“I may or may not be having a little text banter with that fiery red-headed friend of hers. And she said Ava is a walking corpse at the moment. Lost. Miserable.” He nods down my seated form. “Not unlike yourself.”

She’s suffering? She’s not . . . relieved that I’m gone from her life? “She doesn’t know what happens here, Sam. She knows nothing of my history. She’s completely in the dark.”

“Then tell her.”

I laugh, and then cough, my throat sore. I feel like I’ve swallowed a bag of nails. “Everything?”

He shrugs. “She needs to know.”

“She doesn’t need to know. Not everything. Fucking hell, Sam.” He knows I can’t talk about that stuff. I’m sweating just thinking about it.

“I know your past is fucking tragic, mate, but I hope to fucking God you can find it in yourself to share that shit with her. But that’s on you.” His blue eyes soften. “The happenings of The Manor, though? That shit’s here now, Jesse. And it’s right under her nose, just waiting for someone to spill. That someone needs to be you.”

He's right, of course. If she’s going to know, it has to come from me. I shake my head. We’re talking like she’d even entertain a conversation, and I seriously doubt that. Plus, the happenings of The Manor isn’t the only confession I have. “I’ve fucked up.” Regret is a vise around my lungs, squeezing them, preventing air from getting in.

“Yeah, you’re a dick. But I get it.”

“Will she?” I ask, looking at him hopefully. His silence speaks volumes, and I wedge my elbows on the table, my head dropping into my hands. Of course she won’t get it. “How do I fix this?”

“You can only show her how you feel. Everything else will come naturally.”

“What seems to come naturally for me with that woman is a one-way ticket to fucking crazy town.” And a two-way ticket to rapture.

Sam laughs. “You’re passionate about her. It’s quite refreshing.”

“I don’t think she sees it like that,” I grumble, bringing my coffee to my lips, the caffeine so needed.

“Then make her.”

My eyes lift from my cup. “She won’t want to see me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, standing. His chair scrapes the floor, the sound ringing in my ears. “I’m meeting Drew for a coffee when he’s finished work.”

“Coffee?” I laugh a little. “What are you, two old women?”

Sam ignores me, accepting the toast from one of my staff, Pete, when he brings it over. He slides it on the table. “We were actually meeting to discuss an intervention.”

“For what?”

“You, you tart.” He sighs, nodding to the plate. “Eat. Shower. Sort your shit out.” He leaves me to munch my way slowly through half a slice of toast.

Sort my shit out.