Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
EMMA EASTON
My mind is everywhere as I wait for my first client. The air is crisper this Monday morning, carrying the faint scent of rain and woodsmoke—the quiet signal that October is close. My birth month. Heather says I’m indecisive because I’m a Libra. Honestly? I believe her.
I sink into the green velvet couch near the window and let out a slow sigh.
Sunlight slips through the blinds, pooling in soft, golden stripes across the studio floor.
It feels almost too calm after everything that’s happened.
Nova is curled up on her dog bed in the corner, paws twitching as she chases something only she can see. Lucky her.
I haven’t slept much since this weekend—since seeing Jude like that. Since knowing what he’s done.
I texted him earlier. Nothing dramatic. Just simple.
Dinner tonight? You and Micah. Me and Heather.
It’s time to talk. Time to make a real plan. The thought tightens my chest. I keep seeing his face from that night—how he could barely form words, the red marks on his skin, the exhaustion etched into every inch of his body. The way he said I love you like it was both a confession and a goodbye.
I’m not even sure he remembers saying it.
The door chime breaks my spiral, and my first client steps in.
A young woman, barely in her twenties, clutching a tote bag to her chest. Her parents were killed in a car wreck a few months ago, and her grief has been harder than most I’ve seen.
Heavier. I can see it in the way her shoulders hunch, like she’s carrying something far too big for her small frame.
I smile gently and motion her toward the easel. Helping people face their darkness is what I do best. What I never thought I’d have to do...is help the man I love face his.
The house smells like garlic, butter, and chicken bone broth.
I stir the soup again, even though it doesn’t need it.
My mind won’t stop replaying all the trauma I’ve helped my clients untangle—grief, rage, guilt, the slow climb back to themselves.
So many of them have improved. Found their footing again.
I’m proud of that work. I just hope I can use what I’ve learned to help Jude. And Micah.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.
Usually, I can care from a professional distance. With Jude, there has never been distance. He was my first love. Well, my only one. And whatever tether bound us back then never snapped. It just stretched while we were apart.
The idea of stepping back into his darkness scares me.
Especially the anger. It’s always been there, simmering in his blood.
Everything changed after Nicholas died. He changed.
Jude never forgave the man who drank too much and swerved into the wrong lane.
He never forgot the sound of metal folding in on itself. The sound of screaming in genuine fear.
Even after the sentencing and apologies, prison bars weren’t justice to Jude. He wanted to kill him. I remember sitting beside him while he clenched his jaw through various triggers, white-knuckling his way toward something like control. For a while, the anger management worked.
But knowing he’s a loose cannon again terrifies me. He could turn on a dime if something sets him off. And now, layered with drugs and blackmail?
Jesus.
Heather’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You’re gonna burn that if you keep zoning out.”
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring into the pot without seeing it. “Sorry,” I say quietly. “Just...thinking.”
“Yeah,” she says gently, sliding past me to take the baguette out of the oven. “I kind of figured.”
She’s in her usual comfort clothes. Black leggings, oversized sage-green hoodie, messy bun. Even Nova looks more relaxed than I do, sprawled on the kitchen rug, tail thumping lazily each time one of us steps near her.
I tug my long brown hair into a golden claw clip to get it off my neck.
My shirt is an old periwinkle one with paint stains that never fully came out, and my capri jeans are even worse.
Tonight, I don’t care. Comfort matters more than appearances.
I check the time for the fifth time. They should be here soon.
Heather glances at me over her shoulder. “You okay?”
I take a deep breath and lean against the counter. I had called her after they left the hotel in Portland. I told her everything. She took it...surprisingly well. “Yeah. I hope they agree to making some sort of plan.”
She pauses while cutting the crispy bread. “Are you prepared if they say no? Because they could, Ems.”
“Yes,” I whisper, and we both know I’m lying.
Heather sets the knife down and turns to me. “This isn’t like helping one of your clients process grief. These are violent criminals. Dangerous people who you’re going to be fucking around with.”
“I know. But Jude…” My throat tightens. “Heather, he’s going to die. And Micah’s not far behind. If we don’t do something...they’ll never get out.”
Heather doesn’t hesitate after that. She steps forward and pulls me into the tightest hug she’s given me in years. “Okay,” she murmurs into my shoulder. “Then I’m in. Whatever you need.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, relief rushing through me hard enough to make me unsteady. “Thank you.”
“Always,” she says, pulling back and brushing her hoodie sleeve across my cheek. “But let’s get through dinner first. See if they want in.”
I laugh, and it comes out about as unsteady as I feel.
We go back to cooking, chopping, and stirring.
The quiet is actually comforting. It reminds me of when she lived with me for an entire month after I bought this cottage.
I had a hell of a time getting rid of her because she loved it so much.
Plus, living together in college was so easy, so it felt familiar and safe.
I suddenly jolt when I hear three sharp knocks rattle the front door. We both freeze, wooden spoon still in my hand.
Heather meets my eyes, her expression sober. “Here we go, babe.”
I wipe my hands on a dish towel, inhale once, steadying myself. And I walk toward the door.
“Hey, boys,” I say with a grin. The moment my eyes land on Jude, my heart spikes. The damn thing.
“Hey, blondie,” Micah sings to Heather, kicking off his shoes, already drifting toward her. "Also, hey, Em." It’s like he’s a completely different person from the other night, when I cried on his shoulder. I’ve seen the darkness he lives in.
And it’s brutal.
But here he is, smiling and sweet and loving on Nova.
Jude lingers behind him, stepping through the threshold and casually resting his hand on the small of my back. It sends a little shock through me. He used to touch me like that all the time without thinking. It’s crazy how much I miss that.
Heather fills bowls with my cheesy chicken and potato soup while I pour water into mismatched glasses.
We all sit around my wooden dining table, and Micah digs in like he hasn’t eaten all day.
Jude sits a little slower, knees brushing mine under the table, giving me a soft smile that hits somewhere low in my stomach.
Not the brittle, strained smile from the doorway.
A real one. It feels earned after the weekend.
My chest tightens.
No more stalling.
I clear my throat, folding my hands in my lap. “Okay. So...I asked you both to come because I want to actually...um…” I exhale sharply. “We have to get you guys out.”
Micah’s fork stills midair. Jude’s eyes go alert, trained on me.
“I want to help you,” I continue. “Both of you. Away from Nolan, away from all of this. Permanently.”
Micah drops his gaze to his bowl, jaw working. Jude doesn’t move, but the air around him seems to shift. His eyes narrow as he stares through me, retreating into his mind.
Heather jumps in with her elbows on the table. “Do you guys know anyone who could get rid of the blackmail? Wipe it? Delete it? Whatever. Could one of you get close enough, maybe?”
The boys exchange a glance.
“You’re in the criminal underworld,” I lean forward, gaze clashing with theirs. “Let’s play like criminals, then.”
A ghost of a smile pulls at Jude’s lips.
Micah hesitates. His knee bounces under the table. “There’s a guy,” he says finally. “Rook. He...does that kind of thing.”
Jude huffs out a low laugh, shaking his head. “‘Does that kind of thing’ is one way to put it,” he mutters. “He’s dangerous, Em. Like...actually dangerous.”
“More so than you?” I ask swiftly, and Micah nearly chokes. I glance between them. “Can he do it?”
Micah nods once. “If anyone can, it’s him.”
“Then I’ll talk to him.”
All three of them look up at me at once. Micah’s eyes widen. Heather smirks like she expected nothing less from my determined ass. Jude just stares. Then this slow, stunned smile spreads across his face.
I brace for anger. For him to tell me no. For him to get protective, controlling, and panicked. Something. “Emma,” he says softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You have no idea what danger this would bring down on you. Both of you. It’s serious.”
“I know.” My voice is steady. My heartbeat is definitely not. “How do we arrange a meeting? Is it even possible?”
“No offense, at all, by the way,” Micah starts, licking his lips. “But you two have a very normal life. You haven’t experienced a fraction of our world.”
Heather throws a glare at him. “Just because we have normal lives, doesn’t mean we haven’t seen trauma and death before.
I am an ER trauma nurse who has seen more death than probably you guys.
And her?” She points at me. “She’s delved into the minds of actual psychopaths before.
Little Emma might seem a little vanilla sometimes, but she’s insanely intelligent. ”
I roll my eyes at her common and playful insult.
Micah throws his hands up, defeated.