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)
“Is that a bad thing?” she presses.
“It is when you don’t know how to deal with them.” I sigh, and she stalls stroking my stomach for a few moments. She’s thinking, and what this woman thinks is a constant fear.
“You think I belong to you.”
Think? “No. I know you do.”
Is she smiling against me? “When did you establish that?”
“When I spent four days trying to get you out of my head.”
“It didn’t work?”
“No. I was even crazier.” I would move heaven and earth to change how I handled that particular meltdown. “Go to sleep.”
“What were you doing to try and get me out of your head?”
Don’t be mad, Jesse. You can’t be mad with her. “It doesn’t matter. It didn’t work, end of. Go to sleep.”
I know it’s hard for her, but she relents, settling, making my skin heat under the friction of her repeated swirls. The silence screams. “Tell me how old you are.”
“No,” I say shortly, unable to muster the energy to remember where the fuck we got to in this ridiculous age game. There are more important matters to deal with. But while she’s snuggled into me like this, quiet, her leg thrown over mine, her cheek squished to my chest, those issues are easy to disregard. Just hold her.
Her breathing becomes shallow, and I love the warmth of her breath spread across my skin. Asleep. I reach across to the nightstand, trying not to disturb her, feeling for my phone. I pull the camera up and turn it onto us, getting us both on the screen. I gaze at her. She looks peaceful. I move my eyes across to myself. I look peaceful too.
But I feel far from it.
I drop my nose into her hair and take a picture. Then scroll through all of the other snaps I’ve caught of her over the weeks. Each one brings on another level of dread until I’m at the very first image I took of her.
Running away from me.
Time is ticking.
29
The second I wake, I know I need to run. I don’t feel rested. I don’t feel settled. Sleep hasn’t chased away my fears. The more time that passes, the more my contentment is fading. How long will it be until this bliss is gone completely?
My mind drifts to the upcoming anniversary at The Manor. It’s only two weeks away.
I turn onto my side and gently push some hair out of Ava’s face. She doesn’t even stir. “Will you come with me?” I ask her sleeping form. I want her on my arm. I want her to accept The Manor and embrace it. I need her to understand meaningless nights of illicit pleasure are no longer on my agenda. I wince when a sudden stab of pain radiates through my lip, and I reach up to wipe the tiny drop of blood away. And yet I go back to biting it, thinking, wondering if I’ll still have the pleasure of this view tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.
I ignore the hollowness that falls into my gut. I can’t believe that everything is going to be anything but all right.
I pull the covers over her tummy and edge my way out of bed, scrubbing my hands down my face as I leave the bedroom. I make it to the kitchen and fall onto a stool, spinning my phone in my hand. Chewing my lip again. My elbows hit the counter, my face falling into my hands.
Feeling hopeless, bro?
I clench my eyes closed, willing Jake to stop taunting me.
Only you can fix this.
“I know,” I murmur. “And I will.”
Before or after she finds out for herself?
“What are we talking about?” I ask my darkness. “The Manor? My fuck-up last week? Rosie? You?”
All of it.
All of it. And, God, there is so much. I can’t hit her with every detail in one sitting. The poor woman will probably pass out with shock.
Then start with The Manor. The rest will come.
But does the rest have to? The Manor is The Manor, and that isn’t about to change. It’s here, in the present, not going anywhere. But my past. That’s gone.
Check your phone.
I frown and tap the screen of my phone. A message from Coral. And what it says tells me my past isn’t going anywhere either. At least, some of it.
That’s what you get for being such a stud.
There is really nothing amusing about this, but I still let out a bout of laughter. “I fucking hate that we’re twins,” I say, erasing the message. “Stop talking to me.” I hit my temple with my phone, achieving nothing more than pain. “You’re making me feel crazy.”
You don’t need me for that, brother.
I growl and stand, stalking out of the kitchen. I’m halted in my tracks by Ava’s bags by the door. Her phone is goading me. I grab it without thought and scroll through her contacts, heading straight for V.