Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“Let’s get you sorted out, you stupid motherfucker.”
Reluctantly, I let John lead me from Ava, hoping my absence will encourage her out. I give Kate a pleading look, anything to make her see my turmoil. She’ll never understand, but worst of all, I know Ava won’t either.
John guides my useless body back to my office, and I can feel the stares of the members, the men probably smug to see me in such a fucking state over a woman, probably thinking I’ve got what’s been coming to me for many years. They’re all right. The women are probably itching to comfort me, to take my mind off things. It’ll never work. If I lose this woman, there’s only one thing that’ll take away the pain. And it isn’t Sarah’s whip.
John lets loose once my office door is closed, and I stand before his hulking frame and accept the rant I deserve. “For fuck’s sake.” His loud boom knocks me back a step. “Of all the fucked-up sorry shit you do, this takes the fucking cake!” He prods me in my shoulder, only lightly, but it’s enough to make me stagger. “I fucking told you! Stay away from the fucking drink. That didn’t mean exchange it for the motherfucking whip!” I glance up and watch as he removes his glasses. “You are your own worst enemy, Jesse.”
“I know.” I have no defense, nothing that’ll make this acceptable. I’m going to try, though.
Sam’s head pops around the door, disturbing us, and once he’s taken both of us in, he smiles a nervous smile, apologizes for the interruption, then quietly leaves again.
John’s attention is fired straight back at the sorry state of a man before him.
Me.
“I told you to put your shirt on. I told you to go back to your girl and make things right, not wallow in your own self-fucking-pity and join Sarah in her fucked-up sadistic shit. Be a fucking man, you stupid motherfucker.”
“I—” Sam’s random visit to my office quickly registers in my screwed-up brain. He didn’t ask how I am. What’s happened. Why the fuck my back’s bleeding. “Fuck,” I breathe, barging past John and thundering down the corridor. I burst through the doors of the ladies’ and halt when I find her. She locks eyes with me, calm, like she fully expected my arrival.
There’s a silent understanding that passes between us as we watch each other, Kate remaining quiet to the side. Hoping I’m not reading it wrong, I go to Ava and pick her up, carrying her back to my office. Having her in my arms, holding on to me, is beyond what I could ever describe, and in this moment, I realize that every word that comes now has got to count.
I settle on the sofa, keeping her close, trying hard not to flinch at the contact of leather on my raw flesh. The numbness is fading, being replaced with a sting to accompany my tormented heart. My face instinctively finds the soft skin of her neck, the smell of her hair easing me a little. Her tears, however, don’t. “Please don’t cry. It’s killing me.”
“Why?” Her soft question catches me off guard. It’s a question I should have expected and it’s one that now needs answering.
“I promised you I wouldn’t have a drink.”
“You wanted a drink?”
“I wanted to block it out.” Translated: yes.
“Look at me,” she says harshly, but I can’t face her. I can’t confront the hurt I’ve caused. “Damn it, Jesse, look at me.” She’s moving, attempting to drag me from my hiding place. My hiss of discomfort stops her. “Three.” Her calm voice makes me go rigid. That and the one word that will lead to the answers much quicker than I’d like. I need to piece this together, make the most of the words I’m about to say. She’s using my own manipulation against me. “Two.”
“What happens on zero?”
“I leave.”
I raise my head fast. “Please don’t.”
Her face drops, all resentment seeming to fall away at my words. I didn’t intend to make her feel guilty.
She moves to sit astride me, her arms carefully enclosing me in hers. “Tell me what you were blocking out.”
“Hurting you.”
“I don’t understand,” she says, her face so expressive, so confused. “I would rather you had a drink.”
“You wouldn’t.” My small, ironic laugh isn’t stoppable. She really has no idea.
Ava sits back, determined to have my eyes. I could never deny her. So I face her. “I would rather face you with half a vodka distillery inside you than see what I just saw.”
“Trust me, Ava, you wouldn’t.”
“Trust you? Jesse, I feel sick with betrayal.” Suddenly, she’s removing herself from my body, the loss of her touching me unbearable. I try to reclaim her but get shrugged off. “I’m not leaving,” she snaps, making me retract my hand in shock as she starts a dogged march around my office. My unease doesn’t improve when she lowers herself on the opposite sofa, making a point of keeping out of my reach. I’m slowly forming words in my head, words to explain or make her feel better, but they’re not in order yet. I’m not sure where to begin.