Chapter 36
AMELIA
“And that’s our time for today,” Dr. Chen said in that unnervingly calm therapist tone as she closed her notebook on her side of the video feed.
“I think you’re making really good progress, Dr. Hawthorne.
It will take time to unpack all you’ve been through.
The important thing is to unpack it as it comes.
Don’t try to work through it all at once. ”
That’s exactly what I wanted to do; talk it out in one session and then never speak of it again.
I didn’t want to repeatedly sit down with the best psychiatrist in Connecticut. I wanted to leave it all behind.
Really, I just wanted to sleep.
My ordeal with Jude—or Judah—had only lasted twenty-two days. And that was counting the nights where he simply watched me play at the Four Horsemen while I was none the wiser. Logically, it should only take twenty-two days to get over it.
But here I was, seventy-two days after the arrest and I still couldn’t sleep. Eating was the most insurmountable task. Thanks to delivery services and therapy through video calls, I hadn’t left my apartment since coming back to Connecticut.
The first time I vacated my apartment would be to go back to campus next week when the fall semester started at Alcott.
Hopefully, the vultures outside prying for a comment or sighting would be gone by then.
“Thanks, Dr. Chen. I’ll talk to you on Thursday.”
“Have a good day, Amelia.”
The screen went dark, silence fell, and I was alone.
I closed my laptop and tossed it to the neat side of my bed. When I first started my sessions with Dr. Chen, I tried to fake it. I brushed my hair. I’d dab on a little makeup. I put on a respectable blouse, even if I had pajama pants on. Now, I didn’t even bother getting out of bed to talk to her.
I burrowed into the covers and closed my eyes. What a summer . . .
My first summer not studying, taking classes, or teaching was supposed to be one for the record books.
. . . I suppose it was.
Unfortunately, that record book wasn’t a private ledger. My summer was all over the national news and the internet. Alcott University had put out a statement that they were glad I was “found safely by the FBI” and were supporting me in my recovery from the ordeal.
Every bit of it was bullshit.
The only time I had heard from them was when my department head emailed me to make sure I’d still be teaching my course load in August.
An unexpected knock at the door made my skin buzz as my heart stopped.
It’s just reporters. It’s just reporters.
Joel wasn’t here today. He’d been picked up by a handler and taken to the local FBI office to be deposed for the Valentine trial.
But me? The FBI steered clear of me. I had made one of their best undercover agents break his cover. I was a liability.
In any other instance, I would have been put into WITSEC as John Valentine and most of his organization awaited trial.
But the FBI hadn’t even helped me leave Las Vegas. Cole had.
And Jude? Judah. He disappeared into thin air like it had never happened. Like he was just a figment of my imagination. Like I had made it all up.
Whoever was on the other side of my apartment door knocked again.
At least I knew it wasn’t someone who worked for John Valentine. They were the blow-things-up-first-and-knock-later type.
I never answered the door. I didn’t even bother shouting “go away.” After a while, people just left.
Maybe Joel had sent me food.
I wasn’t hungry but he’d give me shit for not eating whenever he came back.
Reluctantly, I wriggled free of the covers and sulked to the door. I cracked it open and bent to grab the bag of whatever Joel had ordered, only to find a pair of sneakers.
Connected to a person.
I stood straight, then squinted as daylight poured in through the cracked-open door.
Jake, in an embroidered UConn polo, was waiting with so many takeout bags in his arms that I wasn’t entirely sure how he had managed to knock.
The last time I had seen him, I turned his offer of a date down.
The devastation on his face then was no match for the hurt that marred his features now.
He swallowed and blinked quickly, like he was trying not to cry. “Hey,” he croaked.
I combed my fingers back through my hair, trying to smooth down the tumbleweed on my head, but my fingers immediately caught on snarled knots and tangles. “Hey. Sorry. I . . . I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“I tried to call. Text.” His lips pursed in a tight line.
“Sorry,” I muttered again. “I had to change my number.” I didn’t bother explaining the bit about my phone getting blown up. That was insignificant compared to the harassment and barrage of questions I had to endure when the press found my personal phone number.
Regret sank like a stone in my gut. I could barely keep up with my own emotions. I didn’t know how to explain that I was more haunted by the seventy-two days I had spent without Jude than the sixteen days I had spent on the run with him.
Everyone understood when I said that I had nightmares. No one would understand the debilitating ache inside every time I thought about him.
Paper and plastic rustled as Jake shifted the haul in his arms. “I—uh—I didn’t want to show up empty-handed, so I stopped by that doughnut shop you like in Weathersfield.
And then I wasn’t sure if you had eaten lunch, so I also picked up some sushi.
And then I got you some chicken strips in case you didn’t want fish . . .”
I spotted a familiar white box under his arm. “Are those rolls from Texas Roadhouse?”
A blush appeared in a slow fade across his cheeks. “Maybe. I also got you soup. Soup seemed appropriate . . .”
For the first time in three months, I smiled. “I’m not sick.”
Jake nodded down toward the brown paper bag trapped in the crook of his arm. “Which is why I also brought chips, salsa, and tequila.”
While Jake arranged the spread on the coffee table, I dashed into the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair. When I couldn’t get all the knots out in a reasonable amount of time, I threw it in a bun.
Jake was waiting on the couch when I tiptoed back into the living room. He patted the spot beside him on the couch. “How are you really?” he asked as he popped the box of dinner rolls open and grabbed one.
I did the same, just so I’d have something to do with my hands. “I’m fine. Just keeping to myself.”
“Amelia . . .”
“I’m sorry I didn’t text everyone when I got back in town,” I said, as if I had just gone on vacation. “Did you come of your own free will, or were you the appointed friend-group representative?”
I didn’t say it, but the realization that no one from our group of friends had even tried to get in touch with me stung. Yeah, my phone had gotten blown up, but they had my email address. Hell, I usually returned emails faster than texts anyway. They knew that.
His brows furrowed like he was genuinely hurt. “I came because I care about you. I kept waiting for you to call or something once you got back.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“Don’t apologize,” Jake said. “Especially after what you went through.” He let out a sharp breath. “That’s like . . . some movie shit.” Jake stretched his arm across the back of the couch, fingers lightly grazing my shoulder. “Be straight with me. How are you coping with all of it?”
The lump in my throat grew until I could barely speak. The corner of my mouth trembled as I whispered, “I’m not.”
Vocalizing those two words felt better than every session I’d had with Dr. Chen.
Jake dropped his roll and pulled me into a hug. He didn’t say a word, and I appreciated that.
“You sure you should be teaching this semester?” Jake asked when I broke away. “I’m sure Alcott would give you the time off. Especially since everything has been so public.”
I shrugged. “They switched most of my in-person classes to online. I’ll only be on campus two days a week.”
He glanced around the mostly dark apartment. What was the point of turning on lights when I was just going to lie in bed all day? “If you need a change of scenery, you can always come up to Storrs and stay with me. I’ve got plenty of room and Wi-Fi.”
“Jake—”
“I’d say it’s because we’ve been friends for a long time, but I don’t want to lie to you.
I was trying to get up the courage to ask you out—you know—before everything happened.
” He sighed. “And when I saw the news and the video of you being taken . . . I regretted not telling you how I felt. Waiting for you to get back felt like an eternity. I promised myself that if I got to see you again, I’d tell you how I really felt the first chance I got. ”
Was he really going for round two of asking me out?
Now?
My gut sank, but not because of the sickness I felt every time I thought about Jude. I didn’t want to hurt Jake. He was so kind. So sweet. We were friends and I didn’t want to lose that. But I couldn’t lie to him.
“I have a lot to work through,” I said softly.
Jake nodded. “Yeah. I get that. You should focus on that.” He laid his hand on my knee. “And if you need someone to lean on while you work through it, I’m here.”
I felt incrementally lighter when Jake said his goodbyes and left me alone with the smorgasbord of food.
Maybe the lightness had to do with the clarity that my hellish summer had afforded me: I was the human glue stick who held everyone together, even when they didn’t do the same for me.
And Jake? I wasn’t sure our friendship would last, even if I wanted it to.
I had some very complicated feelings about Jude, but Jake was simple.
I didn’t want him the way I’d wanted Jude, even though he’d be the safe choice.
I’d rather feel it all—the elation, the hurt, the flight and free fall, the bone-crushing crash—than feel nothing.