“We’re just gonna pop down to The Cock for a drink,” Sam says, hauling Kate out of the way and out of my line of fire.

I take in air, controlled and calm, my head tilting back. Calm the fuck down, Ward. You’re not helping matters. She’s silent, waiting, and I drop my head to find her eyes. “Does someone need a reminder?”

Her mouth falls open. She’s surprised? Shocked? Good. “No,” she yells, pushing me out of the way and stomping to the kitchen. I follow, watching as she viciously swipes up a bottle of wine and tips half the bottle into a huge glass. “You’re a complete bastard!” She tosses me a look that would hurt if I wasn’t already in fucking agony. I still flinch, though. I’m a bastard? I’m not the one who’s left her frantic with fucking worry these past few days. Where the hell does she get off doing this? What’s her fucking point? “You’ve got what you wanted,” she yells, and I frown. “So have I. Let’s not fuck about.”

I recoil. Swearing, drinking. Is she hell-bent on having me sectioned? “Watch your fucking mouth,” I bellow. “What are you talking about? I haven’t got what I wanted.” Nowhere near.

“You want more?” she asks, necking some wine. My jaw ticks as I watch her downing it like water, reckless and irresponsible. “Well, I don’t,” she yells. “So stop hounding me, Jesse. And stop shouting at me!” She takes another massive swig of wine. She’s pushed me too far. She has a habit of doing this. It’s like she’s found my buttons and can’t resist fucking pressing them.

I move forward fast, seizing the glass and tossing it in the sink, smashing it to smithereens.

“You don’t have to drink like a fucking fifteen-year-old,” I shout, and she glares at me, her hands balling into tight fists. She’s mad? I laugh on the inside. Welcome to my world, lady.

“Get out!”

The pressure becomes too much, and I explode, swinging around and throwing my fist into the door, smashing a giant hole in the wood.

I turn, shaking my hand, nailing her in place with my eyes. She doesn’t shy away. She can’t. I close the space between us as she pushes herself into the worktop, and when we’re front to front, she looks up at me, almost with challenge in her eyes. My breathing is shot. I’m damp with a stressed sweat. So fucking angry that she sways from all in to all out on a daily basis. And everyone thinks it’s a good idea to spill every dirty secret I have? This, here, now, has only reinforced my decision. I’m telling her nothing until we’re over this infuriating cat and mouse game.