“I know,” I grind. If she’s just going to simply state the fucking obvious, she’s of no help to me. “It’s not something that tends to come up in general conversation between two people who are falling for each other, Kate. Jesus,” I breathe, my hands going to my hair. “She’s just a regular woman.” Regular but spectacular. “And I am far from regular, Kate.” My damn bottom lip wobbles. “I need her to let me fix this.”

Her eyes drop, and I can see I’m breaking through her thick skin.

“She’s everything to me, Kate. I can’t lose her.”

She sighs, looking past me. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” I exhale the words, so fucking grateful. She could have told me to fuck off. She could have shut me down, and the fact she hasn’t sent me packing gives me hope. Because she’s Ava’s best friend and she wouldn’t try to help me if she knew with certainty that Ava truly hates me.

Kate heads back, and I follow obediently, using the time to pray. I pray on everything. I call on my brother to help me. I call on Carmichael. And I call on Rosie. My little girl. She’d be nineteen now. Nineteen years old. And if she was still here, I wouldn’t be in this position. I can only hope that my path still would have led me to Ava though. I have to believe it would have, because to know I would have to lose one love of my life just to find another is unthinkable. It’s cruel.

I climb the stairs to her flat, more nervous than I’ve ever been in my life. Kate looks back at me, and I see in her expression that I should wait here, so I stop, nodding, swallowing, willing to do anything she says if it means I get this chance. She disappears into the lounge, and there’s a prolonged, unbearable silence before anyone speaks. It’s Kate, and what she says is defensive. It tells me maybe I was wrong with my assumption. Ava really doesn’t want to see me.

“Just hear him out, Ava,” she says softly, and I rub at the ache in my chest. “The man’s a mess.” I could laugh. I’m not a mess. I’m fucking broken. Destroyed. “You, get in the kitchen!” she snaps.

“I can’t fucking move, you evil cow,” Sam retorts, and the next minute they appear at the door. Sam’s limping.

“Don’t ask,” he mutters. I don’t bother telling him that I wasn’t going to, but if I were to hedge my bets, I’d say Kate’s let her fury out on his balls. I’d take that over this. I’d take a cricket bat to my nuts repeatedly. The pain would be more bearable.