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)
She wets my hair, and her fingers massage gently across my sore scalp. I grit my teeth, forcing my hands to remain still and close to me. Then I feel her palms circling my body, soaping me up. Cleaning me. If only. My throat tightens, the strain to remain unmoving making my muscles ache more. Her hands spend extra time around the sight of my scar, slowing in their soft circles. She’ll never clean that enough for it to be gone. My lungs start to scream, and I realize I’m holding my breath, bracing myself for her to question me on it again.
“You need a shave.”
I exhale discreetly, feeling her touch move to my jaw, and I open an eye to find her taking in my overgrown face.
“You don’t like it?” I ask, having a feel myself, stroking at the bristle.
“I like you however you come,” she whispers, but my relief to hear that is clouded by the flicker of pain in her dark eyes. She said it. She didn’t mean it. She wouldn’t take me when I’m drunk. She wouldn’t take me shouting insults at her, being a bastard.
You were good. In fact, you were the best I’ve had.
And I’ve had a lot.
I shy away from the sketchy memories, flinching, feeling her slap across my cheek as if she’s just delivered it. Jesus Christ. “I’m not touching another drop again,” I promise. I’ll never forgive myself for being so fucking weak. For drowning my sorrows in alcohol. Never again.
“You sound confident.”
“I am.” I push myself up, taking her face. Fuck. I grit my teeth, flexing my injured hand. Motherfucker. I push back the agony and focus on what’s important. Another agony. One that hurts more. Her distance. “I mean it, never again. I promise you.” She has to believe me. “I’m not a raving alcoholic, Ava,” I go on, needing her to know that, while at the same time ignoring the voices in my head calling me out. Telling me I’m deluded. “I admit I get carried away once I have a drink, and I find it hard to stop, but I can take it or leave it. I was in a bad place after you left me. I just wanted to numb the pain.”
Jesus fucking Christ, are you hearing yourself, Ward?
Ava looks away. She’s not sure whether to believe me, so I have no option but to prove myself. And I will. Every fucking day for the rest of my life.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asks. “Is this what you meant when you said I would cause more damage if I left?”
I look away, ashamed. I said so many things, many of which I’m sure I can’t remember. I was desperate. “That was a shitty thing to say.”
“It was.”
“I just wanted you to stay,” I whisper, looking at her again. Some things need to be said while looking someone in the eye, and this is one of them. “I was stunned when you told me that I had a nice hotel.” That moment. The realization. I still don’t know if it was a blessing or a curse. Would she have given in to the potent chemistry we share if she had known in that moment exactly what The Manor was? Who I was? “Things got pretty intense, pretty quickly.” I felt like my dead heart had been hit with high voltage. It was new, addictive, and I knew I had to explore it. Even if the object of my newfound desire tried to rebuff our connection. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to run away again. You. Kept. Running. Away.”
“I didn’t get far though, did I?”
No, and she didn’t want to either. I knew it. She knew it. Which made the whole tiresome pursuit a mix of frustrating, exciting, and fucking exhausting. “I was going to tell you,” I assure her. God, if she knew of the war going on between my heart and head. “You weren’t supposed to come to The Manor like that. I wasn’t prepared, Ava.”
Once again, she becomes thoughtful, and I will her to speak those thoughts. She doesn’t. She probably finds it odd too—we’ve always talked with our bodies. Our chemistry. “Come on, you’re pruning.” She presents me with a towel and an expectant look, and with a lack of anything else to do, I do as I’m bid, stepping out and letting her dry me. It takes me back to the time she stood like a zombie before me, the morning after she drunkenly confessed her love. And then bloody forgot. Should I remind her?
She reaches my neck, and I smile at the concentration on her face. “A few weeks ago, I was nursing your hangover.”
“I bet your head is banging a lot harder than mine was,” she retorts quickly, and I recoil, offended. I don’t know about that. She seemed on a mission herself that night. At least my binge was spread over five days. “Food and then the hospital.”