Chapter 27 Jude #2
“I appreciate the reassurance, but none of my parental baggage is relevant to this conversation. I didn’t mean to shock you with my childhood wounds.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing you could say that would shock me,” I mutter without thinking.
There’s a stretch of silence, and when I glance up at her, she’s staring at me like she’s just seen the outline of a sea monster glide beneath the ice we’re standing on.
Trying to pivot, I say, “So, since they’re clearly not a safe harbor or even a wet cardboard box, who did you rely on growing up? ”
At my barely civil tone, she looks away but doesn’t contradict me. “I think I’ve mentioned my best friend—”
“Sofia.”
“Right,” she says, seeming surprised that I remembered her name. “Well, her family—” She stops for a beat and bites her lips together. It’s a moment before she can continue. “They kind of raised me?” she says unsteadily.
“And are they okay?” I ask, trying not to become visibly upset that she needed to be taken care of by her best friend’s family.
Her eyebrows scrunch together. “Not really. No. Last night I found out that Sofia’s dad moved out. Her parents are separating because, apparently, he’s been emotionally abusive for years.” Her voice cracks slightly, and without thinking, I grab her hand.
“It’s obviously devastating on that level alone, but I also can’t stop thinking that I should have known somehow.” She wipes a hand beneath her eyes. “How did I never notice anything was wrong while they were suffering for so many years? How could I be so insensitive?”
Her quiet anguish punctures my composure, spilling cold rage toward this man I’ve never met.
“Don’t blame yourself for not seeing it,” I tell her with the conviction of someone who has witnessed countless victims and their loved ones torture themselves with misplaced guilt.
“Emotional abuse can be extremely covert, and if no one confided in you about it, it’s probably because they weren’t ready to talk about it.
Sofia and her family might only be coming to terms with the truth now.
” I close my eyes. “Processing something like that doesn’t come with a road map. ”
“You’re right,” she says, voice wobbling. “I know she’s still adjusting, but I got so upset that she didn’t tell me sooner. Sofia said she was shielding me, but I can’t stop thinking of how I’ve put her dad on this pedestal all this time. How badly that must have hurt.”
At this, I can’t help interjecting, “Don’t punish yourself for wanting someone to trust and look up to, Gracie. If anything, it sounds like you were being emotionally manipulated, too.”
A tear slips down her cheek. “Yesterday, I never would have believed it. Compared to mine, I always saw Sofia’s parents as having this, you know…
” She waves a hand and rolls her eyes. “Fairy-tale love story. They made me believe happily ever after was possible, but now it all just feels like… bullshit.”
Her voice is so bleak, I’m robbed of any words that might comfort her. Last night, her belief in love was broken, and instead of trying to fix it with someone like Henry, she decided to give up hope with someone like me. My heart becomes an anchor in my chest.
“And I know this is so selfish,” she goes on, “but instead of supporting my best friend when I finally had the chance, we had a huge fight. The things we said to each other…”
She covers her mouth with her hand, unable to say more. Instead, she turns toward me and burrows her face into my neck with a quiet sob.
“You were in shock,” I say, holding her closer. “You were in no state to help anyone. I know when the dust settles, you’ll talk with her. You’ll support her however she needs you to.”
She lifts her head to gaze up at me. “I don’t know if I deserve another chance,” she says. “I don’t even know how to begin to fix it.”
At this, I can’t help thinking of Henry and my own selfishness. “For a friendship like that… you have to try.” I brush a tear from her cheekbone. “I know if she gives you the chance, you’ll repair whatever’s broken.”
“And what about what’s broken inside of me, now?” she asks. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to find my soul mate. That one person who’d make a map of my heart.” She shakes her head. “It sounds so stupid to say out loud. You’ve been right all along, Jude. It was just a fantasy.”
“Don’t say that,” I whisper, taking her damp face between my hands and pressing a kiss to her bangs. “If anyone’s heart deserves to be charted, it’s yours, Gracie.”
The words slip from me in a knee-jerk compulsion to comfort her. They’re too honest, but she’s so overcome that she doesn’t register the truth beneath them. That I wish it could be me.
“It’s too risky,” she says, shaking her head as I release her. “It’s why I came here last night.” Her dark eyes lift to mine. “I wanted you to show me how to be happy with just this.”
“Just this?” I repeat, as an ache for more nearly suffocates me.
“Something casual,” she explains, tracing a finger over one of my swallows. “I’ve never been good at guarding my heart, but you make it look so easy.”
Do I? When I can finally respond, my voice is a husk. “I guess practice makes perfect.”
At my tone, her expression shifts into something apologetic. Shy. “Am I wrong? It’s just… you called yourself a one-night-stand expert once, and that’s exactly what I need right now. A break from constantly hoping my next kiss will lead to forever.”
Her words scrape me hollow, but her eyes are so determined that I can’t tell her the truth. That keeping everyone at arm’s length has been easier than breathing—until her.
“If that’s what you need, then that’s what I’ll be. One emotionally stunted asshole, at your service.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but I guess my delivery needs work because her eyebrows knit together before she tentatively reaches for my hand.
“For the record, I don’t think you’re an asshole. Or emotionally stunted. But maybe…”
She bites her lip, hesitating. “At dinner, Henry mentioned you might understand what it’s like to be hurt by your family. Is that why you’re so good at protecting yourself?”
God. Not for the first (or hundredth) time, I wish I could tell her everything.
But it’s just a selfish impulse to feel less alone.
The fact is, I’m not a victim, and I’m not about to give Gracie a fucking sob story.
Not when I’m the only person my mom trusts with the truth. There’s simply too much at stake.
“Whatever I’ve experienced is incidental,” I finally say, but even this barest admission is more than I’ve ever said to anyone outside David’s office.
“In other words, ‘don’t worry about me,’ ” she says softly, pressing a finger to the cleft in my chin.
I capture her hand and kiss her fingertips. “Exactly. I’ve given you enough to worry about.”
“So the caretaker doesn’t like being taken care of.”
My mouth is on her wrist now, slowly moving up her inner forearm, hungry to give her the one thing she wants from me. The one thing I’m good for. “If you’ve got the time, I’ve definitely got some aches you could take care of.”
She makes a soft sound but then freezes. “Shit. Time.”
“Just a construct,” I murmur into her skin.
“No, no,” she says, sitting up quickly. “What time is it right now?”
My brows pull together. “Around seven, I think?”
“Nooo,” she groans, but before I can ask what’s wrong, she spills Wite-Out on all my thoughts by practically falling out of bed naked, glorious in the morning sunlight.
“I have to go—I’m so late!”
“What are you late for at seven a.m.?” I say after managing to sweep two brain cells together.
“It’s this thing for my mom’s birthday party,” she explains, rushing to pull on her clothes.
“She wants the Patriots’ mascot there for the kids, which, obviously, I couldn’t make happen.
But I found a guy with a retired costume in Woonsocket, and unfortunately, this was the only time he could meet. ”
“Wait, I thought you said you weren’t close with your mom,” I say, trying to parse this new information. “Why are you planning her birthday?”
She’s rebuttoning her shirt at light speed with a hair tie in her mouth as she mumbles, “It’s complicated.”
The words are so familiar, I nearly have to laugh, despite knowing what kind of mountains they can blanket. But instead of interrogating her, I put a mental pin in it and get out of bed.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask as she steps into her shoes. “Do you want food for the road?”
But she’s paused midmotion, staring at the lower half of my body. I glance down at my boxer briefs and white T-shirt, but apart from the semi I’m already sporting from her tumble out of the sheets, nothing’s out of the ordinary.
“No,” she squeaks. “I’m fine.”
At her flustered response, a rough, empty sort of satisfaction curls in my stomach. I may be the worst thing for her, but at least I know she still wants me anyway. “In that case, I guess I’ll see you later?”
She visibly swallows. “Yeah. Later.”
And with that promise, I lead her to the door as anticipation spikes my bloodstream. Because I may not be able to give her everything she deserves, but I can certainly give her what she wants—and pray it’ll be enough for both of us.