“Get in, Jesse,” Carmichael says, starting the engine.
But I’m curious. Too curious. Lauren’s mother hasn’t uttered a single word to me on any occasion since I won access to my daughter. Though her looks speak a thousand words that I’m certain I don’t want to hear.
“I suppose you’re taking her back to that whorehouse,” she says, casting an evil look Carmichael’s way.
I don’t bother defending The Manor. Telling her it’s not a whorehouse serves no purpose. “I have private space there. It’s temporary until I find an apartment. Rosie doesn’t leave my sight.”
“You’re a disgrace,” she spits, and I frown, wondering where this hostility is coming from all of a sudden. I know she thinks it, but she never speaks her mind. “What kind of father are you?”
“A father who wants to see my daughter.”
“Jesse,” Carmichael calls, leaning across the car, jerking his head for me to get in.
“I’m many things,” I say, fighting to keep my temper. “But I am not a bad father.” Rosie is my only accomplishment. The only thing I have to be proud of. I will not let this bitter woman take that away from me.
I get in the car before I subject myself to more vicious words. “Let’s go,” I say, and my uncle is quick to pull away. I rest my elbow on the window, hearing the girls in the back chattering.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Carmichael says, giving my thigh a reassuring pat. “You’re a good dad, boy.”
I strain a smile and glance back at Rosie. She’s not interested in me right now, and that’s fine. She doesn’t even know I’m here. But I’ll always be here.
My body catapults upward, and I gasp for air, drenched, the sheets sticking to me. It takes me a few panicked moments to get my bearings. I feel like I’m suffocating.
Ava.
I turn my head, noting her sprawled beautifully on her back, and I gasp, suddenly finding the air I need. My heart seems to kick start, the beats dull but consistent. “Shit,” I breathe, scrubbing my hands roughly down my cheeks and falling to my back. I let my eyes close again, feeling groggy and dozy, but my darkness is a picture show of everything I can’t handle. Faces from my past. Hurt I can’t escape.
I get up quickly and pull on some shorts, heading for the gym to run off the anxiety. I don’t build up from a jog to a sprint. That’s not going to work this morning. I need to shock my body out of these shakes, so I crank up the machine to full-whack and flick on the TV, watching the sport updates coming in. My legs work like pistons, and I zone out, clearing my head, working my heart rate up to a dangerous level.
Ten miles.
I reach down and smack the plus button, running on, and ten minutes later, I can’t feel my legs, but my lungs are ready to explode from the strain. All I can focus on is catching a breath. It’s where I need to be.
I keep going, my tormented mind draining, my thoughts dispersing, until all I can think about is how fucking beat I am. I hit the decrease button and rest my hands on the bars, my head dropping as I watch beads of sweat hit the treadmill. I slow to a stop, grab a towel and wipe my forehead, looking over my shoulder to the glass doors.
I blink, and it’s as if that small movement clears the obstruction to see clearly. Just for a moment, though. Like wipers working fast across a windscreen, ridding the glass of violent rain briefly before more rain comes and distorts everything again. This thunderstorm will never cease. Not until I physically stop it.
I drop the towel andhead upstairs to Ava, finding determination in each stride. No more stalling. No more hiding. Tell her how you feel and tell her who you are. I can’t go on like this, caught in a mixing pot of happiness and dread, my sanity dictated by which direction the spoon stirs.
I enter the bedroom, my mouth loaded with words, my intention set...
And find the bed empty. No Ava. Panic joins my nerves, and I turn on the spot, sensing the emptiness of the room without her in it.
“Ava,” I yell, checking the bathroom. No Ava. I run out of my room, checking every bedroom as I pass, swinging open doors, scanning the space, my dread multiplying with each room I find empty. “Ava?” I take the stairs fast, looking out onto the terrace. Black clouds linger in the distance, a storm on the way.
I fly into the kitchen at breakneck speed.
And I see her, just before I nearly crash into her. “Fucking hell, there you are.”Relief.I seize her and hold on to her like my life depends on it. “You weren’t in bed.”
“I’m in the kitchen,” she murmurs, sounding as thrown as she deserves to be. My heart instantly settles, but I can’t bring myself to release her. Just hold her, and never let her go. “I saw you running,” she goes on. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
I feel her writhe in my hold, fighting to break free. I must be hurting her, and that’s the only reason I relent, placing her down gently to take her in, to reassure myself she’s actually here. “I was just in the kitchen,” she says, dazed.
She was just in the kitchen. She hadn’t left.
I collect her and sit her on the worktop, getting as close as I can. I’m worrying her. “Sleep well?” I ask, trying to ease her and settle myself.
“Great.” Her head tilts, and she studies me with a curiosity I’m not comfortable with. “Are you okay?”