My jaw twitches. “I’m not a fucking alcoholic.”
His eyes close, his palm stroking his forehead. “No, you’re not an alcoholic,” he sighs. It’s as condescending as fuck. “You can’t stop her drinking.”
Does he wanna bet? “I’m—”
“Not everyone fucks anything in sight when they’re inebriated, Jesse. Not everyone who drinks is drowning out misery.”
I recoil. Swallow. Snap my mouth firmly shut.
“For fuck’s sake,” Sam says, softening his stare and reaching for my hand. “Please, just tell her your story. And at the same time, how fucking old you are and what The Manor is.”
“All in one go?” I ask quietly, feeling the vise of terror squeezing me. “Everything?”
“Just let it all out. You can’t carry on like this. And, frankly, neither can I.”
My eyes drop to the counter, the prospect no less daunting no matter how much I ponder doing just that. “I will,” I say for the sake of it.
“And then you can crack on with this thing you’ve got going on with Ava.”
Thing? This isn’t a thing. It’severything. “What if she leaves me?”
“She won’t leave you. She loves you. And when you love someone, you love them despite their flaws.” He squeezes my hand, and I look up, smiling mildly. I wish I was as optimistic as Sam.
“Thanks.”
He frowns, retracting his hand, clearing his throat. “How are you settling in?” His tone is purposely deep.
I laugh as my phone dings again, and I hit the open button on another message from Jay. My laughter stops. I start overheating, the calm Sam’s helped me find vanishing.
“Oh no, what?” Sam asks.
I’m off my stool like a spring, snatching my car keys off the side and heading for the door, Sam on my tail. “Don’t try to stop me,” I warn, simmering dangerously.
“Don’t worry, I’d like to keep my head.”
30
The traffic is horrendous.I drive like a complete maniac, which is apt because I feel like one. A man. Talking to Ava. A man who sounds uncannily similar to her ex-boyfriend, going by Jay’s description. A man who’s had her. A man she loved. A man in his mid-twenties.
I glance at my rearview mirror, seeing Sam in the distance, his Porsche struggling to keep up with my Aston. My phone rings. “What?” I answer shortly.
“If I get a speeding fine, I’m sending it your way.”
“Fine.” I hang up, and my phone immediately rings again. “Jay,” I answer, praying he doesn’t feed me more information that could result in me getting locked up.
“Third bottle.”
I gape at the windscreen. “What?”
“They’re on their third bottle and getting... loud.”
Third fucking bottle. I’m fuming. “And the man?”
“Can’t see him.”
“Be there soon.” I hang up and put my foot down, a small part of me willing myself to calm the fuck down to avoid the explosions that are about to go off. It’s no good. I cannot accept such recklessness. I cannot stand by and allow another man to worm his way back into her affections. She’s a sitting fucking duck. Drunk. Vulnerable.
I park illegally outside the bar and dive out of my car, just as Sam screeches up behind me. “Fuck me, Jesse,” he says, joining me on the pavement.