Wanted

Chapter 5

Jude

I’ma man with many faults and mistakes to my name, but this has to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.

Bleeding fucking heart.

Apparently, my need to rescue everything with a pulse extends beyond needy dogs.

The phone at my ear rings twice before my mom’s voice comes over the line. I stare at my boots as I stand in the corner of the waiting room.

“Hey, Jude.”

“Hey, Mom. How’s it going?”

“Good. Your brother is about to bring me to the nursery. I want to browse for new flowers for my front planters since the sun is finally starting to melt this snow.”

“Which brother?” I ask and lean a shoulder against the solid wall at my back.

“Lee. Who else?”

Lee’s always the first one to take on Mom’s tasks, not that the rest of us don’t pitch in. She blessed us each with a safe home, and we try to return the favor as best as we can.

“Something the matter?” she asks.

I shouldn’t be surprised she correctly interprets my silence as a need. She might not have known me from birth, but she knows me just about better than anyone. Excluding myself. My palm finds the back of my neck.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask if you might have room for a friend for a couple of days?”

“Is this about the girl you brought to the hospital?”

I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “How do you know about that?”

“Jack said Whitney mentioned it to him.”

Of course she did. My eyes find the vacant desk of my meddling soon-to-be sister-in-law.

“It is,” I confirm, going for a less-is-more approach when divulging information to my nosy family.

“I’m sorry to say I can’t help. I’d love to, but I’m having new carpet laid this week.”

“Just thought I’d ask since she’d probably be more comfortable with you or one of the girls.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. It sounds to me like you were looking after her very well.”

I bristle at her tone. “Maybe I’ll see if Cortney has space,” I mumble in search of an alternate option.

“She’s going out of town in the morning.”

“What for?”

“She and Sebastian are taking a vacation to celebrate their anniversary. I think he’s going to propose.”

“They haven’t broken up yet?” I mutter.

“Your sister is a big girl. She can decide for herself who’s worthy of her time.”

Normally, I’d agree. But I can’t help but feel she’s gotten it wrong this time. That guy is an undeserving prick.

“I think this is your issue to deal with, Jude. I know you can handle it.”

“Where am I supposed to put her?”

Mom clicks her tongue. “You have a guest bedroom. If I recall, you have two.”

“But they’re both on the second floor.”

“Is there something wrong with her legs?” she asks earnestly.

I push off the wall to move a few paces away.

“No.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“They’re on the same floor as my bedroom. She might find that… uncomfortable.”

A silence presses between us. “I don’t think she’ll find that to be a problem at all. And if she does, you can sleep on the couch.”

Accepting my loss, I ask her about the flowers she’s excited to buy until the curtain of room three slides open. Then I let her go.

Frankie pauses at the threshold with her shoulders straight and her head high. A black brace peeks out beneath a black sling. The way she glances anxiously up and down the hall reveals her brittle pretense and has me moving from my spot in the corner to make my presence known.

“Seriously, Jude. I can catch an Uber or something,” she says with a newfound confidence that contrasts her demeanor from a second ago.

I snort. “Don’t you need an app for that?” The hospital’s automatic doors slide open with a burst of cool air. “Where’s your jacket?”

“They had to cut it off to free my arm.”

Christ. I thought she had removed it herself.

With a look that dares her to argue, I shrug out of my black coat. Either she bites her tongue or she’s just cold enough to accept my offering without a retort. I lay the thick fabric over her shoulders and walk out the door.

Thankfully, she follows me to my van without further protests.

With a knight-worthy bow, I open her door with a rusty flourish and a sarcastic bite. “Your chariot.”

The laugh she releases nearly drags me from my folded position. The sound alone has me wanting to see the way her face changes with humor. A warmth unfurls in my gut.

I chase away the thought by closing her door with an excessive shove.

Does she feel as trapped as I do? She jumped from a car without knowing what lies ahead, and I’m bringing a stranger into my private place of solace. A slave to impulsivity of my own, offering to help when I might be the worst option she has.

As we drive along the highway, the silence from earlier returns. I’m not sure what it is about her, but if she isn’t sparring with me, she’s lost in her thoughts. Or sleeping. I peek over for what feels like the fiftieth time to find her forehead resting away from me against the window.

Should she be sleeping with a concussion?

“I hope you like dogs.” My rough voice is loud in the close confines of my van.

“Love them.” Her drowsy mumble doesn’t alleviate my newfound concern.

One. Two. Three. Four

Not now.

The scolding doesn’t stop the numbers from appearing, but they stop when I reach eight. The tingle in my fingertips slowly fades.

“I have a lot,” I finally manage to say.

If she hasn’t caught onto my strange compulsion, she will. My stomach twists with shame. From the corner of my eye, I catch movement, but I don’t want to give her the opportunity to read my face.

“How many is a lot?”

I focus on the conversation instead. “Right now, I have fifteen.”

“You have fifteen dogs? Are you crazy?”

The oft-used phrase antagonizes a raw nerve.

“No,” I bite out more harshly than intended. “My family runs a dog rescue.”

“That’s so cool,” she breathes, sitting straight in her seat, invigorated by the conversation. “Can I meet them?”

I exhale slowly through my nose. “It’d be hard not to, seeing as they live with me.”

“I think you officially have the best job in the world.” Absent of a sarcastic jab, her tone is imbued with the first hints of warmth since we met.

Flicking the turn signal, I turn off the county road onto my half-mile dirt driveway. A tranquil feeling infuses my veins when the tires hit the gravel. The silver gate to the main house, gleaming beneath the afternoon sun, is open from my haste to deliver Frankie to the hospital. I pull through before hopping out to close it behind us.

“The serial killer vibes are still going strong with you,” Frankie says when I return to the van.

“It’s not like you’re stuck here. You’re the one who climbed over my fence,” I retort.

“How would you know?”

“That’s the only way onto the property. Based on where I found you, I can deduce you didn’t walk up the driveway.”

“Fair enough.” She switches her attention to my house.

All this talking is fucking exhausting. I’ve spoken more in the last four hours than I have in the past week and a half. I’m going to have to gargle some salt water to soothe my overworked vocal cords once she’s settled in the guest room.

We step into the cool air, and she meets me in front of the van. My black jacket remains draped over her, almost as if she forgot it was there. With the meager clothing she has, I’ll collect it later after I find her something else to wear.

“Don’t worry about the dogs. They’re sequestered in the lower level.” I unlock the door and push it open to let her precede me inside.

I don’t give her time to look around. She doesn’t need time to form an opinion of my space, and frankly, I don’t want to hear her voice one. I like my life. I like my house and my dogs and my job and my isolation.

So what if there are scuff marks on the floors and a few chew marks on the furniture? The memories of the lovable companions I’ve shared my home with over the years fulfill me more than her thoughts on the matter ever could.

As I lead her up the stairs, I use the time to lower my defenses just a bit. It’s not like she asked to be in this situation.

The staircase opens to a wide hall with four doors, two on each side. The carpet is clean since Ashe is the only dog allowed up this far.

I grip the cool brass handle of the first door on the right. “My room is the last door on the left. The bathroom is next to it. You’ll probably be most comfortable here.”

She steps around me into the sparsely decorated space and sits immediately on the bed. “Thank you. This is great.”

My palm tenses on the knob. “Need anything else?”

“I think I’m just going to take a nap.”

“When’s the last time you ate something?”

Her dainty shoulder shifts into a shrug. My jacket slips onto the bed behind her. “Yesterday.”

“Be right back.”

I jog determinedly down the steps and around the corner into the open kitchen. Living alone affords me the ability to keep the place decently stocked. The only people I have to share with are my hungry brothers, who take no prisoners when they forage my pantry for snacks. But they don’t know where I keep the good shit.

I slap together a sandwich. It isn’t pretty, but it’ll get the job done. Two slices of sourdough, baked by Mom, leftover bacon from breakfast, ham, tomato, lettuce, and mayo. At the last minute, I add a pickle to the side of the plate.

I push aside the fake potted plant Mom insists I keep on top of my fridge to liven up the place and open the snack stash. Three single-serving bags of chips, Pop-Tarts, and a fudge snack cake join the sandwich.

Water or pop?

I grab a bottle of each by the cap in my left hand, the plate in my right, and take the stairs two at a time back to the guest room.

“Here.” I deposit the haul on the bare nightstand beside the bed and step back, brushing my hands against my pants. “Eat.”

Frankie looks at me with wide eyes. “That’s an absurd amount of food.”

“Didn’t know what you’d like.”

Without waiting for a response, I stalk back out into the hall and to my own bedroom. I yank open the first drawer and select a pair of sweats and a soft tee.

“You can wear this. More comfortable than that dress.”

I drop the pile on the bed near her hip.

Frankie splits her attention between the food and the clothes. “Thank you. I think this will be enough for a while.”

I search her face for anything beneath the surface. Is it, though? Food, clothing, a bed. I mentally check them off a list of basic necessities. How is that enough? How can she be content with the absolute bare minimum?

“You know where the bathroom is. If you want a shower, help yourself. Towels and shit are in there.”

“Okay.”

“I won’t be far. Downstairs or outside walking the dogs. Won’t be gone for long if I’m outside. Twenty tops.”

Fuck. Why are my palms sweating?

“Sounds good. I’ll just take a nap.”

“Is your concussion okay?” I blurt loudly.

She gently touches the side of her head. “It’s fine. I’ll probably feel better after a nap.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”

The words are even, but my head screams at me.

Get out. Get out. Get out.

As I turn around, I pinch my eyes closed. I force myself to take measured steps until I cross the threshold and pull the door shut behind me. With my back pressed against the wall, the tenuous grip on my mind breaks free.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.

My shoulders slump with a forceful exhale.

The tension leaks from my body along with a hefty dose of my energy.

Two days.

I just have to get through the next two days.

Then my life can return to my quiet normal.