Chapter 22 #2
“It’s still hard but not as overwhelming.”
“Did the breakup help?” I ask, remembering what Sammy said about his ex.
“Yeah, but breakups are still hard even when they’re necessary.”
“True.”
“Lu, you think I do a lot for you, but you do more for me than you think. I had to deal with a roof leak on Monday; did I mention that?”
“No, you dirty hippie. You never tell me things like that. You hardly ever complain.”
“I didn’t get around to it because I came by to take you to work, and you did the thing where you hold me still and steal my soul …”
I chuckle at that. “I don’t steal your soul. It’s emotional regulation. I’m borrowing some of your … calmness or peace or something. I don’t know. But it works.”
Truthfully, I’d drink his serotonin like a vampire, but that sounds a bit dramatic. And creepy.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve been stealing my soul, but I’m not complaining. It works for me too. We took a ride and sang in the car, which is good for my emotional strangulation. Then I was ready to handle anything.”
I snort. “Regulation, you doof.”
“Whatever.” I can hear his grin. “I spend my time exactly how I want. A few minutes with you never ruined my day.”
“Aww, thanks. And you can handle anything. I’ve never seen you blow up about a problem. You just calmly find a solution. It’s my favorite thing about you.”
“Really? That’s your favorite thing? Problem-solving? I thought for sure it was the Martin acoustic.”
“It’s actually your 4Runner.” I huff out a laugh. “But seriously. Calm problem-solving. I had no idea how hot it was until I experienced it.”
“Oh, I’m sitting up for this. I didn’t know we were discussing what’s hot about each other. Please, go on.”
“Wait, what? That’s not what I meant.” I laugh.
“So, you don’t think my calm problem-solving skills are hot?” he prods.
“Oh, that? No, I absolutely do.”
If this isn’t on a universal what women want list, it needs to be.
“Then which part did you disagree with?”
“The whole discussion part.”
“Why? I think it’s a great idea. It was recently brought to my attention that you’re a words girl, and I need to communicate better. So let’s communicate.”
There’s a lot to unpack in that statement. Who brought what to his attention? What does he need to communicate?
“A words girl? You’re not wrong, but I don’t see a problem with your communication skills. Aren’t you tired? Don’t you need to sleep?”
“Second wind. And I think I can do better.”
“We talked a lot today.”
“I know. I like it,” he says, lowering his voice. “So my problem-solving skills are hot. My turn. I get to tell you what’s hot about you now.”
“Umm … why?” Panic rolls down my spine. I hate when I have to decipher real feelings from flirting. Because if he’s real, then I have to be real, and I’m not ready.
Am I?
What if he’s just playing our game? Any attempt to access my carefully protected feelings feels like a security breach until I remind myself who’s at the other end of this conversation. There’s no one safer.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Because maybe if I had told you sooner, you wouldn’t have spent the last five months with someone who didn’t know how to love you.”
Game over. He wins.
“Punk? Are you still with me?” he asks gently.
“Mm-hmm,” I squeak.
“He does whatever the opposite of emotional regulation is, and it has never been okay with me. It stops now.”
“Okay,” I barely whisper in reply.
“Do you trust me?”
“Always.”
“I got you.”
“I know you do.”
“That was it,” he says softly.
“That was what?” I ask, not quite understanding.
“The thing that’s hot about you.”
“You mean trusting you?”
“I love the way you trust me,” he says with reverence.
I reply without hesitation. “It’s the easiest thing I do.”
“Someone second-guessed my every move and made me doubt myself. She made me so nervous to make decisions, I began to think I had an anxiety disorder. Turns out, the condition was isolated to Knoxville.”
I stifle a laugh. “I’m so sorry. I’ve experienced that too. Whatever I do, I should’ve done something else, but I don’t see how I helped you at all.”
“It only took four weeks with you. Four weeks of watching your face light up when I brought you an energy drink or fixed your ceiling fan—when I made everyone leave so you could write a paper. It’s like no one’s ever had your back before, and every time I do the smallest thing, you look at me like I’m some kind of hero. It’s addicting.”
“You do what you say you’re going to do. And even when you’re frustrated, you’ve never raised your voice or let me down. Consistency and self-control are underrated sexy powers, Jude. You could teach the class on that.”
Oh, hello, filter-less Lucy. Make yourself at home. Say anything.
“Lu …” His voice sounds rough and a little pained. I’m out of my lane, all over the road like a late-night driver in a storm. “It’s a good thing I don’t have keys, or I’d be on your doorstep before daylight.”
What?
He drags in a slow breath. “Remember right after you moved in when I came to set up a new router? Your class ran over, and you were late for work, but you had groceries to put away. I took the bags from your hands and said, ‘Go change. I got this.’ When you looked up at me with those big glassy green eyes … you should’ve asked for all my money and the keys to my car right then. ”
“I remember,” I say, eyes getting glassier by the minute. “You handed me my keys and hugged me as I rushed out and said, ‘Breathe. I got you.’”
“I didn’t plan to hug you. I just thought you needed it. I knew from watching Sam you didn’t like to be ambushed, but you collapsed into me and said, ‘I know you do.’”
“That was the first time it happened,” I say, remembering how calm he was. Letting me cling to him for five seconds reset my whole day.
“Was it the first time we hugged?”
“Maybe? But my mind was racing over everything I had to do, and you just … helped.”
“So it was the first time you tried to steal my soul,” he teases.
“First of all, you hugged me, but I shoplifted some serotonin,” I confess, and hear him take a steadying breath.
“You know, my ex tried to keep me away from here. She thought the guys were turning me against her. She just couldn’t manipulate me with witnesses.
We didn’t fit, and there was no reason to keep trying.
You were here a couple of weeks, and suddenly the five of us fit like a family, but you and me … ” He trails off, but I know.
I don’t have older brothers, but I’ve always adopted some sort of brother-adjacent, kindred spirit wherever I lived. The first time I heard Jude’s voice, before we ever met, that’s what I expected he’d be.
But this is not that.
“However you break it down,” he continues, “she’s the one who didn’t fit, and one time Sam said relationships are like—”
“Jackets.” I grin, thinking of my own conversation with Sam.
“Right.” He chuckles. “You try it on, and if it doesn’t fit …”
“You take it off.” We laugh as we finish Sam’s ironic bit of wisdom in unison.
“He’s such a care bear.” I smile to myself.
“He’s oddly insightful.”
“Jude?”
“Yeah, Lu.”
“I will confirm your hero status to anyone. Anytime. One hundred percent.” His shaky exhale make my heart flip. “You’re my favorite. Don’t tell Sam.”
“And you’re mine.”
I’ve been his since day one. I didn’t know what that would look like, and I still don’t, but outgrowing him or giving him up is no longer something I can do. This isn’t a season or temporary.
We fit.
I close my eyes and picture his face. “This is the most you’ve ever talked. Thanks for trusting me.”
“Trusting you is the easiest thing I do.” He echoes my words, and I know they’re now permanently etched on my heart. “I’m sorry I didn’t try to stop you from dating him. I was giving you time to … I don’t know …”
“It was my own fault.” I sigh.
“Not entirely. But fair warning. I’m done holding back.”
“Good. The next time you see me about to mess up my life …”
“There isn’t going to be a next time, Lu.”
Something about that statement feels like we turned a page, and the temperature in this closet is rising fast.
“Can you guarantee that?” I taunt.
“I think so. I know you were kidding the other night when you said I should be in charge, but if you want me to take the lead here, I will.”
“I do.”
“All right, then. Just let go. I got you.”
“I don’t know, boss. Sounds risky,” I tease, wanting to hear a smile in his voice before I hang up.
“Baby, I’m the safest bet you’ll ever make.”
There it is.
“I know you are.”
“Have fun tomorrow, Punk.”