10. AVA

10

AVA

"Ava. Ava, please don't do this. Come home. Talk to me. I need to explain, and I don't want to do this in a voicemail. I don't even want to do it over the phone. But please, Ava, please call me."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and went to my text messages. Just like I'd done with his voicemails, I'd read through Tate's text messages again. I'd done it no less than a hundred times since receiving them.

While I couldn't bring myself to call him back or do as he requested to just come home, I struggled to stop listening to the voicemails. I craved hearing his voice, and there was a part of me that tried to analyze his tone in each one of them.

My mind understood that he was merely reaching out to me because Ivy had gone on to talk to him about what happened between him and me. But my heart wanted to believe he was calling me because he truly missed me. Because he genuinely wanted me to come back.

Maybe, on some level, he did. But I questioned whether that was more about him wanting to ease the guilt he felt about how this was impacting his sister or, perhaps, the rest of his family.

I hated that I'd reached this point, too. Because I'd never believed the worst about Tate. I couldn't have fallen in love with a man I genuinely thought was capable of leaving messages like this, begging me to reach out simply if they were for his own self-serving interests.

But for some reason, I couldn't do it. Despite having those deep-seated thoughts about the kind of man Tate was, I just couldn't bring myself to connect with him again. Because even if he shared the truth about his reasons for not wanting something more than that single night with me, even if his reasons were valid, I'd have to face the truth—there was something about me he didn't like when it came to the possibility of having a real relationship.

I'd spent enough of my life thinking about what I'd done wrong to warrant the hand I'd been dealt when it came to my parents. I didn't need to face additional rejection from a man who had been mostly kind and affectionate toward me for as long as I'd known him. And the way I saw it, at least if I was the one who kept myself away, I'd be the one making the decision to leave. As much as it hurt, it hurt less to not hear about all the things that were wrong with me.

It wasn't easy, though.

Every time I listened to the voicemails Tate left or read through the half a dozen text messages he'd sent, I struggled not to pick up the phone and return his call. I fought against responding to even one text.

I desperately wanted to maintain that connection with him. But I wouldn't be helping myself get to a place of peace if I did the very opposite of what was bound to keep my heart from suffering additional heartbreak.

Moving on shouldn't have been this hard. It had been nearly five weeks since Wyatt's wedding, and I was still just as devastated as ever.

I hadn't expected it would take me this long to find a way to settle down somewhere and forget about what was weighing on my heart and mind.

Although it hadn't been pleasant, it wasn't anywhere near this difficult to do when my parents had done what they did and left me with no choice other than to cut them out of my life.

But the more I thought on it, the clearer it became.

When I had to heal from how my parents had treated me, I had the Westwoods there for me. Now, I had nobody. And with each day that passed on my own, I found myself thinking more and more about what the rest of my life would look like.

I wasn't prepared to be or even interested in touring all over the world ten years from now, but maybe that was my path. It wasn't as though I didn't enjoy the dancing. And it wasn't really a bad life.

But more than I'd wanted the career I fought so hard to have, I wanted a family. A real one that was all mine. I wanted to fall in love and create the family I never had. I wanted to get married and make babies with my husband. I wanted to give my children all the love that I never got.

And now, everything just felt hopeless.

Worst of all, I was so caught up in all that I was feeling over Tate and my decision not to return to Landing that I couldn't seem to figure out where to go. I'd already made my second move. After spending two weeks in Florida, I decided I needed something a bit quieter than Miami. So, I made my way to a coastal town in South Carolina. I'd spent time in the city not far from here while on the tour, and I thought it would be a good place to try to put down some roots.

But everything felt terrible. Just getting out of bed was difficult. My limbs felt like dead weight, and there was a heaviness in my chest that made taking a deep breath feel like an impossible task.

I scrolled through Tate's texts again, the ache in my chest growing with each day that passed.

I had to stop this. I had to force myself to get out and start building a life. I had to move on. Because the longer I did this, the worse things were going to get.

I tossed the blanket back from my body, got myself out of bed, and moved to the bathroom. A cool, refreshing shower was the first step. After I woke myself up, I'd get out of this hotel and find something to do today. Even if I didn't do anything as it pertained to work just yet, I promised myself I was going to do something—I'd go to a diner, make a friend.

Something.

Anything.

Because if I didn't start finding some connection here, I was going to spiral further and further into a dark place. And then I'd never be able to keep the promise I made to my best friend. I'd never return to Landing.

Tate

A gentle knock came at my office door before it popped open and I heard, "Can I come in?"

The sound of that voice could bring comfort on even the darkest of days. "Sure, Mom."

She pushed the door open fully, walked inside, and pointed a proud smile my way. There wasn't anything for her to be proud of me for. As someone who had been undeniably productive for nearly a year and a half, I'd been pretty useless over the past eight weeks.

All that had gotten accomplished was the bare minimum each day. And maybe that was enough for everyone else at Westwood's, but I didn't like it for me. I didn't like what it said about who I was becoming.

Unfortunately, I couldn't seem to do anything to change it. I had been so distracted by my thoughts and worries about Ava for the first couple of weeks after I learned that she wasn't coming back. Over time, the worry changed to something else.

And now, I was feeling nothing but a mix of bitterness and inadequacy. With any luck, my mom was here to discuss a project for the two of us to work on together, as we often did. It was probably one of the only things that would help in this situation. My mom and I were both skilled at working directly with people. Generally, my mom focused most of her efforts on the employees at Westwood's, whereas I focused on our relationship with the public.

She crossed the room, sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk from where I was seated, and studied me briefly. "How are you doing?"

I wasn't going to lie to her. If there was one thing I'd learned in my life, it was that Evelyn Westwood seemed to have superpowers, and she'd cut me off before I even had the chance to finish the lie. "The same as I've been for weeks now."

"I can only assume you haven't heard anything."

"Not a word," I confirmed.

Disappointment washed over her expression, her eyes leaving mine and drifting toward her hands that were resting in her lap. "I think it's been a few days since Ivy's talked to her."

Nobody in my family had been thrilled to learn Ava wasn't coming back home, but it seemed to be hitting Ivy, Jules, and my mom the hardest. They'd been devastated, just as much as I had been during the first two or three weeks. But where I'd shifted away from the sadness and despair to something else, they were still stuck there.

I hated what this had done to my family, and I felt so conflicted. I couldn't work out whether I'd caused this because I finally took Ava up on her offer or if she'd always planned to leave. Either way, it sucked, but it killed me to think that my decision had led to them losing someone who meant so much to them.

As for my feelings about Ava having not returned, I was plain miserable. Everyone in my family knew it, too.

"I assume she still hasn't told Ivy where she is."

Mom shook her head. "No. Your sister keeps trying, but Ava wants to keep that private for now."

I should have been grateful just to know that she was okay. I didn't know why I continued to hold out hope that we'd eventually learn the truth about where she was.

Technically, that was a lie.

I knew why I held out hope. It was that small part of me that didn't have a single regret about my night with Ava. The part that could remember everything about it, from the way she kissed and moaned to the way it felt to touch her skin and move inside her.

It was that part of me that allowed me to hang onto the sadness and devastation for as long as I had. But as the weeks passed by, I stopped feeling so much grief over the situation, and my mindset had shifted to something else—anger.

I was so mad at Ava. For leaving, for not telling anyone, and for refusing to share the truth about where she was now. Worst of all, I was mad that she'd urged me to take the step I did with her, only for her to know she had no intention of coming back and not having the courage to tell me the truth when she left the next morning.

"I never meant for any of this to happen," I said, telling my mom something I'd told her on more than one occasion now.

"I know, Tate. Nobody blames you for this."

I sent her a dubious look. "Have you talked to Ivy? I'm pretty sure if she knew she wouldn't get caught and sent to prison, she'd probably claw my eyes out."

My mom smiled at me. "She just misses her best friend. It's been eight weeks since she saw her last, and it wasn't like they'd had much time together over those two days, anyway, with all the wedding festivities."

There was no point for me to argue. Nothing she was saying was a lie. And given where I was at inside my own head with this whole mess of a situation, I decided the best thing I could do was shift the conversation to a new topic.

"So, what's the project?" I asked, following a beat of silence.

"What project?"

"Isn't that why you came in here to talk to me? Don't you have something you want us to work on together?" I questioned her.

"Sorry, kid, but that's not why I'm here," she lamented. "And furthermore, I think you've taken on enough work over the last year and a half. Why would I be here to pile more on top of you?"

"Because I need the distraction." The words spilled out of me before I could stop them.

My mom jerked back in her seat at the abruptness in my tone. "You know, like any good mother, I wish I could fix this for you, because I want to heal your heart. But now, I'm thinking I might need to add this to my list of reasons."

"What?"

"You've become almost as irritable as Cooper when he's at work."

I sighed. "Sorry."

There was a long stretch of silence between us, before my mom insisted, "She's going to come back, Tate. She can't stay gone forever."

While there was that small part of me that wanted her back, there was a much bigger part that wasn't quite sure what I'd say to her. Everything I thought I knew about her felt wrong. The woman I believe Ava to be wouldn't have ever done something like this.

It all just led to me believing that she simply didn't like what we'd had together that night. And while my sister had shared that Ava believed I didn't want a relationship with her, I'd reached out. I'd called and texted. I'd attempted to communicate the truth to her, but she didn't think I was even worthy of a return call. It was the most unimportant, insignificant, and lonely I'd felt in my whole life, despite having my entire family around me, day in and day out.

Refusing to talk more about Ava, I asked, "So, what did you want to talk about?"

My mom hesitated a moment, and I got the sudden inkling our conversation was going to drift right back to Ava somehow. "Well, Thanksgiving is just a few days away, which means that your birthday is only a little over two weeks away."

"I'm not really feeling a big celebration this year," I told her.

My mom winced. I felt bad, regretting saying those words to her. If there was one thing Evelyn Westwood lived for, it was finding a reason to celebrate. The problem was that I wasn't feeling so festive.

"I had a feeling you were going to say that," she murmured. "I understand things feel off right now for everyone, but we really need to try to get back some normalcy in our lives. I can't see two of my boys going through this, Tate."

She was referring to Liam. And since his birthday was less than a month ago—and he hated celebrating it now—I had to suck it up. "I'm not saying we can't do anything. I was just thinking that I'd prefer something small. Maybe just dinner at your place with the immediate family would be nice."

"Are you sure? I could do something a bit more extravagant. I want it to be special."

I didn't have the heart to tell her that not having Ava there would make that an impossibility.

She was missing everything. I'd grown so accustomed to having her around for birthdays, special events, and holidays. Sure, there had been the times in the past when she was on tour and couldn't make it to certain functions, but this wasn't that. This was her actively choosing to remove herself from our lives.

Maybe she wanted to punish me. I guess I could have gotten on board with that—even if I was thoroughly confused by it—but didn't she realize she'd taken herself away from all the people who loved her?

There was no question I wouldn't be the only one who'd wake up on Thanksgiving morning and think about how she'd be spending the holiday. Who would she be with? Was she even happy? And what about Christmas? Was she going to spend that day alone, too?

Shrugging, I suggested, "I guess if you want to invite Aunt Mina and her family as well, I'd be alright with that."

Recognizing she wasn't going to get the answer she hoped for, my mom gave me a nod and a smile in return. "Okay, Tate. We'll keep it small this year."

"Thanks, Mom."

Tears filled her eyes. "She's going to come back. I don't know when, and I pray that it's soon, but eventually, I just know she's going to come back."

I swallowed past the tightness in my throat. I had so many thoughts that left me feeling such bitterness towards Ava. But since it would only hurt my mom more to hear them, I told her what I knew she needed to hear. "I hope you're right."

Her eyes shining with unshed tears, the corners of her mouth curved up into a smile. Then she stood, moved to the door, and walked out.

Once she was gone, I pulled out my phone and called Ava. I hadn't attempted to call her for weeks—she hadn't returned a single call or text I sent—but I was done holding back. When the call went to voicemail as I had suspected it would, I seethed, "Do you know what you've done to this family? Do you even care? I guess you aren't the woman I thought you were."

With that, I disconnected the call and struggled to get through the rest of my day.