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But I feel far from it.
I drop my nose into her hair and take a picture. Then scroll through all of the other snaps I’ve caught of her over the weeks. Each one brings on another level of dread until I’m at the very first image I took of her.
Running away from me.
Time is ticking.
29
The second I wake,I know I need to run. I don’t feel rested. I don’t feel settled. Sleep hasn’t chased away my fears. The more time that passes, the more my contentment is fading. How long will it be until this bliss is gone completely?
My mind drifts to the upcoming anniversary at The Manor. It’s only two weeks away.
I turn onto my side and gently push some hair out of Ava’s face. She doesn’t even stir. “Will you come with me?” I ask her sleeping form. I want her on my arm. I want her to accept The Manor and embrace it. I need her to understand meaningless nights of illicit pleasure are no longer on my agenda. I wince when a sudden stab of pain radiates through my lip, and I reach up to wipe the tiny drop of blood away. And yet I go back to biting it, thinking, wondering if I’ll still have the pleasure of this view tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.
I ignore the hollowness that falls into my gut. I can’t believe that everything is going to be anything but all right.
I pull the covers over her tummy and edge my way out of bed, scrubbing my hands down my face as I leave the bedroom. I make it to the kitchen and fall onto a stool, spinning my phone in my hand. Chewing my lip again. My elbows hit the counter, my face falling into my hands.
Feeling hopeless, bro?
I clench my eyes closed, willing Jake to stop taunting me.
Only you can fix this.
“I know,” I murmur. “And I will.”
Before or after she finds out for herself?
“What are we talking about?” I ask my darkness. “The Manor? My fuck-up last week? Rosie? You?”
All of it.
All of it. And, God, there is so much. I can’t hit her with every detail in one sitting. The poor woman will probably pass out with shock.
Then start with The Manor. The rest will come.
But does the rest have to? The Manor is The Manor, and that isn’t about to change. It’s here, in the present, not going anywhere. But my past. That’s gone.
Check your phone.
I frown and tap the screen of my phone. A message from Coral. And what it says tells me my past isn’t going anywhere either. At least, some of it.
That’s what you get for being such a stud.
There is really nothing amusing about this, but I still let out a bout of laughter. “I fucking hate that we’re twins,” I say, erasing the message. “Stop talking to me.” I hit my temple with my phone, achieving nothing more than pain. “You’re making me feel crazy.”
You don’t need me for that, brother.
I growl and stand, stalking out of the kitchen. I’m halted in my tracks by Ava’s bags by the door. Her phone is goading me. I grab it without thought and scroll through her contacts, heading straight for V.
Van Der Haus’s details greet me and, on an epic snarl, I quickly copy his number to my mobile. I’m covering my bases. Making sure I can speak to him if I need to, and something tells me I will need to. Then I change Ava’s ringtone and toss it back in her bag. The foil of her pill packet catches the light.
It sparkles.
Dares me.
Jesus, someone hold me back.
