Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
EMMA EASTON
The smell of garlic and rosemary fills my cottage while I chop vegetables and hum to myself.
The thought of Jude coming over tonight has me giddy, and even though I try to stay focused on the food, I can’t help sneaking glances at the clock.
So when I finally hear the door click, I wash my hands in a rush so I can go hug him.
“Hey, baby,” he says as he drops his bag and wraps me in a huge hug. I bury my face in his chest, inhaling that mix of amber cologne and him.
“I missed you,” I murmur. “You brought your guitar?”
“I missed you, too,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at me. His hazel eyes glint in the kitchen light, and that small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “And yeah, figured I could play something. Maybe.”
“I’d love that.” I notice he’s not wearing the hoodie he usually hides his arms in.
Just a black tee and jeans. Relief washes over me.
The track marks along the insides of his elbows are there, but he’s letting me see them, and that feels like progress.
My chest tightens in a way I can’t quite describe.
It’s a mixture of pride, love, and lingering worry.
“Looking good,” I tease lightly, adjusting the sleeve of my baggy blue cropped tee. I’m in yoga pants, casual and comfy, just like I hoped tonight would be.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You too. Your ass looks incredible in those, my god.” His gaze lingers a second longer on me than I expected, and I can feel the heat creeping up my neck.
“I’m glad the squats are working,” I giggle as I return to the kitchen and lean against the counter. “How was your day?” I ask, feeling like an actual girlfriend.
He shrugs. “Good. Honestly, didn’t do anything other than do some grocery shopping with Micah and think about tonight.
” His eyes dart to what I’m cooking. “That looks amazing, Em.” He chuckles, and I suddenly notice that he’s acting a little weird.
Awkward, perhaps. But I don’t show that I’m put off by it. He’s probably just high.
“Thank you,” I smile at him, then return to add more seasoning to my skillet. “Salmon, broccolini, and I have some French bread in the oven.”
He touches my lower back. “I’m excited. Do you have any wine?”
I nod, pointing to our right toward the pantry. “I should have a red blend left on the top shelf.”
He pours with familiar ease, and my heart jumps a little. I watch him, imagining him here every morning, making love every night. His brow lifts, catching me staring.
I grin like an idiot. “I, uh, I’m entirely convinced that our best friends are going to get married.”
He snorts, sitting on a barstool and handing me my glass. “I look forward to seeing you in your maid of honor dress.”
I playfully scrunch my nose. “I might have to be predictable and fuck the best man in a broom closet.”
He nearly chokes on his sip. “Jesus, Emma. You just cussed.”
I wink. “You love it.”
A pause.
“I do.”
“Dinner will stay warm if you want to play something first.”
He grins, a little crooked. “Sure.”
“I just miss you playing.” I’m offering a safe space for him to express himself. He always used to play through every emotion, like I do with paint.
A tender smile flickers across his face.
He leans in and kisses me, slowly, before heading for the guitar resting against the wall.
We move into the living room, the last of the sunset bleeding through the windows in muted gold.
He settles onto the edge of the couch, guitar resting easily against his thigh.
He adjusts a string, rolls his shoulder once, then looks up at me without a word.
The first soft, haunting notes of “Smother” by Daughter fill the room. The melody alone squeezes that stubborn, beating thing in my chest. It feels like walking barefoot over old memories, every step full of a beautiful, young love we once shared.
I sink onto the floor in front of him, hugging my knees, letting the music wash over me. His voice is quiet and raw, stripped of any armor. He doesn’t perform it. He confesses it. Each word carries grief, love, self-blame, longing...all braided together into something devastatingly honest.
The song feels like loving someone too much. Like being afraid that your love will ruin them...or knowing you’re both drowning and choosing to hold on anyway. It feels like us.
My throat burns.
Halfway through, his eyes lift from the strings and find mine. They don’t let go. It feels like he’s singing at me, to me. The song is a truth he doesn’t want to give me without music. The words are quiet and brutal, and I can feel them settling heavily over me.
I blink hard, but tears still spill over. I don’t bother wiping them away. When the last note fades, the room stays silent for a moment too long. But the song itself lingers, communicating it its own way. That was vulnerable in a way that Jude once was.
He stares at me, noting the wetness on my cheeks. He exhales slowly and lowers the guitar. His gaze stays locked on me.
I swallow, my voice barely holding together. “That one hurts.”
His mouth curves, but it holds sadness. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”
The silence after the song stretches, thick but not uncomfortable. Just...full. I rise slowly, like I’m afraid of breaking whatever spell we’re under.
“That was beautiful, Jude,” I murmur. “Really.”
He smiles softly and sets the guitar aside. “Thank you, baby. I’m ready for dinner now, if you are.
I wipe the last tear from my eye, wondering if he came over to just play that one song to me. My chest aches a little as we move into the kitchen.
“Why that song?” I turn to him.
He doesn’t answer for a moment. “It’s one I feel in my soul.”
I swallow, accepting that answer. I don’t look at him as I focus on plating the food. I suddenly feel his arms wrap around my waist from behind, resting his head on mine.
I feel a question bubbling up, and before I can swallow it down, it leaves my lips. “Have you seen Adriana lately?”
He clears his throat, taking a step back. “No, not since, um…” he trails off. “When I told you she came over last.”
I feel my shoulders relax. It’s been difficult for me to accept this situation. I hate her for hurting him so much. We haven’t really stated that we’re official or anything yet. Primarily because of her.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
I jolt slightly, realizing I had just disappeared into my head for a minute. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I slide his plate to him and motion toward the dining table.
He follows closely behind, taking a seat beside me. “Emma…”
My cheeks heat. “I love you.”
“I know you do,” he murmurs, and his hand brushes mine.
He sighs, pulling my chair closer to him with ease.
“Since the last time she...did that…” he licks his lips, searching for the words.
“I’m not going to allow her to do that to me anymore.
To hell with the consequences. I can’t do that to you.
I can’t have you worrying about me sleeping with someone else. It’s unfair to you.”
I swallow hard.
“I fucking hate her. One day, I may kill her.”
My heart drops into my stomach. I’m silent for a moment while we start eating.
“This is so good, thank you,” he murmurs, smiling at me.
But I’m still somewhat speechless that my ex boyfriend can talk so casually about killing someone.
I know he’s done it before, but still. I truly believe him when he says that, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
His life is so horrible compared to the peaceful one I’ve built for myself.
We’re opposites in a tragic kind of way.
“What about when you have to do shows?” I ask quietly. “I know she’s always with you, and that happens.”
He exhales through his nose. “I just won’t allow meth near me. I’ll only do heroin.”
My jaw drops, and I struggle to respond, my mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“Meth makes me viciously horny...even when I don’t necessarily want to be,” he mutters, almost sounding embarrassed.
His eyes snap up to mine. “My body is useless on heroin. It’s why she was so pissed last time.
We didn’t actually have sex. She just...
she just ground on me. And used my fingers.
But I couldn’t really move. I was honestly nodding out for most of it. ”
Nausea claws up my throat, my eyes burning at the fact that the love of my life has to endure sexual assault and I can’t really do anything. My hands are tied, and I can’t do anything.
“Oh,” is all I can manage through the tightness in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” he drags a hand down his face. “I don’t...we don’t have to talk about this.”
“It’s okay,” I reply swiftly. “I’m sorry.
It’s crazy because...I’m used to having difficult discussions and learning about the most horrific traumas with my patients.
But hearing yours…” My throat threatens to close.
“It hurts. Especially because my hands are tied. I at least have legal resources with my patients if someone is abusing them.”
“You can’t get the police involved,” he says flatly, his gaze dropping to the floor.
I bite my bottom lip, hesitation twisting. “I…I know it might’ve felt like I’ve been treating you like a patient,” I admit, voice soft. “But it’s the only way I’ve been able to…manage all of this. To survive it. Seeing you like this—it’s breaking my heart, Jude.”
He reaches forward, thumb brushing my knee. “I know, baby. I understand that.”
“Forgive me?”
“Of course, Emma. You’ve been amazing through all of this.”
I inhale deeply before I continue. “I need to meet with Rook. You have to set it up. Please.”
He swallows, the motion tight and visible. “I don’t think—”
“I know you killed his brother,” I interrupt, emotions threading through my voice. “But Jude…I think I can get him to help. If this could be our only shot at wiping out what Nolan has on you, I have to try.”