Chapter 31 Gracie #3
I nod, unable to speak. Jude’s hands are gentle but insistent as he pulls me closer.
When I’m lying against his chest with his arms wrapped around me, every nervous voice inside of me settles.
Maybe a cookie-cutter relationship isn’t in the cards for us.
But I’m starting to think that finding someone who clearly sees the most jagged pieces of your heart and still wants to gather you close matters more than fitting any mold.
He kisses the top of my head. “You shouldn’t have to do a job that belongs on payroll to feel seen by your family. If you never stop, you’ll never find out if they’ll show up for you.”
“But what if they don’t? I didn’t have anything to offer them growing up, and they were happy enough to pass me off to Sofia’s family every chance they got.”
Jude’s arms tighten around me. “If they don’t want to know someone as giving, talented, and hardworking as you, then they’re fucking idiots, Gracie. At a certain point, all you can do is step back and grieve. You lean on the people who do luh-preciate you.”
Is it possible to shrink a duplicate of this man down to pocket size and carry him around with me everywhere? There’s no judgment or frustration in his tone—just understanding paired with a clear (if difficult) path forward.
“What do I owe you for the therapy session?” I ask.
He smiles faintly. “You could say yes to letting me come with you.”
“You’d really come with me to my mom’s house?”
“It’s not in the bowels of Mordor, is it?”
“Are you saying you wouldn’t journey with me to Mordor?”
“Lately, I’ve been going every weekend.”
I smack his shoulder. “Hush. Lucky for you, she’s just in Pawtucket.”
He chuckles, and at that moment, Taco saunters in, lightly hopping onto the coffee table. She sits and stares unblinkingly at me with her bright yellow eyes as though to say Well? I’m here for my appointment.
“And how was your UN address, Madame President?” I coo, reaching out a hand to let her sniff me. “Did they accept your plan for world domination?”
Just like last time, she headbutts my hand and begins to purr when I pet her.
“Oh sure,” Jude says, rolling his eyes at Taco. “Just ignore the guy who picks up your poop every night.”
“The heart wants what it wants,” I say simply.
Jude disentangles from me and gets off the couch. “For that, now you’re definitely clipping her nails.”
When he comes back to Taco lounging on my lap, he makes a sound of disgust and hands me the clippers and a bag of treats. The job is easy enough, and when I’m done, she shakes her fur and leaves like she’s grown tired of our company.
“I don’t get it,” he says, watching her graceful retreat into a dark room.
“You’re nervous around her. She can tell you think she’s going to lash out, so she does.”
“So, you’re saying if I just act like she’s going to be well-behaved, then she will be?”
“Couldn’t hurt to give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“Maybe trust doesn’t come easy for me either,” he says.
Understatement of the century, I think, with a flash of anger toward whoever lies at the root of his guardedness.
I study him for a moment before grabbing one of the soft throw blankets from the back of the couch to drape over us.
Tonight, after every confession he groaned into my wet skin and our conversation afterward, it’s unfathomable that I used to see him as cold and unfeeling.
Unthinkable that I could get to know him and not fall for him, no matter the risks.
I put my head on his shoulder as he brings his arm around me.
“I read once that zombie movies help with trust issues,” I say.
“Huh. Can’t say I’ve seen that particular study. Was it on ?”
I elbow him, refusing to admit I’m making this up. “It was very in-depth! Something about bonding through fear…”
He snorts before grabbing a remote from his coffee table. “Well, if there’s anyone I’d be willing to bond with through fear, it’s definitely the person brave enough to trim Taco’s nails. I bet you’d be amazing in the apocalypse.”
I pretend to wipe a tear away. “I don’t think I’ve ever received a better compliment.”
The giant flatscreen mounted to the wall comes to life, but he doesn’t start searching for anything. Instead, he takes a breath. “And what if I told you I hate violent movies? Would that be a dealbreaker for you?”
He doesn’t look at me as he says it, but all at once, my chest is flooded with a force so large and protective, it’s hard to breathe properly.
“Then I’d say we should watch Corpse Bride instead,” I say, tangling my fingers with his beneath the blanket. “And I’ll hold your hand, just in case.”
“But what if that’s not enough?” he asks, looking away from the screen to meet my gaze. “What if I need you to stay the night?”
Somewhere in that last request were the words I need you, and they glow a little longer than all the rest. I may not be able or willing to put a label on what this is between us, but I do have a word for how it makes me feel. Safe. And more than anything, I want him to feel the same way.
“Then I guess it’s my turn to take care of you, Jude.”