Chapter 17 I’ll Be #2
I didn’t want anyone, but especially not Jace, to see me like this.
Jace is the most aggressively blunt person I know.
He wouldn’t question me gently. He’d drag it out of me, tell me I’m better than this, and I should know how to handle an idiot like Nathan.
He’d expect a well-timed response, with a mic drop and a dramatic exit—even if the response was only a one-finger salute.
Worst of all, he’d be disappointed, and I felt pathetic enough already.
Jude probably had indentions in his biceps from my short fingernails, because he lifted his arm out of my grasp and wrapped it around me.
“He’s not here—shouldn’t be home for hours,” he said, reading my thoughts about Jace, “but if he does come home, I won’t let him interrogate you tonight.
I promise. You can hide in my room if you want. ”
The tears wouldn’t stop, and my head was pounding, so I went where he led me. His navy-and-green plaid comforter was pulled up neatly on his full-size bed. He guided me to the spot where the gray overstuffed back support pillow leaned against the headboard, identical to the one on my own bed.
He pulled my red checkered Vans off and tossed them in the hall off the kitchen where they keep their shoes and brought me a water bottle, a box of tissues, and ibuprofen. Looking back, it’s probably what I brought when they had the flu.
“I’ve been pressure-washing buildings, and I smell like bleach, so give me ten minutes to clean up.
T-shirts and gym shorts are in the top drawer if you want to change.
Get whatever you want. I’ll be right back.
” Then he kissed the top of my head, tossed the TV remote next to me, and disappeared into the bathroom next to his room to shower.
My leggings were comfortable, so I grabbed a soft T-shirt without looking and carelessly tossed the Pop’s polo that smelled like fried food in his dirty clothes like I lived there.
I’d been in his room before. The two-monitor station at his desk was better than my laptop when he helped me with statistics.
I proofread a paper for him once, and Jace helped me with biology quizzes in here too.
I was comfortable in his space, especially since his room was nearly identical to mine.
He had a bigger bed, taller dresser, and bigger desk, with books and various papers in organized stacks.
There were usually picks, sticks, and possibly a guitar on the bed, but the pretty Martin must’ve been tucked underneath in its case that night.
The Dark Knight was on a stand beside a rack of vinyl records with a turntable above them, and I spotted a keyboard standing on its side behind the door.
He’s definitely more organized than I am.
Even his small pile of dirty clothes next to the closet looked intentional.
I took the ibuprofen and turned on the TV, but the brightness stung and a fresh wave of waterworks started. The guys keep the temperature set to polar, so I grabbed the throw blanket folded neatly over the back of his desk chair, pulled it over me, and curled into a ball.
The spicy masculine scent of his body wash wafted over me when he cracked open the door, and if I could’ve snorted it like a full-blown drug addict, I would have.
“You decent?”
“Mmhmm,” I squeaked.
“A sound. That’s progress. Do you need food?”
I managed to shake my head no, but words were still hard. “You.” Sniff. “Go ahead.” Hiccup.
“I ate on the road. Permission to koala?”
I shrugged and scooted off of his pillow—tissue in hand—without the slightest idea what he meant.
He plopped down where I’d been and scooped me up under my knees to put me in front of him with my legs over his.
He circled me in his arms, pressing my cheek into his chest with his chin on my head, wrapping around me like … oh.
A koala.
Jude took slow, deep breaths, and somehow it caused me to do the same.
After a few peaceful seconds, he loosened his grip long enough to grab the remote and start a Marvel movie with the volume low.
Captions flashed on the screen as he reclined, and I shifted to wrap my arm around his back, releasing it from between us.
He kept his arms locked around me as he spoke low and soft.
“I texted Annie and told her you had a rough night at work and you’re with me.
She asked if you were okay, and I said yes.
Is that good?” I curled into him harder and nodded my face into his shirt.
His voice purred in my ear like an engine.
“Jace was wrong, you know. It wasn’t hard to get you into bed at all.
” I choked out a laugh. He caught my hand as I pinched his side and held it to his chest. “I’m kidding.
I won’t tell him, but he’ll be home eventually, and if he finds out, he’ll never let this go. ” I nodded again.
But I didn’t care. All I wanted was to listen to his voice reverberate through his chest and breathe with him. For a long time, I wasn’t asleep, but I didn’t move, speak, or worry. I didn’t think about the past or the future. I just soaked up his peace.
After about an hour, he tried again to make me talk.
“Since you have me pinned to the bed in this vulnerable state, I’m going to have to beg you not to take advantage of me,” he said, barely above a whisper. I was startled until I realized he was kidding.
“I probably won’t,” I whispered hoarsely.
“What?” He turned his head to put his ear closer.
I stretched up, repeating my weak whisper against his ear. “I probably won’t.”
His big, warm hand came up and pushed my face back down to his chest, putting his chin firmly back on my head. “Probably? No means no,” he teased, making me cough on a laugh.
“Thanks, DC,” I rasped near his neck as my eyes filled again. He glanced at me quickly before he shifted his eyes up toward the ceiling and blew out a forceful exhale.
“Strike two. Stop trying to seduce me.” He pushed my head back down again.
I complied, smiling at his consistent playfulness. He knows I hate being whiny and sad. I hate showing weakness at all.
His hair was longer then and so close to my face.
The scent was hypnotic. I was suddenly curious if it was still wet, so I ran my hand up his chest and over his shoulder to touch it.
The Zenlike comfort I found twirling the cool, slightly damp pieces between my fingers was irresistible.
It was that moment when I concluded I might never experience an uncomfortable emotion ever again if I could weave my fingers through his baby-soft hair whenever I wanted.
My heart rate slowed, and I was nearly asleep when he abruptly placed his hand over mine to stop the movement.
“I don’t know what base you’re trying to reach, but …”
My face caught fire, and I quickly shifted to move my legs off his, but he pulled me back and put his leg over mine to trap me gently in something like a scissor hold.
“I better go.”
“Nooo, no, no, my foot’s asleep. You can’t leave me in this condition.
I’m sorry, Lu.” He pulled me back to his chest, whispering in a slow, rumbling hum.
His hot, breathy words in my ear gave me chills and burned me up, while his stubble grazing my neck and cheek made me squirm.
“Please don’t leave. I was just trying to make you laugh, but I’m human, and you found my weakness.
” I swatted his leg to tap out of his grip and catch my breath.
“And I already knew yours, so now we’re even.
Behave yourself, little girl,” he said, returning to his light, playful tone before he pulled my head back to kiss the top with a loud smack.
Wait, what did he mean, he knows mine?
“Sooo your hair’s your weakness? Like Samson?” I asked, dizzy from his breath in my ear. Ahhh, that. Yep, that’s my weakness.
I tilted my head to the side and shrugged my shoulder up to rub the tingly sensation from my ear.
“You … playing with my hair. You are my weakness.”
What the … what?
“I didn’t mean anything. I was just … I was almost asleep,” I rambled with a whole truckload of awkwardness.
“I was … not.” He whispered a low chuckle into my hair.
“I’m sorry,” I said, hoping my splotchy red embarrassment would blend in with the puffy red crying. Was he messing with me?
“Well, I’m not sorry. Are you going to tell me who I have to kill?” he asked, mercifully changing the subject.
“I’m fine. I didn’t mean to freak out on you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I downplayed my breakdown.
“Don’t do that. I’m glad I was there, and I’m glad you’re here.
Just like if I need you, you’ll let me climb in your bed anytime too.
Right?” He tickled my side, and I squealed and crawled away, moving to sit next to him instead of lying directly on him.
I still gripped his arm like a life preserver, and I probably traced the band and cross on the inside of his arm a hundred times, but I wasn’t ready to let go.
“Listen.” He twisted and played with the bracelets on my wrist. “You’re allowed to need people. You’re allowed to need me. I volunteer. Do you need it in writing?” he asked while we both focused on the TV.
“Maybe you should put it in writing.”
He laughed at my deflection but leaned over to a side table and grabbed a black ballpoint pen. Hovering over my shoulder, he stretched both arms around me and turned my hand over to write I volunteer on the inside of my wrist—then tenderly drew a lopsided heart.
“Now will you tell me what happened?”
“I overreacted. It was nothing. Probably hormones.” I rapidly replayed his words and tried not to react to how intimate his writing on my skin felt.
Stop overanalyzing. He’s just a fixer like you.
“In our limited history, you tend to underreact. You know you can tell me.”
“I know. I trust you, but I …”