Chapter 17 I’ll Be #3
He turned me to face him. “We both know whatever caused you to be that upset would probably cause me to risk jail time. I’m glad you know that.
But in case you haven’t noticed, I can control myself.
The fallout will not land on you. I promise.
” He leaned his forehead to mine, and I had to concentrate to remain conscious.
“I can’t promise there won’t be any fallout, but I can’t get between you and the threat if I don’t know what it is.
So, tell me when you’re ready. But I know you.
You didn’t overreact, it’s not nothing, and you don’t have to handle it on your own.
” He turned and leaned back, pulling his arm out of my hands and wrapping it around me again as I wiped away more stray tears.
“I don’t want you to handle it on your own, Lu. ”
I snuggled into his side with my arm across his chest and my eyes on the movie, but the only thing I focused on was his heartbeat.
He knows me.
I don’t think I’ve ever truly experienced that before.
We stayed quiet for the last few minutes of the movie and watched another into the early morning hours. We held our breath and tried to stay silent when Jace got home, but hiding from him gave us the giggles. Okay, it was me.
I had the giggles.
Jude was laughing at me because I couldn’t stop laughing. Then we were both red-faced and wheezing, gasping for air with tears streaming down our faces, hiding under a blanket, trying not to make a sound.
There was no good way to explain this situation, and neither of us had the energy to try, so the unspoken decision was that we wouldn’t. Jace had been at the hospital for twelve hours and would likely sleep until afternoon, so slipping out wouldn’t be too hard.
I was a hot mess when I got there, but Jude koala’d me back to my normal level of sass.
I cried until there was no moisture remaining in my body, then laughed until I cried some more.
Exhaustion led me to that dangerously cuddly, filter-less place that will one day lead me to do something epically embarrassing.
It’s definitely not if; it’s when.
The whole night was ninety-nine percent innocent, but I could’ve gone home around two in the morning.
Jace might’ve heard me, but I could’ve accepted his narrowed glare of suspicion for being in Jude’s bedroom and told the truth.
It would’ve been far less suspicious and boundary-blurring if I’d just left.
But I didn’t.
Jude set an alarm like the mature adult that he is and put his phone on the nightstand face down next to mine.
I never looked at my phone because I was afraid I’d see a name I wasn’t ready to see, and I was content to let him handle things that night.
I was comfortably tucked into his side with my hand on his chest, and I didn’t want to move.
He didn’t seem to want me to go, so we slept fully clothed on a made bed with a throw blanket.
By morning, I was curled against his back, and he had my arm pulled under his, holding my hand, probably because I was cold, but we weren't tangled up like a one-bed mix-up in a romcom.
Really. Well, mostly.
I woke up during the silent pitch-black hours of the morning facing away from him, but I felt his rhythmic breathing against my back with his heavy arm across my waist, and I’ve never felt so … safe. In my half-conscious dream state, I silently begged God to let me keep him. Just as a friend.
Please, I need this one.
I know it’s irrational, but I’ve always felt like the moment I get attached to anything, it somehow gets taken away. Not that life’s fair to anyone—I know it’s not.
In ninth grade, a quiet new kid in my English class passed me a handwritten note on real notebook paper.
He said I was cute and asked if we could be friends.
I replied on the same page, and we continued passing notes whenever he was in class, though he was absent a lot.
He’d go a mile out of his way to walk me home just because he liked to talk to me.
He’d call me, not text, and talk about music or make jokes about his messed-up family. The kid who never spoke to anyone else talked to me all the time …
Until he didn’t.
I knew he went back and forth between his divorced parents, so it didn’t surprise me not to hear from him over Christmas break.
I hated to lose touch, but if he went back to live with his mom, he could be in a different school and possibly have a different phone.
I’ve been in that situation, moving without much warning, so I didn’t overthink it when I couldn’t reach him.
Then one day a man called, asking me vague, cryptic questions.
He didn’t say the words for several minutes, but somehow, I knew almost instantly that Danny was gone.
His dad found my phone number in our notes and wanted to know anything I could tell him.
He assumed we must’ve been close since he’d kept them.
I wish I could say we were, but I hadn’t heard from Danny in months, and nothing from our conversations ever clued me in to the pain he was hiding.
The anguish in his dad’s voice gutted me, but I had no insight as to why my quiet, gentle friend would take his own life.
I know now that his calm temperament was the eye of a storm. He did tell me he had family problems, but we were teenagers. Who isn’t angsty at that age?
My dad’s impulsive job moves took me away from a lot of people I cared about, and it sucked, but Danny took himself away. Three months. If I remember correctly, I only had him for three months before he was gone.
I still remember the small, penciled letters of his handwriting.
Always pencil, never ink. He’s why I can’t call Jude Danny.
Maybe he’s why I can’t trust myself to read people when they don’t tell me exactly what they’re feeling.
Or maybe he’s why I’m so afraid to need someone more than they need me.
I’ve learned to be resilient through all kinds of craptastic circumstances, but wishing to keep Jude felt unattainable and a little dangerous. At least in my sleepy haze, I could allow myself to ask. If life has taught me anything, it’s that I’m not allowed to want shiny things.
If I wear my favorite baseball player’s jersey, a career-ending injury is sure to follow.
Fabulous authors stop publishing new books right when I discover them.
My car, the one I was so excited to buy on my own, breaks down more than a ’90s hip-hop song.
Maybe worst of all, Taco Bell routinely discontinues my favorite menu items when I have raging PMS.
I’m quite accustomed to not getting what I want. I’ve reached a superstitious level of discipline against wanting anything.
As the oldest of four kids with one highly explosive parent and the other constantly smoothing things over, I gave my siblings whatever they wanted to keep them quiet. You want the last bowl of Froot Loops? All yours. Do. Not. Cry.
Our dad once slashed my sister’s playground ball with a pocketknife because she was making too much noise. When I asked for onions to be left off my hamburger at a drive-through, he drove away and got me nothing.
His tactics were shock and awe.
I learned not to make a fuss over anything. Let other people have their preferences and I’ll be fine. Some might call that people-pleasing, but it’s the only way to get what I truly want: peace.
Jude Daniel Crawford is living, breathing peace, and he’s always willing to share it with me. So maybe sleeping in his bed was wrong, but I don’t regret taking one night and soaking up as much peace as I could get.
Waking up in Jude’s bed should’ve been awkward.
It should’ve shifted the atmosphere between us, but it didn’t.
He acted like my presence was completely normal, tucking the blanket snugly around me and slipping out to the bathroom and kitchen before I was fully awake.
He brought me an energy drink and more ibuprofen, assuming I’d have a massive crying headache as soon as I opened my eyes—which I did.
He looked like a slightly dangerous angel with the sunlight peeking through the blinds behind him. Then he dropped his full weight on the edge of the bed, propelling me into him with a devilish grin. “Morning roomie. Sleep well? I sure did.”
He caught me against his side, halting my momentum. Ugh, morning people.
“Seriously, though. How do you feel?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for … being here.” I pulled the neck of my shirt over my mouth to cover my horrific morning breath.
“Anytime. I love sleepovers. Want me to clean out a drawer for you?”
I hid my reddened face against him. “Stop it.”
He ruffled my wild bedhead and stood up, turning to lean against his desk. His playful expression softened to something unreadable as he looked me over.
“What?” I asked, attempting to tame my hair with my hands.
“You could’ve worn any band T-shirt in that drawer and played it off as your own, but you picked the one thing that would tell on you.
” I looked down at the shirt puddled around me, finally noticing what it said.
C.F. Martin & Co. Est 1833 in vintage gold letters on faded black.
A Martin guitar shirt he wears so often, it might as well have his own name on the front. This would be hard to explain.
“It looks better on you, but if you keep it, there will be questions.” There was a challenge in his eyes, almost like he was daring me.
I wish. I gave him a you know I can’t smirk and pointed at the ceiling.
Jace will eventually find out I stayed here, but I’ll never convince him nothing happened if he ever sees me in that shirt.
Jude nodded once and tossed me a Braves shirt nearly identical to one of my own, and I changed in the bathroom.
I hugged him extra tight, thanked him for putting up with me, and went home.
He’s teased me about my walk of shame, but no one was awake. No drama. No awkwardness. He just … reset me. Like turning a laptop off and back on when it freezes. The problem with a reset is that the original problem never gets solved.
I got all my systems back up and running, but I didn’t eliminate the security breach.
It’s been about six weeks since that night, and no one’s questioned it other than Annie’s occasional mention of “that one night,” to which I simply reply that I had a bad day, she had people at our house, and we fell asleep watching Iron Man.
I assume either Jace never found out, which is probably wishful thinking, or Jude handled it. The only reminders I have of that night are a baggy T-shirt I’ll never return and the picture I took of my wrist before I showered.
I never told him what led to my emotional meltdown, and he hasn’t asked, but he’s been more … attentive? I don’t know if that’s the right way to describe it, but he checks on me a little more intentionally than before. I should feel guilty about it, but I don’t.
At home, work, school, relationships—whenever there’s a problem, everyone expects me to solve it.
Newsflash: I am not Vanilla Ice. Maybe someone else could collaborate or listen for a change.
Only one person has ever made me take my white-knuckled grip off the steering wheel and take a nap on the passenger side.
He’s been the same playful flirt since the beginning, never expecting anything more. Not even when we were both single.
I thought he might be a touchy-lovey kind of guy like Sam, but it’s different. He restores my energy when others drain it. If dispensing serotonin is a superpower, that’s Jude’s.
Everyone says he loves me, and I know he does, but after all this time it’s hard to believe it could suddenly be like that.
Until I remember the hallway.
The music room.
The coffee shop.
The kitchen.
The ever-loving kitchen.
Getting out of town will be good for me. I need to get out of Jude’s hair.
Literally.