violence of life.
Instead, I spent the day binge-watching horror movies and eating junk food on my couch without a care in the world.
Christmas is easier to ignore when you’re all alone.
I haven’t heard from him in three weeks, nor have I seen him, and I’ll panic if I think about it for too long. Like maybe he’s decided I’m not worth it and that he’d much rather move on.
It’s not constant, but when those moments strike, it feels like a knife twisting deep inside.
Half of me vanishes, a part of my soul carried away on some cruel wind, and I’m left groping blindly in the dark, grasping at nothing but shadows.
I wish I could say each day gets easier, but the truth is, every night when I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, it’s not nightmares of what happened that haunt me. It’s him.
His scent, his laugh, his strength.
Part of me wonders what would happen if I showed up at his doorstep tomorrow. Could I forgive him for everything he did?
The other half is terrified—terrified of his rejection, of the cruel finality it would bring. I don’t know if I could survive that pain a second time.
And then, like all things when it comes to Levi Cross, I’m right back where I started.
It’s early in the morning on a Tuesday in January when I’m woken by the sound of someone banging around outside.
For a split second, a shot of panic slides through me, before I remind myself that Alex is dead. I’m safe.
Then, I force myself out of bed.
Pulling on a robe, I head towards the front door and peek out the window beside it.
My heart stops beating when I see the familiar black car parked out front next to my SUV, and the inky black hair that haunts my dreams just past that at the wood pile.
Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I tug my robe tighter around myself and step out onto the porch, wondering if I should have at least brushed my hair first.
But then he turns, and his eyes find mine, and suddenly, I forget about everything.
Those eyes . . . God, I’ve missed those eyes.
“W-what are you doing?” I ask, more confused than anything.
His answer is simple. “You need wood.”
“Y-you don’t have to do that.”
He’s right, I did need wood. I just wasn’t expecting him to come and chop it for me.
He shrugs. “It’s my job.”
Then he turns and resumes chopping. I stand there frozen on the porch for what must be an eternity. The wind whips around me, cold enough to chill me to the bone. I wrap the robe tighter around myself as a myriad of emotions swirl through me.
Confusion, distrust, desire, hunger, insecurity.
“Go inside, Ava. It’s cold.”
My gaze snaps back to his, and his gaze holds something I’m not prepared for.
It’s not possessiveness or sadness or anything I was expecting. It’s longing.
I know that feeling all too well.
I’ll earn your trust, one day at a time . . .
I want to ask him to come inside, but I know I’m not ready for that. Instead, the words get caught on my tongue until I’m forced to nod at him and turn to head back into the house.
It takes me a moment to gather my bearings, but eventually, I manage to brush my hair and teeth and change my clothes before I brew some coffee.
I’m just about to head to the living room to resume my cleaning from the day before when I pause, staring at the pot on the counter.
Five minutes later, I’m trudging out into the snow and carrying a thermos full of hot coffee. I have no idea how he drinks it, or if he drinks it at all, but I can’t have him freezing out here on my account.
I keep my distance, placing it on the old tree stump near him, before backing up.
“In case you get cold,” I say hurriedly, before rushing back towards the house.
“Ava,” he calls out, and I freeze at the bottom of the steps. Turning around, I find him watching me.
“Thank you.”
I suck in a shallow breath, a shiver moving through me that has nothing to do with the cold.
“Don’t mention it.”
Every day for the next two weeks is the same. Levi comes over in the morning and works on something around the house. I don’t invite him in, and he doesn’t ask, though it’s right there on the tip of my tongue every day.
He chops enough wood that I won’t have to worry about it until next winter.
He fixes the leak in the porch roof and the loose floorboard to the left of the stairs.
He shovels the front walk and makes a path out to the old garage in the back.
He even goes so far as to repair Gran’s old rocking chair, which, I won’t lie, made me shed a few secret tears when he left.
We’re getting more comfortable around each other. I bring him coffee every day, and he drinks it black. He never says if he likes it or not, but I bring it anyway.
I think a part of me doesn’t want him to find a reason not to come back because when he runs out of things to fix outside, I ask for his help with the leaking drain under the kitchen sink.
—Then the back door that doesn’t like to shut properly.
—Then the fireplace in the living room, which I have no idea how to work.
I keep finding things, and he keeps fixing them, and I can’t deny that one night, I briefly contemplated breaking something so he could fix it the next day.
We start to talk more. About trivial things. Music and movies. Things that don’t really matter because talking about those things is easier than talking about us .
I learn he secretly likes Fleetwood Mac , though he’d never tell his brother because he’d never live it down. He learns I went through a Slipknot faze and still listen to them in the car when I’m alone.
I learn his favorite Christmas movie is Die Hard— shocker—and he learns mine is The Grinch , because I love how stupid the Who’s look.
I learn he wants to get a dog . . . He learns that I do too.
Life moves around us, but in the comfort of Gran’s little cottage, it feels like it’s just the two of us left in the world.
And that’s when I learn I don’t want him to leave.
Nearly every night after he leaves, I find myself lying awake at night in the quiet of the house, wondering what he’s doing in that very moment. If he’s thinking about me, too, or if I’m reading too much into his helping.
Then I kick myself for thinking anything but.
Of course, he’s helping to win me back. It’s working. Slowly, but surely, he’s moving back into my heart, though I don’t think he ever really left.
I want to forgive him, but I don’t know how. After everything, I know I can trust him with my life, but my heart?
I’m not sure I could survive losing him twice.
I’m starting to settle into my new life, going out with Mila and Bella for dinner, and searching for job opportunities, though I have no idea what I want to do with my life.
A week after my hospital visit, I received another transfer from an anonymous account for the sum of one million dollars.
My hands trembled when the lady on the phone told me, and I swear I threw up in my mouth because that kind of money isn’t something that ever remotely crossed my mind.
The same day, an envelope arrived, but instead of a long letter detailing more reasons why he left, it was a simple picture of my father and me from the day I was born.
My heart swelled, looking at the photograph and the sprawling writing on the back.
Forever my retribution.
—Nolan Marks
I framed it and put it on the mantel in the hopes that someday, I can make amends and find the same little girl who used to dream of her father, and tell her that he might deserve a chance, after all.
And that’s when I realize, while watching Levi patch a hole in the drywall in the hallway, that everyone makes mistakes. Even ones they think are for the greater good.
The weeks pass, and eventually, I finish cleaning the living room. I move onto the kitchen and don’t even notice that Levi’s not fixing random broken things anymore. He’s just helping me pack up everything I don’t want and clean what’s left.
Life feels . . . normal. Like the last six months didn’t happen. Like falling in love all over again, even though you know that at any moment life could rip the rug out from under you.
It feels like meeting him for the first time, and I can’t deny that my heart has already forgiven him, even if my mind can’t.
It’s not until February that I offer to let him stay for dinner.
He hesitates, his gaze searching mine for entirely too long. I almost back out, my cheeks flaming red, before he finally agrees, a devious glint in his eyes that makes my stomach dip.
“Whatever you want.”
We end up ordering pizza and sitting on opposite sides of the couch, watching Die Hard , and otherwise trying to navigate this new territory.
“This isn’t really much of a Christmas movie,” I joke somewhere halfway through.
Levi grins. “Takes place on Christmas. That makes it a Christmas movie.”
I roll my eyes, though I can’t hide the grin that spreads on my lips.