Chapter 16 Jude
JUDE
“Happy birthday, Mom,” I say quietly, standing at the foot of the joint burial plot, cellophane crinkling under my grasp.
I lay the bouquet against the headstone and straighten up, rubbing my jaw. I’ve never been any good at talking to her—talking to them—when I’m here.
My eyes drift to my father’s headstone. “Hey, Dad. Happy… Saturday, I guess.” I shove my hands in my pockets and look around me. I feel awkward, like I’m talking to myself. Or talking to no one.
When I first started seeing my grief counselor, she had encouraged talking to them out loud.
I tried to speak to them when I came to visit the cemetery in the beginning, but it never felt natural or comfortable, so, eventually, I stopped.
Unless my brother, Miles, is with me, I usually prefer to visit in silence, remembering them quietly in my own way.
I don’t believe in God or an afterlife but, if anything like that does exist, they’d know I was here. That I visited. That I tried.
Today, however, I’ve got more on my mind than usual. I find myself wishing I could ask my parents for advice. They were happily married for twenty-five years before the accident took them from us a decade ago; I’d bet money they could steer me in the right direction with Olena.
Just get over yourself and talk. I look around me, glancing over my shoulders to make sure I’m alone here. Finding the coast is clear, I take a deep breath.
“Well,” I start uncertainly, “I guess I wanted to tell you… I met someone. At work.”
I take another quick look around. Still alone. Just talk, man.
“She’s…” I trail off and smile to myself, realizing I don’t know where to begin. I know Mom and Dad would have liked Olena. I try again. “She’s beautiful. And smart. And funny. And possibly a little quirky.”
I smile again, looking down at my feet. Quirky in a good way.
“Steph says she’s got me good, which I guess is true. Anyway, I kind of fucked things up,” I admit quietly, furrowing my brow.
I try to think about how my parents had handled their disagreements and misunderstandings. They had their share, for sure, but they usually found a way to communicate and forgive each other. I don’t remember any ugly fights or insults thrown; they always stayed respectful enough to talk things out.
“We… almost kissed,” I add, feeling a little extra self-conscious.
“But then we got interrupted and I ended up worrying we shouldn’t be doing that at work.
So I kind of shut it down—shut her down.
” I grimace at the memory. “She was obviously hurt,” I say with a sigh. “So… now I don’t know what to do.”
What I do know is we can’t be chasing each other through rainstorms, having mud fights, and nearly kissing on the job site; that was a step too far and totally unprofessional.
Even if I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her body pressed against mine ever since.
Or imagining what would have happened if Teddy had arrived even one minute later.
Or fantasizing about what those lips would have tasted like.
Christ, I can’t stop thinking about her. I clear my throat. Not here, man.
“Anyway, I really like her. She makes me feel… well, it probably doesn’t matter.
I mean, nothing can happen, right?” I wait for a beat as if I’ll hear someone agree with me.
The graveyard is silent, save for a few birds chirping nearby.
“It’s too complicated—us working together.
” I kick gently at a twig on the ground.
“Even after this project. I have to think about my reputation, you know? Professionally speaking.” I smooth a hand over my beard.
Fuck. She already has this hold on me, though.
The idea of having my heart ripped out of my chest again scares the shit out of me. After losing Mom and Dad, and then Alexis leaving… How can I risk letting Olena get close when she might not stay?
I rub the back of my neck and let out a long sigh, looking up at the nearby trees.
I get why Alexis left. We were so young, and I wasn’t in a good place after Mom and Dad’s death. The grief consumed me. I get it, but… fuck, it hurt. Jesus, even Miles didn’t want to stick around and moved away the first chance he got.
I rub at the tightness in my chest and nod, telling myself that keeping my distance is the safest choice. Not just for now—for the foreseeable future.
Almost immediately, the thought settles like lead in my stomach, the weight creating a sinking feeling deep inside my gut.
“Oh, Christ. I don’t know,” I say, looking up at the sky. Never being more than colleagues? Could I just… do that? Could she?
I rub my forehead, realizing I don’t even know how she feels or what she wants. The fact that she wanted that kiss as much as I did on Friday night was pretty clear, but… beyond a kiss? Maybe I’m reading too much into it.
The look on her face that night swims back into my memory, and I’m almost certain there’s more than just pure attraction between us. She must feel it too.
So, if being colleagues is impossible… could we be more than that? How?
The thought is both terrifying and exhilarating. Shit.
“I guess this project with the Faulkners will only be another few weeks, at most,” I say out loud, raising my eyebrows as I dare to let a seed of hope creep in. “Maybe we could wait?”
Could we cool our jets until the project wraps up? Even this thought creates an urgency that tugs at the back of my mind. Or… could we keep things professional on-site and see each other outside of work?
“Would dating really be that scandalous?”
It’s not like she works for me. And we’re grown adults; we can control ourselves at work. We’d have to.
Could I open myself up enough to try with her? I know I can’t hold on to this idea that everyone will leave me forever.
The tension leaves my shoulders at the thought of taking a chance with Olena. I rub a hand down my face, a smile tugging at my lips.
My eyes fall on my mother’s headstone. What would Mom tell me to do?
Standing at my parents’ graves—my parents, who died so young—I can’t help but think they’d encourage me to go for it.
They wouldn’t want me to deny myself something that could be good.
No one on their deathbed wishes they’d worked more.
Relationships are always what they wish they’d made time for. Life is too fucking short.
“What was that thing you always used to say, Mom?” I smile to myself. “That you just wanted us to be happy and healthy and the rest was gravy?”
Could Olena make me happy?
I don’t know the answer, but the warmth in my chest at the thought of her makes one thing clear: I want to find out.