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Parallel Lines

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Chapter Two: Haunt Me

Ava POV

My head was pounding when I woke up.

The words "Fuck Harper" were still ringing in my ears.

I couldn't believe I said that to him. That was the first time I'd seen River in weeks—

Since Harper moved in.

God. I wouldn't be surprised if he left me here to fend for myself after that.

A groan slipped out. I rolled side to side, tangled in my blankets, trying to shake the memory—and the shame—off like water from a dog's back.

Then I stood up too fast.

Big mistake.

The nausea from yesterday clung to the back of my throat. I steadied my breathing and squeezed my eyes shut.

Breathe. It's okay.

The world tilted, but I managed to hold on and exhaled with shaky relief.

Then I heard it—the shift of a body. My eyes snapped open.

There he was.

River.

He sat in the armchair beside my bed—old, bright red-orange, fabric peeling at the arms, but still cozy. My reading chair. I usually curled up there with a blanket and a cup of tea, watching Davenport through the window. I'd lucked out on this apartment after the landlord gave me a discount—someone had died here, apparently.

I didn't mind.

Haunt me.

I don't care.

But somehow, he looked like he belonged in that chair.

He was still wearing scrubs from yesterday.

Damn.

He probably just came off a 24-hour shift.

I'm such an asshole.

I bet Alex told him to "handle it." I was definitely going to rip Alex a new one.

River shifted again, and I froze.

I couldn't help staring.

That face. The one that always made girls stop and stare—

Like I was doing now.

His light brown, messy hair. Those sharp cheekbones. And if his eyes were open...

Those gray, almost silver eyes.

"Ava..." he murmured.

My face burned.

Don't think about him naked. Don't think about him naked. Think of... taxes. Cardboard. Anything.

But my mind betrayed me. The last time we were in this bed flickered behind my eyes—and I couldn't stop the squeal that burst out of me. I yanked the blanket over my head.

The floor creaked. He was definitely awake now.

"Don't bother hiding," he said, that rough morning voice curling around me like a warm sweater. "I'll pull the covers off you."

I peeked out, just enough for my eyes to meet his.

His hair was tousled, his expression serious. His gaze could've burned a hole through me.

"Ava Diana Moore," he said through clenched teeth.

Yep. I was in trouble.

I ducked under the covers again like a kid caught red-handed, but his hands found mine in two swift movements.

"You tried to drive?" he hissed. "What were you thinking, Ava?"

Heat surged into my cheeks.

He didn't realize how close he was—how his body hovered over mine, warm and familiar, like a heartbeat I'd once memorized.

Then he blinked. Backed off fast. His throat worked like he was about to say something—but nothing came out.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "It's just... Frankie. And the kids. It's just—"

His expression softened.

"I know Frankie left rehab. Alex told me. He called after he found you at the bar."

"But risking your life, Ava?" His voice dropped. "Please don't do that again."

He unclenched his fists with effort. Like it took everything he had not to shake sense into me.

I swallowed.

"Harper let you stay?" I asked quietly.

"Harper doesn't let me do anything," he said. "She trusts me."

I knew what he meant.

You never did.

And...

He was right.

There were things I never trusted him with.

⸻

It was raining that day.

Not the soft kind where kids splash in puddles or couples kiss under umbrellas.

No, not that kind.

The kind of rain that soaks into your bones.

The kind that shows up at funerals.

The kind that falls when people shatter.

We were outside his parents' summer house in Madison. But it wasn't summer. It was the cusp of autumn—that strange, in-between season where everything feels like it's ending.

"Ava, you can't keep pushing me away..." River had said, voice low, almost broken.

My heart thundered. Guilt and pain knotted in my chest. I knew what I had to do.

He can't give everything up for me.

"I just can't do this anymore, River," I said through clenched teeth. Rain streaked my cheeks, blending with tears I wouldn't let him see. "I’m done. You need to let me go."

Then I turned and ran.

I didn't look back to see if he followed.

⸻

Back in the present, I swallowed hard.

River's eyes were still on me. Unreadable.

And just like before, I wanted to run.

But something in me—something tired of running—stayed.

I pushed the blanket off my shoulders.

Not much.

But enough.

I looked away, face still flushed—but the heat had cooled into something heavier.

Shame.

"You must be happy then... with her," I said, barely above a whisper.

"We are happy," he said—too quickly. Too sharp.

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself, not me.

Boy, you don't have to convince me of anything.

She probably has her toothbrush next to yours by now.

Or at least... I assume.

I haven't been there in a while—obviously.

He shifted.

"And you and Sam?"

My eyes snapped to his.

Just stab me straight in the heart, why don't you?

"We—well, we're not together anymore."

"I see."

"You could probably assume that, considering he didn't pick me up or anything..."

He raised a brow. "Oh, I just thought you enjoyed inconveniencing me, Ava Moore."

I smirked. "Not at all, River Bell."

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. But not quite.

The silence stretched between us—not the sharp, awkward kind we used to fall into when we were angry, but something softer. Sadder. Like the space between waves, just before they crash.

"I missed this," I said suddenly. The words slipped out before I could catch them. "Not... this," I added quickly, waving a hand. "The bickering. The passive-aggressive commentary. I just mean..."

You.

But I didn't say it.

River looked down, thumb grazing a scar on his knuckle. A habit. One I hadn't realized I'd missed until now.

"I know what you mean," he said. His voice was quiet. Gentle. "I miss it too."

I stared at him.

"Do you?"

He nodded, once. No hesitation.

And that broke something open in me.

I wanted to reach across the space between us, just to touch him. His wrist. His hand. His sleeve. Something. Anything. But I didn't.

Because he had a toothbrush next to hers now.

Because we weren't that version of ourselves anymore.

"Do you ever think about if we'd met later?" I asked. "Like... if the timing had been different?"