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I feel Ava shift slightly in my hold, registering a mild whimper. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, not knowing what I’m apologizing for. Everything? “You’re a fucking dead man, Steve,” I growl, the seesaw of emotions inside me tilting back to murderous. How easy it would be to let loose and crush him. Would I feel any better? After all, is there really anyone to blame here except me?
John steps forward, obviously wary, obviously sensing the beast is about to be unleashed. “Jesse?” he says, extending a raised palm, like,cool down. “S’all good. Priorities, yeah?”
Priorities. I push on, walking to the car, Kate tailing me, fussing and faffing, to the point I have to tell her to back off.
She’s suddenly in front of me, her look fierce. “Stop being such a pigheaded twat and accept the fucking help.” She thrusts her hand forward. “You’re not the only one who cares about her.”
I breathe in my patience, relenting. “My keys are in my back pocket.”
Kate’s behind me quickly, rummaging through urgently. I can feel the sea of curious eyes behind me, and I turn to find some members have followed us outside.
“Everyone needs to fuck off back inside.” I’m not even attempting to move Ava until the peanut gallery has pissed off. Not just to save my sanity, but to save her dignity.
John starts shooing people away, tossing lethal glares here and there, and as soon as everyone is back inside, I start the painful task of getting Ava in my car. Her grip of me relaxes, and I take my time, watching for signs of pain as I give her instructions, before I grab the sheet from John and lay it over her. Fuck the seat belt. I shut the door and hurry around, settling in the driver’s seat. Her eyes are closed. And then... not.
Fuck me, just look at her. My defiant, savage beauty. Her dark eyes are brimming again, mirroring the hopelessness in mine. “Stop,” I demand, my voice strained, my eyes stinging. I can’t stand to see her crying anymore. But I’m not just telling her. I’m telling myself.
I can’t marry a man I don’t know.
You are punishing me, not you.
Her words play on repeat.
She said she’d never leave me, but now?
Is this where it ends?
48
I laywith her for a while, touching her face, until she dozed off. Then I went downstairs, only mildly aware of all the things littering the bedroom floor, clothes, shoes, cosmetics. It looks like she started to pack, to leave, but there’s some of my stuff too. I haven’t the capacity to wonder why.
I settle on the chair on an uncomfortable hiss and text John, Kate, and the boys to let them know we’re home. Resting back, I close my eyes and try to straighten out my mind, try to fathom why she’s done this. I have no idea. I’m stumped. Angry.
Ava’s mobile rings, pulling my heavy head down, and my slowing heart picks up a pace when I see her mother’s calling.
I can’t marry a man I don’t understand.
I swallow and take a few deep breaths, collecting it off the table and answering, clearing my throat first, hoping I sound...sane. “Mrs. O’Shea?”
There’s a brief pause before she speaks. “Yes.”
I swallow again and clear my throat. Fuck me, I’m nervous. Better than being raging mad. “My name’s Jesse W—”
“I know who you are.” She doesn’t sound all too impressed. I don’t suppose I can blame her. Everything she knows about me isn’t exactly glowing. “Where’s Ava?”
I look at the stairs. “Sleeping.”
“Did you punch Matt?”
I recoil. To the point. I want to say he deserved it. I want to give her every detail that led me to socking him in the face. God, he deserved so much more. “I don’t know how much you know about their breakup.”
“I don’t care about their breakup. He’s in her past, and I have no doubt he’ll stay there. She was too good for him. My question is, areyougood enough?”
Wow. Brutal. I’m nowhere near good enough. Not as I am. But I’m working on it. “I adore your daughter.”
“You hardly know her.”
“Trust me, Mrs. O’Shea. I know her.” It’s Ava who doesn’t know me. “She’s stubborn,” I say, and she snorts. Laughter, I think. “Driven. Has sass for days. Is annoyingly but admirably independent. Beautiful. Passionate.” I shift in my chair, wondering if any of this is landing. It’s not bullshit. Not lip-service. I mean every word. But I could never blame Ava’s mother, a woman who’s never met me and only ever heard negative things about me, for being skeptical. “I could never even begin to describe the level of love and respect I have for your daughter.”
