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)
Life.
The doors of John’s Range Rover shut. Has she forgotten I’m here on the end of the phone?
“Jesse?”
What do I say to her? I don’t know, so I leave the line quiet for a while. Stunned. “I don’t deserve you, he’s right.” I clench my chin in my hand, for the first time uncertain whether I agree with myself. “But I’m too selfish to give you up to someone who does.” And that someone isn’t Mikael. But it might be me soon. If I can accept myself. Forgive myself. “We’ll never be broken.” My fucking voice is cracking, God damn me. “And you’ll never be without me, so you’ll be living forever, baby.”
“Deal,” she murmurs, sounding emotional, tired, but at the same, I sense relief.
“I’ll see you in the bath.”
“Deal,” she says again.
I hang up, start the car, and look at the boys. “I’m fine, and I need to get home.”
They both nod, and I buckle up, send Steve a message to let him know I’ll call him later, pulling away calmly to demonstrate my stability. I’ve never felt so stable and, weirdly, a desire to kill Van Der Haus isn’t dominating my emotions.
I pull out of the gates of The Manor, letting the window down, and A Man’s, Man’s, Man’s World comes through the speakers. I laugh lightly at the irony. “True,” I muse, thinking, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my picture of the babies. I smile, setting it on the dashboard so I can look at it often, driving sensibly through the country roads on my way back to the city. Calm. Thoughtful. She’s left her job, she’s all mine, and I will make sure she’s content and fulfilled. Whatever she wants, she can have it. Ironic that after spending the best part of my relationship and marriage to Ava trying to convince her she doesn’t need to work, it’s the fucker who tried to ruin me who made it happen. A weight feels like it’s left my shoulders, despite learning about the threats Ava’s received. She won’t be leaving my sight, and now she doesn’t need to.
My phone starts ringing, cutting the music, and an unknown number illuminates the screen.
Scotland?
I frown and tentatively accept the call. “Jesse Ward.”
“It’s Alan.”
I stare at the road, at a loss. “Alan . . .?”
“Pierce.”
“Oh,” I breathe, my stomach turning. “Alan.”
“I heard you’ve been trying to get hold of me.”
I wonder how, but I don’t ask. “Yeah, um—” Shit, how the fuck do I explain that? I thought I saw his dead daughter. I thought I’d check with him to see if she’s still incarcerated. Miles away from me and my new wife. “I’m sorry for your loss, Alan.”
There’s a beat too long of silence. “My loss?”
I falter, his genuine confused reaction to my statement confusing me. “Lauren.”
“Yes, I’m sorry too,” he says, his words a tired exhale. “I’m sorry I ever thought I could fix her.”
I wince. The site of my scar twinges. Could I have fixed her by loving her? “Can I ask . . .” I stall. Fuck. “Can I ask how?” Why do I want to know? It’s warped and, actually, will do me no favors in my own recovery process. Could bring on more guilt, more stress.
“How what?” Alan asks, the confusion back.
And now I’m with him. “How she died?”
“Lauren’s not dead, Jesse,” he says, so clinically. Detached.
The fuck? An underlying panic rises. “You told—”
“I told people I’d lost my daughter, because I did.”
Every scrap of air leaves my lungs. “What?”
“She’s not dead, Jesse. She was in a psychiatric hospital for years. They released her. They shouldn’t have. Her mother and I had to step away before she killed us, whether that be in a fit of rage or because she made us ill.”
Ice creeps into my bloodstream.
“I’m just sorry . . .” He’s clearly struggling. I’m with him. But for me, it’s my breathing. It’s diminished. “I’m very sorry about what she did to you, son.”
I stare at the road disappearing under the wheels of the car.
Paralyzed.
45
I texted John to tell him in as few words as possible about Alan’s call, to sweep the penthouse, and call me the minute he’s out of Ava’s earshot. By the time I’m at Lansdowne Crescent, he’s still not called, so I call him, stressed, panicked, out of my fucking mind.
“Yes,” he snaps in answer, sounding really fucking grumpy.
“Are you home?”
“We’re here now. Cathy’s already left, but I’ll stay until you arrive.”
“I’m at Lansdowne Crescent.” But I can’t remember exactly which house Ava went in. “Can you recall a door number?”
“It’s a blue door. Needs painting.”
I spot a blue door, and my eyes remain on it, lasers. “Lansdowne Crescent,” I muse, turning off my engine.
“Yes, Lansdowne Crescent.” John says, pensive.
“And you think it was Lauren?”
“I can’t be sure. I only got a glimpse, but if it’s not her, it’s her doppelganger.”