Chapter 22
To Be With You
Ilock up and go to Liza’s room to change clothes. She’s still awake reading. I feel bad I didn’t shoot hoops with Jamie or read and have snacks with the girls, but they seemed to enjoy Sam. Who doesn’t?
“He’s so cute,” she gushes, which is new. She’s just started to admit she likes boys.
“He knows, and he’s a big ol’ mess too.” I agree with her.
“I can’t believe how many songs he can play, and he flirts with you constantly! You should dump Nathan,” she announces, leaning upside down over the top bunk.
“Right,” I say without any emotion. “But not to date Sam.”
“How can you not love him?” Liza coos.
“I do love him.” I laugh. “The same way you love a giant clingy puppy that steals food off your plate and follows you into the bathroom if you let him.”
“Okay, eww. That was weird.” She looks mortified.
“Hang out with us for a week and you’ll find out how disturbingly accurate that is.”
She laughs and flops back on her pillow, returning to her book.
My phone buzzes as I pull on an oversize T-shirt to sleep in. I take a minute to acknowledge a few messages from Annie and our group, but the one I just heard is from Jude.
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: Call me
A mild terror whooshes over me.
Why do I always imagine the worst? I tap his name and shut myself in Liza’s closet, like I did when I was fourteen venting to Joey about my dad.
“Are you okay?” My words come out in a rush when he answers on the second ring.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?” he asks, calm and relaxed as always.
“Yeah, your text scared me. I thought something was wrong.”
“I’m sorry, Punk,” he says lightly. “Didn’t you want to talk to me without an audience?”
“I always want to talk to you.” I miss him, dang it, and I don’t want to play this game anymore. We talked for half the drive here and I saw him on Sam’s phone, but the events of the day are replaying through my mind. Now I’m nervous about the gig, and what if Nathan thinks we’re still together?
I’ll have to talk to him again, and that’s one more thing on my emotional to-do list.
I’m tired of being the bigger person. I’m barely five feet two, so I shouldn’t have to be, right? Feelings are exhausting. My plan for the weekend was to be a book-reading vegetable, but that’s not going to happen.
My words tumble out. “I miss you. What’s up at work? Why’d your schedule change? Is it the same job or something new?”
He doesn’t respond right away, and I worry I finally crossed the line, being a little too much and a little too real.
“I miss you too.”
Okay, maybe he’s not worried about being real. Maybe it’s me.
“Lucy?”
“Yeah?” Did he just call me Lucy?
“Do you really want to hear about work?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, but I have to confess one thing first.”
“What is it?” I try not to sound like I feel, which is like an evil jack-in-the-box is cranking in my gut and I’m waiting for the creepy clown to jump out.
“Relax. It’s nothing bad.” He chuckles. “I’m kind of into this book under your pillow.”
“You’re in my room?” I croak, somehow skipping right past the book, which is definitely a rock star romance, because in the land of make-believe, I definitely have a type.
He playfully lowers his voice to a growl. “I’m in your bed, little girl.”
He’s probably expecting a laugh, but the swoop in my stomach chokes it out.
“Oh,” I squeak.
“You like musicians with tattoos and long hair, huh?”
“Depends, I guess. I don’t think Finn has long hair, and I don’t remember any tats.”
“Finn?” he asks with amusement.
“My book boyfriend. But I have a Bret Michaels bobblehead on my desk and a mild obsession with classic rock, so I think my preferences are obvious.” That was a good response. The delivery was a tad weak, but a solid 7.5 performance. Good job, me.
“Hmm, I guess the book reminded me of what you said when you were sitting on my lap.”
Oh, for the love ...
He snickers when I don’t respond, way too pleased with himself.
“Anyway, I came to change the batteries in your smoke detectors, but I had your keys in my hand and forgot mine. I locked myself out, and Jace won’t be home until morning.
You got me right where you always wanted me.
Too bad you’re not here to enjoy it,” he teases.
“Is that okay? I can sleep on the couch if this is weird.” His tone turns uncharacteristically nervous.
Weird indeed.
I try to remember if there’s anything embarrassing lying around, but the sheets were changed a few days ago, I brought my dirty clothes to wash here, and I emptied the trash. Other than some scattered shoes and the book he found, which is not scandalous, I think it’s all clear.
“No. I mean, sure. You already made it past my shoes. You don’t need to sleep on the couch.”
“It’s only fair that I sleep in your bed this time, right?”
He did not go there.
Geez, I have an emotional meltdown and hide out in his bedroom one time, and he never lets it go.
“It’s fine. I don’t even make it all the way to my bed half the time.”
“True, you don’t.”
“I fall asleep on the floor, on the couch …”
“In my bed …”
“Yeahhhh, sorry about that.” I laugh. Liar.
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m not?” I try to sound playful, but this isn’t a game anymore.
“I’m sorry you were hurting, and I’m sorry I couldn’t salt and burn the problem. But I’m not sorry about anything else,” he asserts. “Are you?”
I’m glad he’s doing the talking tonight, because I’m panting like I just performed a ten-minute drum solo.
“Nope,” I admit.
“I didn’t think so.”
“I put you in a bad situation, though,” I confess.
“It didn’t feel bad to me.”
“Well, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You didn’t either, Lu.” His voice softens. “Tell me what Nathan did to you. Please.”
“I will. Soon. But it’s over, and I don’t want to think about him tonight.”
“I should’ve done something, but I couldn’t leave you.” He sounds frustrated with himself. How do I tell him that horrible night became one of my favorite memories?
“Hey, it was nothing physical, and you did exactly what I needed. You always do.”
“It was the best sleep of my life,” he says softly.
“Me too.” My free hand presses to the ache in my chest. I need him to stop saying things like that.
He breathes a heavy sigh and mumbles, “This smell is making my brain short-circuit,” but it’s more like he’s talking to himself.
“What smell? Did Jace do something to my room?”
My thoughts flash to all the pranks he could pull with no one home and an open invitation to enter. Jude laughs in a breathy rumble, and I can tell he’s lying down.
He answers me slowly. Deliberately.
“No. Your pillow smells like peaches and cookies. You’re not here, but you’re everywhere. It’s killing me.”
My heart races. What the actual heck is he doing to me?
“Tell me about work,” I urge. I need to redirect this freight train before it goes off the rails.
The bed makes a familiar creaking sound as he continues. “Not sure I can form coherent thoughts, but I’ll try.”
“You’re tired. We can talk tomorrow if you want.”
“No, I’m fine. Just a little buzzed on your peach spray.”
“You sprayed it?”
“Of course not. I’m in your bed reading your book, but I’m not a creeper.
” I can’t hold back a giggle. “All right … my family owns some residential properties and a few commercial ones. They also own a property management company that oversees everything. There’s the real estate and legal aspects, accounting, budgets, human resources, payroll, maintenance, security. Lots of moving parts.”
“So you’re working outside of maintenance now?” I ask.
“I always have, but right now I’m shadowing each division to learn day-to-day operations.
Technically, the company was turned over to me when Dad passed away, but it was running well with good people in place.
My mom does a lot, but she’s ready to step back.
She wants me to take over and let her be less involved.
For now, her husband’s running the commercial division, and I have the residential plus maintenance. ”
“Jude … that sounds like so much pressure. Are you okay?” How could I allow him to handle all my insignificant little problems while he deals with so much himself?
Have I ever even asked about his work or his family?
I can name so many times he came through for me.
But have I ever seen him look worn down or upset?
Was I so self-absorbed that I wouldn’t even notice?
“Yeah, Lu, I’m fine. I’ve got to get my broker’s license, but other than that, I grew up around this. It’s a lot, but I know the business. Most areas are headed by family or people I’ve known since I was a kid. It’s not as big as it sounds.”
“Is this the career you want? Do you like it?”
“It’s challenging. I can do something different every day. I think I’ll like it more once I’m confident I know all my responsibilities, but it feels good to pick up where my dad left off. I’ll do some things differently, but I think I’m good at it.”
“I don’t doubt that. As long as you’re happy. You’re too talented to be tied down to something you don’t love.”
“It’ll be good. It’s just a tough transition.” He yawns, and it makes me do the same.
“I should’ve noticed how much you were working and not depended on you so much. You should get some sleep.” I should’ve been more aware the last few months.
“No, don’t you do that. Listen to me, Punk.”
“I’m listening.”
“The last three years were hard. Dad had been sick for a while, and the pressure for me to graduate and get licensed was intense. They were counting on me, but he passed away before I finished my bachelor’s …
which turned out fine. I went back to a bad relationship because it was familiar, then Mom remarried fast, and we like Rob, but my sister and Kami and my little brother all had to accept a new man in the house eighteen months after we lost Dad. ”
“Have things gotten better?” I knew about some of it, but he’s always so calm and never seems stressed out.