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)
I can’t marry a man I don’t know.
You are punishing me, not you.
Her words play on repeat.
She said she’d never leave me, but now?
Is this where it ends?
48
I lay with her for a while, touching her face, until she dozed off. Then I went downstairs, only mildly aware of all the things littering the bedroom floor, clothes, shoes, cosmetics. It looks like she started to pack, to leave, but there’s some of my stuff too. I haven’t the capacity to wonder why.
I settle on the chair on an uncomfortable hiss and text John, Kate, and the boys to let them know we’re home. Resting back, I close my eyes and try to straighten out my mind, try to fathom why she’s done this. I have no idea. I’m stumped. Angry.
Ava’s mobile rings, pulling my heavy head down, and my slowing heart picks up a pace when I see her mother’s calling.
I can’t marry a man I don’t understand.
I swallow and take a few deep breaths, collecting it off the table and answering, clearing my throat first, hoping I sound . . . sane. “Mrs. O’Shea?”
There’s a brief pause before she speaks. “Yes.”
I swallow again and clear my throat. Fuck me, I’m nervous. Better than being raging mad. “My name’s Jesse W—”
“I know who you are.” She doesn’t sound all too impressed. I don’t suppose I can blame her. Everything she knows about me isn’t exactly glowing. “Where’s Ava?”
I look at the stairs. “Sleeping.”
“Did you punch Matt?”
I recoil. To the point. I want to say he deserved it. I want to give her every detail that led me to socking him in the face. God, he deserved so much more. “I don’t know how much you know about their breakup.”
“I don’t care about their breakup. He’s in her past, and I have no doubt he’ll stay there. She was too good for him. My question is, are you good enough?”
Wow. Brutal. I’m nowhere near good enough. Not as I am. But I’m working on it. “I adore your daughter.”
“You hardly know her.”
“Trust me, Mrs. O’Shea. I know her.” It’s Ava who doesn’t know me. “She’s stubborn,” I say, and she snorts. Laughter, I think. “Driven. Has sass for days. Is annoyingly but admirably independent. Beautiful. Passionate.” I shift in my chair, wondering if any of this is landing. It’s not bullshit. Not lip-service. I mean every word. But I could never blame Ava’s mother, a woman who’s never met me and only ever heard negative things about me, for being skeptical. “I could never even begin to describe the level of love and respect I have for your daughter.”
“Try.”
I blink. She’s going to make me work hard for this, and while I’d usually dismiss such demands, this is Ava’s mother. “She’s very quickly become all I want to live for,” I say, and she inhales. Only subtly, but I catch it. “Believe me when I say, she is all that matters to me. I know she cares about your opinion. I know she’s nervous for you to meet me.”
“Why?”
“Well, I’m older,” I say, laughing under my breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“How much older?”
“Eleven years.” I peek down at my phone when another call comes in. I reject John and get back to Ava’s mother. “I was wondering how you would feel about visiting?” I’m being smart. Any offer to drive down to Cornwall will be met with suspicion. They’ll want to see my home. See where I live.
“Let me talk to Ava’s father.”
Her father. Another obstacle. Someone else to sweeten. “Okay. Will you text me to let me know?”
“Yes. Let me get a pen. What’s your number?”
I reel it off, repeating it when she asks, and listening back as she replays it to me. “That’s it,” I confirm. “It was good talking to you.”
She hums, and I’m not sure what to make of it. Is she always so reserved, or is she just treading carefully?
With me.
She hangs up, and I sit in the quiet for a while, my back stinging, my muscles aching. She’s not sure about me. I blow out my cheeks. Makes two of us. This is an unexpected turn. I don’t know where I stand with Ava, what’s happening from here, where we’re going. Is she pregnant, is she not, does she still want to marry me? Be with me at all?
How much older?
Eleven years.
I breathe in and out slowly, relaxing back in the chair, my eyes on my wrist. On my Rolex. And I watch the hands glide around the face, ticking down to midnight.
The moment it hits twelve, my phone chimes.
Happy birthday, big brother. I love you. Amalie xxx
I swallow. Let my head fall back. “Happy birthday, Jake,” I whisper.
Happy birthday, Jesse. Miss you, bro.
I don’t try to stop the tears rolling down my cheeks.
49
The first thing I see when I open my eyes is Ava. The first thing I think is . . . why isn’t she spread all over me? Then my brain wakes up and I remember . . . everything. She’s watching me. Quiet.