Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
EMMA EASTON
Heather’s eyes light up. “I’ll come tonight,” she says casually, leaning on the table as we share lunch in my studio again. “Be your nurse. Make sure it’s not too weird.”
I scoff, but I feel my lips twitch with the tiniest smile. “I don’t need a nurse, Heather. But then again, I think he’s bringing his friend.”
She leans closer, grinning. “Oh, honey, you do. Trust me. I’ll play whatever part you need me to. Tough friend, concerned guardian angel, silent observer...whatever gets him in here. You should hire me, honestly. It’s your business. I’m actually offended, come to think of it.”
A sudden laugh bursts from me. I catch her gaze and, after a second, nod. “Co-business. And alright. You can come. But you better not embarrass me.”
Heather pumps a fist in victory. “Deal. I’ll be your backup. I’ve got you, babe.”
“I appreciate you a lot for this. Truly,” I whisper.
Her eyes soften. “Listen—it’s amazing that you’re trying to help him and everything. But if it threatens to uproot any part of your life, please choose yourself.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, because the truth isn’t what she wants.
The truth is, I’ll choose Jude.
As long as he gives me something—hope, love, a glimpse of the boy he used to be—I’ll choose him.
I know exactly what that says about me. I’m rational everywhere else.
Careful, measured, analytical. But when it comes to him, all of that dissolves.
I still remember the boy I knew I was going to marry.
The one who swallowed my heart so no other man could ever possess it.
Maybe that makes me weak. Or reckless. Or stupid.
Or maybe it just makes me honest.
“Yeah,” I say instead, my voice steady. “I’ll choose myself. Don’t worry.”
And Heather smiles, relieved. All while I sit there knowing I just lied without blinking.
The clock reads 6:45p.m., and I’m bouncing my knee so hard it’s a miracle the coffee table hasn’t tipped over. Heather returns to the studio, scrub bag slung over her shoulder, and immediately catches my frantic energy.
“Emma,” she says softly, sliding onto the couch beside me. “Breathe. We can do this.”
I nod, but it feels hollow. My stomach twists into knots, every muscle on edge.
“I know. I just...what if I screw it up? What if he hates me? I’ve worked with addicts before, and they can turn on a dime.
I think I’m going to have to see him as a patient instead of my ex.
I just…I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I, I—”
Heather reaches out, gripping my hand. “You won’t screw anything up. You love him. Just...let that guide you. That’s all you need.”
I swallow, trying to match her calm. Her voice is steady, but my chest is hammering so loud I’m surprised she doesn’t hear it through my ribcage. And then the sound of tires rolling on asphalt outside makes my heart seize. I press my palm to my chest.
“He’s here,” I whisper, breath hitching.
Heather leans closer, whispering just for me: “I’ve got you. Remember that. You’re not alone in this.”
The sleek black Audi pulls up, my throat tightens, and I feel my stomach drop. Damn. Heather squeezes my shoulder.
“You can do this,” she says again.
I nod, fists clenched, forcing myself to step toward the door. My pulse races as if it’s trying to escape my body. I brush my hands on my trousers, trying to act like I haven’t been holding my breath for the past hour. Seven o’clock on the dot.
Shit.
The Audi door swings open, and my stomach lurches as he steps out. His messy black hair falls over his forehead, and his dead hazel eyes stare out at me like they’ve seen too much to ever truly look alive again.
I swear I see just a flicker of unease in his gaze. His pupils dilate, and for a second, the world narrows to just him and me. Micah steps out behind him, wild shoulder-length blonde hair tumbling around his face, blue eyes dark and steady, grounding in contrast to Jude’s chaos.
Heather waves politely to Micah. “Hi! I’m Heather Hardin, Emma’s Nurse. I help with her clients,” she says brightly.
Jude glances at her, recognition flashing. “Hello, Heather.” He knows what we’re doing. He is standing ten feet away, shoulders tense, like an animal ready to bolt. His gaze is fixed on me when he finally speaks, voice low and rough. “Why the hell am I here, Emma?”
My throat tightens, my hands ball into fists at my sides. My words catch in my chest, and I have to swallow hard. “I...I want to help you,” I manage, voice trembling despite my effort to stay steady.
He takes a step closer. Every instinct tells me to run, to hide, to flee from the intensity of him, but I stay rooted. He’s so much different from how I remember him.
“I don’t know what you think you can do,” he mutters, voice low, almost a growl. “You don’t understand what—”
“I know,” I interrupt, stepping forward just a fraction. “You can help me understand, though. Or not. I just...I just remembered that you got a lot out of painting before. When Nicholas…”
He swallows, jaw tight, eyes flicking to the floor for a split second, then back to mine. The hurt in his gaze cuts me open. And yet...there’s something else. Something fragile and...human. Something that’s still him.
I take another breath. “I’m not letting you leave until you try,” I whisper, voice shaking but firm. “This is what I do. I can help. I understand we haven’t spoken in years, but I don’t feel weird about that.”
He blinks at me. And I know: this is it.
The moment everything shifts, or shatters.
He takes another step toward me, and the air between us tightens.
I glance up as he towers over me. I’m five-three, and he’s six-five and all lean muscle.
His presence is like a shadow filling the room, and my chest hammers against my ribs.
Heather interjects gently, a lifeline tossed into the storm. “It’s nice to see you, Jude.”
His gaze snaps to her, sharp and full of venom.
I flinch at the animosity in it. Heather doesn’t back down; she inclines her chin, smirking just enough to hold her ground.
Micah shifts beside her, uneasy and quiet.
It’s an awkward standoff. Jude’s the one who decides what happens next.
His dead eyes flicker between us, restless and haunted.
Finally, he speaks. “Clever of you to go to my parents to find my location.”
I exhale slowly, letting the tension slip from my shoulders. “It was the best way to get through to you.” I swallow hard. “The people you were with last weekend...they’re horrible.”
He drags a hand through his hair. “You have no fucking idea.”
Heather, sensing the air might shatter us all, tilts her head and offers gently, “Why don’t you come take a seat?”
Micah follows her without resistance, mumbling something I can’t quite catch. Heather laughs softly, easing the pressure. Jude doesn’t move. Not an inch. His jaw is tight, his eyes conflicted, crowded with things he doesn’t know how to say.
It’s the same tortured expression I see in my clients every day.
This is dangerous territory. I know better than this. I know what happens when compassion slips into proximity. I’ve lost clients to their demons before, so I know to keep my distance. But with him? I don’t think I’ll be able to..
I meet his stare. Don’t be a coward, Jude.
I don’t give him time to spiral. I motion toward the seating area. “Come.”
He hesitates, then moves, reluctantly, settling near Heather and Micah.
He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together, tattoos crawling up his forearms. Heather reclines against the back cushion, calm and observant.
She’s a grounding presence I didn’t realize I needed until now.
I take the chair across from them, folding my hands neatly in my lap. “Thank you for coming.”
Jude lets out a low, humorless laugh. “You tracked me down, Emma. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
Hearing my name on his tongue hurts more than it should. He’s being an asshole. But it’s a response I’ve seen countless times before.
“I’m not doing this as some weird ex of yours,” I say quietly.
“It’s been seven years, Jude. I just know you’re going through some stuff.
” I hesitate—just a breath. I know I shouldn’t say this next part.
I know it crosses a line I’ve sworn never to cross.
But with him, I’ve never known how to stay on the right side of anything.
“I’ve never stopped caring about you, Jude. Regardless of what happened between us. And I want to use my professional talents to help you.”
His head snaps up. For a split second, something raw flickers behind his dead hazel eyes. “Help me?” His voice slices like broken glass. “You think a few paints are gonna fix the kind of hell I’ve been through? The hell you haven’t even seen?”
“I don’t think anything fixes it,” I say, steady. Honest. “But it might help you survive it.” I lean forward slightly. “It gives you somewhere to put it without letting it eat you alive.”
“I say why the hell not?” Micah glances up, his blue eyes steady but tired. “It’s better than nothing,” he mutters under his breath.
Jude shoots him a glare, but it doesn’t stick. It just falls away like everything else about him that’s been worn down. I know he wouldn’t come here if he wasn’t at all curious or still had some kind of feelings for me. I mean, it’s been so long since we even talked. He’s here for a reason.
Heather crosses her arms, voice calm but firm. “No one’s asking you to talk. Just...try something different.”
Jude exhales hard through his nose, raking a hand through his hair. “Fine. Whatever.”
I rise, moving to a small setup near the window, and set down two blank canvases and charcoal sets. “Alright. Let’s start simple. I want you both to create something while one song plays. Just one. Don’t overthink it, don’t talk about it. Just let whatever’s in your chest come out. Humor me.”
Micah raises a brow. “One song?”