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)
“And your parents had moved to Spain by now?”
I laugh. I don’t know why. Because it fucking hurts. “Yeah, they escaped the shame I’d brought on the family.” What kind of delusional idiot am I? Still telling myself things, but to what end?
“They abandoned you,” Ava says quietly, with no judgment.
“They wanted me to go with them. Mum begged, but I couldn’t leave Rosie full-time with that family. She’d be frowned upon as an illegitimate child, even though she had me. Not an option.”
“So then what?”
Here we go. “Rosie was three and I made the worst mistake of my life.” Ava knows the next bit of the puzzle, but she would never have pieced it together. Why would she? She only had minimal facts. “I slept with Sarah.”
“Sarah?”
“Carmichael and Sarah were together.”
Up she comes, so fast I don’t have a chance to stop her. “They were?” Her face. Expected, I guess. “Sarah and Carmichael?” she questions. “But I thought he was a playboy.”
“He was.” A terrible, hedonistic flirt. “With a girlfriend.” Tell her everything. “And a child.”
“What?” Eyes wide, she stares at me, and I see she’s trying so hard to hold on to her shock and control her rampant curiosity. “Go on.”
Fuck, this story is long. “Carmichael walked in on me and Sarah,” I say, shaking away the look of sheer disappointment on his face. “He hit the roof, got the girls, and left.”
“The girls?”
“Rosie and Rebecca.”
“Your Rosie and their Rebecca,” she whispers. “The car accident?”
I nod, exhausted, needing to close my eyes for a few moments. Hide. “I didn’t just kill my uncle and my daughter,” I whisper. “I killed Sarah’s girl too.” Strangely, Sarah’s never thrown that accusation at me. Never.
“No,” Ava whispers. “That can’t be your fault.”
“I think you’ll find that my poor decisions have been the cause for everything, Ava. I’ve fucked up on so many levels so many times, and I’ve paid for it, but I can’t pay anymore, not now I have you. What if I make a bad decision again? What if I screw up again? What if I’m not done paying?” My body sinks into the mattress as all air leaves my lungs with my panicked words.
Ava bites into her lip, stunned, clearly trying to wrap her mind around the barrage of information. “You are more than done paying,” she says quietly, turning her eyes to my torso. “When did she hurt you before?”
“After Rosie died, she tried so hard to make me see that we needed each other. She had always been a little unpredictable.” That could be the most under-egged statement ever made. “But when I continually rebuffed her advances, she really started behaving erratically. We’re talking full-on bunny-boiler style.”
“Did she get pregnant on purpose?”
“Probably.” What am I saying? Definitely. But I can’t regret Rosie.
“And she stabbed you?”
“Yes.”
“Did she go to prison?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Why?”
“Her family got her help and kept her away from me in exchange for my silence.” Poor Alan. He only ever wanted to fix his daughter while at the same time ignoring the obvious issues she had.
“But look at the mess she made of you,” Ava whispers. “How did you pass that off?”
“It’s pretty superficial. She did a better job this time.” Yeah, she got me good, and to think she was aiming for Ava? My blood runs cold, and Ava flinches and pales a little.
“You didn’t even go to hospital, did you?” she says, and I shake my head. “Who stitched you up?”
“Her dad. He was a doctor.”
“Oh my God.” She lowers to a chair, stunned. “And where were your parents whilst all of this was going on?”
“They’d already returned to Spain.” And I ignored any attempt of contact. Drunk. Ashamed.
“Jesse.” She thinks really hard, as if she’s not sure she should say what she wants to. “Your mum in Spain. Second chance?”
I smile sadly. “You really do know everything now,” I whisper. “Are you leaving me?” She doesn’t answer, and I stare at the ceiling, waiting. Hoping. Could I blame her? No. Could I stop her? No.
“Look at me.”
Fuck, I don’t know if I can. I feel my eyes welling up, my throat closing. It’s going to really hurt if I let my emotions out. But everyone knows the more you try to suppress a good cry, the more body-wracking it’ll be when you let it claim you.
Facing her, I let go, struggling to see her past the blur.
“Unbreakable,” she says, the word shaky but resolute, and I exhale my gratitude, the pain suddenly bearable.
“Hold me.” She’s seen me at my absolute worst, and now my weakest. No man wants to show their vulnerability. I don’t plan on making a habit of it, but the reassurance radiating off her is fuel to my broken body.
She comes to me carefully, awkwardly trying to position herself around me. “Jesse, be careful.”