She leans across and rests a hand on my knee. I appreciate her sentiment, even if it’s wasted. I push back the imminent onslaught of memories and flash her a smile. I don’t deserve sympathy. I deserve reprisal. I’ve done a fine job of punishing myself over the years, all an act of self-preservation in a fucked-up sense. Hurt myself, lose myself, to escape the constant pain of my reality. To keep my past at bay. Being out of control was something I could control. With Ava, I still feel out of control, except now I have a cure. It feels like a double-edged sword. For the first time in as long as I can remember, there’s hope. I never imagined I could feel happiness again. Never dared dream I could feel alive or have a worthwhile purpose. And the one thing that gives me that is the only thing that can take it away. How the fuck do I navigate these murky, unfamiliar waters and get to the other side with my sanity intact?

“How old are you, Jesse?”

“Twenty–seven,” I reply without thought, and she sighs.

“Why won’t you tell me how old you are?”

“Because you might think I’m too old for you and run a mile.”

“Do you think you’re too old for me?”

“No, I don’t.” I’m perfect for you. “My issue is your issue.”

“I don’t have an issue.”

She doesn’t? I narrow my eyes a fraction and turn them onto her. “Then stop asking me.” My lips quirk when her face screws up in displeasure.

“What about your parents?”

The question comes from left field, and I am far from prepared for it. Then again, am I really prepared for anything where Ava’s concerned? “I don’t see them,” I reply frankly, hoping that’ll be that.

My hopes are answered. She leans back in her seat, falling silent, and I feel like an arsehole once again. It doesn’t prompt me to correct myself though, and the rest of the journey is cloaked in an awkward silence that isn’t perfect and doesn’t suit us. I can’t expect anything less. I was short with her, and if I’m not careful she’ll be leaving me for being so fucking cagey.

As I rumble down the driveway slowly, I see John’s Range Rover up ahead, the big guy slipping out. I don’t know why he doesn’t just move into The Manor. He only goes home to trim his bonsai trees.

I park next to him and claim Ava. “What’s happening, John?”

“’S’all good,” he grunts, extending his hand for me to slap as we pass. All good. Quiet as I’d expected, but I needed to check. I take Ava into the bar and find my staff washing glasses. Pete, understandably, is surprised to see me.