Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
JUDE GRAVES
I pull up outside Emma’s place and cut the engine, my fingers drumming against the steering wheel like they’re trying to burn off nerves.
It’s stupid—I’ve played crowds of fifty thousand people without blinking.
But this? Seeing my parents after three years?
Jesus. I’d rather take the stage high, unprepared, and in front of Hollywood’s wealthiest and snobbiest motherfuckers all at once.
The front door swings open before I can knock. Emma steps out, pulling her coat tight, hair in a loose braid over one shoulder. She gives me a small, steady smile.
“You ready?” she asks.
No. Not even close. “Yeah,” I lie.
She slides into the passenger seat, and pretty soon, the ocean comes into view.
The closer we get to my parents’ beach house, the tighter my chest feels.
I haven’t been here since I was twenty, back when life was simpler, and I had no idea how quickly things could collapse.
When I park along the curved driveway, the house looks exactly the same. Beautiful, warm, and safe.
I feel like an intruder walking up to the door.
Emma nudges me with her shoulder. “You’re okay.”
I don’t answer, because talking suddenly feels impossible. Part of me is actually pretty pissed off that she’s making me do this. I get it, but I fucking hate it. I raise my hand to knock, but the door opens before I touch it.
My mother stands there. Rachel Graves, still beautiful in that effortless way she’s always been—long black hair falling around her face, bright blue eyes widening as if she’s seeing a ghost. For a second, she doesn’t move. Neither do I.
Then she gasps a broken sound and launches forward, arms wrapping around me so tightly I stumble back a step.
“Oh my god,” she sobs. “Jude—”
My throat closes. I stand there stiffly at first, because I don’t know how to do this. How to be held, how to let myself be wanted.
But when her hands clutch the back of my hoodie, shaking, something in me gives out. I fold into her, arms coming around her small frame. She barely reaches my shoulders now. I’ve always been tall, but years of being away seemed to make me even more of a giant next to her.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. It slips out without permission. “Mom, I’m—”
She pulls back just enough to frame my face with her hands. Her mascara is smudged already. “No. You’re here. That’s all that matters, honey. My god, look at you.”
Behind her, my dad appears—tall, blonde hair, hazel eyes. He hesitates only a second before he steps in and embraces me too, his hand gripping my shoulder. “We’ve missed you, son,” he murmurs, voice rough.
Emma stands behind me on the porch, watching quietly.
Mom finally pulls away, sniffling as she ushers us inside. “Come in, come in. I ordered sushi. All your favorites. I wasn’t sure what you eat now, but you used to love—” Her voice trembles, but she forces a smile anyway.
The house feels smaller than I remember for some reason. We sit around the dining table, Mom unpacking bags of sushi while Emma helps with napkins and plates.
I keep my hoodie on, hands shoved into the pockets. Sweat prickles down my spine.
“You can take that off,” Dad says gently. “It’s warm in here.”
I hesitate. Emma glances at me. Not pushing or judging, just waiting. So I do it. Slowly. I peel the hoodie off and fold it beside me.
My mother’s hand freezes mid-reach. Her eyes drop to my arms, to the faint bruises, the healed punctures, the lines of track marks scattered like a map of every bad decision I’ve made. Her breath catches. A tiny, wounded sound.
Emma’s frown deepens, concern tightening her mouth.
My dad looks away completely, jaw flexing as he swallows hard, like he’s trying not to break. And suddenly I feel naked. Cornered. Fucking dissected.
Mom’s fingers grip mine softly. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispers. “I...I’m so sorry.”
The words hit so hard I have to look down, blinking fast because if I look up, if I meet her eyes, I will fall apart right here in the kitchen. Emma shifts closer, her knee nudging mine under the table, grounding me again.
Thank you, baby.
I breathe in. Breathe out.
Mom wipes her eyes, pretending to busy herself with the sushi containers, even though her hands are shaking. My dad leans back in his chair, arms folded, staring at the floor like he’s trying to process.
No one knows what to say.
Mom clears her throat and forces a bright tone. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
“It’s sushi, Rach,” my dad murmurs gently.
She shoots him a look that says shut up and let me control something, and for a second I almost smile.
Some things don’t change. We finally start eating, and my mother fusses over my plate, loading it with all the things she remembers I loved.
Spicy tuna, salmon nigiri, yellowtail, ginger on the side.
“Mom,” I say softly. “It’s enough.”
She smiles. “I just want you to have what you like.”
“I do.” I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
My dad’s voice wavers as he asks, “How long have you been...back in town?”
“Couple weeks.”
“Tour ended?”
“Yeah. Well, paused.”
He doesn’t push further. He knows better. He knows there are pieces of the story I’m not ready to touch, not even with fucking gloves.
“How’s work been for you guys?” I ask as casually as I can. My mother is one of the most well-known Mohs surgeons in western Oregon, operating her own practice between here and Portland. Dad is an airline pilot.
Mom grins. “Everything is going very well, sweetie.”
Dad huffs. “Work is work. I just went to Santorini last month. It was beautiful. They filmed your sister’s favorite movie around there somewhere, I think.” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember.
“Mama Mia?” I ask, raising a dark brow.
“Yup, that’s the one,” he chuckles.
I chew my lip for a moment, remembering a movie night where Vanessa and her friends woke me up at three a.m. singing along to that damn movie. More like, screaming, really.
My mother nods toward Emma. “I’m glad you have support,” she whispers. “We thought—” She pauses, thinking. “We thought we lost you.”
“You didn’t,” I say, even though part of me isn’t sure it’s true. I hate the idea of lying to them, but I’ve got to give them something.
She reaches across the table and takes my hand again. Her fingers are warm. Small. “I love you,” she whispers. “No matter what. You hear me?”
My throat burns. I nod because speaking feels like I could start crying.
Emma’s hand rests lightly on my thigh under the table, reminding me I’m not going through this alone.
My dad clears his throat. “If you’re willing...we’d like to see you more if you’re sticking around here for a while. Vanessa would love to see you.”
“Dad—”
“You don’t have to stay,” he adds quickly. “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. But just knowing you’re alive—” He exhales through his nose. “That would be enough for her.”
I glance at Emma, who gives me the slightest nod. “I’ll try,” I manage.
After a while, my mom insists on making tea for everyone, even though no one asked for it.
She and Emma disappear into the kitchen, leaving my dad and me in the living room.
He watches me for a long moment, studying me.
Then he nods his head toward the sliding glass door to the back porch. “Walk with me?”
My stomach flips, but I follow him.
The ocean air hits me the second we step outside. It always used to clear my head, but now it just stings. The porch lights cast a soft glow over the deck, and the waves crash softly against the dock. The dock that has experienced some of the best days of my life.
We stand at the railing, shoulder to shoulder. The silence between us is different from the one inside. It feels heavier, and...honest.
“You look tired,” he says finally.
I huff a bitter laugh. “I am.”
He nods, hands gripping the wooden railing. The veins stand out along his forearms. He’s a strong man, my father. But right now, he looks older to me. Not weak, just...human in a way I never really saw before.
“I wasn’t sure you’d ever come back,” he admits. His voice is quiet, almost lost to the wind. “But I’m glad you did. This visit means everything to your mom.”
My throat tightens. “I didn’t think I could,” I say. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. It’s been, uh...” I trail off. “It’s been really rough, Dad.”
He turns his head, hazel eyes sharp. “Jude...we knew you weren’t okay. We didn’t need to see it to know.”
“Yeah, well.” I stare out over the dark water. “Knowing and seeing are different.”
He’s silent for a few heartbeats. “I’m angry,” he says. “Not at you. At what happened to you. At everything you went through alone.”
The words hit me so hard I have to bite the inside of my cheek. “I wasn’t alone,” I mutter. “I had the band.”
He gives me a look. “You were alone where it mattered.”
The ocean roars softly, filling the space where I can’t speak. “I didn’t know how to come home,” I say finally. My voice cracks on the last word.
Dad’s eyes soften. “You’re our son. That didn’t change. Even when everything else did.”
I blink hard, looking back out at the dark horizon because if I look at him any longer, I’ll break apart. This vulnerability seems to gnaw at my rage and shame. I hate it.
He shifts slightly, his shoulder brushing mine—a small, intentional gesture. “When you’re ready,” he says, “we’ll help you. But you decide the pace. You decide what you share and what you need.”
“I don’t know what I need,” I whisper. I don’t want them to know everything that’s been happening to me. It would absolutely kill my mom. All they need to know about is my substance abuse.
Dad rests his hand briefly on the back of my neck, the same way he used to when I was a kid, then lets go. “I’m proud of you for coming home,” he murmurs. “More than you realize.”
“I know.”