61. Harper
Chapter 61
Harper
I can’t sleep although, honestly, I haven’t really tried. I’m just lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for dawn. I packed a bag like Wayne told me to. But it’s going nowhere near Camp Joy, wherever the fuck that is.
Neither am I.
Now I’m trying to work up the courage to get Jude on board. It makes sense for us to run away together. At least, for the past two hours I’ve been running this plan through in my head, it seems that way.
We both hate it here. We both want to escape. We can survive out there...together. I could even do it alone if I wanted.
It’s getting late. I don’t want to risk having to wake him up if he does manage to go to sleep. That would be mean.
And I think we’ve both had just enough of that.
I let out a quiet laugh and slip into my pink silk robe. I don’t want him thinking I’m trying to seduce him again. I couldn’t bear the shame, not after all the shit that went down last night.
Knocking quietly, I open his bedroom door and peek inside. My heart sinks when I see he’s not inside. Did he have the same idea as me? Is he already halfway to wherever the hell he’d go if he was running away?
Didn’t he say something about a lake house?
I sneak down the stairs, my stomach twisting tighter and tighter as I approach the screening room.
Dare I go in? The doors are closed like they were the day my world came crashing down. I don’t know if I can go through that again.But that shit’s over. It has to be, right? We used up all our ammunition.
I push open the door, and the frantic roar of a football game washes over me.
I don’t know if it’s better or worse than the other stuff I’ve seen in here. This takes me back to Friday’s game when I drugged my stepbrother.And then came home and let him do those nasty things to me.
Loving every second?—
Fuck that. I close the door and wrap my robe tighter around myself as I walk down the sloped floor to the recliner Jude’s sitting in.
“Did you know the nickname for the player picked dead last every year in the NFL draft is Mr. Irrelevant?” Jude asks.
The hair on my arms stands up. How did he know I was in the room? It’s like he has a sixth sense about me or something. I still have to ask him how the hell he knew where to find me.
But we’ll have lots to talk about while we’re trying to survive on our own. I’m thinking California, somewhere close to the beach.
“Can we talk?”
Jude glances over at me, at my clothes, and then faces the screen again with a shrug.
I sit in the seat beside his. There are four recliners in this room, two sofas, and the daybed. I choose to sit in the recliner next to his, turning to watch him as the colors from the screen glide over his severe features.
Shit, I don’t know if I can even?—
“We did this,” he says, staring straight ahead. “It’s pointless trying to blame each other, or someone else.”
I grimace. “Yeah, Sean is innocent until proven guilty.”
Jude cracks a rueful smile. “Which will never happen.”
I open my mouth to argue, but I didn’t come here to fight. I clear my throat and touch Jude’s arm so he’ll look at me. He’s wearing a black hoody and sweats—they make his dark brows and hair so much starker and turn his eyes into inky pools that suck me in when he finally turns to me.
“Let’s leave,” I blurt out. “I mean, you don’t want to go to this shitty camp, right? We can get jobs, live somewhere cheap until?—”
“You want me to run away with you.” It’s not a question. I don’t fucking know whether he’s surprised, disgusted, what .
“What’s the alternative?” I sit back in the seat, glance at the screen. Someone does something good—the crowd cheers. But Jude’s eyes on me force me to look at him again.
“Camp Joy,” he says.
“It sounds like a fucking mental asylum.”
He shifts in his seat, leaning closer to me. “You don’t think it’ll be good for us?”
Us.
I don’t know why that word makes my insides coil. And I don’t know if it’s a good feeling or a bad one. I’m so fucking confused, I don’t even know if the sky will be blue or green when I walk outside tomorrow.
“I don’t want to go,” I whisper. Pressure builds behind my eyes, but I blink furiously to hold back sudden tears. “It’s not fair.”
I sound like a fucking child, but I can’t help it.
“Because we did nothing wrong?” Jude chuckles darkly. “Come on, Harper. You don’t really believe that, do you?”
I frown. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”
“I could always put something else in there,” he says softly, his black eyes dropping to my lips.
His gaze is a featherlight touch that sends a tingle through my entire body. I look away, shake my head. “I’m being serious.”
He sits back in his seat, letting out a world-weary sigh. When I glance at him, he’s rubbing his eyelids, jaw pushed out.
“You’re an alcoholic, Harper. I’m?—”
“I’m not an alcoholic,” I snap.His eyes are on me in an instant, boring deep inside. I clear my throat. “I mean, I drink too much, sure. But?—”
“Yeah, and I just get a bit irritated sometimes.” He works his right hand, and I can’t help but replay the moment he punched his father in the face.
Again.
I thought it was bad enough when he did that in the locker room on Saturday morning, but last night? I was terrified he wouldn’t stop until his dad was...
Dead.
“I’ve heard shit about the place, and yeah, it sounds fucking terrible.” Jude rakes his fingers through his hair. “But so are we.”
I blink wide eyes at him, my mouth gaping.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I whisper incredulously. “ Judging me. What the hell makes you so special?”
“Nothing, Harper.” Jude sits forward in a rush, and I barely manage to keep my ground without shrinking away from his piercing eyes. “I’m just as fucked up as you, don’t you get it?” He flicks his fingers between us. “We did this. Us. Me and you. We have this chemical reaction when we get close. When we mix. ” He barks out a laugh. “And fuck, it’s bad. It’s so bad.”
“So we apologize, and they ground us for a year, but we get to live our lives. We stay in school, we?—”
Jude’s hand clamps around the front of my throat. He moves so suddenly, I don’t even bother to gasp, because by then it’s too late.
We stare at each other, hues of red and blue and greens painting our faces and clothes.
“I need help, Harper.” His eyes fall to my mouth but only linger long enough to send another fierce rush through my body before he locks onto my eyes again. “ You need help.”
I still want to argue, and I don’t know why. He’s right. I strayed from the path a long time ago. Not like my mother thinks I did—Jude was the only person I’ve ever seduced in my life.
Licking my lips, I give him a careful nod, hoping it’s enough to make him release me.
Also hoping, in that dark, secret part of me, that he won’t. That he’ll drag me closer and kiss me like he did the other day when it felt like he was consuming my soul.
“I don’t know if I can do it,” I whisper hoarsely.
His brows twitch, but his face smooths before a full frown can form. “Do what?”
“A place like that. I don’t know...if I’m strong enough.”
Jude’s lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “You? Are you fucking serious?” He strokes my jaw with his thumb. “Harper...you...you’re a fucking warlord.”
I laugh. “What?”
“Someone could nuke you and you’d still be standing,” he says, eyes narrowing as his smile grows. “You’re insane if you think a place like Camp fucking Joy will end you.”
A rush of pride nearly topples me. I grab Jude’s shoulder, holding on desperately as I fight a wave of tears. I can’t speak—my throat’s too tight, and it has nothing to do with Jude’s hand on me.
But as if he’s only just realizing that he’s still got hold of me, his grip loosens.
I should have let him go too. Then I should have got up and left.
I don’t.
I drag my hand up the side of his muscular neck and sink my fingers into his thick, black hair. And God, it’s every bit as soft and silky as I thought it would be.
His eyelids hood at my touch, but he says nothing, does nothing. He’s absolutely still, gaze pinning me where I sit, as I toy with his hair.
“You really think I can do this?” I murmur.
One side of his mouth quirks up again. “Piece of cake, princess.”
I grip the back of his head and pull him closer. We stop an inch away, our eyes drilling into each other, and then he closes the distance.
No longer fierce. No longer violent.
Our kiss is gentle and curious, like we’re exploring a pitch-black room and we don’t want to stub our toes on whatever is hidden in the dark. My hand falls onto his thigh, and I inch it up until I touch him through his sweats. He rewards me with an angry growl when I grab his hardened cock and squeeze.
He exhales over my mouth as he pulls away from our kiss. “Not here,” he whispers.
I’m a tight knot of flesh, my muscles all bundled up from the promise he made with that kiss. I lean in, hold my lips against his. “Where?”
He pulls back again, stares deep into my eyes. “We’ll know when we get there.”