Beneath This Man (This Man Trilogy)

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  I nod and help myself, John following suit, putting an incredible four sugars into his coffee. I know there is no milk, but it would be pointless sharing this.

  ‘So,’ Sam begins. ‘Now we’ve found him, what are we going to do with him?’ he jokes.

  Carefree Sam is back and it’s quite a relief. Seeing him so fraught had only fuelled my own worry, and as it turns out, he had every reason to be anxious. I inwardly shudder at the thought of Jesse alone and suffering for the last five days. How much longer would he have been lying there if I had refused to come? They would have surely phoned the police.

  John pipes up. ‘Everything is running smoothly at The Manor. We don’t have to worry about that. He’ll be back to normal after nursing a week long hangover.’

  ‘Doesn’t he need to go to rehab?’ I ask. ‘Or therapy, I don’t know.’ I have no idea how these things work.

  John shakes his head and puts his glasses back on, and I start to wonder about his relationship with Jesse. I thought he was just an employee, but he seems to be the one in the know about all of this.

  ‘No rehab.’ John states firmly. ‘He’s not an alcoholic in the classic sense of the word. He’s not obsessed with alcohol, Ava. He drank to lighten his foul mood, to fill a gap. Once he starts, he can’t stop.’ He offers me a small smile. ‘You helped, girl.’

  ‘What did I do?’ I ask defensively. I don’t know why I sound so hurt by John’s statement. He has just told me I helped the situation, but I can’t help feeling like he’s insinuating that I might have helped with the relapse as well.

  Sam places his hand over mine on the worktop. ‘His attention was focused elsewhere.’

  ‘But then I left him.’ I say quietly. I’m just confirming what they are both thinking. We were not together in the couple sense for me to leave him, though. Nothing had been established as to where we both stood. We never did get to lay our cards on the table or sort this shit out.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Ava.’ Sam reassures me firmly. ‘You weren’t to know.’

  ‘He never told me,’ I whisper. ‘If I had known, things would have been different.’ I’m still defending myself. I’m not sure how things would have been different if Jesse had told me, or if I had worked it out myself. I know I never want to see Jesse like he was last Sunday again. If I leave now, will that happen again? Or I could stay and help him, but would I be doing that out of guilt or because I love him? He might not even want me here. He was so mad at me. My head is a jumbled mess. I prop my elbows on the counter and plant my head in my hands. What the hell am I supposed to do?

  ‘Ava?’ John’s deep rumble pulls my head back up. ‘He’s a good man.’

  ‘What made him drink? How bad is it?’ I ask. I know he’s a good man deep down, but if I know more I might understand better.

  ‘Who knows?’ John muses, and then looks at me. ‘Don’t be thinking he was smashed all day every day. He wasn’t. How he is right now, that’s just because of misery, not because he’s an alcoholic.’

  ‘And he didn’t drink when I turned up?’ I can’t believe that.

  John laughs. ‘He didn’t, although you have brought out some other rather nasty qualities in him, girl.’

  I frown, but I know exactly what John’s talking about, and so does Sam by the look on his cheeky face. I’ve been told Jesse is usually quite a laidback type, but I have only ever seen snippets of a laidback Jesse Ward, and that was mostly when he was getting his own way. Most of the time, all I’ve seen is an unreasonable control freak. He even admitted himself that he’s only like it with me…lucky me.

  What would they be faced with if I was to walk away again? ‘I’ll stay, but if he comes round and he doesn’t want me here, I will be calling one of you two.’ I warn.

  Sam visibly sags. ‘That won’t happen, Ava.’

  John nods. ‘I need to get myself back to The Manor and run that mother fucker’s business.’ He gets himself up from the barstool. ‘Ava, you need my number. Where’s your phone?’

  I look around for my bag and realise that I’ve left it on the terrace, so I jump up and leave Sam and John in the kitchen while I go to fetch it.

  On my way back to the kitchen, I see Jesse is still out for the count. How long will he be like this and at what point should I really worry? I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

  I stand silently watching him, his lashes flickering mildly, his chest rising and falling steadily. Even unconscious he looks troubled. I approach quietly and pull the blanket up to his chin. I can’t help it. I’ve never looked after him before, but it’s instinctive. I kneel and rest my lips on his cold cheek, soaking up the little bit of comfort I get from the contact before standing and making my way back to the kitchen. John has gone.

  ‘Here,’ Sam passes me a piece of paper. ‘John’s number.’

  ‘Was he in a rush?’ I ask. He could have waited for me.

  ‘He never hangs around for longer than necessary. Listen, I’ve spoken to Kate. She’s bringing some clothes over for you.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ My poor clothes are going to wonder where they live. They have been transported back and forth to this place on numerous occasions.

  ‘Thank you, Ava.’ Sam says sincerely.

  ‘Don’t thank me.’ I protest, feeling uncomfortable, especially since this is partly my fault.

  Sam shuffles nervously. ‘I know. It’s just…well, after last Sunday, the whole Manor shock.’

  ‘Don’t, Sam.’

  ‘When he drinks, he really drinks.’ Sam laughs lightly. ‘He’s a proud man, Ava. He’ll be mortified that we’ve seen him like this.’

  I imagine he will be. The Jesse I know is strong, confident, domineering and a whole heap of other things. Weak and helpless are not included in the long list of Jesse’s attributes. I want to tell Sam that The Manor and its activities have been diluted by this drink issue, but it hasn’t. Not really. Now I’m here and I’ve lay my eyes on Jesse again, it’s all screaming very loudly in my head. Jesse owns a sex club. He also uses the facilities of his own club. Sam confirmed it, even though it was glaringly obvious when I was faced with the husband of one of Jesse’s conquests. I knew deep down that he must have put himself about, that he was a pleasure-seeking playboy, but I certainly didn’t ever imagine how.

  We spend the next hour collecting empties from around the penthouse and dumping them in a couple of black bin liners. I empty the fridge of more vodka, tipping it all down the sink. I’m staggered by how much he has loaded up in there; he must have bought a whole crate of the stuff. It’s obvious he planned on being here alone with his vodka for quite a while. I do know one thing, though; I won’t be drinking it ever again.

  Clive rings up to tell me that a young lady is in the foyer by the name of Kate, and after I’ve advised Clive of what we’ve found, we go down to meet her, each dragging a black bin bag full of rubbish and empty bottles. I make a mental note to sort the mangled door out.

  When we arrive in the foyer, Kate is waiting under the close observation of Clive. ‘Hey,’ she says cautiously as we approach, dragging the clanging bin bags with us. ‘How is he?’

  I release the bag, causing more clanging, and give Clive the eyeball, just to let him know that I’m really pissed off with him. If he had let Sam, Drew or John up to Jesse’s penthouse before now, we may have only found him drunk instead of completely comatose. He has the decency to look apologetic.

  ‘He’s asleep.’ Sam answers her when it becomes obvious that I’m too busy making Clive feel guilty.

  When I turn my attention back to Kate, I see Sam slip his free arm around her and give her a hug. She bats him away playfully. ‘Here,’ Kate passes me my overnight bag. This thing is like a yoyo between Kate’s house and Lusso. ‘I just chucked anything and everything in it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I take the bag.

  ‘So, you’re staying here then?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah,’ I answer on a shrug. Sam gives me that appreciative stare, and I immedi
ately feel uncomfortable again.

  ‘How long are you staying for?’ Kate asks.

  That’s a point. How long for? How long do these things take? He could wake tonight, or it could be tomorrow or the next day. I have a job to do and an apartment to find. I look at Sam for some clue, but he shrugs so is no help at all. I look back at Kate and shrug too.

  I’m suddenly aware that I’ve left Jesse upstairs and I start to panic. He might wake up and no one will be there. ‘I should get back up there.’ I say, looking back towards the elevators.

  ‘Sure, you go.’ Kate shoos me with her hand and takes the bin bag from the floor. ‘We’ll get rid of these.’

  We say our goodbyes and I promise to call her in the morning before I head back to the elevator, instructing Clive to sort out Jesse’s car window and the door to his penthouse on my way. He, of course, gets straight onto it.

  When I arrive back on the top floor, I shut the door, but it doesn’t secure fully. It will do until the repair man turns up, though. I wander into the living room and see Jesse still asleep.

  So, what do I do now? I look down my body and note I’m still in my taupe dress and heels, so I take myself upstairs, allocating myself the natural room at the far end of the landing. I’m staggered to find all of the pillows on the floor and the bed sheets crumpled from my brief lay down before Jesse transported me back to his bed after the dress massacre. I set about fixing the bed and then change into my ripped jeans and a black t-shirt. I could do with a shower, but I don’t want to leave Jesse alone for too long. It’ll have to wait.

  Making my way back downstairs, I make a black coffee and as I stand sipping it in the kitchen, I figure it would be a good idea to read up on alcoholism. Jesse must have a computer somewhere.

  I go in search, finding a laptop in his study. I fire it up, and I’m immensely relieved when it doesn’t prompt me for a password. This man has personal security issues. I take it downstairs and settle myself in the big chair opposite Jesse so I can keep an eye on him. Pulling up Google, I type in “Alcoholics”, and I’m presented with seventeen million results. At the top of the page, though, is “Alcoholics Anonymous”. That would be a good place to start, I suppose. John might have said that Jesse isn’t an alcoholic, but I’m doubtful myself.

  After a few hours of browsing the internet, I feel like my brain cells have been zapped. There is so much to take in – long term effects, psychiatric problems, withdrawal symptoms. I read a piece about severe childhood trauma leading to alcoholism, which leaves me wondering if Jesse had something happen to him when he was a boy, the vicious scar on his abdomen springing to mind immediately. There are also genetic connections, so then I wonder if one of his parents was an alcoholic? I’m bombarded with information, and I don’t know what to do with any of it. These are not the sort of questions you just come right out and ask.

  My mind flicks back to last Sunday and the things he said to me. “You’re a fucking prick tease, Ava”, “I needed you and you left me”. Then I had left him…again. He’d said he didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to have another excuse to leave him, but then he said he wasn’t an alcoholic. John said the same thing. If it’s a problem and it involves alcohol, then doesn’t that make him an alcoholic?

  I shut the laptop in exasperation and put it on the coffee table. It’s only ten o’clock, but I’m totally spent. I don’t want to go upstairs to bed in case he wakes up and I don’t want to make myself comfortable, so I gather a few cushions up, lay them on the floor next to him and settle myself, resting my head on the sofa and stroking the hairs on his toned arms. It relaxes me to have the contact and it’s not long before my eyes are heavy and I’m drifting off.

  Chapter 3

  ‘I love you.’

  I’m vaguely aware of his palm holding the back of my head, his fingers running through my hair, and it feels so comforting…so right. I open my eyes and I’m met by a duller version of the green I know so well.

  I jump to my feet and smack my ankle on the coffee table. ‘Shit!’ I curse.

  ‘Watch your mouth!’ he scolds me, his voice gritty and broken.

  I grasp my ankle, but then I wake up fully and remember where I am. I drop my foot and swing my gaze to the sofa, finding Jesse sat up slightly, looking terrible, but at least he’s awake. ‘You’re awake!’ I cry.

  He winces, clasping his head with his good hand.

  Oh shit!

  He must have the hangover from hell and here I am screeching like a banshee. I walk back the few steps needed to find the chair behind me, and then lower myself onto the seat. I have no idea what to say to him. I’m not about to ask how he’s feeling, that is pretty obvious, and I’m not going to hit him with a lecture about personal safety or for disregarding his health. I really want to ask him if he remembers our fight. What should I do?

  I don’t know, so I resolve to sit with my hands in my lap and shut up.

  I look at him, looking at me and my mind is racing with things I want to say, none of which I can. I want to tell him that I love him, for a start. And I want to ask him why he didn’t tell me he owns a sex club or that he has an issue with drink. Is he wondering what I’m doing here? Does he want me to leave? Oh, God, does he need a drink? The silence is killing me.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I blurt, instantly wishing I had kept my mouth shut.

  He sighs and inspects his damaged hand. ‘Shit.’ he states sharply.

  Oh, okay. Now what do I say? He doesn’t seem pleased to see me at all, so perhaps I should go before I push him to crack another bottle open. He’ll have to go buy some more, though. That will probably be even more of a reason to be mad at me.

  I decide he must need some fluids, so I get up and head towards the kitchen. I’ll get him some water and then I’ll leave.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asks, slightly panicky and bolting upright on the couch.

  ‘I thought you might need some water.’ I assure him, my heart lifting a little. He doesn’t want me to leave. I’ve seen that face plenty of times. The domineering control freak usually follows, after he’s pinned me down somewhere, but I won’t get my hopes up too high. He hasn’t got the strength to be chasing, pinning or dominating me at the moment. I’m disappointed.

  He settles at my response, and I carry on my way to the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the oven as I fetch a glass. Eight o’clock. I’ve slept for ten hours straight. That hasn’t happened since…well, since I was last with Jesse.

  I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and fill the glass before traipsing back into the vast open space to find Jesse sat up on the sofa with his head in his hands, the blanket pooling in his lap.

  When I reach him, he lifts his gaze to mine and our eyes lock. I hand him the water. With his good hand, he takes the glass, his fingers resting over mine. I retract mine quickly, the water splashing out of the glass. I don’t know why that happened, and the look on his face makes me feel instantly heartless. He’s shaking dreadfully, and I’m wondering if it’s withdrawal. I’m sure I read shakiness as a symptom, along with a catalogue of other signs.

  He follows my eyes to his hand and shakes his head. This is weird. Things have never been like this between us. Neither of us knows what to say.

  ‘When did you last have a drink?’ I ask. This is pink elephant in the room territory, but I’ve got to say something.

  He sips his water and then slumps back on the sofa, his abdominals looking sharper from his slight weight loss. ‘I don’t know. What day is it?’

  ‘Saturday.’

  ‘Saturday?’ he asks, obviously shocked. ‘Fuck.’

  I’m assuming this means he’s lost a lot of time, but he can’t have been in this penthouse for five days solid, just drinking. Surely he would be dead?

  And then the silence falls again and I find myself back on the chair opposite him, twiddling my thumbs and searching my brain for the right thing to say. I hate this. I wouldn’t usually think twice about diving on him and
throwing my arms around him, letting him smother me completely, but he’s so delicate at the moment, which is crazy, considering his tall, if a bit leaner frame. My strong rogue is reduced to a shaking mess. It’s killing me. And on top of all that, I don’t even know if he would want me to. I’m not sure I really want to either. This man is not the man I fell in love with. Is this the real Jesse?

  He sits and fiddles with his glass thoughtfully, the familiar sight of the cogs turning is comforting, it’s a little piece of him that I recognise, but I can’t bear this silence. ‘Jesse, is there anything I can do?’ I ask despairingly, while silently pleading for him to give me something – anything.

  He sighs. ‘There are lots of things you can do, Ava. But I can’t ask you to do any of them.’ He doesn’t look at me.

  I want to scream at him, tell him what he’s done to me. Sat here looking at him, all disheveled and tracing the rim of his glass, is just reinforcing the sensible side of my brain’s instinct to run.

  ‘Do you want a shower?’ I ask. I can’t sit in silence anymore. I’ll tear my hair out.

  He leans forward and winces. ‘Sure.’ he murmurs.

  I watch him struggle to his feet, and I feel like a cold cow for not helping him, but I don’t know if he wants me to, and I’m not sure that I can. The atmosphere between us is so awkward.

  As he stands, the blankets fall to his feet and he looks down at his naked body. ‘Shit.’ he curses, reaching down to retrieve one of the blankets. He wraps it around his waist and turns towards me. ‘I’m sorry.’ he says on a shrug.

  Sorry?

  Like I haven’t seen it all before – lots, in fact. In his words, there is not a place on my body that hasn’t had him in it, on it or over it.

  My shoulders droop and I sigh as I start walking with him up the stairs to the master-suite. It takes a while and we’re surrounded by an uncomfortable silence the whole way, but we make it, eventually. I don’t know how much longer I can stay here. This is a million miles away from what I’m used to with this man.