Page 47

Ava

“Dad’s not getting back until later tonight,” Sophia says. “But you probably already know that.” She continues on her way down the side path, pausing at the gate.

One of the security men appears at the corner of the house.

“You going for a walk?”

“Yep.” The gate clicks behind her.

“Want company?”

“No, thanks.”

She turns right onto the beach and the armed security man, someone whose face I recognize but whose name I don’t know, quickens his pace down the path. He barely gives me a second glance before passing through the gate.

It’s not like Sophia to turn down a companion for a beach walk.

She’s pissed at me. I can’t blame her. But I’ll wait for her dad to return before addressing the issues.

He’s convinced she just needs time, and to some degree, he’s probably right.

But I hate feeling like a heel for lying to her.

I hate what I’ve done here, and while hating myself is an emotion I’m completely familiar with, it’s been a long time since I’ve had to suffer through it.

I spent part of the day working and part of the day buying a car with my insurance money. I’d been tempted to ask Jack what he thought, but then I feared he’d take over the endeavor. Maybe even try to buy me a car himself, so I leaned on Patrick.

Jack left early in the morning on his private jet to visit Mark.

I haven’t heard from him, but Sophia presumably has, so I assume the trip went well.

Jack told me Sophia’s unhappy, but said that she’d come around.

Knowing Jack, he texted her to tell him he’d be home late.

He’d probably see text as safer than a phone call, where the conversation might become unpleasant.

In this situation, we’re both at fault. We shouldn’t have lied to Sophia.

But she’s his daughter, and he’s got to take the lead on discussing this with her.

If she really doesn’t want him dating me, then I need to leave as soon as possible.

The thought hurts more than it should, which doesn’t entirely make sense.

Up until yesterday, I assumed I’d be moving out.

I never expected for this to grow into more.

I moved into this house as a favor to Mark and to help Sophia.

The last thing I want is to drive a wedge between Jack and his daughter. I won’t let it happen.

I head upstairs to the bedroom. To Jack’s bedroom.

It would be smart to move back into my apartment so we can see how we are together under normal circumstances.

But, if things go well, and Sophia accepts us, I wouldn’t mind living here.

Hell, who wouldn’t mind living here? And I enjoy seeing Jack each evening.

It’s not just sex. I like sleeping beside him, knowing he’s there.

What’s between us feels real and mature.

How it started feels immaterial, other than my self-hatred.

It’s a crazy thought. Me having a relationship with a man like Jack Sullivan.

A relationship. I’m still trying to wrap my head around how far we’ve come in less than a month’s time.

That first day, he glared at me like I was scum, and he’d throw his shoe away if my skin so much as touched the bottom of it.

And now, he wants to keep seeing me. He cares about me.

And I know it wasn’t smart. Sometimes I’m just not smart.

But I care about him. I’ve fallen for him.

Hard and fast. It’s an overwhelming thought. And unnerving.

I can’t throw myself into a relationship the way some women can.

I have to keep the ground firmly under my feet.

My priorities need to be clear. I can’t risk putting myself into a situation where I become broken, because broken for me is destroyed.

I have a demon constantly tapping my shoulder.

That call isn’t as strong as it was my first year, or two, or three, but it’s there.

All those group therapy sessions and coaches and words of advice over the years swirl in my head. I must use caution in a relationship. Relationships themselves can become a substitute for addiction. It’s a slippery slope.

Reid was my one relationship since achieving sobriety.

I stepped away from our relationship before sliding back down with Reid, but at what cost to Reid?

Rationally, I know our relationship didn’t drive him to drugs.

Addiction fueled his cravings. But I’ll go to the grave with guilt.

I didn’t return his calls. I wasn’t there to help him during his final attempt to transition.

And now, here I am, entering another relationship.

It’s not with an addict. It won’t bear the same risks.

But when it ends, how will I handle it? Will I hurt so much I no longer care and I choose escape?

Will I become another Reid? The fear might be irrational, but damn if it isn’t real.

It doesn’t help that we are already off to a faulty start with Sophia angry at us. Why didn’t we just talk to her?

The lights are off upstairs, and I don’t bother turning the hall light on as the moonlight through the windows lights the way.

My hand falls to the lever doorknob of the master bedroom door.

A chill runs up my spine, and I glance behind me, but there’s no one up here.

Who would be? Emotional turmoil generates an overactive imagination.

That’s what it’s got to be. This house is beyond safe.

I push the bedroom door open, leaving it wide, and step into the shadows, intent on reaching the bathroom and closet. I’ll get ready for bed and read while I wait for Jack.

The clink of ice against glass slows me. I pause, searching the heavily shadowed room.

Jack sits in one of the high-back chairs.

Instead of facing the ocean, like it normally does, he’s turned it, facing inward.

There’s a crystal bottle on the small side table.

His tie is half undone, loose around his chest over his unbuttoned collar.

Several buttons on the dress shirt are undone, exposing his chest haphazardly.

The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled midway up his forearm, and his suitcoat is nowhere to be seen.

In one hand, he holds a glass of amber liquid.

“Jack. I didn’t know you’d returned.”

The ice clinks against the glass. In the dark shadows, I can’t see his eyes, but I sense he’s in a foul mood. It’s in the way he holds that glass, the stern scowl. Something is very wrong.

“Is everything okay?”

If he needs me, I should go to him. With care, I step to him, hand out to touch him, approaching almost as if he’s a wild animal.

“How much did he pay you?” The harsh tone is unfamiliar, and it stops me, frozen before him like a servant approaching her master. “More or less than me?”

I blink, processing his words. How drunk is he?

“How often do you report back to him?” He snaps his fingers. “You’re the one listening device Arrow can’t find in a sweep.”

“What—” He’s not making any sense, but he’s not slurring words.

“Don’t worry. I won’t try to get the money back. Your suitcase is packed.”

Movement startles me. Fisher stands in the doorway. Silent. As always, he’s wearing a gun holster. His hands rest on his waist. Goosebumps rise. This is insane.

“Jack, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ava. Save it. Don’t make a scene. Just go.”

“Jack, I’m confused. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Report back to who?”

“You need to leave.”

“Jack.” I point at myself and raise my voice because he isn’t listening. “I don’t understand.”

“Get. Out.”

“No. This is ludicrous. Are you drunk?”

He gets up and walks to the window. He stretches one arm against the floor-to-ceiling glass, his back to me. The ice clinks against the glass as his other hand swirls the contents over and over.

“How much did he pay you?”

“He…” I pause, thinking back to the beginning of all of this. “You are the only person who paid me.”

“Once a whore, always a whore.” His words slice.

My inner self spills out onto the floor, and my brain shuts off all other thoughts. His statement hits like a thousand kicks to the ribs.

“I should’ve never brought you into this house. Into my home. Anywhere near my daughter. Get. Out.”

“Jack.” I approach him tentatively, and the tips of my fingers brush his starched shirt. He swings around and his arm bumps me backward.

“Get. Out!” Veins bulge in his throat and brow.

His arm rises. I cower. Glass shatters into a thousand pieces on the wall behind me.

I can’t breathe. Fisher steps up behind me, loops an arm around my shoulders, and forcefully removes me from the premises.