Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
JUDE GRAVES
Micah and Heather are bickering as he plops down beside me.
I lean back on my hands, watching Emma run, feeling the pull of her, like gravity itself bends toward her.
I can’t help but smile, letting myself breathe for a moment.
The sand under my bare feet is cool, a nice contrast to the sun beating on my skin.
When she finally collapses on the blanket on my other side, I drape my arm across her shoulders, pulling her close. She rests her head on my chest, and I feel truly happy.
I keep an eye on Micah and Heather, now laughing and building a ridiculous sandcastle that’s already getting destroyed by rogue waves.
Their energy is chaotic, messy, and fun.
I genuinely couldn’t have imagined a better match, now that I’ve seen them together.
Micah is undoubtedly in trouble because he’s about to fall head over heels for my girl’s best friend.
And the sick reality of all of this—what we both know—is that we could be ripped away from them at any moment if Nolan decides it.
I pull the Polaroid from my pocket that I bought when we stopped for snacks on our way here.
“For memory,” I say with a smile, though I mostly mean for me.
Something I can look at later when I’m back in some shitty hotel room, high and restless, and remember this.
I angle the camera toward the four of us, messy and happy, and the shutter clicks.
Later, as the sun begins its slow descent toward the horizon, I nudge Emma, my lips brushing her temple. “Want to go for a walk before dinner?” I murmur.
She nods, and I hook my arm around her waist, guiding her toward the tide.
The cold water laps at our ankles, sharp enough to sting, but she presses closer, threading her fingers through mine like it’s instinct.
Like it’s still allowed. As perfect as the weather is, none of us has really gone in the water.
We walk in silence for a bit, listening to the melody of the ocean beside us. There’s something sitting heavy on my tongue—something I almost say. A promise...or a warning. A truth I don’t know how to give her without shitting on this moment. So I keep walking and holding her hand.
“Jude?” Her voice is gentle. “How many people have you known...who didn’t make it?”
I slow without meaning to. The question sinks deep into my soul. I stare out at the water, jaw tightening, counting my breaths like that might help. For a second, I consider lying or offering her a number that sounds manageable. Instead, I shake my head.
“Too many,” I say finally. The words scrape on the way out. “More than I can keep track of. Friends. People I played with. People I swore were fine the last time I saw them.”
She squeezes my hand, thumb brushing my knuckles like she’s grounding me. “I hate that,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” I huff a quiet, humorless breath. “Drugs don’t just take people. They tether you to ghosts. You start living with all of them.” I swallow hard. “Every time I use, I know exactly how this story ends. I just...don’t always care enough to stop it.”
She turns her face into my shoulder, and I feel her exhale there. “Do you...remember the times you’ve,” she quiets, as if her next words hurt her to say. “Overdosed?”
I start walking again, tugging her gently along with me. “Sometimes, I do, yeah.” My gaze searches the horizon. “Sometimes, I just remember doing the drug and then waking up to people around me, their voices high-pitched and scared.”
She nods, taking several quiet moments to really absorb the words. “I love this,” she whispers, gesturing between our bodies. “I love us. And I don’t want that to be the end of your story.”
The words twist in my chest. I brush my thumb over her hand. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Me either.”
The drive back from the beach is quiet, the sun leaving streaks of pink and gold behind the clouds as it sets. Emma hums along to some reggae song on the radio, her hand brushing mine on the console.
The house still smells like bacon from yesterday morning when we walk inside.
But then my phone buzzes, and I jerk slightly, instinct kicking in.
No messages. No calls. Just a social media notification.
I sigh and open my settings, turning the notifications off for that app, too.
I never check social media because seeing myself through other people’s eyes is never something I care to do.
“When is dinner getting here?” Emma asks.
Micah checks his phone. “The delivery guy is on his way. Thank god, I need pizza so bad after today.”
Emma laughs. “Oh yeah, you didn’t really grow up with beaches, did you?”
He shakes his head. “Not the ocean. Just one of the Great Lakes. I grew up in Michigan, right off of Lake Michigan. I’d go over to Chicago a lot to do shows before I met Jude.”
“That’s so cool,” Heather chimes in. “I’ve never been to Chicago, but it looks like my kind of place.”
“I think you’d like it too much, honestly,” I say with a smirk. “A lot of shopping there.”
She throws a pillow at me just as the bell rings.
“Ugh, finally,” Emma sighs dramatically and skips ahead toward the front door. She opens it, and I hear a small gasp. “H—hi, who are you?”
My blood runs cold, and Micah’s gaze snaps to mine. I jump up and approach the door, my heart rate spiking.
No one texted me today. We should be left alone.
But when I make it to Emma’s side, I freeze.
Standing there, in a dark suit with that smirk that always makes my stomach knot, is Alexei. “Evening,” he says casually. “Hope I’m not intruding.”
Emma smiles at him, oblivious. But she looks up at me to answer. She doesn’t know that I’m actively threatening and killing for this man, and I can’t let her.
I step forward instinctively, placing myself slightly in front of her. “Hey.” My voice is low, hard enough to make her hesitate. She glances at me, confused. I can see the gears turning in her head, but she doesn’t understand.
Alexei tilts his head, amused. “We’ve got a bit to discuss, Jude. Alone.”
Annoyance flares in my chest, my hands curling into fists at my sides. I glance at Emma, her honey-brown eyes wide. I can’t let this touch her. Not him. Not this part of my life. This fucking asshole.
“I’ll be right back,” I mutter, my hand brushing hers quickly, almost apologetic. I leave her at the door, watching Alexei’s smirk widen as I step outside, my mind racing. As soon as the door clicks shut behind me, Alexei leans against the beam, hands in his pockets.
“Who is that beautiful young thing?” he asks, smiling like a fucking snake.
I swallow. “Just some girl Micah met on a dating app.” The lie leaves me easily, but he doesn’t seem to buy it.
“Whether you’re fucking her or Micah is…” he trails off. “Or both of you, for that matter, I don’t care. But don’t get distracted, little rockstar. You hear me? I need your head to be clear. Fucking is one thing, but no feelings. Nothing that could jeopardize this, you understand?”
I grit my teeth. “I can handle it.”
Alexei chuckles. “Sure, you can. But tomorrow, I need you. Lunch at my penthouse in Portland.” His gaze darkens, flicking to the house behind me. “Just you.”
I swallow hard. “Understood.”
“Good.” He straightens, his smirk returning, almost taunting. “Because I have quite a few things I need from you.”
Every hair on my body stiffens. My chest pounds, not just from anger, but from the surge of fear that always follows him. I glance back toward the door, knowing Emma is inside, utterly unaware of the danger closing in on me.
“Nice place, by the way,” he adds, voice low enough that if anyone heard, they’d think it was nothing, but I know better.
“Thanks,” I mutter, my voice tight.
With that, he steps back into the night, leaving me standing in the cool evening air, the door to Emma’s world shut behind me.
The seed is planted, and I need to think of something fucking quick that will rip it out of her head so she doesn’t start asking too many questions I’m not willing to answer.
I take a second before going back inside, dragging a hand down my face and trying to erase whatever the hell just happened. It doesn’t work. My pulse is still clawing up my fucking throat. Moments after reentering the house, the doorbell rings again.
Mother fucker.
Emma’s halfway down the hall toward me, eyebrows knit, lips parted like she’s about to ask something—
But Micah beats her to the door, practically sprinting past. “I got it!” He pulls it open, and the delivery driver stands there holding pizza bags.
“Three large?” the guy asks.
“Yep!” Micah snatches the bags, overly cheerful. “Thanks, man. Here’s your tip. Have a good night.” He closes the door with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Heather stares at him. “Dude...what was that?”
Micah doesn’t answer. He just sets the pizzas down on the kitchen island and gets out four plates.
Emma turns back to me. Her eyes are soft, confused, and too damn perceptive. “Who was that guy?” she asks quietly. “He didn’t seem very nice.”
There it is.
The seed. Sprouting.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I force my shoulders down and try to look relaxed. “Just...another one of my publicists,” I say, brushing past her toward the kitchen. “He lives in Portland.”
Micah’s eyes snap to mine.
We both know that was a shitty lie. Ugh, damn it. He just caught me so off guard that it rattled me.
Emma follows closely. “He didn’t look like someone from your team. He had a heavy Russian accent. Not to mention, he was kind of scary,” she says, searching. “And you got really tense when you saw him. Is he someone else we need to worry about?”
My jaw works as I help Micah open the pizza boxes. “Babe, everyone gets tense when someone shows up unexpectedly.” I huff a laugh that feels so fucking fake. “I thought he was paparazzi or some fan who got our address at first. Happens more than you’d think.”
Micah steps beside me. “Yeah. It’s happened before,” he adds quickly, nodding too fast. “One time, a dude climbed onto a balcony at a hotel we were staying at in Palm Beach.”
Emma looks between us. She doesn’t buy it. Not fully.
Heather senses the shift and moves closer to Emma, looping an arm through hers. “Well, I’m starving, so let’s eat before Micah devours everything.”
Emma forces a small smile at Heather, but her gaze flickers back to me. Concerned and suspicious in the gentlest way possible.
I brush a hand down her arm as I hand her a plate. “Everything’s fine,” I murmur, low enough that only she hears. “Trust me.”
She studies me for a second longer. “Okay,” she finally whispers, but it feels like she’s definitely filing this away for later. It was unexpected, and I did handle it like a fucking idiot. I press a kiss to her temple anyway, because I need her to believe me. I need her not to dig. If she digs…
My world collapses straight into hers.
And I’m not ready for that kind of destruction.