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“Ava,” I say quietly, racking my brain for what else to say. I don’t know. All I know is my skin is on hers in this moment, and it feels good. And I cannot take my eyes off her profile as she stands motionless. Tense.
After the uncomfortable silence has stretched for too long, she looks up at me, her face a blanket of impassiveness. Then her eyes drop, she sighs, and she removes herself from my grip. “Shit,” she blurts, and I flinch, making my muscles jolt. Jesus, will this pain ever go away? Every last piece of me is fucking killing.
“Watch your mouth, Ava,” I growl, more annoyed with my body than her language. “What’s up?”
“My car’s at Kate’s.”
“We’ll take mine.” Why the fuck am I offering a way out of this predicament? I don’t want to go to the hospital. I want to lock us away in my penthouse and never leave. The outside world is dangerous to our relationship.
“You can’t drive one-handed.”
“I know.” I could actually. But... “You can drive.” I grab my keys and throw them, wondering what the fuck I’m thinking. My Aston is a far cry from her little Mini. She’ll never cope with the power.
Ava catches the bunch and stares down at them, looking nervous. My fears amplify. Never, not once in the time I’ve known Ava, has she driven us anywhere. Times are changing. But not too much, I hope. I need to find our normal again.
“Come on,” I say, fighting the urge to take her hand and lead her out. The sooner we get this done, the quicker we’ll be back in the safety of Lusso and we can get on with fixing this shit. I hope. I open the door for her and watch her walk out, thanking me too formally.
It’s silent to the door.
We’re silent the entire way down in the elevator.
Clive is silent as we pass through the lobby.
I see my car, the window no longer smashed. Fixed. Unlike its owner.
It’s silent when we get in my Aston.
And silent for the first fifteen minutes of our journey, except for the roar of the engine. I can’t bear it.
I cast constant looks across to her, taking pleasure amid the screaming quiet at the sight of her concentrating so hard. Anyone would think she’s on a driving test. Her hands are positioned perfectly, and she’s constantly checking her mirrors. Part of me is relieved she’s such a careful driver, but there’s slow and there’s slow, and when my eyes catch a bicycle passing the passenger window, the rider looking at me with a shake of his head, I decide enough is enough. It’ll be next week by the time we get to the hospital. Next week before I get her home and resume my mission.
“Ava, you’re driving like Miss Daisy,” I say, exasperated. “Will you put your foot down?”
The scowl she throws my way is epic, if brief, so she can get her attention back to the road. “Shut up,” she mutters, but we pick up speed, and I smile at her profile.
“That’s better. It’s easier to handle if you’re not pussyfooting around the power.” I should heed my own advice and stop pussyfooting around Ava. And when I see her straining to keep her mouth in check, fighting her smile, I know she’s thinking the same.
There’s no denying, she’s the one with all the power. Always has been.
Maybe one day I’ll admit it.
One day when I’m confident she loves and needs me too much to even contemplate living without me.
I pray for the day. Although given my life, the destruction, the sacrifices, I’m not sure even praying to a god I don’t know will help Ava’s defenses to lower.
But regardless, I will pray.
3
Two hours.Two fucking hours of my life wasted sitting on my arse waiting to be seen. And, worse, to rub salt into my moody wounds, Ava’s put herself opposite me. Not next to me. Not even one seat away from me. She’s opposite me, with a good three meters of space between us, distracting herself with trashy magazines. On the plus side, I can see her, though she refuses to look at me. Stubborn woman.
I grumble under my breath, and she glances up for the first time. I purse my lips. Her eyes narrow a little. And she returns to her magazine. For fuck’s sake. “Fuck this shit,” I mutter, rising from the chair. “I’m done. We’re leaving.”
“What?” She’s up fast, dropping the magazine. “You can’t just go.”
“Watch me.” I head for the door. I’ve had enough. Two hours alone with Ava in private will serve us better than seeing a fucking doctor about my hand, which, by the way, is absolutely fine. I lift said hand to push my way out and on cue it throbs, protesting, having me withdraw from the door on a hissed curse.
“Jesse Ward?”
