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)
“How did she seem?” I ask.
“Quiet. What’s happened?”
“Coral showed up this morning with a scan image of a baby. Told us it’s mine.” There’s silence. I can only imagine John’s face. “It’s not mine.”
“You’re sure?”
“I wasn’t, no, because Coral said she was four months gone. Ava worked out from the scan picture she was lying. Things got a little tense.”
“So it’s not yours?”
“Definitely not mine.” Thank the fucking gods, but it’s some poor fucker’s and I’m seriously feeling sorry for that man. “Ava does passive-aggressive well.”
“She’s got a good teacher.”
“Ha ha,” I drone. “Talk later.” I hang up and scroll through my phone, searching for Van Der Haus’s number and dialing. He answers promptly.
“Mr. Ward,” he says, sounding subtly surprised. “How lovely to hear from you.”
“I’m sure,” I say, not offering the same courtesy. “Don’t make me resort to intervention.” I make a mental note to ask Cook whether a restraining order is possible. It’s harassment, after all.
“Ohh, sounds ominous.”
“Leave my wife alone.”
“Our relationship is of a professional capacity, Mr. Ward.”
“Don’t bullshit me. You called her yesterday.”
The small delay tells me he’s surprised. “Work related.”
I laugh, and there’s an undeniable shred of psycho looming in the sound. “She knows about Freja.” Let’s just put it out there and put this to bed. Hopefully.
“Oh, I know Ava knows about your sordid liaisons with my wife at your seedy sex club before you met, but does she know—”
“She knows, Van Der Haus,” I grate. “She knows everything.” There’s another beat of silence, and I roll my shoulders, wetting my mouth with my coffee. “My brief encounter with Freja post Ava was a grave misjudgment on my part, and I will live with that regret for the rest of my life, but Ava, in all her grace and glory, has forgiven me.” I reach for my collar and pull it, feeling hot. “That’s the beauty of true love.” And something he’s obviously yet to learn, because Freja couldn’t forgive him for betraying her, and she absolutely shouldn’t. He persistently and without a scrap of remorse, cheated on her. “Forgiveness is a gift it offers.” More coffee. “So, again, stay away from my wife.”
He hums, mulling over my warning. “I might find that impossible.”
“Impossible isn’t an option.” I hang up, uncomfortable, wondering where the fuck he gets his kicks. Even without me in the picture to threaten death, Ava’s not interested. I check my Rolex and start typing out a text Cook, asking how long he’ll be, feeling uncomfortable this far away from Ava, but Amalie’s name shines on my screen, stopping me.
I’m very aware of the kick of my heart. My deep inhale. And yet, this time, I don’t even consider ignoring her. “Hey, everything okay?” I ask, tense. “Dad? Is he okay?”
“He’s okay,” she says, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Have you had time to think?”
I laugh. I haven’t had time to piss in the past day. “What am I thinking about?”
“You know, Jesse,” she breathes. She’s right, I do. But it’s been quite an action-packed twenty-four hours. “Is there a chance?”
I sink deeper into the soft, cushioned seat, rubbing my hand across my forehead. I’m being held back by one thing. Exposure. I can’t make amends with my parents without revealing the final skeleton in my closet. The biggest skeleton. The one that really could destroy us. “Fuck,” I breathe, feeling stifled. Torn. “Amalie, I’m scared,” I admit.
“What of?”
“I’m scared she’ll leave me if she finds out about Rosie and what happened to her.” I swallow, clearing my throat, checking the vicinity. I’m alone, just the staff coming and going, not paying attention to me in the corner.
“God damn it, Jesse, will you stop fucking blaming yourself?”
I frown. “Watch your bloody mouth.”
She huffs. “If anyone is to blame, it’s Uncle Carmichael.”
“What?” How did she conclude that?
“He took Rosie, Jesse. He took her to punish you for something he basically orchestrated. He knew what would happen if he took you to that manor of his. He knew if he shoved you under the nose of that viper, twisted, money-grabbing girlfriend of his you might have caved at a weak moment. He. Took. Rosie. He put her in that car and drove away feeling unwarrantedly injured and betrayed.”
They’re really fucking hard words to hear. And, of course, not true. “He did nothing but be there for me,” I say quietly, uncomfortable. Because Carmichael’s character is being blackened? Or because what she’s saying could be true?
“He took you away from us, Jesse,” she goes on. “He enabled a teenager to rebel when he should have been supporting Dad while you had your teenage strops and placed blame for your attitude and hang-ups at everyone’s door except yours. Yours and Jake’s. You never blamed Jake.”
I inhale. Jake? Why would I blame Jake?
“And do you know what?”