Chapter 35 Jude
JUDE
Icouldn’t say goodbye.
Not when everyone else was.
Not even when Kane spoke about Preston, fighting emotions that were ripped out of us at a young age to tell the audience, that only came for the Armstrong name, how amazing Preston was.
How he was more than just Preston Armstrong.
How, despite his selfish speech and the grandiose way he talked about himself, he was actually the most selfless person on earth.
Only Kane and I knew the true Preston, but only one of us got up there and spoke about him as if he were listening. I was just trying not to punch everyone in sight.
All the fucking people—his parents, grandparents, and uncle, who seemed more interested in striking deals and turning his funeral into a show of wealth and extravagance.
The only reason I didn’t act on my thoughts was because Violet held my hand through the whole thing, not complaining or wincing whenever I tightened my grip. She even stroked the back of it with her thumb as if she could feel I was spiraling.
Despite my stone-cold face and lack of emotions, Violet could tell that I wasn’t all right.
That I won’t be for a long time.
I don’t know what state I’d be in if she hadn’t been by my side these past couple of days. Even when she was sleeping, the fact that she was there, breathing softly against my face while I held her hand, was enough.
Her hand in mine earlier was enough.
But I sent her with Kane and Dahlia. She hesitated to leave me, but she finally agreed when I told her I needed to be alone.
Now, after everyone has evacuated the cemetery, I’m on my own, staring at the soil that’s damp with drizzle.
To say goodbye.
I don’t want to say goodbye.
The cemetery feels too quiet now that everyone’s gone.
The mourners left in sleek black cars, the sound of their hushed voices swallowed by the hum of expensive engines and crunching gravel. The Vipers team was the last to go. Some of the guys shed tears as they spoke after Kane about how Preston was the life of the team.
But they’ll all forget about him soon enough.
He’s just returned to dust, as the priest said, praying for forgiveness from a God Pres never believed in. A God who’d fucked him over since he was a kid, then took his life too soon. As a last fuck-you of sorts.
Now that the whole charade is over, it’s just me, Preston’s grave, and the light, steady rain soaking into the earth like the sky itself is grieving.
The gray clouds hang low and swollen, pressing against the horizon, stretching over the rows of headstones like a heavy, unbroken shroud.
I release a long, fractured exhale as the wind moves through the towering oaks, rustling the dead leaves that cling stubbornly to the branches. Every so often, a gust sends them spiraling down, landing in damp piles that reek of decay.
I shove my hands into my pockets, and my fingers curl into fists. Cold seeps into my skin, settling deep in my bones, but that’s nothing compared to the hollow space inside me. The one Preston used to fill with his sharp tongue and that smirk that made me want to either punch him or laugh along.
I stare down at the headstone.
It’s polished, expensive, a witness of the Armstrong wealth carved into stone. The inscription ‘Preston Armstrong’ is neat but impersonal. Pretty sure Lawrence approved it without a second thought as if it were a business deal. It doesn’t say anything about who he really was, what he really meant.
Just a name. Just dates.
Like he was just another goddamn statistic.
First, it was my mom. Now, it’s Preston.
And I couldn’t stop either from leaving.
I exhale slowly, my breath curling into the damp air, mixing with the faint scent of wet earth and rotting leaves. It feels wrong to say anything.
But I do.
“You went out like a fucking idiot,” I mutter, my voice rough, cutting through the thick silence.
“Pres…I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive myself for not being there in time, so while you saved Violet, I would’ve been able to save you.
Or better yet, I would’ve saved her, and you’d be standing here instead. ”
The words hit the empty air, disappearing into the mist that clings to the ground like ghosts waiting for company.
A raindrop slips down the edge of the stone, trailing like a tear.
I rake a hand through my damp hair, my jaw tightening.
“You were supposed to outlive us all, not go out like this.” My voice drops lower, almost drowned out by the whispering wind.
“You said we’d be stuck together for life when we were in that godforsaken boarding school, so how the fuck—” I choke on my words, then whisper, “Why did you have to go so soon? Who the hell is going to join me on my revenge murder sprees to bring you justice now? You’re well aware Kane can be boring, and truly, you’re the glue that held the three of us together.
Just seeing his face reminds me of you, of all the times the three of us spent together, and it feels…
feels like I’m suffocating without you.”
The drizzle thickens, soaking into my jacket, dripping off the leaves, tapping against the marble like a quiet funeral drum. The wind shifts, carrying the faint scent of laughter, whiskey, and blood—memories of late nights, bad decisions, and an unorthodox friendship that just worked.
Until it suddenly ended.
“Thank you, Pres. For being there for me, for saving Violet even though you barely know her.” I let out a breath. “I promise I’ll rip out the heart of whoever killed you with my bare hands.”
I don’t know how long I remain at the cemetery, but it’s long enough that I’m soaked and the day turns into night.
No matter how long I talked to Preston, I felt like he couldn’t hear me. That, somehow, he’s in a different space than me, and I can’t reach him.
So I went for a ride on my bike, letting the wind consume me, but even that did little for my jumbled thoughts and feelings.
Which is why I find myself in Violet’s apartment again.
I remove my shoes and jacket and even my damp pants and shirt, remaining in my boxer briefs as I step into the darkness.
I don’t need lights to know my way around her place.
I’ve been here countless times, waiting to ambush her, surprise her, listen to that delicious yelp she releases whenever she sees me.
Once I reach her bedroom, I hesitate, then slide the door open and walk in.
Violet is lying on her side, covered with the sheet to her chin. I approach her, not making a sound.
The light from the atmospheric crescent lamp she always keeps on at night shines on her peaceful features.
I lie down on my side, facing her, my hand resting on hers, and my mind calms slightly, my breathing almost shattering just at the feel of her.
While I have no clue what angels look like, Violet is my version of a goddamn angel. No idea what the fuck I’ve done to deserve someone like her in my life, but I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that she stays right here.
Being mine.
She gave me time alone in the cemetery earlier upon my insistence and probably because she felt I needed it. I now know why she’s so attuned to people and how she can determine their needs even before they voice them.
She’s a healer, my Violet.
And someone like her, someone who feels too much and can be easily taken advantage of, needs a motherfucker like me to keep all the vultures at bay.
I slide my fingers along the tear streaks on her cheeks. She’s been crying herself to sleep since Preston’s death, and I know she blames herself for it, no matter what Dahlia and I say, but I won’t allow her to self-destruct.
If I have to be her watchdog twenty-four seven, so be it.
Her eyes slowly blink open, the blue swirling in a pit of confusion before a small smile tilts her lips. “You’re here.”
“I’m here,” I whisper.
She grabs onto my hand that’s resting on her cheek and stares at me for a beat too long. “I’m so sorry, Jude.”
“For what?”
“Everything that’s happening to you lately. First, you find out about your mom and then…” She gulps, her lips wobbling.
Her words feel too raw, too intimate, and like me, she probably still can’t believe what happened to Preston. My chest feels like it’ll explode when I think about the fact that I’ll never see him again.
Part of me refuses to come to that conclusion.
“My mom never meant to die that violently,” I say, addressing Violet’s first statement just so I won’t have to talk about my best friend that I left six feet under this afternoon.
“No?”
“No. According to Julian, who questioned the murderer before he killed him, Mom asked him to make it look like theft gone wrong and instructed that she’d only be stabbed once or twice fatally. But apparently, that man took it as carte blanche to enact his disturbed fantasies.”
“That makes sense.”
“Makes sense how?”
“She obviously didn’t want to hurt you, even if her mental illness pushed her to do things she would’ve never done if she’d been well.”
“Yeah. I’m learning to accept that.”
“Good.” She rubs my hand back and forth. “You deserve to keep whatever image of your mother you wish to, Jude. You’re lucky to have received motherly love, even if it wasn’t perfect, and I don’t believe you have to demonize her to accept the truth.”
“I won’t, no matter what Regis tries to say.”
“I love that you think that way.” She smiles softly.
I stroke her cheek. “You also deserve motherly love, and just because you didn’t receive it doesn’t mean you’re not whole.”
She gulps audibly, a shine appearing in her eyes.
“I wish one of the adults had told me that at the time. Maybe if they had, I wouldn’t have felt like it was normal, that it was my duty to make myself as small as possible in front of her, or that women are meant to be used by men.
It screwed up my whole perception, you know. ”
“Screwed up your perception how?”