Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
I flinch on Coral’s behalf, certain I’m not stepping in right now. Jesus, Ava looks on the verge of exploding, although, surprisingly, she’s keeping control of it.
“Are you leaving?” she asks when Coral doesn’t budge. “Or do I have to drag you out?”
Now, I absolutely will step in then. But I don’t need to. Coral grabs her scan picture and scuttles out quietly, and Ava makes a meal of slamming the door, her body heaving. Adrenaline? Fuck, I don’t even know what to say as she turns toward me. She looks so mad. Fuck me, can I put this woman through any more stress?
“Av—”
She walks past me without a word, leaving me standing by the door, feeling lost and ashamed. Dropping my head back, I curse quietly to the heavens. I hate that there was even room for doubt. Fuck. Exhausted, I perch on the arm of the couch, shaking my head in disbelief. Nothing should surprise me anymore, and yet here I am, constantly fucking surprised.
“You okay, boy?” Cathy asks quietly from the kitchen entrance.
“Had better mornings, Cathy,” I say, my body heavy.
“Coffee?”
Alcohol.
I shake the fleeting thought away, struggling to my feet. “No, thanks. I’ve got some serious sucking up to do.” I trudge off, having to use the handrail to help me up the stairs, hearing the shower. She’s under the spray washing her hair when I make it to the bathroom, and I hover at the door, anxious. I can’t leave her on bad terms today. I already know it’s going to be stressful, waiting on information on who the fuck stole my car, not to mention the fact that it’s been confirmed Van Der Haus is still sniffing around my wife, waiting for me to fuck it all up so he can sweep on in and sweep her off her feet. I’m probably being dramatic—she’ll never fall into that Danish arsehole’s arms. But still. I’m feeling uncertain, and particularly shitty for ruining her day before it’s gotten started.
I don’t usually need any courage or push to try and improve my wife’s mood with a potent, underhanded hit of her godly husband, but today feels different. Ava seems . . . tired.
Of me?
Of our life?
Fuck, Paradise feels like eons ago. Pushing my boxers down, I step out of them and into the stall behind her, seeing her shoulder blades pull in, a sign that she knows I’m close. Defensive? Preparing to brush me off? I take the sponge off the shelf and wet it, moving in and starting to wash her. She pulls away immediately, and my heart sinks in disappointment.
“I’m not in the mood.”
Oh God, the fatal words. I’ve really fucking done it this time. God damn me. Pouting, I try one more time to bring her around, slipping my hand onto her stomach. Skin on skin. It’s what I’ve always depended on.
"I said I’m not in the mood.” She dips out of the shower, escaping me, and this time I know it’s not because she’s worried she’ll cave in to my form of making friends.
“You promised you’d never say that,” I whisper as she dries herself. Her hands stall briefly before she wraps herself in the towel and tucks the top in, looking up at me. I know my eyes are full of apologies. Hers are full of hopelessness.
“I’m late,” she murmurs, leaving, and my aching heart cracks painfully as I watch her go.
“Fuck it,” I breathe, running my hands through my hair, wetting it, finding some energy to wash. I can’t, however, find the energy to dress once I’ve dried off and scrubbed my teeth. Instead, I sit on the bed while Ava gets herself ready for work, ignoring me, my mind circling on loop with millions of apologies, trying to figure out how to voice them.
And then she’s ready and leaving. Fuck. I dive up and put myself in the doorway, stopping her. But not touching her. “Baby, my heart’s splitting,” I say, willing her to forgive yet something else from my shitty past that’s infiltrating our lives. “I hate fighting with you.”
“We’re not fighting.” She can’t even look at me. “You need to get the code on the elevator changed,” she says, cold and harshly. “And find out how she got up here too.” That’s a good point. Why the fuck would Clive do that?
She’s past me before I know it, and I’m instinctively going after her. Instinct. Shit, I’m back to depending on that. I reach for her and catch her wrist, stopping her from making her escape. “I will,” I assure her. I’ll also be tearing Clive a new arsehole, but for now I have more important matters to contend with. And I’m rooting for instinct. “We need to make friends.”
“I’m dressed,” she sighs. “We are not making friends now.”
I smile, loving that’s where her mind goes. “Not properly, no,” I say, making her face me. “But don’t make me spend all day knowing that you’re not talking to me,” I beg, getting on my knees. “The days are long enough already.”