Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“Yeah, and I’m done with her fucking with mine.” Hence, he’s at The Manor alone. But will he play? I check my phone when another call comes in. “John’s calling me. Mind if I take it?”
“Sure, talk tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I hang up and answer. “John?”
“Where are you?”
“With Ava.”
There’s a slight, surprised pause. “We need to talk.”
My back naturally straightens, and I check Ava. If she was awake, she’d hear every word down the line. But she’s not. “About . . .”
“Having Sarah back at The Manor.”
I blow out my cheeks. “John, so much has happened.”
“And she’s not entirely to blame.”
I raise my eyebrows but don’t counter. Because he’s right. Ava still doesn’t know all of me. All of who I am. If she did, I wouldn’t be so fucking worried about what Sarah will spill. “I’m not sure I can make that happen, John.”
“I can’t find shit, Jesse.”
“What are you looking for?” Like I’d be able to tell him.
“Contracts, medical records. I’ve had all the paperwork out.”
“There must have been a system.”
“If there was, only Sarah knew it. Ava’s not unreasonable. Will you just talk to her?”
I look down at my wife. Not unreasonable? I don’t know if I can agree. “I’ll come over on Sunday. We’ll talk.” Now is not the time to talk to Ava about Sarah. Neither is tomorrow. Or . . . ever.
“Okay.”
I chew my lip a little. “How is she?”
“A shell.”
I’m wincing all over the place tonight. A shell because her purpose has been taken away, and I’m the only one who can give it back to her. Problem is, I’m not sure Sarah has the strength to only accept what I’m willing to give and not try to take more. I can’t risk her succeeding in her attempts to break me and Ava. Or has she finally learned her lesson? Finally accepted there never was and never can be anything between us? And what really confuses me is the fact that John is looking past his understandable anger at me to call about getting Sarah reinstated at The Manor. Can or should I even consider that? “I’ll see you Sunday.”
He cuts the call and I drop my phone to the bed.
“Who was that?” Ava mumbles, pushing her face into my chest.
“John.”
“Is he mad at me?”
“He’s mad with both of us, baby.”
“Me too,” she whispers. “I’m sorry for kissing another man.”
“And I’m sorry for fucking you like you were just another lady of The Manor.”
“I’m the Lady of The Manor,” she slurs. “And you’re the Lord.”
I can’t smile. I want to be her Lord. Not the Lord.
14
I work my way through at least half a jar as I listen to the whir of the appliances in our otherwise silent kitchen, while staring at the missed call from Ava’s brother. I won’t call him back. He saw and heard way more than I’m comfortable with, and I’m too exhausted to take him on this morning. I have more important things to do. Like fix my marriage. It’s been tumultuous and we’re only a week in.
I screw the lid back on and pop the jar in the fridge, reading a message from Jay as I get a glass down.
You and your wife (if you’re still married) are barred.
I chuckle sardonically, sending him a thumbs up—fine by me—as I fill the glass and empty a sachet of Alka Seltzer into it, listening to it fizz before giving it a quick stir. I take it up to Ava, perching on the edge of the bed and taking a few moments to appreciate the quiet before I wake her. Before I take her on.
“I love you,” I whisper, reaching for her face and pushing back some strands of hair. She murmurs sleepily, her closed eyes squinting. My own head bangs in sympathy, but if she’s going to be reckless with alcohol, she must face the consequences. As must I, apparently. She’s going to be good for nothing today, feeling sorry for herself. Perhaps that’s a good thing. No one wants to argue when their head feels like it could fall off.
She gingerly opens her eyes, obviously preparing for her head to explode. “Drink.” I hold out the glass, and she grunts, throwing me a disgruntled look before turning her back on me.
“Leave me alone.”
I laugh. It’s the only way forward. Laugh or bite and take us back at square one when we were tearing strips off each other. “Hey, come here.” I pull her across the bed with little effort and put her on my lap. “Drink,” I order more sternly, tipping the glass at her lips. “All of it.”
She does as she’s told—it’s a novelty—before she falls into my bare chest in a heap.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad.”
Yeah, I can smell it. I rid my hand of the glass and move up the bed, resting back against the headboard.