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I pull into the alley behind the bakery, and then I see Ava to the door.
“What do you need, baby?” I ask.
“I know you have to get back to the bar, Brendan.”
“I don’t, actually. I got the Petersons and my father to fill in for the night. I’m all yours. Whatever you need, sweetheart. I’m here for you.”
“Oh, thank God…” She melts against me, and I gladly take her weight upon me.
Anything for my sweet Ava.
I take her key from her, unlock the door, and we walk into the bakery. The aromas of yeast and the warm cinnamon of the baklava she made two days ago waft toward us.
Tomorrow is Monday, of course, and she’ll need to get up early to begin the day. It’s not late, though. In fact, neither of us have eaten dinner.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“I may never eat again.”
I kiss her lips. “You’re going to need to eat something, sweetheart. Do you have anything in the house? If you don’t, I’ll go over to my place and pick up some supplies.”
“If you’re hungry, make yourself a sandwich. I have some meat in the refrigerator in the bakery. It has to be used up, as I’m getting a new shipment in tomorrow. It’s still good.”
“All right, baby. But I’m going to make you a sandwich as well.” I take her up to her apartment, make sure she’s okay, and then I go downstairs to the bakery, flick the lights on in the kitchen, and open the industrial refrigerator.
The deli meats—Steel Acres roast beef and Steel Acres London broil. Hedge Farms turkey and cracked pepper turkey. Dodge City Black Forest ham. She is running low. I don’t trust myself to fire up her industrial slicer, so I find a butcher knife and a cutting board, and I hack off turkey for both of us. After hearing about her little calf named Buster, I’m not sure I ever want to eat beef again. I can’t believe she still eats it. I add a slice of cheddar cheese and slap it all between slices of her day-old sourdough.
I add mayonnaise and mustard, and nothing else. Ava has already gotten rid of the produce in the industrial fridge. Fresh produce will be delivered tomorrow before lunch.
I clean up the counter until it’s ready for tomorrow, and then I take the sandwiches up to Ava.
But sweet Ava…
She’s still in the kitchen, her head on the table.
She’s asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ava
I’m running…
Racing, my breath catching, my legs aching…
I have to run…
Run from the fire and the falling rubble…
Run from the tower collapsing behind me.
A pit lies before me…the bottomless pit…
If I stop, the debris and flames will get me.
If I move forward…
I fall.
And I’m falling…falling…falling…
I jerk upward, and for a moment, I don’t know where I am.
Until I see Brendan. Strong and handsome Brendan. His arms secure me.
“Shh. It’s okay, baby.”
Except it’s not okay. It will never be okay again.
“I made you a turkey sandwich,” he says. “You need to eat.”
My stomach is a void, but I’m not hungry. The nausea climbing up my throat won’t let me eat. I hold up a hand, refusing the food.
“You have to try, Ava. Please. For me.”
For me.
For Brendan.
I think I’d do anything for Brendan. He’s the only part of my life that is who he says he is.
I think, anyway.
I look up at him, into his searing blue eyes.
I see the love he feels for me. And reflected in the cerulean depths, I see the love I feel for him.
“For you,” I say.
He nods and takes the seat next to me at the table. He hands me the turkey sandwich on a plate along with a napkin and a glass of water.
I take a bite of the sandwich.
It’s dry, like sawdust. It shouldn’t be, as Brendan has added more than a dollop of mayo, but still…
Dry.
I choke it down.
Then another bite.
It gets easier after a few bites, and I manage to eat a little more than half the sandwich and drink the entire glass of ice water.
He polishes off his whole sandwich, but he seems satisfied with the half that I ate. He doesn’t push. Another thing I love about Brendan Murphy.
He never pushes.
I love him for that. I love him for so many reasons.
He rises, helps me up. “Let me put you to bed.”
“Will you stay?” I ask.
“I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” He kisses my cheek. “Whatever you need, Ava, because you’re mine.”
Mine.
All my thoughts—everything my father told me—crash together into that one word.
Brendan is mine. I’m his.
And in this moment, nothing else matters. I need him. I need Brendan’s body. We walk to my bedroom, and I grab him, dig my fingers into his shoulders, lever against him. His cock is hard through his jeans, and my God… I want it. I want him.
