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My eyes burning, I slam it shut and run up the stairs, going to the bathroom and turning on the shower, my blister and my fucking hand throbbing. The rush of water eases the chaos in my mind. But not enough. “The terrace,” I say, my memory saving me. I dash downstairs, slide open the doors and see one of the controls on the table by the lounger.
Where I lay, wasted.
When Ava found me.
And then left me.
I snatch it up and hit button after button urgently until the penthouse is booming. Massive Attack’sAngel. I see her immediately. I see her the day we made love, proper love, after our date in Camden. Her face. Her awe. Swallowing, I go to the kitchen, downing some more water, before taking myself back to the bathroom, the music building. I walk into the shower in my shorts, sliding down the wall to my arse, and close my eyes, reliving that time all over again. And after that, each and every moment we’ve shared—the looks, the words, the touches.
Everything.
With those thoughts, the music, and the water showering down on me, I manage to find a sliver of calm in my chaos.
“Where have you been all my life, Ava?” I swivel deliberately and firmly. “Promise me something,” I demand, executing another flawless grind, making her moan. She’s struggling to keep her eyes open, but I see the question there. “You’ll stay with me,” I murmur, gazing at her, full of hope. She stares at me, caught between the untold pleasure we’re sharing and bewilderment I just can’t stand. And then she nods, and I groan as I pull her down and circle into her. “I need to hear the words,” I mumble, increasing the pace and the friction. But she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t say what I need to hear. She encases my cheeks with her palms, scans my eyes, swallows as I watch her, and kisses me. Except, I don’t melt into it, her lips feeling unfamiliar. Odd.
“Jesse,” she says, but her voice is different.
It’s not Ava. I jolt, ripping my mouth from hers, blinking, trying to find some sense amid the madness, and when I finally focus, I don’t see Ava. I don’t see the woman who’s saving me.
I see the woman who nearly ended me.
“Lauren?” I murmur, bewildered, trying to scramble away. Get away before she tries to kill me again. What is she doing here? How did she find me? She should be locked up. She shouldn’t be able to get to me.
“You don’t get a happy ever after,” she says, almost smiling. Taunting. “Not for what you did to your brother. To your uncle. To Sarah. To me. To our daughter. Don’t you see, Jesse? You’ve killed or ruined everyone who’s ever loved you. You don’t deserve peace. And you will never have it.”
I jerk, my head flying back with such force, my skull cracks on the tile behind me. The pain is nothing. I gulp down air endlessly, my eyes darting around the shower stall, trying to gather my bearings. “No,” I breathe, smacking the ball of my hand into my temple repeatedly, my other hand instinctively and protectively lying across my scar. My knees come up, my head goes down, and I fight to keep my breathing in check. To breathe at all.You don’t deserve peace. And you will never have it.
Fear and despondency rip through me unmercifully, my face screwing up, my eyes clenched shut. And then I hear something.
I look up, without the energy to even consider appearing okay.
There she is. My torment. My peace.
With a knowing, sympathetic smile, she joins me on the shower floor, not bothering to undress, straddling my thighs, wrapping me up in her safe, warm arms. Comforting me. “I love you,” I whisper into her neck, feeling completely beaten, despite having her close again.
“I know.” Her words are a sigh. Not tired. Not exasperated. More concerned. “How many laps did you do?”
“Three.” Or was it four? I don’t recall. I just ran.
“That’s too much.”
“I freaked out when you weren’t here,” I admit, way past putting on any form of front. She heard me on the phone. Feels my subsiding shakes now.
“I kind of got that.”
I pinch her lightly on her hip. “You should have told me.” I pout to myself. A fair warning, a mention, anything to give me some kind of heads-up that she wouldn’t be here when I got home. Then perhaps I wouldn’t currently be a useless mess of a man on the shower floor.Perhaps.
“I was always coming back. I can’t be joined at your hip.”
“I wish you bloody could,” I say, snuggling deeper into her. My nostrils are suddenly burning, and I frown. “You’ve had a drink.” I don’t mean to sound so accusing. My issue with Ava drinking isn’t the issue of my burning nostrils now. It has nothing to do with catching a whiff of my nemesis and feeling tempted. My issue is her safety. And perhaps the fact that people make stupid choices when they’re under the influence.
“Have you eaten?” she blurts, tense. Avoiding my statement.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat, Jesse. I’ll make you something.”
I couldn’t stand if I wanted to. Every muscle has seized up. I’m far from my strongest right now. Haven’t been since Ava walked into my office all those weeks ago. And yet in other ways I am. Strong enough to not drink.If she’s here.I exhale wearily. That strength will vanish if Ava vanishes. It’s a very real, very unhealthy problem. For both of us. “Soon, I’m comfy.”
