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)
She’s not done? I don’t know if I can take any more. I look at the top shelf behind the bar. My go-to when I can’t face the world. And it all makes fucking sense.
Escape.
“What?” I murmur, making myself listen.
“You couldn’t blame Jake because Jake was basically you. You without the chip on his shoulder.”
Ouch. I reach for my shoulder, as if looking for that chip. “Are you done?” I ask softly.
“Yes,” she sighs. “Except for one thing.”
“I don’t know if I can take much more, Amalie,” I confess. “I’m feeling quite fucking shit right now.”
“I’ve never seen Dad more broken than when you ran away to that manor.”
I wince, wanting to crawl into my coffee cup. “Amalie, please.”
“He loves you, Jesse. Always has. As much as Jake and as much as me.” Her voice starts to break, and that finishes me too. I roughly wipe my face, checking around me. “Why didn’t you ever see that?”
Because I was a bratty teenager with, as Amalie said, a chip on my shoulder. And then I was too bitter or too drunk. Fuck. “I have to go,” I say, needing some air.
“Tell me there’s a chance.”
I stand, swallowing. There’s a chance. “I don’t know,” I whisper, the ache inside, the pain in my heart, rampant.
Have I been ignorant? Not only blind drunk, but simply blind? I’ve been hiding. Arrogant. I inhale, my chest tightening. I feel so mad. Not with myself, but, and it’s a first, with Carmichael. He didn’t mean for something so terrible to happen. But in that moment as he walked away from me and Sarah with Rosie and Rebecca, he was punishing us. And then . . . tragedy.
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.
Something clicks.
My parents are the key to complete my happily ever after. I blow out my cheeks, my head beginning to pound. “Fucking hell,” I whisper, stressed, heading for the changing rooms and throwing some running kit on. I sprint out of The Manor and straight down the driveway, my legs like pistons.
I’ve never seen Dad more broken than when you ran away to that manor.
I grit my teeth, running faster.
He loves you, Jesse. Always has. As much as Jake and as much as me.
Faster.
Why didn’t you see that?
Because I was lost in my own hang-ups. Drunk. Angry.
Lost.
“Fuck,” I breath, slowing to a jog, drenched and hardly able to form a sentence, so when Sam calls, I answer with a weary, wheezy grunt.
“I need to see you,” he says urgently. “Now.”
43
Steve confirmed he’s been called in on a raid and can’t meet me until later, so I quickly showered, changed back into my suit, and drove back into the city, my head fucking spinning. I meet Sam in a café around the corner from Drew’s office, and he looks fucking shook when I walk in. Totally spooked. I lower to the chair opposite him, wary, helping myself to the coffee he’s ordered. “What’s up?” I swear to God, if Dan’s not on a plane back to Australia and is still here causing shit, I can’t promise I won’t break the fucker’s legs. “Kate told me about your little visitor this morning.”
I sag in my seat. “Is that it? You want a debrief on the soap opera happening in my apartment this morning?” I roll my eyes, sighing loudly. So Ava’s told Kate. No surprises there. “Coral tried to pass off her unborn baby as mine, it didn’t work, the end.” I help myself to some water as Sam sits forward, hands on the table.
“Coral’s five weeks,” he says.
“According to Ava.”
“It’s definite?”
“Well, she’s no expert, Sam, but what I do know is the picture she saw definitely wasn’t of a four-month pregnancy.” And that’s all I care about. It’s not mine. Thank fuck.
“So we’re definitely talking weeks. Maybe five, maybe six?”
“Four, five, six,” I breathe, exasperated. Only Coral knows exactly how many weeks. “Is this leading somewhere?”
“How long ago was The Manor’s anniversary party?”
I frown, casting my mind back, trying to work back through the weeks. It’s hard when my brain is mush, thank you, Amalie. “Sam, I’m not exactly operating at full capacity at the moment.”
“Let me help you out.”
“Please.”
“It was five weeks ago.”
Pausing, taking some water, I look at him over the glass, not liking where I think this might be heading. I place my water down. “Mate, to be clear,” I say, my voice tight, “when Coral showed up at The Manor that night, I didn’t go anywhere fucking near her.” The outrage and anger catches up with me, and I stand, fuming. “What kind of arsehole do you think I am?” Should I be asking that?