Chapter 4 #2
After Heather leaves, the house feels uncomfortably quiet. Just the sound of waves and the occasional groan of old wood in the walls. Normally, I love the silence. But right now...not so much. I pour the last of the wine into my glass, and tell myself it’s to help me sleep, even if I know it’s not.
Now it’s just me, my computer, and the ache I shouldn’t feed—that reckless, stupid urge to drown myself in him. To feel him. I haven’t given in since that text two years ago, but knowing what just happened…
I curl up on the couch, knees tucked beneath me, chewing my thumb nail. Jude’s face stares back from a paused video. He’s older, lean muscle, tattooed. There’s something in his eyes I recognize, even through the distance of years. I take a breath, and I press play.
His voice has that same beautiful rasp that used to make me melt into a puddle. He smiles through the interview, but it’s hollow and far away. My throat tightens because...I know that look.
It’s the one he wore when he was lying to keep from falling apart in front of everyone.
I remember seeing that expression the day of his little brother’s funeral.
He tried as hard as he could to keep himself strong for his mother, but she was a wreck.
Sobbing against his chest while his father spoke of the playful child that was taken far too soon.
I know him more than any of them.
The crowd screams when he laughs, but it never reaches his eyes.
It’s him. And it isn’t. I click on another video—a live performance, this time.
The sound crashes through the speakers, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
His voice is still the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard.
There is raw, unfiltered emotion woven into every single note.
But all I can think about is the hell he must’ve walked through to sound like that.
The women who came after me. The nights he probably forgot my name, and the mornings he maybe didn’t.
Especially when he texted me. The why behind that has all but consumed me on so many nights.
It proved that he still thought of me and missed me even after all this time.
I know I need to get over it, but I’d be lying if I said that Jude Graves wasn’t the biggest what if in my life.
I’d tried to avoid all of it. His songs, his interviews, and the photos that made my heart race and ache all at once. But it’s impossible to outrun someone whose voice feels like home.
He leans into the mic like it’s the only thing keeping him standing.
I should stop.
I should close the laptop, go to bed, and forget him. But my hand drifts, almost on its own, to a suggested video in the sidebar. A blurry thumbnail of him onstage with the words in bright red letters: “Jude Graves Collapses on Stage in Chicago.”
My stomach drops. I freeze. My pulse is racing, and my hands are shaking as I click.
The video loads. He stops singing and sways, taking a few staggering steps before he collapses.
The crowd is screaming, and chaos ensues.
The camera shakes violently as someone pushes forward. Lights strobe. The music cuts out.
And he’s on the ground.
Jude is on the goddamn ground.
His body jerks as if he’s having a small seizure, and when the shuddering stops, his chest barely rises.
A stagehand is on his knees beside him, shouting for help, while another grabs Jude’s limp wrist, trying to find a pulse.
People are rushing. Someone is crying. The phone filming zooms in too close, too fast—
And I see his face.
His lips are paling.
His chest isn’t moving…
I slap a hand over my mouth, but the sob tears out anyway. I curl forward, the laptop wobbling on my knees as tears spill hot and fast down my face.
This is the man I loved.
The boy I knew.
And he is dying in front of me.
A hollow, sickening sound rings in my ears, like something inside me cracking straight down the middle. I can’t breathe. Can’t look away. My hands are gripping the screen so hard my knuckles ache. Someone screams his name in the video.
I don’t realize until a few seconds later that I’m whispering it too. Over and over. Like a prayer. Like a plea for him to come back. To wake up. Then the footage cuts out abruptly. The silence after is devastating.
I fold over my knees, shaking. My tears drip onto the keyboard. I try to wipe them away, but more keep coming, heavier and harder, until I can’t see anything through the blur.
I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this is what he’s become.
That I’m sitting here watching him almost die.
The following video shows him steady, alive, and confident, but that image is ruined now.
That version of him feels like a lie. Because all I can see is the moment he collapsed.
The second his chest stopped rising. The way the world around him dissolved into screaming and frantic hands.
I press my palms to my eyes, trying to force the images away. But it’s too late.
I’ll never unsee it.
I close my eyes.
And suddenly, I’m sixteen again.
~ A memory ~
The party at Vanessa Graves’ is loud with far too many people than I’d like to deal with right now.
Someone’s set up a speaker near the beach, and the bass thumps through the sand.
Heather’s sharp and wild laugh carries over the music, and when I glance back, she’s half-falling onto Benjamin’s lap, giggling as he tries to steady her drunk ass.
Vanessa is taking a photo of them, her long, black hair tied up in a messy ponytail.
Her house is where all of the best parties are since her parents are so cool.
Not to mention that their house is huge. And gorgeous.
I shake my head, wrapping the thin blanket tighter around my shoulders, and wander out toward the dock. The boards creak beneath my bare feet, damp from the tide. The smell of salt and smoke lingers in the air—the scent of every summer night I’ve ever loved.
That’s when I hear something soft.
A guitar. It isn’t loud, but a slow, lovely rhythm carried by the wind.
And then a voice, low and rough but beautiful.
I tilt my head and follow the sound. He’s sitting near the end of the dock, one leg hanging over the side.
Black hair falls into his eyes, and when he glances up, I freeze. He’s…beautiful.
“You hiding too?” he asks, his lips curving into a half-smile.
I nervously clear my throat. “Maybe.”
He pats the space beside him. “You can hide here if you want. It’s a great spot.”
I sit, pulling the blanket around me. He’s kind, too.
The wood is cool beneath my legs when I settle, gazing out at the vast, dark ocean before us. He keeps playing, softer now.
“I’m Jude,” he says after a while.
“Emma.”
He repeats it under his breath. “Emma.”
I glance back toward the house and see Heather wobbling around, trying to steady herself on Benjamin’s shoulder. “Heather’s so drunk,” I mutter, laughing. “Vanessa made some mean jello-shots.”
He raises a dark eyebrow, smirking. “So you’re only out here because blondie dragged you? Or do you have a love of jello?”
I snort, shaking my head. “Heather drags me everywhere. Honestly, though...it’s good for me.
Keeps me from turning into a hermit. If I could, I’d stay home and paint all night.
But Vanessa’s parties are always fun. I don’t really know her, but Heather does.
And who wouldn’t come here? Look at this place. ”
He nods like he understands, a smirk pulling on his lips.
“Why are you here, then?” I ask. “If you’re sneaking off?”
He stops strumming the strings with a quirky grin. “It’s my house, actually.”
I gawk. “What?” I glance back at the oceanfront home. “I didn’t know Vanessa had a brother.”
“Yup.” He adjusts, looking out over the water. “I usually try to steer clear of her parties, though.”
“I bet,” I giggle. “But I guess that’s why she and Heather get along so well. I’m not as, um, wild.” We fall into an easy silence for a beat, listening to the ocean and the faint music from the beach.
Then he looks at me, the glow of the moon catching his hair, and asks, “So...you’re an artist or something?”
I shrug. “Yeah, I’ve just started getting into painting. Drawing, I’ve been doing for years. Paint is new. It’s challenging, and I like that.”
He smiles, fingers brushing the strings of his guitar absentmindedly. “The challenge is my favorite part about playing. I love listening for melodies that could be something special if I wanted them to.”
I laugh softly. “I feel like being creative is the only way to save my soul.” I blush immediately. “That sounds so stupid, but it’s true. Thinking of doing anything that doesn’t involve art just sounds awful.”
He grins a crooked, half-smile. “That doesn’t sound stupid at all.
I agree, actually. My father wants me to go to college as a backup plan.
But this is what I love. And what’s life if you’re not going to spend it doing what you love?
I already see too many people walking around unsatisfied because they’ve made choices out of necessity instead of passion. ”
His words slap me in the face. “Wow, I couldn’t have said it better,” I say with a nod.
Jude laughs, and I can’t help but notice how beautiful his smile is. And his voice. And his hazel eyes…
“How old are you?” I ask, forcing myself back.
“Seventeen. You?”
“Sixteen. Turning seventeen in a couple of months, though,” I add. He lights a cigarette, and I wrinkle my nose. “You know that smells like burnt dirt, right? And it’s not good for you.”
He laughs again. “Guess I’ll try to quit then. For a girl I just met five minutes ago.”
I take the cigarette from his hand and flick it into the water.
He gawks at me. “That was a little brave,” he jokes. “For all you know, I could be a violent person with anger issues.”
I shrug. “Sorry, stranger, but I care about your health. And you certainly don’t seem like a bad person to me.”
He smiles at that. When I glance back toward the house, Heather’s practically in Benjamin’s lap now, waving her arms like she’s conducting the music. “My best friend’s a menace,” I mutter.
“Looks like it,” he says, and it makes me smile. “Anyone who is friends with my sister is, though. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
When he returns, he’s got a few bottles of cheap beer, and we sit there on the dock, drinking while the music from the beach fades into background noise. The moon’s bright, pouring silver over the calm waves.
“Sing me something,” I say, angling my body to face him, a leg dangling off the dock.
He hesitates, thumb brushing over the strings. “You’ll laugh.”
“Probably.”
“I’m kind of drunk,” he murmurs.
“So? Some would say that makes the music better.”
“I’d say out of everything, pain makes music better,” he suggests, his gaze sweeping over the dark void of sea before us.
“Love does, too,” I reply swiftly.
He smirks and lifts the guitar again, fumbling a little with the strap, fingers clumsy from the beer. “You sure about this?” his dark brows shooting up.
I just nod, holding the blanket tighter around my shoulders.
“It’s not finished, but it’s a song I’ve been working on." Then he starts.
“I learned your name like a warning sign,
Still traced the letters down my spine.
You smiled like you didn’t know
How ruinous love could be when it grows.”
His voice is ragged and a little rough around the edges, but every note vibrates the air and the boards beneath us.
My hands curl into the blanket. I’m not sure if it’s the music or him or the moonlight dancing in his hair that make me want to melt.
Black strands fall over his eyes, and his mouth moves over words I’ve never heard anyone sing like before.
He stumbles over a chord, swears under his breath, and I laugh softly. He glances up at me mid-lyric, eyes catching mine, and my stomach flips. The moon glints off the tiny silver hoop in his ear, and suddenly I can’t breathe.
“I hear your voice in empty rooms,
In bad decisions, cheap perfume.
I chase the quiet, I chase the numb,
Anything that says you’re gone.”
I close my eyes and lean against him, the blanket warm between us, the guitar humming against his chest. My heart is pounding, loud enough I think he must hear it.
What am I doing? I hardly know this boy.
But he feels safe. When he finishes, he exhales, running a hand through his hair, looking impossibly messy and perfect all at once.
“Did you...hate it?” he asks, voice quiet now, almost
vulnerable.
“Are you kidding?” I whisper. “It’s...beautiful. You’re…” I can’t finish. He just smiles a glorious crooked smile, and I think, god, I’ve never known anything like him. He feels like home, even though I just met him. How is that possible?
Pretty soon, the beer’s gone, the stars have multiplied, and my head feels heavy and warm from all of the beer. He lies back on the dock, staring up, and after a moment, I do too. We fall asleep like that, two strangers under the same sky, the waves rocking softly below us.
And that’s how it all started.
~*~
I open my eyes, and the performance video ends.
The screen freezes on his face—sweat on his temple, eyes shut, hand gripping the mic.
My throat tightens, and I instinctively touch my sternum.
My anxiety has been kept at bay for years…
but I feel it rearing its ugly head, attempting to crawl through my veins and slice them open with its claws.
“What happened to you?” I whisper.