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No kidding. I watched him once as he stood there, both hands in his pockets, for seven fucking hours.
A few weeks ago, the doctor allowed him to sit by her bedside and he started holding her hand. He also reads her these ridiculous romance novels that he doesn’t look to be enjoying one bit, but he keeps buying them because she likes them—her mother’s influence. He bought an out-of-print version for over two thousand quid just because.
He times himself and always leaves half an hour before she usually wakes up. Then he comes back the next day for the same routine. He’s never missed a night. Not even when he has dark circles and looks like he could use some sleep.
Or an early introduction to his grave.
Not even when I tried to kick him out. Not only did he refuse to comply, but he also tried to turn both my wife and younger daughter against me.
Silver and Ari said things like, “Well, they’re not officially divorced.”
“You can’t file a restraining order on Eli, Cole.”
“He only visits when she’s sleeping, Papa. Can’t you be nice? He tried his best, he clearly misses her, and he’s lost weight.”
“Once again, you can’t file for a restraining order, Cole.”
Sure I can, but I’m afraid that won’t be enough to stop him.
I swear his brain could be studied to gain insight into psychopaths who don’t bat an eye after offing their victims.
He’s too cold, too calculative, too unruffled for my liking. If I hadn’t seen the footage where he let Ava stab him, then tried to save her from falling, I would’ve thrown him in a grave and relieved humanity of his existence a long time ago.
It doesn’t help that my daughter has always looked at him with heart eyes as if he’s the only man in the world for her.
I love Ava and would give her the moon and the stars if she ever asked for them, but her taste in men is depressingly mediocre.
Why did it have to be that twat of all twats?
Granted, I probably wouldn’t like any of the other twats either since no one is worthy of my princess, but I could at least tolerate them.
Eli, though, has his father’s face. Which means it’s often begging to be punched.
I tighten my fist as I stride toward him and Aiden, my feet sinking into the plush carpeting of the reception area. Velvet sofas line the walls and the air is heavy with their rotten existence.
Father and son stand near the front desk, their voices low as they discuss something.
“What are you doing here during the day?” I grit out and point at Aiden. “And why ishehere?”
“He wanted to visit,” Eli says, his gaze flitting behind me as if he can see her in the hallway. “Today is the last day of the first phase of the new therapy. Is she more lethargic than usual?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Just stop being a petty little bitch and answer the question, Nash,” Aiden says. “He’s being respectful, and if you don’t appreciate the effort he’s exercising to put up with your obnoxiousness, I’ll knock your teeth out.”
I stand toe-to-toe with him. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Please stop.” Eli releases a long sigh. “I’m not in the mood for your usual bickering and would rather talk about my wife.”
“Ex-wife.”
“The divorce isn’t processed yet,” he says point-blank.
“It will be soon.”
“Until then, she’s my wife.”
“I wonder where he learned this level of delusion.” I glare at Aiden. “It’s your obnoxious influence again.”
