Chapter 12 #2
I shrug, smiling faintly. “Surviving. You?”
Heather flops into the chair across from me, pulling out her salad. “Oh, you know. Code blues, whining patients, people who forget their meds. But someone has to save the world, right?” She leans back, sighing. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m here for. How’s your day going?”
I shrug again, spinning a paintbrush between my fingers. “Clients are steady. Hard, but good.”
Heather follows my eyes. “So...how did last night go?”
I flinch but nod. “Yeah. I...I’m nervous to see him tonight. I don’t even know what to expect.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
I shake my head. “No. I think I’ll be okay. I’ll call you after, though.”
She smiles. “My loving and brave little Emma.”
I flip the studio lights off one by one, each click echoing louder than it should in the quiet space. My pulse is already buzzing, jittery and uneven, as I grab my keys and wave goodnight to Dr. Cassie Waters. She’s locking up the back cabinets, humming something soft under her breath.
“Heading out?” she asks with her usual warm smile.
“Yeah. Long day.” My voice sounds surprisingly steady. Nothing like the storm tunneling through my chest.
“Drive safe, Emma.”
“I will. Night, Cass.”
Outside, the air is cold enough to sting my lungs. I pull my coat tighter and slip into my car. Before I even start it, I double-check my phone—Mrs. Kent already sent three heart emojis after I texted about letting Nova out and feeding her dinner.
Of course, sweetheart! I adore that little fluffbutt.
I exhale a tiny laugh. Good. One less thing to worry about. Everything else? A disaster I’m willingly steering straight into.
The drive isn’t long, but every mile makes my heart beat harder, faster. By the time I turn into a quiet little neighborhood of trimmed hedges and glowing porch lights, my hands are damp against the steering wheel.
Then I see a sleek, dark Audi parked in the driveway. It’s far too expensive and polished for this little town. Definitely Jude. My stomach drops like I’m cresting a rollercoaster. “This is it,” I whisper, even though saying it out loud doesn’t help.
I park across the street, sit there for a second, and try to calm my breathing.
It doesn’t work. Eventually I force myself out of the car, legs shaky, and walk up the short path to the cute little house with the flowered doormat and wind chimes tinkling in the breeze.
The backyard overlooks some dunes that barely block out the view of the ocean. I raise my hand. I hesitate.
Then I knock.
For a moment, nothing. No movement, no sound.
I hear muffled chatter inside, but no footsteps.
Then, finally, someone approaches, and the door cracks open.
It’s the guy from that night, Jude’s friend with the shoulder-length blonde hair and distant blue eyes.
His face appears in the gap, ready to tell someone off, but the second his gaze hits me, his eyes widen.
“Oh, shit.” He straightens, surprise sharpening into alarm. “Uh...Jude,” He calls over his shoulder, louder this time. “Jude, man, get out here.”
And just like that, every nerve in my body is on fire.
He steps back from the door just as Jude appears in the hallway behind him. For a second, he’s just a silhouette—broad shoulders, messy hair, uneven steps. Then the light hits him, and my breath catches hard in my throat.
God. He looks...horrible.
His hair’s unwashed, pushed back like he’s run his hands through it too many times.
His eyes are rimmed red, dark crescents carved beneath them.
His cheekbones look sharper than they used to, like he hasn’t eaten a real meal in days.
There’s a faint tremor in his fingers as he drags a hand across his mouth.
But the worst part is that I still know him, even like this.
His eyes land on me, and his entire body goes still. “Emma?” he mutters, almost as if he genuinely thinks I’m an illusion his brain conjured.
I force a breath in. “Hey, Jude.”
His friend steps aside immediately, and murmurs, “I’ll, uh...give you guys a minute,” before wandering toward the living room with the subtlety of a golden retriever spying on a squirrel. He’s absolutely still watching. Just pretending not to.
Jude leans a shoulder against the doorway, crossing his arms like he’s bracing himself. Or blocking himself. Or both. “What are you doing here?” His voice is rough, but underneath it, there’s curiosity and confusion.
“I talked to your parents today,” I say gently.
His jaw flexes instantly. He looks away, cursing under his breath. “Of course you did.”
“They’re worried about you,” I say, and he exhales sharply through his nose, tension coiling through him.
“Yeah, well. They always are,” he mutters. He looks past me like he’s trying to end the conversation without actually ending it.
I ignore the silent dismissal and keep going. “Come to my studio tomorrow night.”
His gaze snaps back to mine. “Why?”
I shrug lightly, even though my heart’s racing hard enough to bruise my ribs. “Might be good for you. Painting. You used to love doing that when you needed to think.”
“I don’t know.”
“I saw the headlines, and I know you’re only here to get better. Or something,” I cross my arms across my chest.
He just stares at me, quiet.
I bite my lip, and the words leave my mouth before I can hold them back. “If you die, I’ll never forgive myself for not forcing you. So it would be great if you just came.”
Something flickers across his expression. Longing or fear...I don’t know. It’s fast, but I catch it. He swallows, looking down at the floor. “I…” He hesitates.
“We’ll come,” his friend calls from inside.
He sighs, glancing back into the house. “Yeah. Okay.”
A breath shudders out of me. I nod and take a small step back. “Good. Seven?”
“Yeah.” His voice is quiet now, almost soft.
I’m about to say goodbye when he lifts his head again, eyes narrowing like he’s working something out.
“Is your number still the same?” he asks.
My chest squeezes. “Yes.”
Jude nods once, slowly. Then, he glances over his shoulder. “Micah, quit staring.”
His friend, Micah, doesn’t even pretend innocence. “Bro, I’m not staring. I’m supervising.”
Jude groans, scrubs a hand over his face, then looks back at me. “Alright,” he says quietly. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I whisper back, and force myself to turn away before I can change my mind or fucking fall apart.