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)
Ava’s expression harbors sympathy that I just don’t deserve and feel guilty accepting. “So your sister obviously wants you to make amends.”
“Amalie is a bit stubborn. She won’t accept that too much has happened, too many harsh words exchanged over the years.” In truth, she was too young to see how things were when Jake and I were teenagers. Shielded by the friction, by both of our parents, and by us. “It’s not fixable, Ava,” I say, the very words crushing me. To them, I’m a huge disappointment. I can’t be that to Ava. I can’t ever have her look at me like they looked at me. Like I’m a letdown. A failure.
“But they’re your parents.” She looks so sad. I could hug her for it. “You’re their son.”
I stopped being my parents’ son the day I took Jake drinking and they lost him. And that was half the problem. They lost him. It only compounded the fact that I wasn’t good enough. It should have been me under that car. I know they agree.
“That invitation only arrived because my sister sent it behind my parents’ backs. They don’t want me there. Their address was scrubbed off and replaced with Amalie’s.”
She thinks for a moment, her eyes darting across her thighs. “But Amalie obviously wants you there.” She looks up at me. So keen to fix everything. “Don’t you want to see her get married?”
God, I’d be a mess, so it’s probably best I’m not there. My little sister? I can’t promise I wouldn’t be throwing out a few warnings to this Dr. David too, which, of course, I have no right to do. “I would love to see my little sister get married, but I also don’t want her wedding ruined. If I go, it will end only one way. Trust me.” And while Ava keeps me relatively stable and away from the booze, I’m terrified my parents could be a trigger, and then nothing could hold me back.
“What happened to make it like this?” she asks, holding my hands tighter. Encouraging me?
God, what can I give her? “You already know that Carmichael left me The Manor when he died. Of course, when I told you that, you thought it was a hotel.” I show my lingering amusement at that fact, and Ava grimaces. “Things were already strained after they moved to Spain and I chose to stay with Carmichael.” Because . . . Rosie. “I was eighteen, living at The Manor, and I understand that it was any parents’ worst nightmare.” I laugh, uncomfortable, but I push on, spilling my past. Or as much of it as I can without talking about Jake, Rosie, and Lauren. The former two, dead, the latter locked up somewhere safe where she can’t try to kill me again. “I slipped into a playboy lifestyle and fell harder when Carmichael died.” And Rosie. And Rebecca. I swallow down the lump in my throat and look at my thumbs rubbing fast circles across the tops of Ava’s hands. And I notice . . . her lack of ring. I look at the nightstand and see it is still where I placed it when we returned from the hospital. She hasn’t put it back on?
I ease off before I give her friction burns. There are enough welts on her body right now. “If it wasn’t for John, there probably wouldn’t be The Manor.” I don’t mention Sarah. That would be fatal. “He practically ran it while I gorged on too much drink and too many women.”
“Oh.” She blinks, her long lashes fluttering in surprise.
“I calmed it down”—when Rosie was born—“but my parents offered me an ultimatum; The Manor or them. I chose The Manor.” I chose Rosie. “Carmichael was my hero, I couldn’t sell up.” And then it all went to shit.
“Your parents knew you were carrying on . . .” Ava fades off, thinking how she should word it. There’s no way to sugarcoat it. “Well, like you were.”
Fucking. Drinking. Debased hedonism. “Yes, and they predicted it so, you see, they were right, and they’ve never let me forget it.” Ever. It’s their ace card, the one that’s drawn and wielded like a weapon. Nothing’s ever mentioned about my time with Rosie. The relationship I had with my girl. She was everything. A reason. And then there was no reason. Only regret and pain. “I’ve lived a pretty sordid lifestyle,” I whisper, seeing it’s hurting her to hear this, but knowing it’s what she needs. What we need. “I admit that. Carmichael was the family black sheep. No one spoke to him, and the family disowned him. They were embarrassed of him, and then he died and I filled the shoes of the black sheep. My parents are ashamed of me. That’s it.” And please, can we now stop talking about it? I’ve never heard myself say those words. I’m sure if I had gone to therapy like John demanded, it would have come up. But my therapy was liquid.