6. Ava
AVA
W ell, bless my stars, is that my granddaughter standing before me?”
“Hi, Nana.” I grin through the sting her words leave behind and lean down to wrap her in a gentle hug.
“Oh, you can hug me better than that. I’m sick, not made of porcelain.”
I can’t help but chuckle when she hugs me tighter, and her familiar comforting scent envelops me.
It’s been a few days since I’ve been able to make it out, and the guilt weighs heavily on me. I sink down in the chair beside her while she mutes the TV. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by to visit more often.”
“Nonsense,” she waves a hand, settling back against the over-fluffed pillows behind her head. She looks different. She’s paler, like she’s not seen the sun in days. Her eyes betray how tired she is, though I can see she’s putting up a brave face for me. “I know how busy you are.”
Guilt washes through me, and it’s hard to swallow down past the lump in my throat. Nana notices, because she reaches out and takes my hand.
I try not to notice how small her fingers are compared to mine.
If I think about it too much, I’ll cry, and I make it a point to never cry while I’m here.
I’ll save that for the twenty-minute drive back to Cross Estate while I’m alone with nothing to do but think about my life decisions because my car doesn’t have a radio.
“Don’t be sad for me, Ava Lynn. I know you have a life to live. I don’t expect you to be here every day.”
The backs of my eyes sting, but I push the emotions down, intertwining my fingers gently with hers.
Her gaze sweeps over me, taking in my messy braid and the stain on my old hoodie. I’m sure I look like I just climbed out of a sewer, but she only smiles softly.
“Tell me about your life, sweetheart. Meet anyone special recently?” she prods. “A man, perhaps?”
I know where she’s going with this, but I don’t have the desire, nor the words, to tell her that, apart from a few spicy dreams involving the very hot, very psychotic man that sleeps across the hall from me, I have no desire to mingle with anyone. Opposite sex. Same sex. Nothing.
“I have a couple friends. Mila and Alex. I’ve told you about Mila, but Alex works at the lodge with me.”
Nana gives me a knowing look.
“A friend?”
“ Just a friend.”
“Well, what about this Mila girl? Anything special there?”
I chuckle and roll my eyes. I’ve only ever been into guys, but Nana’s all-inclusive. It wouldn’t matter who I brought home; she’d love them all the same if it meant she could have great-grandchildren.
“No, Nana. Mila’s married.”
“Well, you can’t blame me for asking.”
“How’s the medicine working?” I ask, brushing past the topic of my love life.
She smirks, seeing right through me, but she moves on.
“The same as always. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.”
My heart drops in panic at the thought that she might not be here someday. Instinctively, my fingers tighten around hers, and she winces. Immediately, I loosen my grip.
“Of course, it’s worth it. Does it at least make you feel better?”
“I guess,” she yawns. “Though I’m exhausted all the time. I feel like all I do is sleep.”
“Sleep is healing.”
“Ava,” she says softly, her smile sad. “We’re going to have to talk about it at some point.”
I shake my head.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Nana. You’re going to keep taking your medicine, and soon the cancer will be gone. I know it.”
She’s gracious enough to smile at me, though I can almost read her thoughts.
The medicine is pointless. Brain cancer is nearly impossible to come back from, but advanced brain cancer?
Every day I wake up wondering when it will be the last. If I’ll be too late visiting her and find her permanently asleep.
“Have you spoken to your mother lately?”
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches.
“No . . . Have you?”
“No,” she says, her eyes heavy. The medicine wears her out. Especially on the days following her treatment. “Not in a few weeks.”
I bite my tongue because what I really want to say isn’t conducive to helping her feel better.
So, I say nothing at all.
“Have you thought about speaking to her?”
“No. Why would I?”
It’s been years since I last spoke to my mother, and I’d still prefer a dozen more.
“I just . . . I worry about you, Ava.”
“No need to worry about me. I’ve got everything I need.”
It’s a lie, but Nana doesn’t need to know that.
“Well, you promise me if things get tough, you’ll speak to her?”
I wouldn’t ask my mother for a paper towel, let alone her support.
“Of course.”
“Good. You’re a good girl, Ava. I just want you to be okay.”
As her eyes start to grow heavier, I watch her.
It’s hard to believe the same woman who used to braid my hair and watch cartoons with me every morning is the same one who lies in bed day in and day out, unable to do any of the things she used to love.
Just . . . waiting. Waiting for the next round of medicine. The next meal . . . waiting for death.
Slowly decaying while I can’t do anything to stop it.
Sometimes—and I’d never tell another soul this—it’s like she’s already gone.
“I’m sorry, Ava. I’m just so tired,” she yawns, her eyes heavy. “That treatment this morning wore me out.”
I pat her hand, sitting silently beside her. This happens more often than not. Nana will fall asleep before I leave, and I’ll tuck her in and sneak out. It’s become a tradition, at this point.
“It’s okay, Nana,” I whisper, and despite myself, a tear slips down my cheek. At least she’s not awake to see it. The last thing she needs is to worry about my pain, too.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, but eventually, when she’s fallen asleep and all that fills the air is the sounds of her even breathing, and the whir of the machines in her room, I force myself to rise from the chair.
Gently, I stoop down and press a kiss to Nana’s cheek, committing her scent to memory in case it’s gone the next time I visit.
“I love you, Nana.”
I’ve always hated storms.
The kind that shakes the house when lightning strikes.
Every time the thunder rumbles, my heart squeezes in my chest just a little bit tighter.
Loud sounds have always bothered me. From arguing to fireworks, there’s always been that shot of fear that rushes through me, making me sick to my stomach.
Tonight is no different, and it’s why I’m still awake, padding down to the kitchen at two in the morning to get a glass of water.
No one’s awake, so I don’t bother changing out of the giant T-shirt I wore to bed and take the back stairs down to the kitchen. The house is dark and silent. I can’t escape the feeling of being watched. Like William Cross’s ghost is silently plotting my demise.
The Cross Estate has always given me the creeps. Just thinking about how anyone or any thing could be hiding around the corner or watching me from the shadows sets me on edge.
Stepping into the dimly lit kitchen, I cross to the cupboard for a glass, then fill it with water from the fridge.
In my haste to get a drink and get the hell out, though, I knock one of the grapefruits off the counter that Paulina insists on force-feeding everyone every single morning, and I have to bend over to pick it up.
“I hate this fruit,” I grumble when it rolls away, forcing me to chase after it, ass in the air with nothing on but a black lacy thong.
I manage to grab it and toss it back in the bowl before I turn around to leave.
And stop short when I see none other than the devil himself sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of whiskey in his hand and his eyes trained on my bare ass with a hint of amusement.
I just bent over bare-assed in front of Levi Cross.
I JUST BENT OVER IN FRONT OF LEVI CROSS .
“What are you doing hiding in the shadows like a creep?” I snap, wrapping my arms around myself so he can’t see my nipples through my T-shirt.
Levi cocks a brow at me, his gaze sliding over me until it reaches my eyes.
I burn up like I’m gliding into the center of the sun.
Scratch that. That may be enjoyable compared to this.
God, those eyes . . . they could fracture the ozone .
“Are you awake?”
Still, no response.
No, of course not. I’m not one of the bubbly blondes he brings home. Instead, he stands and stalks across the kitchen toward me, forcing me to fall back into the island.
The heavy scent of whiskey settles over me, and my mouth waters. Tingles shoot up my toes, and I grip the edge of the counter behind me for support.
I definitely need it when he leans closer, until his face is mere inches from mine, his hands placed on the marble on either side of mine, effectively caging me in.
It’s been a week since that day in his room, and I can’t deny my body hums in his presence despite the trickle of fear that slides through me.
His lip is busted, and he’s got a bruise forming on his cheekbone like he was in a fight. Unfortunately, it only makes him look more devastating, especially in this light.
Oh, I am so screwed.
“What’s the matter, little ghost?” he asks, his voice a heavy mixture of pure seduction and straight danger. The tenor slips through my bloodstream, and my thighs tighten over the aching sensation there. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I wanted water.” I don’t know why I’m bothering to tell him. It’s not like he owns me.
He smirks, his gaze studying me. My skin sears from the eye contact.
“You think you’re safe in your secrets, little ghost?”
“Whatever game you’re playing, I don’t want any part of it,” I manage, even if my voice is slightly shaky. He picks up on it, of course, and raises his fingertips to brush them down my cheek.
My skin burns where he touches me, like the flames of hell have crawled up to seduce me to sin.
“And what game would that be, Ava?”
The game where he tries to prove what I already know. There’s something about Levi Cross and that devil-may-care smirk that does something for me.
I swallow over the lump in my throat at the way he says my name.
My hands grip the countertop harder when his fingers glide across my jaw down to my throat.
Gently, he wraps those fingers around my throat, not constricting, but like he’s reminding me that he could squeeze the life out of me at any moment.
“If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not going to happen,” I lie. My tongue darts out to lick my lips, and his gaze follows the movement, darkening like he’s deeply disturbed by something.
Leaning forward, the stubble on his cheek brushes against the skin of my neck when neither of us moves. My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest. My thighs are damp with need, and my mind is so scrambled, I’m having a hard time forming a coherent sentence.
It’s just a man, Ava. One who has made it perfectly clear from the moment you arrived that he wants nothing to do with you.
I freeze when his lips skate over my racing pulse, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I grit my teeth to silence the sigh that threatens to leave me, my eyes fluttering closed when his fingers tighten around my throat, just enough to remind me they’re still there.
“Your body’s begging for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, almost like he’s angry about it. I’m not even sure he realizes he’s said it out loud.
“I don’t want anything to do with you,” I whisper, though my core tightens with his words.
My heart hammers in my ears when he grabs my hand off the kitchen counter, slipping it between us and raising it to my throat, before closing his on top of them. He squeezes lightly. Enough for me to feel my pulse racing.
“Feel that?” he breathes, barely above a whisper, and a shiver ghosts through me at the darkness in his gaze. “That’s all I need to know you’re lying.”
“Am I?” I challenge myself to meet his gaze head-on, though it feels like staring into a black hole and trying not to get sucked into its gravitational pull.
Something flashes across his features, and then his fist tightens. I glare back at him, refusing to back down. Fuck him. He doesn’t control me.
My heartbeat skitters under my fingertips. Levi notices, his lips tipping up at the corner in a devilish smirk that does something to my body that I’m powerless to stop.
Shame rushes in, my cheeks flaming. The ache between my thighs is embarrassing, reminding me that only two men have ever been there and that to Levi Cross, I probably am a prude. I may as well be naked underneath him right now, with how exposed I feel under that icy blue gaze.
Maybe that’s why I’m so excited by it. The idea that a man like Levi Cross could look at me the way he looks at other women. Like I’m something to be desired, not a pest or a puppet.
Not that it matters. Levi has never shown any interest in me. Least of all, sexually. Whatever he’s doing right now is a ruse to get me to get under my skin because I bruised his ego when I told him I’d never sleep with him, and I’ll be damned if I fall for it.
“What about your secrets, Levi?” I breathe, and he doesn’t move for a long moment, continuing to stare down at me with that dangerous black gleam in his eyes.
Like he could rip me to shreds with his teeth, his lips pull back into a slight snarl, and if he weren’t already devilishly handsome, he would look monstrous.
“Run back to your bed while you can.” He releases me, that familiar coldness returning to his gaze. Finally, he looks away, and whatever spell he’d had me under is broken.
I don’t stick around to ask what that means. I’m not sure I want to. Instead, I grab my glass of water on unsteady legs and hurry past him toward the kitchen door.
“Oh, and Ava,” his voice rings out in the darkness behind me.
Begrudgingly, I turn and find him watching me, something demented in those eyes.
His lips tip up in a smirk.
“Hope you sleep well.”
I blink, staring at him and trying to piece together what that means because it’s absolutely terrifying.
He’s just trying to scare me, but I’m not willing to be manipulated.
So, I plaster my sweetest, fakest smile on my lips, clutch my water tighter, and spin on my heel, even though I know he’s looking at my ass.
And just because I know he hates it, “Goodnight, Mr. Cross.”