Chapter 13
Heaven
“Where’s Jace?” I ask when I see the empty, mostly dark room.
“He took the truck back so I could walk with you.”
“Annie left too?”
“The irony.” He tilts his head with a laugh. “She’s going to help him unload. Sam will stop by and help before he heads back to the dorms. It’s just you and me.”
My stomach swoops a little. A few months ago, that would’ve been great. Tonight, it’s nerve-racking.
He hands me my purse and the grocery tote with the leftover cans of whipped cream and a few paper plates.
“No pie?” I ask.
“You’re hilarious. I ate everything that was left after I swept the dining room, and I’m still hungry.” He opens the door as we do a final scan of the room.
His lanyard with keys hangs from his pocket. I pat my bag to be sure I feel my wallet and phone. We’re good.
“You swept the dining room? That’s hot. I’m sorry I missed it.” My mouth is no longer connected to my brain. I just say things now.
“You were MIA with Sam, so I figured you made your choice,” he says, feigning jealousy.
“He was chatty tonight. Sentimental too. He hugged me like three times and told me he loved me. So many feelings, all out there, all the time. You gotta love him. He leaves you no choice.”
“What did you talk about?” He’s nonchalant but obviously curious.
“I told him where we were today, and he told me about when you were kids. He said you were his hero. Almost made me cry.”
“He’s such a pain but so ridiculously good at everything.
I had to bust it to stay ahead of him, and I’m almost seven years older.
He was always hopped up on soda and Skittles, messing with all the instruments and taking things apart.
Aunt Judy had to keep him busy, or he would’ve destroyed all the equipment.
” His face is animated with memories. “And she’d never admit it, but Jace is her favorite. ”
“Well, he’s a suck-up.” I state the obvious. “He had to be someone’s favorite. I bet he practiced obsessively and took it very seriously for a kid.” I love hearing their childhood stories, but I didn’t know exactly how they all connected before tonight.
“Yeah, but he only played piano—never picked up a guitar until high school. He pushed himself to catch up to our level. We’d learn a song, and when we got cocky about it, Aunt J would make us switch instruments to challenge us. We thrived on competition. Especially Jace.”
“No kidding.” I laugh.
“I’m decent because I grew up around music. Sam’s kind of a prodigy. The squirrel brain works in his favor. Jace, though, he just works his butt off for everything.”
“Decent.” I huff a laugh. “Yeah, you’re decent.”
It’s a perfect night to walk—clear and warm but not sweltering. The ambient sound of crickets and frogs against the backdrop of night stars does nothing to firm up my rapidly softening heart.
DC takes the tote I’m carrying and slings it over his opposite shoulder so there’s nothing between us when he reaches for my hand, already nudging me closer to the grass as a few cars pass by.
It’s a protective mode that some guys have, right? None that I’ve dated, but I’ve seen it. I wouldn’t read into it, but everyone’s put in their two cents today, and now I’m questioning everything. Should I put some distance between us?
Nah, lean in and call him Jude.
Shut. Up.
Oh, my word.
My inner voices are unhinged tonight, and the fact that I have more than one should be alarming.
Jude breaks the silence before I overthink it any further. “My schedule will be a little crazy for the next couple of weeks, but we’re going to do ‘Home Sweet Home’ next time. I’ll teach you the rest.”
“Yessss, please. I have my last summer class, and I work at stupid Pop’s the rest of the week, but I want to learn it.” I squeeze his hand. “Thanks again for taking care of my car.”
“I was just sick of driving you around,” he teases. “You’re so needy.”
“Hey!” I stop walking, jerking him to a stop, and open my mouth to tell him I can take care of myself. I have most of my life.
But I’m met with a wicked grin and eyes full of mischief.
I can almost see scenes from the day winding through the swirls of moss and molasses.
Like the hallway where I taunted him, or sitting in his freaking lap, and at Aunt Judy’s house with sweaty hair dripping onto the most perfect chest …
a chest that I hadn’t allowed myself to think about before that moment.
The words inked down his side.
I need to know what those words say.
Nope. Not tonight.
“Weird question, but what name do you want to be called?” I blurt without an ounce of finesse. He chuckles softly. We start walking again, shifting our eyes to the ground, the road, and our surroundings.
“I decided to go by Daniel in fifth grade when kids were calling me Judy. Once I got into high school, I didn’t care anymore, but it was a little late to tell the whole baseball team and everyone I knew to change it back.
My mom and Aunt J, really most of my family, still call me Jude.
Sometimes JD because they never got used to Daniel, and that was a compromise. ”
“On any given day people call you Daniel, Danny, DC, JD, and Jude. Isn’t that confusing?”
“Nah, I’m used to it. You forgot Uncle DD.”
“Oh, yeah. Why does Kami call you DD?”
“No idea.” He laughs. “When a baby names you, you just accept it.”
“What am I supposed to call you?”
Dang it. I walked right into that one.
“Daddy?”
I roll my eyes when he laughs but can’t hide my smile.
It’s what any of the guys would say. Annie too, probably. I let go to elbow his side and he swerves out of reach but comes back to reclaim my hand.
“For a while, I thought you knew, because when I play ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’ in the car you always change it to ‘Hey Jude,’ but I didn’t know if you did that because of me or the song.”
“Madly in love with the song,” I say as he hip-checks me.
“Well, I know you set ‘Hey Jude’ as my ringtone. You must think about me every time you hear it. Want to analyze that?”
“Nope. But I hear that ringtone a lot. I wonder why.” I bump him back.
Anyone watching us would think we’re drunk, weaving back and forth on the sidewalk.
I lean my head against his arm. “No one else calls you Jude, but I can? It won’t be weird?
” Uh-oh, here comes sleepy Lucy. It’s a good thing I don’t drink.
“You’re plenty weird, but I answer when you flip the light switch, so odds are good that I’ll answer to my first name or anything else from you.”
“Okay, then. You’re my Jude.”
What am I saying?
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
“I’m all yours, Punk.”
“Mine, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
There should be a joke or something right here. I got nothin,’ so I pull his hand to me and squeeze.
I can confidently tell the others I love them. Sam even makes Jace and I say it when we argue, and it’s been strangely therapeutic. My family isn’t all that affectionate, and apparently my face gives off “don’t touch me” vibes since I was called Grizzly Bear in middle school.
But it’s different with Jude. Possibly because I was already in his arms when we met.
He puts a cold energy drink in my hand when I’m half asleep and plans his day around helping me, though I’d never ask. That says more than Sammy’s full-body attack hug or shouting “Love you, Lu Lu” across the Social Sciences parking lot.
It says, “I know you.”
Romantic or not, something’s different.
We get to our townhouse village and amble across the well-lit parking lot. We must’ve clocked a snail’s pace, because everyone seems to be inside for the night.
I’m dangerously tired. My defenses are low, my judgment is cloudy, and in this state of mind, it’s hard to remember why I’m committed to a man who rarely shows any commitment to me.
I’m patient. Even-tempered. Forgiving. I can get through hard times and circumstances I didn’t create.
I can handle it … but why?
It doesn’t matter. Jude’s all those things too, but he isn’t mine.
And I’m not a cheater.
Am I?
Why can’t I close my eyes and fall into the arms of a man who is always willing to catch me?
Why can’t I have someone as easy to love as Jude?
Clearly, I read too much romance.
For the briefest moment in time, Nathan was sweetly affectionate … massaging my shoulders during a work break or stealing kisses when I came through the kitchen. I don’t think he was like that after the first few weeks.
These revelations have been coming at me hard and fast the last few days.
In a nonromantic-yet-not-completely-platonic way, if I could give myself permission to need anyone, I’d only want Jude. He’s always here. I could attach to him like a baby koala, and he’d never take it as a green light to tack on expectations when I just want to borrow some of his … calmness?
It’s emotional regulation. I’m sure yoga or breathing exercises would work just as well, but he smells so dang good. When I’m this exhausted, it’s hard to tell myself no, but how did I end up with friends who’d walk through fire for me and a fiancé who’s irritated if I ask to meet for lunch?
I’m tired, dang it. I just want to be with the person who makes me feel safe enough to rest. Really, really rest.
“Come in and I’ll feed you,” I say on a yawn.
“Little girl, you’re already half asleep.”
“I didn’t say I’d cook. I have leftover mac ’n’ cheese and honey barbecue wings. You said you were hungry.”
“Always.”
“I know. Come on.”
Annie is either at the guys’ house or already asleep, since the door’s locked. I rummage through my purse for about two seconds when I feel DC … er, Jude crowd my space. He wraps an arm around my waist, drawing me back as he unlocks the door with his key.
Whyyyy is it so freaking hot when a guy reaches around you from behind? Not that I have much experience. Nathan would tell me to hurry up or move, but as soon as I feel Jude’s warmth, I close my eyes and let my head fall back, my feet cementing to the ground in front of the threshold.
I’m done, and he knows it.
He knows me.