Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
JUDE GRAVES
Emma’s alarm explodes to life on the nightstand, way too loud for the hour. She groans, rolls into me, and for a second, I consider grabbing the damn thing and throwing it out the window.
But she stretches, blinking up at me with a soft, sleepy smile. “Morning,” she murmurs.
“Morning,” I say, brushing my thumb along the faint red marks on her throat—the ones I left there. They look good on her. Better than good.
We drag ourselves out of bed, limbs still heavy, bodies still tender from last night. My muscles ache in the best way. She ties her hair up as we walk out into the hallway, and I can’t take my eyes off her. Though I notice something flicker in her eyes that has me curious.
Micah and Heather are already in the kitchen, each with a mug in hand. When we step in, Heather’s eyes widen just a little before her lips pull into a devious grin.
Emma squeaks out a “Morning,” and immediately goes to hug her. The two of them giggle, and I just raise a brow.
Yeah. They’re absolutely talking about us later.
Micah catches my eye. We exchange the kind of smile that says everything without words: Yeah, man. Same.
Heather pulls back from Emma, trying and failing to wipe the grin off her face.
Micah lifts his mug like a toast. “Morning, sinners,” he says.
Emma gasps and whacks his arm. “Jeeze, Micah.”
He just laughs. “I’m just saying. The house was...loud.”
Emma turns bright red.
I sip the coffee Heather hands me like an innocent man. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I deadpan.
Micah snorts. “Uh-huh.”
Heather nudges Emma. “We’re proud of you. But Jude, you must have a huge dick. You had her screaming.”
Emma hides her face in her mug. I’m grinning like an idiot.
We stand around the counter, drinking coffee and trading soft, teasing jabs.
It’s easy and so comfortable. The kind of morning I forgot I could even have.
I’ve spent so much of my time with the bitch and bastard hanging around, even with Finnick and Kami.
After a few minutes, Emma sets her mug down and turns toward me. Her arms slide around my waist, her cheek pressing lightly against my chest. I wrap an arm around her, holding her close.
Her voice is quieter when she says, “Jude...I don’t know what we are right now, but just know that I’m yours.”
Something tight in my chest loosens. I tilt her chin up with my fingers and kiss her slowly, leaving no doubt. “My heart is yours,” I murmur against her lips. “It was always meant to be yours.”
She exhales this tiny, relieved sound and hugs me even tighter, burying her face against my heartbeat. And it hits me hard—the way she feels like home.
We eventually pull away, though neither of us wants to. Micah claps me on the back. “C’mon, lover boy. We’ve got shit to do.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I squeeze Emma’s hand before we head out. She kisses my cheek, and I swear, it roots me to the floor for a second. We step outside into the bright, cool morning. The Audi waits in the driveway, and for once, even the sunlight doesn’t piss me off.
Micah slides into the passenger seat. I get behind the wheel. The engine rumbles to life beneath my trembling hands. “You have some oxy or coke?” he asks immediately, running a hand through his hair. “I could barely finish my coffee without shaking out of my fucking skin.”
I sigh, reaching into the center console to retrieve a small baggie of pills. I hate that I need them, too. That the tremble in my arms when I hugged my girl was because I needed them. I wonder if she knew what Micah and I had to do last night. It’s brutal, truly. We’re injecting daily.
We each down our pills with an old water bottle on the passenger seat floorboard before we pull out. I’m more determined than ever. For Emma. For us. For the life I should’ve fought for years ago.
After Micah has the peace of mind of an incoming high, he peers at me with an annoying grin.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting,” he says, propping his feet up on the dash. “Pretty sure the whole neighborhood heard—”
“Micah.”
“—and I gotta say, man, proud of you. Truly. Inspirational.”
I flip him off without taking my hand off the wheel. He laughs so hard he nearly chokes on the water.
We hit the main road before he settles down, though the grin is still plastered across his face. “Seriously,” he says, nudging me with his elbow. “Good for you.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, but it comes out softer than I expect. “Yeah, it...was good.”
He watches me for a few quiet seconds, something shifting in his expression. He knows damn well that I’ve only slept with one person for the last seven years. “I heard you tell her you’re hers.”
I don’t bother denying it. “Yeah. My heart.”
Micah nods slowly. Chews his lip. Not a good sign. “And...what about Adriana?”
I snort so loudly it startles a crow off a fence post at a stop light. “I’m never fucking Adriana again. Jesus, Micah.”
“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” His voice dips a little. “But...that might be difficult.”
My grip on the wheel tightens. “Why?”
He hesitates, then: “We have to go to New York in two weeks.”
Fuck.
He continues, “Performance, promo stuff, meetings. Adriana’s going to be there. It’s a whole weekend deal—Friday through Sunday. We’re meeting up with Finnick and Kami when we land.”
I breathe out through my nose, jaw tightening. “Fuck.”
Micah nods, staring out the window because he knows exactly what this means.
Pre-party, get high, perform, after-party, get high, fuck Adriana, spiral in self-hate, contemplate suicide.
“Kami’s texted me a few times since we’ve been gone,” I mutter. “She’s really worried about us.”
“Yeah, she texted me, too,” he sighs.
We sit in silence for a moment. It’s been a while since we’ve been with them. When it was announced that Micah and I were taking a break, they drove home in New York, then jetted to Vancouver to see Kami’s family.
“I have to tell Emma. I can’t blindside her. I won’t,” I say immediately. “I’ll bring her. And Heather. I’ll pay for them to come, hotel, flights, whatever. I don’t care.”
Micah huffs a laugh. “Dude, this is insane.”
“I know,” I mutter.
“And Adriana?” he presses.
“I’ll tell her to fuck off,” I say plainly.
Micah whistles low. “Bold strategy.”
“Don’t care.”
My phone buzzes in the console. Micah grabs it, checks the screen. “It’s Nolan.”
“Of course it is.” I grit my teeth. “What’s he want?”
Micah reads the text aloud. “‘We’ll be by at ten to go over the NYC performance and PR progress. Be ready.’”
I slam my palm lightly against the steering wheel. Not enough to dent it—just enough to get the frustration out.
Micah slants me a look. “You okay?”
“Yeah, man,” I say, steadying my voice. “We can handle whatever the fuck comes.”
Micah nods. “I bet Nolan’s got some plans for us. Bastard never sugarcoats anything.”
“He never does.”
He huffs. “Neither does the bitch.”
“Nope.”
But I’m steady. Grounded. More sure of this than anything in years. Emma’s not just part of my life again...she is my life.
Micah’s already got two neat white lines raked into the counter when I walk out of the bathroom, hair still wet, shirt stuck to the heat rising off my skin. The curtains are half-drawn, letting a shaft of sun cut right across the marble, as if spotlighting our deterioration.
Micah taps the side of his nose. “Breakfast of champions.”
I huff a humorless laugh. The oxy is still in both of our blood from earlier. “You’re unbelievable.” But my body is already leaning forward. He hands me the rolled hundred-dollar bill, still warm from his fingers. My pulse kicks before I even inhale.
I bend over the counter.
The burn hits instantly. Sharp, icy fire.
It slices up my nostril, behind my eyes, into my throat. My heart jolts. The world is suddenly too bright and too loud. Everything inside me sparks like someone electrocuted my very blood.
I exhale, jaw clenching with the rush. “Jesus,” I mutter. “That’s—fuck.”
Micah grins, nose powdered, pupils blown wide. “See? Glow mode activated.”
The floor feels like it’s vibrating under my feet. My thoughts whip fast and loose, sparking off each other. Then my phone buzzes.
Emma: Are you free for lunch? I’d love to see you if you can.
My stomach drops and shoots upward at the same time. Coke and adrenaline collide in my veins like they’re trying to outdo each other.
Micah sees my face and laughs. “Good luck hiding that from her.”
“Shut up.”
But I can’t help but smile, even if it feels jagged and nervous. I’m always smiling on this shit.
I splash water on my face, but it doesn’t do a damn thing. I look wired. I feel wired. The drive over is hell, my grip tight on the steering wheel, my knee bouncing uncontrollably. Every red light feels like it’s staring directly into my skull.
When I step into her studio, the scent of paint, lavender, and that soft vanilla I only ever associate with her hits me all at once. Emma’s on the couch, sunlight spilling over her brown-gold hair. Her sketchbook rests open on her knees, untouched.
She looks up when the door closes. She’s not smiling.
Ah, shit.
“Hey,” I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
“Come sit,” she says quietly.
My fists clench in my pockets, but I sit beside her anyway. My leg starts bouncing again immediately. I try to stop it. I fail fucking miserably.
She studies me—my pupils, my jaw, the twitch in my fingers. “Jude...we need to talk about last night.”
My whole body goes cold and hot at once. “Em—”
“I saw you,” she says quickly. “I saw everything. On the patio.”
The lighter. The kit. The needle.
My stomach twists violently.
“You weren’t supposed—” My voice fractures, then hardens into something defensive. “You don’t get what any of it means. You don’t know how—”
“Don’t do that,” she says, so calm it knocks the air out of me. “Don’t push me away because you’re scared.”
Scared.
The word rattles something ugly in my chest.