With This Man (This Man 4)

Guilt. It sweeps right in and cripples me. ‘I know.’ I rub my forehead, like I can wipe away the stress. ‘I can see it all in there, Kate. It’s all in there, I just need her to remember it.’ What if she never feels the connection and emotion she did when we met? No matter how much I might try to describe it to her, it won’t be as intense and crippling as it was back then. How it always is. It won’t bond us in the same way, and now more than ever I need that bond.

‘She’ll remember. Don’t give up.’

‘Never,’ I vow, hoarse through the despair blocking my throat. Despair I’m quite sure I’m not hiding very well.

‘How about dinner one night? All of us. Drew and Raya are game.’

‘Yeah,’ I agree half-heartedly. I’m not all that enthusiastic about sitting around a table with friends so they can see how much of a stranger I am to my wife. ‘Let me know when.’

‘I will. Keep it together, Jesse. It’s no wonder she doesn’t recognise you. I barely do myself.’ She hangs up with those words still lingering in the air.

‘Jesus,’ I breathe, dropping my phone to the couch, so caught in conflict. I replay all those little glimmers of hope that Ava’s given to me, words that have come from nowhere, but have been quickly snatched away with a frown or muddled look on her face. The soaring happiness followed quickly by unrelenting hurt.

My eyes fall to the drinks cabinet across the room again, the bottle of clear liquor enticing me, pulling me in with promises of respite. ‘Keep it together,’ I say to myself, forcing my heavy body up from the couch. I lock up the house and make my way upstairs, my eyes nailed to our bedroom door as I wander to the spare room. Another night without her sprawled all over my chest. Another night missing her warmth.

Another night with the biggest piece of me missing from my side.

Chapter 16

Ava

The past few days, all I’ve had to do is think. Think and go to therapy and think some more. I’m sick of thinking. I’m sick of the headaches from thinking too hard. The last I remember, I was dating a guy named Matt. I even remember talks of moving in together. So what happened? And what about the career I was working so hard for? I work for my husband. Live with my husband. It’s obvious I’m always kept close by. Is that normal? Is it healthy?

I sigh and turn over in bed, catching sight of the clock on the table. It’s eight o’clock. I can hear clatters and bangs coming from the kitchen. Last night he tried to undress me. I couldn’t help but flinch when he touched my bare skin, not just because I was surprised. My flesh seemed to ignite, and though it was like nothing I’d felt before, somehow I know that I have. In that moment, I was alarmed by my reaction. Scared by it. I hardly know him. Yet my body does and it’s telling me every single day. There’s a connection. Something deep and almost debilitating. He’s devastating.

I close my eyes and try to wrap my mind around all the signs that I love him. Not just the tangible proof – the pictures, the children, what people have told me. But the invisible proof. Like my skipping heart when I see him. Like my heated skin when he touches me. Like a strange urge inside me to be close to him. Something clicks whenever I am, like when he hugs me in those big arms. He’s good at snuggling. He’s good at comforting me. He’s good at giving me space when I need it.

I stop that thought process right there and rewind. I don’t think he’s really very good at giving me space, and I really don’t know if I want it. I can see the strain on his face whenever he leaves the bedroom. And I feel the strain within me. Something isn’t right. He doesn’t seem right, and that’s a strange conclusion for me to reach when I don’t know him.

Gingerly edging to the side of the bed, I wince as I stand, the muscle behind the healing cut on my leg pulling tight. I pull on a cream gown and head for the door. I want to know things, and I’m ready to ask. So he better be ready to tell.

Chapter 17

I’m making coffee again, creating as much noise as I can to fill the silence, when Ava marches into the kitchen. I’m taken aback by the determination written all over her face. Then she stops, her eyes sparkling a bit at the sight of my bare chest. As her gaze moves down, the sparkle fades and she points to my stomach. Or the two scars marring it. ‘What happened?’

I look down. I don’t know why. ‘Nothing.’ I shake my head and return my attention to Ava, not prepared to go there yet. Besides, I know she didn’t come stomping in here looking all resolute to talk about my scars. It’s the first time she’s seen them since the accident. ‘What’s up?’

After a little shake of her own head, she rights her softened body, standing tall and confident. ‘Tell me how we met. I want you to tell me everything.’

I cautiously lower my arse to a stool, torn between happiness that she’s asked, and dread from the pressure of having to answer. It was all so intense and a huge whirlwind of feelings and emotion; the thought of explaining it is suddenly very daunting. ‘I don’t know where to start, Ava,’ I admit as she joins me at the island. ‘I’m worried I won’t do our story justice.’

She breathes in a little, thinking, as her gaze flits across my face. ‘Then show me.’

I laugh under my breath, but it’s nervous. ‘I’m not sure you’re ready for that.’ I don’t want to freak her out when she’s in such a mind-warp. This isn’t like when we met. I can’t go steamrolling in like I did back then. She’s delicate now. Fragile. I feel like everything is hanging on my approach to this mess.

‘Ready for what?’

I clench my eyes closed, swallowing. ‘My ways.’

‘Your ways?’

‘Yes, my ways.’ I open my eyes and find hers. The mystification staring back at me only amplifies my worry.

She doesn’t know what to make of that. Or of me.

‘That’s what you call it,’ I tell her. ‘My ways.’ I go on when she cocks a questioning head. ‘I’m unreasonable.’ I shrug. ‘Apparently.’ A deep breath helps me to go on. ‘A control freak.’ Another lame shrug. ‘Apparently.’ This is hard already, and I’ve not even skimmed the fucking surface. ‘I’m possessive and controlling and . . .’ I press my lips together when her eyes widen a little. ‘Apparently,’ I add quietly.

‘You just said apparently an awful lot.’

‘Apparently,’ I mumble, looking away from her, struggling to express what she needs to know. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ I breathe, frustrated.

‘You swear a lot, too.’

I shoot my eyes to hers, finding a rather disapproving look. I could laugh, but I cough instead. ‘And you don’t, for the record. Hardly ever, in fact.’ I refuse to feel guilty for telling her a barefaced lie. This could be the end of her potty mouth.

‘I don’t?’

I shake my head. ‘Never.’

‘Oh.’ She falls into thought again for a few moments, swallowing repeatedly until she takes in so much air, I’m worried about what might come from her mouth that requires so much preparation. ‘I am ready,’ she declares.

I’m lost. ‘Ready for what?’

‘For you to show me.’ She bites down on her lip a little, gazing at me as I try to comprehend what she’s asking me to do.

‘I’m not sure, Ava.’

‘I am sure.’ She approaches me and lays her hands on my chest, forcing me to breathe deeply through the contact. ‘I have a huge, gaping hole in my head. It’s where you and the children should be, and it’s truly killing me that you’re not there.’ She shoves me a little, bringing her face close to mine. ‘You’re here, in my life, but you’re not up here.’ Releasing one hand, she taps the side of her temple softly, though she still winces a little. Her move is a reminder to both of us that she needs to take it easy. Her visible wounds haven’t healed yet, either. ‘And I just know that you should be. Seeing those photographs has only made that instinct stronger.’ Her voice cracks again, and I quickly take her hand back do

wn from her head, holding it firmly in my grasp. ‘I need you to do whatever it takes.’

Her fierce determination through her broken words staggers me. Then I remember who I’m faced with. I might be a stranger to her, but this is still my wife. The strongest woman I’ve ever met. She has to be, or I wouldn’t be in her life, or she in mine. She tackled me before, took everything I had to throw at her.

‘Whatever it takes?’ I counter, just to hear her say it again. Just so I know we’re on the same page.

‘Whatever it takes,’ she confirms, nodding at the same time. She’s giving me permission. Telling me it’s okay to be . . . all of me?

‘No pressure, then?’ I quip, wondering where to start. The answer comes to me quickly. ‘Go take a shower. We’re going on a little trip.’

*

As I look up at the imposing building, I conclude that this is just as weird for me as it must be for Ava. The Manor is still The Manor, except now it’s The Manor Golf Resort and Spa. The grounds are as spotless as they were when I sold the place, and the building as impressive.

‘We met playing golf?’ Ava asks, a little laughter in her tone. ‘How romantic.’

‘There wasn’t much romantic about our first encounter, baby,’ I say, guiding her up the steps to the open doors, checking for her limp. It’s there, if mild.

‘There wasn’t?’ She sounds so disappointed, her head dropped far back, taking in the extraordinary structure. ‘You know, this could be your perfect opportunity to change that.’

I skid to a stop, looking down at her, a little stunned. She remains quiet while I fish for a response to that. I have nothing, so I pull her on, my mind spinning into overdrive. Not about her hinting that maybe I should be romantic, but because she’s shown a suggestive side, and I like it a lot. I shouldn’t, however, take that subtle hint as a green light to ravage her. Not just yet, anyway.

‘This way.’ I lead her into the bar, pick her up, and place her on a stool, trying to ignore the fact that despite the exterior of The Manor remaining the same, the interior has changed dramatically. It looks utterly shit. I gaze around, caught between resentment and reminiscence. The general layout is the same, though the décor is very different.

‘Why are you scowling?’ Ava asks. This will probably do nothing to help her remember. How could it when I barely recognise it myself?

‘It just isn’t how I remember,’ I tell her, pointing to the barman, who’s kitted out in some green penguin suit that matches the rest of the décor. ‘Mario looked much better.’

‘Who’s Mario?’

‘My head barman.’

‘Your head barman?’ she blurts.

‘Oh yeah.’ I look down at her, smiling nervously. ‘I used to own this place.’

‘You owned a golf resort?’ Her mouth hangs open as she takes a look around her. ‘The house, your flash Aston, this place. Are we rich?’

‘We’re comfortable,’ I say nonchalantly, hoping that is the end of that, for now, at least. The complexity of The Manor and how I came to own it isn’t top of my priority list of things to tell her. It’s us that’s important.

I order two waters and quietly ask the barman if I can speak to the manager.

‘Why did you sell it?’

‘It wasn’t a golf resort when I owned it,’ I say, fully aware that I’ve just opened the floodgates to an inquisition. I take the glass and pass it to her, waiting for the inevitable.

‘Then what was it?’ She takes a small sip, looking at me, waiting for an answer.

I stall, avoiding her gaze, like she might find the answer in my eyes. ‘Oh, look, a lovely painting of St Andrews.’ I point my glass to a wall on the other side of the bar, where tasteful art used to hang.

She looks over her shoulder briefly, clearly not in the least bit interested. ‘What was this place when you owned it?’ she repeats, levelling an expectant look on me.

This simple question has made me realise just how much there is for her to remember. Fucking hell, this is getting more daunting by the minute.

My arse drops to the seat of the stool next to Ava, and I sigh, long and defeated. ‘A sex club,’ I say quietly, not that there’s anyone around to overhear.

‘Pardon?’ She coughs, her glass of water landing on the bar.

‘It was an exclusive sex club for the rich and beautiful.’ I rest an elbow on the bar, propping my head in my hand.

Her lovely mouth is hanging open again. And I’m inwardly laughing. She’s heard nothing yet, and for the first time, I wonder if there are certain things that I should hold back for ever. Things that nearly broke us. Things that I would love to have wiped from her memory even before the accident. But that wouldn’t be fair. Our story is our story, after all, and I have to have faith that she got past it back then, so she can get past it again.

‘Wait.’ She retreats on her seat. ‘You said we met here.’ Her finger comes up and swirls the air around her head, comprehension beginning to dawn. The fear of her thoughts is endearing. ‘Tell me I didn’t . . .’

‘You didn’t,’ I assure her on a small smile.

‘Oh, thank God,’ she breathes, her hand coming up to her chest. ‘Finding out I’m married with kids is enough to wrap my brain around, without the added knowledge that I was a kinky bitch.’

I laugh at her evident relief. ‘Oh, you’re kinky, lady. And in a whole league of your own.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her cheeks flush. I haven’t seen embarrassment on my wife for years. It still looks good on her.

I relish the sight, leaning in to her to get close. ‘You’re a teasing temptress, baby. A savage when you want to be.’

‘A savage?’

‘Biting. Clawing.’ I smile a little at her growing shock. ‘Screaming, really loud. We’re fucking perfect together.’

Her blush gets even brighter, her eyes darting away from mine. ‘Oh.’

I chuckle at her prudishness. ‘Well, this is a strange sight.’

‘What is?’

‘My wife being all shy and reserved.’

‘Well, it’s not every day you find out your husband owned a glamorous sex club.’

‘It’s not every day your wife forgets who you are,’ I reply, with no hurt or harshness behind my words. It’s just a factual statement. ‘We’re both out of our comfort zone here, Ava.’

She looks at me in quiet contemplation. ‘Why do I get the feeling that I’m about to experience something incredible?’

I smile and take her hand, helping her down from the stool. ‘Because you are. Because our story is truly incredible. Come on.’ I find the manager and have a quiet word while Ava stands in the entrance hall, staring up the sweeping staircase to the balcony landing. Just watching her there, taking everything in, looking so out of place, brings back so many memories. It’s sweetly reminiscent, if a little painful. The sight is beautiful, but the feelings are ugly. I don’t have the all-consuming intrigue and awe swirling within me like I did back then. I have anxiety instead.

I join Ava and stare up to the first floor, too. The doors off the landing are all closed – doors to guests’ hotel rooms, as opposed to doors that lead to hours of pleasure.

‘This way,’ I whisper in her ear, making her jump a little. I hold my hand out and smile when she takes it, walking us leisurely though what was The Manor. When we hit the ballroom, which is now a huge restaurant with a terrace onto the golf course, I look back, trying not to hope too much that any of this is familiar to her. It’s a long shot, since it’s so very different from how I remember it. ‘Our wedding breakfast was in this room,’ I say over my shoulder, leading her through the scattering of tables.

‘Please tell me you sold this place before we got married.’

‘I can’t.’ I return my attention forward, smiling when she sighs. My smile stretches when I spot an elaborate spra

y of flowers in a huge glass vase with bursts of every colour imaginable. I divert us to the table where it stands and scan the bouquet, spotting what I’m looking for. There’s only one. But it doesn’t matter. I only need one. I pluck the calla from the middle and turn, handing it to Ava.

She’s unsure as she reaches for it, eyes flicking from me to the flower. ‘It’s beautiful.’

I smile mildly and pull her on. ‘Understated elegance,’ I say over my shoulder, relishing the beam she gives me in return. ‘They’re your favourite flowers.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since the day you met me,’ I tell her as we approach my office door, thinking I was quite romantic back then after all. I look up at the solid wooden door, my mind bombarded with so many memories, the most poignant and important being the first time that Ava O’Shea wandered in. I remember it like it could have been yesterday. I was hung-over. Grumpy. Wishing I didn’t have to endure the mundane meeting with an interior designer. Then John showed her in, and all headaches and irritability were forgotten. Instant intrigue, desire, and want replaced them. ‘Wait here,’ I order lightly, dropping her hand and opening the door, stepping into the vortex of memories.

Her head cranes around me, trying to see into the office. ‘Wait?’

‘I want you to wait one minute and then knock on the door.’

She laughs a little. ‘Why?’

‘Because that’s how it was when we met.’ I shut the door and spin around, taking in my office. ‘Really?’ I ask thin air. What the fuck have they done to it? I rush across to the corner and drag the desk to where it should be. I haven’t got time to rearrange the entire space to replicate what it was all those years ago, so this will have to do. I hear a knock and fall into the chair, quickly rolling up the sleeves of my shirt and roughing up my hair a little. ‘Come in,’ I call, grabbing a pen and jotting something down on a pad to the side. The sound of the door opening fills the office, and I look up to find she’s poked her head around the door.