Chapter 19 #2
“I’ve never moved on from him,” I say with a sniffle, rubbing my eyes. “Heather’s watched me struggle for years. No one has ever compared to the love we had.”
Micah swallows hard, both of our gazes set forward. “We’ve tried getting out, you know,” he murmurs.
I pull away from his shoulder to look at him. “He did tell me that. But he managed to skip over...the rest of it.”
A hint of a smile ghosts the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Every time we step out of line, they force withdrawals onto us. We’ve been locked in a room, both in fucking insane pain, sweating, crying. We’ve been through hell together trying to figure out how to survive it.”
I wipe another tear, looping my arm through his. “So these people...your manager...they’re criminals?”
He snorts. “Nolan has never given a shit about the music. Not really. But Jude was a star...a bright one.” His gaze falls. “But now, he’s falling.”
My bottom lip trembles.
“And, honestly...I don’t know how much longer he’ll survive.”
The horrid truth of that twists violently in my stomach. “If we can’t get the cops involved...then we need to figure out a plan, Micah.”
His gaze snaps to mine.
“Heather’s a nurse,” I start, wetting my lips. “Maybe if we can get you guys out somewhere to detox, then you’ll be free of their, um, chemical hold on you. I’m sure she’ll take the time off work and help us.”
“She’s sweet. And so are you.” He huffs. “Honestly though, that sounds like shit. But you’re right.”
I let out a breath. “Okay, that’s a great start.”
“But there’s something else,” he interrupts. “They have so much dirt on Jude that he’d go to prison for life. He’s protected me from doing the worst, but if they release what they have on him...he’s fucked.”
My stomach clenches. My mouth opens and shuts.
He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I’m so sorry that this is how you’re finding out about, um, everything.”
I lean into him even more since my head is spinning. “How can we stop it? What can we do?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Emma. But we need to figure that part out before we detox. They could release it while we’re too sick to defend ourselves. And you could get caught up in this, too. It would ruin your life.”
I chew my lip, wracking my brain for possible solutions. “I’ll think of something. Let me.”
His brows pull together.
“And when I do, you’re going to have to trust me.”
The room is dark except for the soft glow from the TV, its low volume filling the silence. Micah’s passed out on the other bed, the rise and fall of his chest steady and calm. I’m laying here, watching Jude, feeling every twitch of his body and every shallow breath.
He shifts, dragging himself closer, sliding under the blankets beside me. I feel his warmth instantly against my arm. His head rests against my shoulder, and I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
“Hey,” I murmur softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. His eyes open just a crack, glinting in the faint light.
“I…” he starts, voice hoarse, and then stops. He’s exhausted and broken. My heart tightens.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “Just breathe. You’ve been sleeping for a while.”
He leans into me, his body heavy but seeking comfort, and begins running his fingers through my hair. I shiver under the touch, the familiarity of it breaking something open inside me. And I have to bite back more tears because apparently, I can’t stop crying tonight.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he says, voice cracking. “But I need you to know. I...I can’t do this anymore. Not when you’re in my life again. I don’t know what to do.”
I press my hand to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “You don’t have to explain everything, Jude. Just...please rest.”
He exhales, and I feel him relax slightly against me. Then, ever so gently, he kisses my shoulder. The warmth of his lips, the softness, sends a jolt through me. It’s so tender and loving that it makes my heart flip.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my skin, his voice almost a whisper.
“For what?” I breathe.
He chuckles. “For not telling you the truth. For dragging you into...all of this. I should have told you to fuck off the moment you came looking for me.”
I shake my head, holding him closer. “You don’t have to apologize for that, Jude. I’ve got you. Always. And you know damn well I wouldn’t have left you alone.”
He presses a soft, lingering kiss to my collarbone, letting his hand stroke my hair in gentle, calming motions.
I feel the exhaustion in him, the weight of guilt, but also the relief—finally, he’s letting someone in, even just a little.
His breathing evens out against my shoulder, warm and steady.
The room is lit only by the glow of the muted TV, flickering blues and grays across the sheets.
He exhales like it hurts, and buries his face into my hair. I can feel the tears he’s holding back, the way his chest shudders. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between us.
For a long time, there’s only silence.
“I’ve done bad things, Em.”
“I know,” I whisper. “You don’t have to—”
“I do.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes glassy, red-rimmed.
“I’ve killed people. I don’t even know how many anymore. Some were threats. Some were just...messages. I didn’t want to do it, but if I didn’t, they’d send Micah. So I just fucking did it.”
His words come out in broken bursts, like every one stabs him deeper in the gut.
“I trafficked for them. Used my tours to move shipments. Drugs, cash, whatever they needed. I signed fake sponsorship deals just to hide the money. And Adriana…” His voice cracks, jaw tightening. “She was part of it. They made me...she—she makes me—”
He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. I see it in his eyes...the disgust, the shame that’s been eating him alive.
I reach up, cup his face in both hands, and force him to look at me.
“Jude, hey...look at me.” His eyes meet mine, and I see everything. The boy he was. The man he became. The light that’s still inside of him.
“You’re still you,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “No, I’m really not—”
“I don’t care,” I cut him off softly. “You’re alive. That’s enough for me.”
He lets out a broken sound, like half a sob, half a sigh, and presses his forehead to mine. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Stop,” I murmur, my thumb tracing the edge of his jaw. “You deserve to be free.”
He stays quiet after that, breathing me in. His hand finds mine under the blanket, his fingers cold but stronger than before. When he finally speaks again, it’s barely a whisper: “I don’t want to die this way.”
I fight a frown, tears slipping down my face. “We’ll find a way out. I promise, okay?”
His grip tightens, and his weight goes slack against me.
I blink awake at that soft, colorless light that comes just before sunrise.
For a second, I don’t know where I am. There’s only the hum of the hotel air conditioner.
Then I feel the weight of Jude’s arm draped over my waist, his chest pressed to my back, the slow, uneven rhythm of his breathing against my shoulder.
My Jude.
I stay perfectly still, afraid to break the peace. His skin is warm, his breath heavy with sleep, and for a moment, I let myself believe we could stay like this. That last night wasn’t real, and he didn’t do all those terrible things.
He’d told me so much last night. The people. The drugs. Adriana. His voice shook like the words themselves were cutting him open. And I’d just held him. Because what else could I do?
Heather is not going to believe this.
Micah’s soft snore drifts from the other bed, and it feels like we could just stay in this safety all day.
Then Jude stirs. His arm slips away from me, and the spell breaks.
He sits up slowly, pressing a hand to his face, the other clutching his phone from the nightstand.
The glow of the screen hits his eyes, and I can see his shoulders stiffen immediately.
“What is it?” I whisper, though I already know.
Micah’s phone buzzes a second later. He groans, squints at it, and then curses under his breath. “Nolan,” he says, dragging a hand through his long, blonde hair. “He wants us back. Now.”
Jude doesn’t answer. He just stands, still shirtless, body rigid, the faint tremor in his hands showing that withdrawal already creeping in.
I pull the sheets tighter around me, watching as they both start moving. Micah grabs their bags, and Jude drags a matching black hoodie over his head. They both look hollow and exhausted.
“Do you have to go right now?” I ask, though I know how useless the question is.
Jude glances at me with that same haunted look from last night and nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We don’t have a choice.”
He zips his bag shut, the sound too loud in the quiet room. His hands are shaking worse now. Micah catches it, digs through his jacket for a small white baggie.
“Not yet,” he says. “I can make it until we’re there.”
My throat tightens. I want to tell him to stop. To stay. But he’s already halfway gone, mind pulling him back toward the darkness he’s still tangled in.
And as they head for the door, Micah turns back long enough to say, “We’ll call you later, okay?”
I nod, even though my chest feels like it’s splitting open from everything I’ve learned this weekend.
Jude is barely even looking at me this morning, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
Does he even remember telling me he loved me last night?
Is he embarrassed? Probably. When the door closes behind them, the silence hits so hard.
I press my palms to my eyes, inhale, exhale, and try not to fall apart.
Because now I know that they’re just walking back into hell.
I take a shaky breath, then pull out my phone and call Heather.