I drag myself up and plod back to my bedroom, crawling into bed next to Ava. She’s moved from her back to her belly, her hair a beautiful mess over the pillow. I get as close as I can to her, my nose nearly touching hers. Her eyelids are flickering. She’s dreaming. I smile and stroke her flawless cheek. “What are you dreaming about, baby?” I whisper, hoping it’s me. “Tell me what you’re dreaming about.”

She murmurs something inaudible, her nose wrinkling as she turns her face into the pillow, smearing her makeup all over it before settling again. I resume tracing the contours of her face. “Don’t fight him,” she croaks, her hand coming up and taking mine, pulling it away from her face. I lean back slightly. She’s frowning. “Accept him.”

I swallow, remaining still and silent, waiting for more. Accept him. Fucking hell. Even drunk and unconscious she’s still trying to convince herself to stick around. I roll to my back and cover my face with the crook of my arm, her words bringing on a barrage of memories, each one a good enough reason all on its own for her to reject me. A reason for her to run.

Drink. The Manor. Tuesday Night. Uncle Carmichael. Lauren. Rosie. Sarah.

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to dull the sting at the backs of my eyes. I’ve never felt so hopeless yet so full of hope. Leaning over, I place a soft kiss on her lips. “I can’t let you leave me,” I whisper, stroking down her arm and taking her hand. “I’m sorry.”

I get up and head to the kitchen, snatching up the pill packet on the counter. I go to the sink, popping each pill out of the foil, ignoring my conscience—which is currently asking me what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t know. I have no clue. Yet . . . I can’t stop. I can’t let her ever leave me again. I can’t go back to those dark, purposeless days. I need purpose. Ava is a purpose. She’s also a flight risk.