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)
“Thanks.” The doors close, and I look down at Ava. She’s smiling, eyes closed. “I don’t like him,” I say, and she chuckles. “Bed?”
She nods, speech evading her, and continues clinging to me all the way up to the bedroom. I’m not surprised that she also lets me get her ready for bed, holding her arms out for me to join her once I’ve tucked her in. This is what she likes—me looking after her.
When it suits her.
“Snuggles,” she murmurs, finding enough strength to reach up and grab the lapels of my suit jacket, hauling me down. I don’t fight her. Why would I? I settle on top of her, my elbows on the mattress keeping me semi-suspended, my face in her neck, hers in mine. I try so hard to focus on the sound of her breathing, to stop anything else from infiltrating our calm. But as if a ticking timebomb is counting down, the tension inside seems to get worse. The pressure growing with my frustration. How does Lauren keep muscling her way into my happiness? I can deal with my dead brother popping up unexpectedly from time to time. Welcome it, to an extent. And Rosie has a place in my forever. But my ex-wife? No. I escaped her once, and I feel like I’m trying to all over again. Moments of uncomfortable flashbacks, the smallest thing triggering. Like Ava pointing with a knife. Lauren has no place here—in my life, in my mind. It’s fucking with my head, and isn’t that obvious when I think I’m seeing her.
I squeeze my eyes closed and focus on calming my restless breathing, carefully lifting my body a fraction to check Ava. She’s sleeping. I peel myself off her body, drop a light kiss on her forehead, and take myself downstairs. After fetching a glass of water, I go into my office, settle in my chair, then answer an email confirming the decorator on Friday, making sure he remembers he has an eight-hour window of opportunity. It shouldn’t be a problem; it’s just one wall.
Then I load some music and rest back in my chair, my fingers laced and resting on my chest, my eyes on the ceiling. I just need a moment to close my eyes and breathe, allow the music to settle deep and let my mind empty, making room for only the blessed things.
Rosie.
And she comes to me, blurring in and out of my mind’s eye, every stage of her short life from birth to the day I watched Carmichael put her in his car and drive away from me.
The first bath I gave her, the first banana, jangling my keys trying to get her to walk to me, smiling when she’d collapse to her little butt, her nappy cushioning the impact.
Her grabby hands, her gummy smile, her dark blond hair flicking out at her nape. The first time I managed to get a hairclip to hold the fine strands out of her eyes. Her disgusted face when she yanked it out. How utterly edible she was, especially in her babygrows. How her little bowed legs stomped along when she started walking. How she looked when she fell asleep in my arms.
And how she only ever looked at me with love. No judgment. No scorn.
Her face, confused and innocent, as Carmichael carried her away from The Manor.
Carried her away from me.
* * *
Sarah flounces into my bedroom, not knocking as usual, and I drop my magazine to my lap and give her tired eyes. “Why are you looking so sorry for yourself?” she asks.
I don’t entertain her. She doesn’t care. I picked Rosie up this morning for the weekend. I got the usual looks of disapproval, the scathing words. I’ll never harden to it. “I’m fine.” I get up and check the monitor, seeing Rosie’s still snoozing. She can have another fifteen minutes. We have a date with the ducks before dinner, bath, and bed.
I go to my bathroom, feeling Sarah’s eyes on my naked back. “Where’s Carmichael?” I call back, grabbing my toothbrush. I look at myself in the mirror . . . and clench my eyes closed when my face blurs into Jake’s. I feel like he’s always with me, but today he’s really with me. No surprises there.
How the fuck has it been four years? Today was always going to be hard. I can only thank my lucky stars that I have Rosie to keep me busy. Happy. Fulfilled. But just for today and tomorrow. Then she leaves me. Then I’m kicking my heels until the next time I’m allowed to see her.
I scrub my teeth, which is easier said than done when they’re trying to clench, noticing Sarah in the reflection, her shoulder resting on the doorjamb. “He’s taken Rebecca to pick apples in the orchard.”