Page 33 of War

I squeeze his shoulder and back toward the doorway. “Always. Getsome sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna be a busy day, and the girls will have us up early, I’m sure.”

With a laugh, he shakes his head. “Yeah, don’t stay up too late with your pretty friend.”

I roll my eyes. “She’s not my friend.”

“Yeah, yeah. We all know you love collecting strays. Someone left her behind, so you’ll find a place for her. You always do.”

A little stunned by his assessment, I head down the steps.

Collecting strays? Is that what he thinks? Is that really what I do?

Downstairs, Ava is sitting on the hearth, inspecting the Christmas tree. She glows in the light of the fire, her hair looking almost golden. For a second, I study her, take her in as she is, rather than as the woman I callVicious. Rather than the quiet woman she has the world believing she is. In this moment, I think I’m seeing the real her for the first time since the day I found her dancing in the studio off the gym. I’m getting a glimpse of the warmth. The depth. Even as she smiles while perusing the ornaments, she emanates sadness. And fuck if I don’t ache to know what’s caused it.

Not because I want to use it against her.

But because I hate seeing her struggle.

And because I recognize that bone-deep sadness that comes from loneliness after loss.

Clutching the pile of clothes to my chest, I shake the ridiculous thoughts from my mind. She’s not a stray. She doesn’t need my help. She doesn’t need fixing.

Tomorrow she’ll go back to her life, and the girls will circle her like they always do. They’ll lift her up, and eventually, she’ll find a man worthy of her. Xander definitely wasn’t, and I’m not foolish enough to believe I ever could be.

“Got clothes for you.”

She swivels, slapping a hand to her chest, as if I’ve startled her.

I hold the clothes out, rooted to the spot, chastising myself for the thoughts I allowed to float through my mind. For pretending I have any clue who this woman really is.

She lets out a slow breath and a quiet “thank you,” but makes no move to stand. Instead, she straightens, her body stiffening and hereyes roving the room, like maybe she doesn’t know what to do with me here. Like maybe she’s uncomfortable.

Why wouldn’t she be? I have done everything in my power for the last two years to make her life miserable. Showing up late, ignoring her, taunting her.

Since I’m to blame for her discomfort, I make the first move. “You up for a drink before bed?”

“Um.” She remains focused on her hands in her lap for a moment, but when she lifts her head, she gives it a nod. “Yeah, I could have a drink.”

“Wine?”

“You got any good bourbon?”

I bite back a grin. It’s not the first time she’s surprised me tonight. I’m about to make a list of all the things I’ve gotten wrong. “Yeah, I think I’ve got something you’ll like.”

In my office, I set the sweats and T-shirt on my desk, then pick up two tumblers and the bottle of James Whiskey I picked up the day I came across this house.

I put an offer in on a whim after I discovered it on my way home from one of Bray’s hockey games. It was dark, and I got lost in the area. Or maybe I was found. Though I’m not sure I believe in that shit. Either way, I ended up in front of this house, and the moment I saw the for-sale sign, I knew it would be where I could give Brayden and Josie a better life.

Maybe make a better life for myself too.

And god did I want that.

I went to the liquor store, bought this bottle, and told myself I could open it once the house was officially mine.

That’s the only time I’ve had a drink from it. But tonight feels like the right time to have another. And no, I don’t want to dig into the reason behind it or why I’m sharing it with Ava.

I settle on the bricks beside her and hold out the glasses for her to take. Once I’ve poured two fingers into each, I set the bottle on the floor and take one glass from her. “Merry Christmas.”

With a coy smile, she taps her glass to mine. “Merry Christmas.”

---