“My backside hurts.” She claims her bag. “I was holding Kate’s cake up in the back of Margo.”

The back of the van? Wait. “You didn’t have a seatbelt on?”

“No.” Her eyeballs roll into the back of her head in an epic display of mockery. “You don’t get seatbelts in the backs of vans, Jesse.”

For fuck’s sake. Reckless and sarcastic. Neither suit her. I growl and pick her up, mentally lining up a very stern conversation about safety and cynicism as I head back to my car. She doesn’t argue or insist on walking. Good. I’ve had enough of being pissed off today. Now? Now I just want to lose myself in her. And I can’t. I fucking can’t, which means any chances I had of not being pissed off for the rest of today have gone up in smoke.

Ava’s head meets my shoulder, and she clings on, her entire being relaxing in my arms. God, I would carry her anywhere she wanted to go. I needed this. Her acceptance of my presence. Her.

My heart is back to beating steady and strong. “You didn’t call me. I told you to call.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“What are you sorry for?” I feel her curious eyes lift to my face.

“For not being here sooner,” I say quietly. “Don’t do stupid shit, Ava. And call when I tell you to.” I sound petulant. It’s unstoppable. But if this relationship is going to work, someone needs to be reasonable.

And it isn’t me.

Instinct told me to insist she spent Saturday with me. Instinct told me to call her yesterday. Instinct told me to call her today. Instinct told me to intercept her outside her office before she got in that fucking van. Fuck the cock in the Merc. He better hope he doesn’t meet me in a dark alley. If I had done any of those things, she wouldn’t have been roughed up by that bald prick. The course of events leading to that moment would have changed. She wouldn’t have been so distressed. She wouldn’t have felt pain when he grabbed her. She wouldn’t have sustained a barrage of abuse. And I wouldn’t have had a million heart attacks.

So I vow from this moment, I won’t hold back from doing what instinct tells me. If I’m going to remain sane, it’s necessary.

Like I should have trusted my instinct over twenty years ago when Jake sucked down that last drink.

I flinch and inhale. I should have trusted my instinct.