“Good.” I sign the accounts and rest back in my chair, as John lifts from his. He looks across my office to Ava, and I follow his eyes. She’s reading a magazine she’s found. Totally absorbed. Completely oblivious to what is going on upstairs.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he rumbles, leaning over my desk. “Do it.”

“I’ve tried, John,” I whisper. “Believe me, a million fucking times, I’ve tried.”

“Try harder.”

“I’m going fucking crazy.” I move in closer, checking Ava is still distracted. “Do you know what I did today?” I don’t give him time to ask. “I talked to Jake. I’m talking to my dead fucking brother. That’s how crazy I feel right now.” A brother Ava knows nothing about.

He lifts his shades, revealing eyes that are nothing less than alarmed. “And what did he say?”

I lean back, cautious, wondering if I should divulge more. Undoubtedly, I shouldn’t, it’ll only encourage John to remain on my case, but I need to share and John is my only outlet. “He told me to buy some leathers.”

“Listen to him. And to me. Tell her.” He turns on his big boots and strides out. Ava doesn’t look up. She’s in a world of her own, so I leave her, and use the time productively: beating myself up over and over until I physically hurt.

God damn me.

I lift my heavy body from the chair and creep up behind her, looking over her shoulder to what she’s reading. Superbikes. I’ve bought every monthly edition since Jake died and added them to the collection he kept hidden from our father under his bed. My heart constricts. “I’ve started something, haven’t I?” I ask, leaning down to kiss her.

“Why haven’t you upgraded to the 1198?”

Christ, what have I done? “I have, but I prefer the 1098.”

“Oh.” Her eyes become saucers. “How many do you have?”

“Twelve,” I reply, rather proudly. Every new model that’s released is in my garage sharpish. They’re more for Jake than me. I just wish he was here to ride them with me.

“Twelve?” she asks, alarmed. “Are they all superbikes?”

“Yes, Ava.” God, love her. “They’re all superbikes. Come on, I’m taking you home.” I seriously need to get myself back on an even playing field, and I can think of only one way to achieve that.

“You know,” she muses, getting up from the couch, “you should be wearing leathers.”

“I know I should.” Between Ava and Jake, I feel thoroughly nagged.

“So why don’t you?” she asks as I lead her out of my office by her hand.