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I’m so fucking bored of this conversation. “Fuck off, John, I’m handling this my way.”
I’m suddenly not moving forward anymore, courtesy of John’s massive bolder fists grabbing my T-shirt and hauling me back. I hit a wall, and he’s up in my face, rampant with anger, and I’m wary of it.Jesus fucking Christ.“Your way is really stupid, Jesse. You havegotto see that.”
“I don’t see anything but her, John.” I look away, ashamed, guilty, fraught. But I know he’s right. With everything I have, I know he’s right.
“Think this through.”
“Don’t you think I have?”
“No, you couldn’t have.” His hold of my T-shirt loosens, and he sighs, brushing his palms down the creases he’s made in the material. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose on a deep breath before dipping and picking up his shades and sliding them back on. “You think getting a ring on her finger will completely eradicate the risk of her ever leaving when she finds out your truths?”
“No, but when she accepts, I’ll know she loves me enough to want to spend her life with me. Haveeverythingwith me. Forever.”
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, turning and pacing. “Why don’t you just get her pregnant while you’re at it?”
I drop my eyes to the carpet at my feet, shame and guilt flaring.
“And do you think we could go just one day”—he holds up one fat finger—“without you upsetting Sarah?”
“Are we done?” I ask.
“Yeah, we’re fucking done.” He throws an arm up and snorts, storming off. “The security people will be here within the hour.”
“What? So I needn’t have come after all?”
“Yes, you fucking needed to come,” he yells.
Right. “So you could try and talk me out of asking Ava to marry me?” Doesn’t anyone around here want me to be happy?
“No, Jesse, so I could try and talk you into being honest with her.” He disappears around a corner, and I clench my head in my hands, growling.
“So it’s true?”
I peek through my fingers and find Sarah at the bottom of the stairs. “That wasn’t your news to share.” My jaw rolls. “Stop fucking interfering, do you hear me?” I stalk to my office and swing the door open. Slam it behind me. Look around. What the fuck am I doing in here? What the fuck am I doing at The Manor? It’s the root of all my misery.
I turn, haul the door open, and find Sarah on the other side, her eyes glassy with unfallen tears. “I just have a few questions before you leave,” she says, taking her attention to the spreadsheet in her hand. A fat teardrop hits it and splashes, and she quickly swipes the back of her hand across her face, sniffing. “The band will play two sets. Any preference on the time of the final set? Eleven or midnight?”
“I don’t mind,” I reply softly.
“Are you happy to leave the rooms open indefinitely once they’re open at ten thirty?”
“So long as John is still around.”
“Would you like to check the party bags? Make sure you’re happy with the contents?”
“I trust you.”
She looks up at me, swallowing hard. “Do you?” she asks, her lip quivering.
“Sarah,” I breathe, walking to my desk and perching on the edge. “You’ve got to let me have this.”
“Have what?” She closes the door, walking into the middle of the room. “A normal life? A younger woman? A—”
“Love, Sarah,” I say quietly. “A purpose.”
“You have a purpose.”
“My purpose for over twenty years has been to get wasted.” I wave my hand around aimlessly. “To lose myself in the rooms of The Manor, a bottle of vodka, and some pussy. Because that is all I deserved.”
