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“Fine.” I shrug him off and face his imposing frame. “I dreaded every day, John,” I grate, Sarah’s stunt not helping me keep my temper in check. “Waking up. Knowing all I had to look forward to was an oblivion of alcohol and sex.” He knows all this. I’ve said it more than once, not that I need to actually fucking say it. But if he wants to hear it again, I’ll tell him. Remind him every fucking day if I have to. “And then by some fucking miracle, something stumbled into my office and offered me reprieve from my misery. A lifeline. And I am fucking terrified that that lifeline could vanish in the blink of an eye if she finds out about my shitty past. The people I’ve ruined. What I did when I walked away from her.” My voice quivers more with every painful, truthful word, and my body trembles along with it, my jaw set to snap, my breathing shot. “I’ve fucked up so much in my life, and I know I’m close to fucking this up too. You hear me, John?”
“I hear you,” he says flatly, his face impassive. But I see his concern. I pull out the keys I had cut and hold them up. “There will never be a repeat, I’m never touching a drop again, but if having a key to my apartment makes you feel better—”
“It does.”
“There’s one for Sam and Drew too.Don’tgive one to Sarah.”
John reaches for the keys as I wait for some words, any comeback at all. I shouldn’t be surprised that I get nothing but his vacant expression. He must know how serious this is. But why do I get the feeling that John still believes he needs a key? I don’t want to answer that. I turn and walk away, my vision clouded by my regrets, my body heavy with guilt.
“If she truly loves you like you say she does,” John calls, “she’ll accept everything that’s made you who you are. And she’ll forgive you for that stupid moment you let yourself and her down.”
I slow to a stop and face him. I let her down. “What I was before Ava was disgusting. I don’t want her to know that man. I only want her to know the man I amnow.”
“The crazy motherfucker?”
“Better than the drunk. The careless bastard. The slag. The murdering motherfucker.”
John flinches, as do I. “Stop it. Please, just stop blaming yourself.”
I’ll never stop blaming myself, that’s simply something I have to live with. “I can’t go back, John.” Ironically, Ava’s the only thing in my world that can stabilize me. I might be able to redeem myself. Be able to find some kind of absolution if I have something worth living for.
Be everything to someone instead of nothing to everyone.
13
I trudgethrough the foyer feeling heavy, tired, and defeated. Clive looks so pleased with himself, so much so, I could gladly slap his smile away. “She asked if you’d asked me about that woman who showed up,” he says, coming out from behind his desk and flanking me to the elevator. “Naturally, I said no.”
“Got it, Clive.” I smack the call button and step in when the doors open. It’s just as I thought. She’s a dog with a bone. Punching in the code, I glance back at Clive, finding him waiting on the outside of the elevator, that smile still stretched wide. What does he want, a pat on the back? And then I realize.
I sigh, pulling out a twenty. The conniving old fucker is going to rinse me dry. I slap it in his palm as the doors close and get a polite tip of his hat. Falling back against the wall, I look up at the ceiling, my hands deep in my pockets, my eyes heavy. I’m pissed off. Pissed off that the world has drained me dry, and all the plans I had for tonight with Ava feel like a mountain to climb.
When my phone rings, I reach into my pocket and turn it off, done for the day. Amalie’s begging words have haunted me since I left The Manor. That and John’s comments. I’m not fixated. Maybe infatuated. Definitely not obsessed.Idiot. I’m committed, that’s all. Committed to my reclamation. Committed to being everything Ava wants and needs.
I inhale as I pull out her pills from my pocket and shake my head at myself as I toss them into the little bin in the corner. Not obsessed at all. She doesnotneed a man trying to trap her. I need to stop with that particular crazy.
The doors open, I use my shoulder blades to push myself away from the wall, and drag my feet to the front door, letting myself in. I smell her before I find her. And my heart turns in my chest, yelling its presence. I close the door, shut out the entire world.
When I reach the kitchen entrance, I find her on a stool. She looks tired too. Still beautiful but tired. I have to take a moment to absorb every inch of her, here in our kitchen. This is what I’ve been desperate for all day. To be back here. Just Ava and me. And yet it’s temporary, because tomorrow I have to do today all over again.
“Are you okay?” she asks after a time of silence, her eyes worried as she watches my beaten, static form. I’m okay now. Again, temporary. I go to her, helping her stand from the stool, resisting kissing her to death, tasting her, breathing her in. I will. But first, I just need her all over me. I need to rest my tired mind and body for a while and bring myself back to life. I find the hem of her lovely black dress and inch it up before taking the backs of her thighs and picking her up. The sweet scent of her neck lures me in, my nose falling into her hair. God, she smells so good.Sofucking good. Clean, pure, and mine.
I carry her up the stairs, the feeling of her arms wrapped around me, holding me, accepting me, settling me. I can hear her silent questions. Millions of them. I haven’t the energy to dodge them right now, only energy to hold her and love her. Our bed comes into view, and not bothering to undress us, I crawl on with Ava beneath me, settling every inch of me over every inch of her.
And it’s perfect. Like today was worth enduring if only to get to this point. My reward. My reward for surviving the day.
“Tell me how old you are,” she whispers, and I close my eyes, nuzzling deeper.
“Thirty-two.” But I feel three hundred right now.
“Tell me,” she pushes, flicking her shoulder up, nudging me.
“Does it matter?”
“No,” she whispers, sounding disheartened. She knows she’s not winning this. “But I would like it if you told me.”
“All you need to know is that I love you.” It’s the most important thing. Right now, my age is a mystery, and everyone likes a good mystery. It keeps them busy. Distracted. “How was your day?”
After a relenting sigh, she clings to me tighter, as if delivering a silent message that she really doesn’t care how old I am. After Sarah’s brutal words earlier, I’m not so sure. There are millions of men out there younger than I am. The novelty of my mystery age will only wear off if she finds out how old I actually am. So maybe she should never find out. “Stupidly busy, but very constructive,” she says quietly. So that’s why she’s tired. Not because she’s exhausted from missing me so much, or because she’s been shirking demons all day, but because work has exhausted her. “And you need to stop sending flowers to my office,” she adds scornfully.
