Chapter 36
“Come with us, Jesse.”
I stand on the steps of The Manor staring at my mum, frozen.
Hungover.
Carmichael is behind me, silent, and Dad remains by his car by the fountain, unwilling to come closer.
“This isn’t the life for you,” she goes on, taking one step closer, looking past me. To Carmichael. He won’t say anything. He won’t intervene. “We’ll help you. Please, son, don’t waste your life. I can’t face losing you too.”
My eyes move to Dad, and he quickly drops his stare to the gravel. Unable to look at me. Ashamed? “I can’t,” I say, resolute. “This is my home now.” I turn and walk back up the steps into The Manor, passing Carmichael. My head is banging. There’s only one cure. “Vodka, please, Mario,” I say, ignoring the fact that he’s just glanced at the clock. He looks past me rather than gets me my drink, and I crane my neck to see Uncle Carmichael in the doorway. “What did she think would happen?” I ask, turning away from his expressionless face. “I’d pack my bags, all forgiven, and hop on a plane to Spain with them? Why the hell are they going to Spain, anyway?”
“Too many bad memories here for them, perhaps,” he says.
I wince. Bad memories that I created. I’m just one huge disappointment. Why the fuck would they even want me to go? No, this is for the best. They can plough all of their love and energy into Amalie.
I look at Mario. He’s still not getting me my drink. And I realize...
I face Carmichael, tilting my head. “It’s not even ten,” he says. “I’m all for you letting your hair down, Jesse, but you will always control your compulsions.” He leaves the bar and me to mull over his words. “Control is imperative. And you have a child on the way.”
“So do you,” I yell, not appreciating the reminder.
“And I control my compulsions,” he calls back.
I slam my fist down on the bar, looking at Mario. He shakes his head and gets back to his stocktake. Fuck him. Fuck Lauren. Fuck her for trapping me. Fuck my parents for forcing me to marry her. Fuck Carmichael for not defending me just then. And more than anything, fuck me for being such a fucking letdown.
“I hope you’re happy in Spain,” I mutter. “Thanks for abandoning me.”
My eyes open to darkness,my skin cool. I’m in bed? I squint, my eyes adjusting to the moonlight streaming through the window, casting shadows across the bedroom. And...
I can smell her.
Ava.
I turn my head on the pillow and see her silhouette curled up next to me. I don’t remember the drive back to the villa. I don’t recall getting undressed. Getting into bed. But running into Mum? I remember every torturous second of that. Every feeling. Every word.
And my heart hurts all over again.
I ease off the bed and find my clothes in a pile on the floor. I crouch and get my mobile, wondering what the hell I’m doing. It’s there as I knew it would be. A missed call from Amalie. I close my eyes and push my phone into my forehead, jumping when it beeps.
They’ve never blamed you.
I huff, dropping it back on my clothes and rising, raking a hand through my hair. It’s my past. I can’t look back, only forward. I cast my eyes toward the bed.
Where my future lies, sleeping.
I go to her, easing her onto her back and snuggling up close to her warm body. Always so warm. Safe.
She is my home.
My future.
Everything I live and breathe for.
I won’t risk anything ruining us.
Never.
I wake up slowly,feeling her fingers combing through my hair. The warm air of my breath bounces off her neck back into my face. My thoughts are calm. My body relaxed. Ava knew who she was looking at last night before I spoke. She knew.
And she got me away.
“I would never have brought you here if I’d known,” I whisper, so full of regret. It’s been blissful, what we both needed. And now, it’s tarnished. “I never wanted my life with you to be stained by my past.” And hasn’t that been the whole fucking point? Protect Ava and at the same time protect myself. Keep this wild, pure, amazing thing we have exactly that.
“It hasn’t affected us,” she replies. “So please don’t let it.”
“They have no place in my life, Ava. Not before, and even less now.” It’s a second chance.
She nods slowly, understanding. But how could she ever? “You don’t need to explain anything to me,” she says, resolute. It hurts. Her devotion and commitment. “You and me.”
My smile is halfhearted as I fall to my back, pulling Ava onto me. “This place was Carmichael’s,” I say quietly. “It was part of his estate, as was the boat.” I don’t know why I’m telling her this. What does it matter now? We can never come back here, and the boat was sold years ago.
“I know,” she breathes, making me shudder as she follows the line of my scar with the tip of her finger. Lightly. Delicately. Precisely. It’s uncomfortably symbolic.
“How did you know?” I ask, looking down my body, resisting telling her to stop.
“Why else would you have a villa so close to where your parents live?” she asks. So she’s thought about this?
“My beautiful girl is frightening me,” I say quietly.
“Why?”
“Because she’s usually so demanding for information.”
“There can’t be anything else you could tell me that would convince me to run away from you again.”
Thank God she’s not looking at me right now, because my face must be pained. Naturally, I don’t want to talk about Lauren or Rosie. It’s another chance. But there is one thing we do need to talk about. Sarah. We’re going home today. I don’t want to lie to her. “I’m glad you’ve said that.” I feel Ava’s finger stop moving and her body stiffen. “Ava?”
There’s a beat of silence. “What?”
“I need to tell you something.” And I know she’s not going to like it. This is Sarah, after all, but she must let me explain. Hear me out. Understand. And to achieve that, I need to ensure she can’t walk away. I fight with her to move her onto her back, and she doesn’t go easily. Sitting on her thighs, I hold her hands, wondering how to start as she looks up at me like a deer caught in the headlights.
“I’ve had Sarah at The Manor while we’ve been gone.” I blurt it all out fast and immediately wished I hadn’t. Her face is irate. Disbelieving. Fuck, I should have given some context first.
“What?” Her voice is harsh. As livid as her face.
Explain!“She’s dealing with things while I’m gone,” I rush on. “John can’t do it on his own, Ava.”
“But Sarah?” she asks. “You said she was gone, end of. Why, after everything she’s done, would you allow that?” She violently yanks her hands out of mine. “Get off.”
“Ava,” I sigh. “Will you calm down?” Her blood pressure must have just jumped into the danger zone if her red cheeks are a measure.
“Why?” Her lip curls. “Worried I might injure your babies?”
Yes, actually. And herself. “Don’t talk fucking shit,” I fume, snatching her hands and pinning them down before she clouts me one.
“You think it. Your constant monitoring and overprotectiveness tells me all I need to know.”
Wait. I thought we were talking about Sarah? And I’m not monitoring; I’m being attentive. Sensible. Doing things right. It’s a second chance. “I’ve always been overprotective,” I hiss. “So don’t brandish that card, lady.”
“She goes, or I do.”
For fuck’s sake. Freeing her from beneath me before she does any of us damage, I watch her stomp away, an angry mist rising from her skin. Jesus, I totally underestimated the level on pissed off I’d get back. “I was in a mess, Ava,” I explain, getting to the context side of this conversation. A bit late by the looks of things. “You refuse to work for me, and I need someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“So she’s working for you again?” she screeches, spinning to face me.
That’s what I said, didn’t I? I growl and go to her, stopping, surprised, when she holds a hand up.
“Stop where you are, Ward,” she seethes. “Don’t try to placate me or convince me that this is all fine, because it fucking isn’t.”
Convince her? The chance would be a fine fucking thing. I can’t get a word in edgeways. But she’ll hear this... “Watch your fucking mouth.”
“No,” she snaps. I recoil, stunned. “She’s in love with you. Do you know that? Everything she has done really is because she wants to take you away from me, so don’t even think about trying to convince me that this is a good idea.”
“I know,” I say, quickly and easily. Of course I fucking know.
Ava could be looking at a monster right now. “What do you mean, you know?”
“I know she’s in love with me.”
Her forehead crinkles. “You do?”
“Of course I do, Ava.” I have to force myself not to laugh. Did she think Sarah acted out of hate? “I’m not fucking stupid.”
“You obviously are.” She snorts. “You’ll trample anyone who tries to take me away from you, yet right under your nose, she’s doing the best job, and you’re choosing to ignore it.”
Ignoring it? Jesus. Context is wasted, because she will never get it. Maybe because the context stands for shit. It’s the wrong context.
Ava disappears out of the room, and my heavy, pounding head drops back, my eyes on the ceiling. “Advice, anyone?” I ask seriously, waiting, listening. But no. I’m on my own. “Thanks a bunch, bro.” I sigh. “I didn’t just let it go unsaid, Ava,” I say, following her to the kitchen. “I had it out with her and she admitted and regretted it all.”
Her eyes widen as she downs some water. “Of course she regrets it.” She swipes the back of her hand across her mouth, and a drop of water falls to her breast as a result. My eyes fall there. “She failed! She’s probably regretting not doing a better job!” I jump when a loud bang sounds. Her glass hitting the counter. How the fuck did that not smash? “And you may as well have let it go unsaid,” she rants on. “Did you offer burial or cremation?”
And now we’re talking about funerals? “What?”
Her hand flaps between our naked bodies. “The usual option you give people who hurt me. Did you offer it to Sarah?”
This is too much. What a fucking shitter of an end to our wonderful break in Paradise. “No,” I breathe, exhausted. “I offered her a job in return for her word that she’ll never interfere again.” How can I pull this back? Make Ava see I’m thinking of her too. It’s mainly her. She’s going to need me, and I can’t very well be there twenty-four seven if I have to run The Manor. Not that I could run The Manor if I had all the time in the fucking world. I’m hopeless. “I told her that if you say so, she’s out.”
“I say so,” she yells, going so red in the face, I’m sure she might pop. “I say she’s out!”
“But she hasn’t done anything.”
“She’s not done anything?” Disbelief. Yikes.
“I mean, she’s not done anything since I reinstated her,” I say calmly, trying to dial down the high energy before it ends in tears. “And you rewarded her with a tidy crack to the jaw for the stuff that came before.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, now calm too. “You know how I feel, Jesse.”
Fuck, yes, I do. And I understand. But this isn’t only about us. There’s more to be considered. Like a life. And I know Ava could never be so cruel to disregard a life, no matter whose life it is. “Because she’s desperate, Ava. She has no life past The Manor.”
“You feel sorry for her?”
This isn’t just a simple case of feeling sorry for her. God, there’s so much more to it. And yet... context. “Ava,” I beg, as she refills her glass. I’m not surprised, her throat must be really fucking dry and really fucking sore. “First of all, I want you to calm down because it’s not good for you or the babies.”
“I am calm!” she screams, now going blue in the face.
Oh, enough is enough. She’s going to burst a fucking blood vessel. I swipe the glass from her hand, ignoring her gasp of shock, and slam it down before lifting her onto the worktop. Taking her jaw in my grip, mine rolls, my glare as real as hers.
“Sarah has nothing,” I explain. “I kicked her out when she came clean and thought no more of it.” Fuck, I didn’t want to share this. I hoped Ava was comfortable enough with the reassurance that Sarah will stay away from her. “Until John spoke with her and she was saying all kinds of fucked-up shit,” I go on, loosening my hold of her jaw when she withdraws, her scowl turning into questioning. “The most worrying part mentioning death being better than living her life without me.”
“Attention seeker,” she fires, her scowl back.
Of course her mind would go there. But can I blame her? “I thought so too,” I admit. “But John wasn’t so sure. He found her. She’d slashed her wrists and taken a pile of painkillers.” She loses all animosity in a heartbeat and, I can’t lie, I’m really fucking relieved. “It was no cry for help, Ava. There was no attention seeking about it. John only just got her to the hospital in time. She wanted to die.”
She’s been shocked into silence, just staring at me in disbelief.
“I don’t want another death on my conscience, baby,” I whisper. “I live with Jake’s every single day. I can’t do it.”
“She came to see me,” Ava says quietly.
“She told me, but I’m surprised you never mentioned this before.”
“I didn’t think it was important.” Her shoulders lift on a little shrug, and my previous thoughts are ignited. Was it that meeting between them that had Ava rushing to The Manor and confessing about the pregnancy?
It’s possible, but I won’t push that. And since we’re putting some cards on the table... “It was Sarah who told Matt about my drinking.”
Oh, her scowl. “Is that how you knew I was collecting my clothes from Matt’s too?”
“She said she’d overheard you on the phone, telling someone you were intending on picking your stuff up. I was too mad to piece it together. I saw red, acted on impulse, and asked questions later.”
“She said she couldn’t work for you anymore, so how come she is?”
“I asked her.” Not fucking true but, again, a small white lie for the sake of my wife’s contentment. “I’ll never find someone else to do the job, which means I’ll have to do it, and I’m not prepared to give up my time with you. And you should know, she only accepted on the condition that you were okay with it.” What the fuck am I saying? Bending truths just a bit. But, again, I don’t need Ava to hate Sarah more for pretty much forcing me into a corner. No more death.
“You’re not giving me much of a choice,” she mutters.
It’s not about having a choice. It’s about having compassion.
“I’ll tell her it’s a no-go,” I say, taking her cheeks. Did I completely underestimate the level of hatred I’m dealing with?
Yes. Tell her about Rebecca.
“I’m not prepared to see you so unhappy.”
Her entire being folds before me, the reasonable woman I know, fighting past the emotional, unreasonable firecracker. “No,” she sighs. “I want you with me more than I want her gone.”
And there it is. The end game. Us, together, all the fucking time. She wants me around all the time. “You do?”
“Of course I do.” Her nose wrinkles, and I smile, because I know she knows she might regret saying that. “But you have to promise me something.”
“Anything. You know that.”
“When the babies arrive,” she says, as I coat her forehead in kisses. “You won’t be at The Manor day and night. You’ll be with me as often as you can.” Oh, my heart sings its happiness. The end of this trip is turning out better than I hoped, considering where we were last night. I pull away, holding her face, scanning her worried eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers.
She can do anything, and so can I, because I have her. “Ava, you’ll have to bury me six feet under before I have it any other way. You can do it because you have me.” I pull her into my chest, hugging the shit out of her as she wraps every limb around my upper body. Clinging on. Suddenly, all I can see is Owen Cutler, and all I can think about is the meeting he wants. “We’re going to be okay.”
“I know.”
What would Ava say if I told her about Cutler? Should I tell her? “Let’s not fight.” I press my lips into her temple. “It makes my heart split in pain, and I don’t want you stressing out. We have to watch your blood pressure.” I must get a machine and educate myself on the safe levels so I can check every day. Maybe twice a day. Depending on how many disagreements we have.
Sliding her butt off the counter, I cup it with both hands and carry her back into the bedroom. “I’m confiscating that book,” she mumbles into my shoulder.
“That’s my book, and I’m keeping it.”
“We need to make friends.”
Oh? I eye her as she looks at me, doing a terrible job of hiding her cheeky grin. And suddenly her boob is in my face. “Did you read the part of the book that says a husband should service his wife as she demands?”
I latch onto her flesh and suck, and she’s putty in my hold, but then I look at the clock on the bedside, groaning. No time. “I did, but our plane is scheduled for take-off in two hours. I need more time, so I’ll service you when we get home. Deal?”
“No deal. I want to stay in Paradise.”
“You’re incorrigible, and I love it.” I put her on the bed, ignoring her slighted face. “We need to catch that flight.” Before my parents turn up here.
“I need you,” she purrs, pulling out the big guns and seizing my dick in her hand. Fuck.
I resist and pull away. It’s unheard of. “Ava, when I have you, I like to take my time.” I take no joy from her look of disbelief. I try to kiss it away. And fail. “Pack.”
Leaving her on the bed, I go to the bathroom, checking my phone on the way, contemplating texting John.
Thank God that’s done. Although, actually, was the whole conversation around Sarah wasted breath? Because soon there might be no manor at all.
I laugh under my breath, uncomfortable.
No manor? It seems incomprehensible.
And yet, so did happiness and redemption only a few months ago.