Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ABBEY
The crisp scent of citrus surrounds me as I carefully return the contents to their rightful place in the freshly cleaned refrigerator. My hands are slightly rough and my arms ache from scrubbing every inch of this townhouse from top to bottom.
With all the hours I’ve worked at the taproom and the generous tips I’ve received from many locals, I’ve been able to save a decent amount of money.
More money than I made in a month at my nonprofit job.
Despite being in a good position to pay rent, Jude still refuses to accept a single penny from me. Instead, I’ve made sure to contribute in other ways, like buying groceries and other household necessities.
But a couple hundred bucks on groceries seems inadequate compared to everything he’s done for me, so I decided to use my day off today to clean the townhouse. It’s not a disaster zone by any means —Jude’s a pretty tidy roommate — but it’s probably been a while since anyone’s given the floors and countertops a good scrub.
When I lived with Carson, I hated spending an entire day cleaning. With him, cleaning and cooking were expected duties, since he was supporting me financially, even if he was the one to suggest it.
It’s different with Jude. He’s never once asked anything of me, other than being on time for work and friendly to his customers. Which is why I don’t mind spending my day cleaning. I want to do something nice for him in return for all the kindness he’s shown me.
I sing along with Chappell Roan on one of my playlists, not caring who might see or hear. I shouldn’t be this happy while cleaning. But since arriving in Sycamore Falls and being welcomed like I’ve always lived here, it’s difficult not to be happy.
To not feel like I belong.
During my time here, I’ve formed amazing friendships I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
Every Monday morning, I have a standing coffee date with Jude’s mother, where she catches me up on the latest gossip she’s picked up while working at the salon.
Every other Wednesday, I attend a meeting of the unofficial Sycamore Falls Dirty Book Club, which Dylan convinced me to join, along with Haley, Beckham’s wife, their friend, Parker, and the beloved Grandma Estelle. Even though she’s not technically a grandmother, I can see why everyone in town loves and admires her. She’s a riot to be around, and is responsible for my discovery of a genre of romance I didn’t think was needed —monster erotica.
But my favorite thing to do is go bowling with Jude on Sunday night. It’s become the highlight of my week.
I’d like to think it’s become the highlight of Jude’s week, too.
Over the past several weeks, I’ve definitely improved. I’m not nearly as good as Jude, but a spare isn’t a rarity anymore. In fact, I’ve even managed to hit a few strikes.
I’ve only been here for a little over a month, but I can’t imagine being anywhere else at this point in my life. While I know I can’t stay here forever, this place is what I need right now. It’s helped heal my soul and give me hope. Maybe that’s why I haven’t actively started to look for one in my field yet. Because once I find a job, I’ll have to say goodbye to Sycamore Falls. I’m not ready to do that quite yet.
With the refrigerator cleaner and more organized than it’s probably been in ages, I set my sights on mopping the floors.
Provided Jude owns some sort of mop.
I check in all the obvious places — the entryway closet, laundry room, garage — but come up empty. Maybe he doesn’t have one.
I’m about to walk down to the hardware store to grab one when I remember the closed door on the second floor. It must be a closet. Maybe it’s in there.
Heading up the stairs, I walk past my bedroom and approach the door opposite the guest bathroom. As I do, an unsettling chill trickles down my spine, a strange premonition washing over me.
What if I’m wrong? What if it’s not a closet, but a room he’s kept closed for some reason? But what would that be?
Because he’s a modern-day Norman Bates and is keeping a mummified version of his mother in this room? That’s ridiculous. Not to mention, I’m more than aware his mother is alive and well.
And not a mummy.
Shaking off my unease, I place my hand on the doorknob and turn. As the door opens with a loud creak, every inch of me freezes in place.
I was wrong.
This isn’t a closet.
It’s a room.
And not just any room.
It’s a nursery.
The blinds are drawn tight, allowing only a few slivers of light to filter through. The air feels heavy and stagnant, a thick layer of dust coating every surface, confirming my suspicion that no one has entered this room in quite some time.
I should turn around and walk away. Pretend I never saw it.
If I thought snooping through Jude’s room and finding that ultrasound photo was an invasion of his privacy, this is even worse. Then again, I do live here. Did he expect I wouldn’t eventually find this room? It’s a miracle I haven’t stumbled on it until now.
That’s all the rationale I need to propel me forward into the darkened space.
A photo of Jude and a beautiful brunette sits on a white dresser, her pregnant belly proudly on display. The pale pink wall behind the crib is adorned with a mural of sleeping baby animals, a matching mobile hanging overhead.
Everything’s frozen in time, waiting for a baby that never came.
The thought makes my heart squeeze, my throat closing up.
No wonder he was so cynical the night we met. If I’d suffered this kind of loss, I’d be angry at the world, too. It’s obvious this child was wanted — desperately so. I can picture Jude constructing the furniture, painting the walls, whispering his hopes and dreams for the baby against her mother’s belly.
And now all those hopes and dreams are gone.
What happened?
I’m not sure I want to know.
Regardless, one thing is certain — Jude’s past holds secrets and a pain I’ll never truly comprehend or imagine. And now, standing in this deserted nursery, I can’t help but feel even more sorrow and sympathy for him.
“ What the fuck are you doing ?!”
A harsh voice startles me, and I whirl around, inhaling sharply. Jude looms just on the other side of the doorway, his presence filling the room even though he doesn’t step inside. His face is contorted in anger, his dark eyes boring into mine.
I try to speak, but my words are caught in my throat from the intensity of his fury. His body is taut, jaw clenched, muscles straining.
“ Answer me !”
“I… I was just looking for a mop,” I stammer out. “I’ve been cleaning the house today and thought?—”
“ Get out !” he snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut me in half.
Without hesitation, I scurry from the room as quickly as possible.
“You’re never to step foot in this room,” he admonishes, his gaze fixed on me like I’ve committed some kind of crime.
Then again, I have.
“ Ever . Do you understand?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was…” I trail off, unsure how to finish that statement. A nursery? A child’s room?
A reminder of what could have been?
“I don’t care what you did or didn’t know,” he interrupts coldly. “I keep this door closed for a reason.” He slams it shut, the harsh sound causing me to jump. “Don’t ever go in there again.”
The intensity in his eyes leaves no room for argument.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, lowering my head and hurrying down the stairs, my entire body surging with adrenaline.
As soon as I enter the kitchen, I place my hands on the counter and take several deep breaths, trying to calm myself. But even down here, the weight of Jude’s anger hangs heavy in the air.
“You should find somewhere else to live,” his voice pierces the silence.
Instead of the pure rage I heard mere seconds ago, his words are soft, but they still cut just as deep.
I face him, searching his cold, unforgiving stare. “What do you mean?” I blink, my throat tight.
“I told you from the beginning this wasn’t permanent. I’m not so sure having a roommate is a good idea for me.”
“But—”
“I’m not going to throw you out onto the street. Just…try to find somewhere else. I’ll even help pay for it.”
“You’ll pay my rent so I don’t have to live here?”
He hesitates, as if reconsidering. Then he shakes his head. “I can’t have you here anymore.”
The finality in his statement stings more than it should, wrapping around me like a weighted chain.
Then he turns, his footfalls heavy as he walks out of the house. When the door slams closed behind him, I release a shaky breath, feeling like I’ve been kicked out of a place I was just beginning to think of as home.
But even as I wipe away the tears that have escaped, I can’t stop thinking about the nursery, the baby that was supposed to be…and the man who’s still tormented by her absence.