Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Through my fog of despair, I hear the roar of an engine, and I turn to see Sam swinging into a parking space behind my car. He gets out, Kate in tow, and approaches cautiously. I throw my hands into the air. “She’s driving me fucking nuts,” I yell, pointing up at the window. “Will someone please explain what the fuck is going through her head, because the last time I saw her things were pretty fucking amazing?”
Kate throws Sam a nervous look, moving in, bravely rubbing my arm. “Calm down.”
I roll my shoulder to shrug her off. “What has she said?” I ask, pinning Kate in place with expectant eyes. “When she got home on Sunday, what did she say?” I can see she’s torn. “Kate,” I push, feeling fraught, moving in to make sure she can see my desperation. “I need to see her. I know she’s scared, but if I could just see her”—and touch her— “I can show her there’s nothing to be scared of. Please.”
She visibly deflates. “Fine,” she says, pulling her keys out and heading for the door. I follow keenly, using the time it takes Kate to let me in to talk myself down. I don’t wait for a second to figure out if I’ve succeeded. As soon as my path to Ava is open, I’m through the door and charging up the stairs. I can smell her, and I follow that head-spinning scent to the lounge, bursting in. And there she is, standing in the middle of the room in some skimpy shorts and a vest. I relax for the first time in days. She looks unimaginably beautiful, even with that look of alarm splattered all over her face. And, most importantly, she’s in one piece.
Unlike my heart, which is currently in a thousand shards of trauma. She’s okay. I’m not. My relief is quickly diluted by anger.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I yell, knocking her back a step. I can’t stop myself. She needs to know where I’m at. Panicked. Stressed. Frightened. I’m being pushed to the brink of . . . what? Drink? “I’ve been pulling my fucking hair out!”
She says nothing, just stares at me for the longest time, somewhere between shock and disbelief. What the fuck did she expect? I hear Sam and Kate approach behind me, and Ava looks past me to her friend in disappointment.
“We’re just gonna pop down to The Cock for a drink,” Sam says, hauling Kate out of the way and out of my line of fire.
I take in air, controlled and calm, my head tilting back. Calm the fuck down, Ward. You’re not helping matters. She’s silent, waiting, and I drop my head to find her eyes. “Does someone need a reminder?”
Her mouth falls open. She’s surprised? Shocked? Good. “No,” she yells, pushing me out of the way and stomping to the kitchen. I follow, watching as she viciously swipes up a bottle of wine and tips half the bottle into a huge glass. “You’re a complete bastard!” She tosses me a look that would hurt if I wasn’t already in fucking agony. I still flinch, though. I’m a bastard? I’m not the one who’s left her frantic with fucking worry these past few days. Where the hell does she get off doing this? What’s her fucking point? “You’ve got what you wanted,” she yells, and I frown. “So have I. Let’s not fuck about.”
I recoil. Swearing, drinking. Is she hell-bent on having me sectioned? “Watch your fucking mouth,” I bellow. “What are you talking about? I haven’t got what I wanted.” Nowhere near.
“You want more?” she asks, necking some wine. My jaw ticks as I watch her downing it like water, reckless and irresponsible. “Well, I don’t,” she yells. “So stop hounding me, Jesse. And stop shouting at me!” She takes another massive swig of wine. She’s pushed me too far. She has a habit of doing this. It’s like she’s found my buttons and can’t resist fucking pressing them.
I move forward fast, seizing the glass and tossing it in the sink, smashing it to smithereens.
“You don’t have to drink like a fucking fifteen-year-old,” I shout, and she glares at me, her hands balling into tight fists. She’s mad? I laugh on the inside. Welcome to my world, lady.
“Get out!”
The pressure becomes too much, and I explode, swinging around and throwing my fist into the door, smashing a giant hole in the wood.
I turn, shaking my hand, nailing her in place with my eyes. She doesn’t shy away. She can’t. I close the space between us as she pushes herself into the worktop, and when we’re front to front, she looks up at me, almost with challenge in her eyes. My breathing is shot. I’m damp with a stressed sweat. So fucking angry that she sways from all in to all out on a daily basis. And everyone thinks it’s a good idea to spill every dirty secret I have? This, here, now, has only reinforced my decision. I’m telling her nothing until we’re over this infuriating cat and mouse game.