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After calling and texting twice and getting no answer or replies, I try to convince myself she’s just busy. But after trying again and again and again, I realize she isn’t busy.
She’s avoiding me.
Again.
On Tuesday, I’m wide awake at five again, and with nothing else to do but drive myself insane with my thought process and worries, I go foranotherrun. I have another mental argument with myself. Another minor meltdown.
My drive to The Manor passes in a blur, and because I still haven’t heard back from Ava, I text Sam, asking for Kate’s number. Surely she’ll tell me the truth.Kate’s that kind of woman—shoots as straight as an arrow. I walk into my office and find Sarah at my desk pouring over some spreadsheets. “What did you say to Ava on Sunday?” I ask, my persona aggressive, my stance threatening.
She takes in my tall frame, probably frowning, though you’d never know it. “We chatted. About the designs. Is something wrong?”
I growl and toss my keys and phone on the coffee table, dropping onto the couch. “She’s not taking my calls.”
“Perhaps she’s been busy.”
Too busy to answer her phone or texts? I scoff, my foot tapping as fast as my mind is spinning. Chatted? I am ninety-nine percent sure Sarah is lying about what she did or didn’t say to Ava, and I know with absolute certainty that even if I ask her, she won’t be honest. And I hate that I can’t trust someone who has been part of my life for the last twenty years. But it’s fact. Ava has been back in this groove since spending time with Sarah.
I grab my phone when it chimes and deflate when I see it’s John. I ignore him. Then I inhale when it chimes again and deflate, again, when I see it’s Sam. But he’s given me Kate’s number, no questions. Before I dial it or text her, I try Ava again. Nothing. And after trying Kate then Sam and getting no answer from them either, I toss my phone on the opposite couch in a temper. “Why the fuck won’t anyone answer their fucking phones?”And fuck, I need to get rid of these couches.I’m just about to demand Sarah to do that when my mobile starts ringing.
“It’s mine,” Sarah says, holding up her phone as I’m about to dive across the coffee table toward the couch. “He’s here,” she says, looking at me. “I’ll send him.”
“What’s going on?”
“Leak in the plant room.”
My shoulders drop, and I drag myself up, claiming my phone and leaving. This day. Thisfuckingday. I grumble and mutter as I pace through The Manor, ignoring anyone who speaks to me.
When I arrive in the plant room, John’s on his hands and knees, his suit jacket removed, a towel bunched up by the dehumidifier. “Motherfucker,” he grumbles, twisting at something.
At least he’s not callingmethe motherfucker for once. “How bad?” I ask, joining him, seeing his face straining as he tries to unscrew one of the joints on the outlet pipe.
“Bad enough,” he grunts and then gasps, dropping his hold and wiping his brow. “Bastard thing is jammed.”
I wrestle off my jacket and nudge John out of the way. “Have you isolated the water supply?” I ask, and he grunts his reply, so I get a good grip of the joint and twist. It doesn’t budge.
“Told you,” John says, keeping an eye on the pressure gage. “Jammed.”
I adjust my grip, getting a better angle, straining to loosen the thread. Nothing. “Fuck,” I snap, kicking a pipe in anger. I growl and take hold of the joint again, twisting on a yell, straining hard.
Ping.
It pops right off, and the O-ring falls to the tile. I pick it up and inspect the corroded piece of rubber. “Seal’s knackered,” I say, tossing it at John and collecting my jacket.
“Where are you going now, you moody motherfucker? I’ve got shit for you to deal with in the office.”
“I’ll do it later. I’ll be in the gym.” I need to seriously work off some of this pent-up anger before I find Ava and bulldoze her. That won’t go down well. Gently does it. “Answer my fucking calls, then,” I snap to myself, dialing her again.
By two o’clock, I’m no less stressed but I’m fucking beat after killing myself in the gym for hours in between calling Sam, Kate, and Ava. And then like a bolt of lightning when I’m in the shower, I realize something must have happened to her. She’s been in an accident. Been hurt. That’s why she’s not answering my calls or messages, because she physically can’t. And that’s why Kate isn’t getting back to me too.She’s with Ava.My blood runs cold. My heart goes from zero to sixty in a nanosecond. I hear my phone ring, and I jump out of the stall in a mad panic.
And fall straight on my naked arse. “Fuck!” I yelp, slipping and sliding all over the tiles, trying to get to my phone. I stretch to reach it on the bench and flop down to my back, getting the screen in my view. “Sam,” I blurt. “I can’t get hold of Ava. I’ve been calling and messaging since yesterday. Have you—”
“Whoa, my man, cool it.”
My jaw grinds harshly. “Don’t tell me to cool it. She could be lying in a gutter for all I know. Have you spoken to Kate?”
“She’s here. At my place,” he says, somewhat gingerly. “Sorry, we just found all your missed calls.”
I balk, fighting my slippery body up onto the bench, unable to give Sam’s statement—a woman is at his place—the attention it deserves. “So she’s not seen Ava either?” I ask, my damn heart pounding painfully. “She doesn’t know if she’s okay?”
