Chapter 24 Jude
JUDE
Iglance at the bag of groceries on the front seat and smile to myself, running a hand over my beard.
I’ve been gone maybe twenty minutes and I’m already desperate to get back to her.
Memories from last night flood me: Olena’s incredible body writhing in my bed, her moans of pleasure as she came over and over again, the taste of her…
I have to take a deep breath to keep concentrating on the road.
I can’t wait to wake her up with breakfast, then spend a lazy day together in bed.
I glance in the rear-view mirror as Murphy pushes up from the back seat, turns around, and lies back down. I smirk to myself; it’s like he wrote the damned instruction manual for how to nap.
As I pull into the driveway, I see a familiar car parked at a strange angle and my thoughts ice over. I’m instantly on alert.
He can’t be here. What’s he doing here? A sinking sensation hits me when the front porch comes into view.
Miles is pounding hard on the door. I slam on the brakes and turn off the truck—forgetting the groceries, forgetting my plans for breakfast with Olena—and leap out to face my brother.
I jog to the porch as he beats his fist on the door again, calling my name, the booming racket he’s making cutting through the quiet of the forest that surrounds us.
“Miles!”
He doesn’t seem to hear me over his pounding and hollering. I stop at the foot of the porch steps as he bends down, pulling up the doormat, presumably hunting for the spare key our parents used to keep hidden there.
“Miles!” I try again as I climb the steps. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He looks up at me and staggers to a standing position, swaying a bit as he catches his balance. His glassy eyes and the smell of his breath tell me what I already know: he’s drunk.
“Juuuuuude! My bro!” He looks happy to see me, spreading his arms and coming at me for a hug.
I shove him back. “Dude, no.”
He looks surprised by my reaction. “Whoa, man, what the fuck?”
“What are you doing here? When did you get back into town?” I pin him with a glare.
“I’m here to see my best brother, of course!” He chucks a light punch at my shoulder, trying to play it off like a joke that he’s shown up here unannounced. Again.
“You’re wasted. It’s nine in the morning, Miles, Jesus.” I rub my head.
“Wasted? Nah! Okay, maybe I had a little fancy breakfast coffee this morning…” His eyes are smiling but he looks pitiful. He looks older than he should, the bags under his eyes revealing this likely isn’t a one-off slip.
Then, I realize: Olena’s been inside this whole time, with a stranger practically beating down the door. Shit.
Kicking myself, I unlock the door as fast as I can and swing it open with a crash. I find her huddled in a corner of the kitchen, her head in her hands, sobbing and gasping for breath. I drop to the floor and pull her into my arms.
“Shhh,” I say, stroking her hair and squeezing her tight against me. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here. I’m here now. You’re safe.”
“Ohhh, shit, I didn’t know you had a lady friend here. Niiiice,” says Miles from the open doorway.
I turn and scowl at him, hoping he’s not too drunk to read the I will end you look on my face. “Get the fuck back outside. I’ll deal with you later,” I bark at him.
He raises his arms and mouths a dramatic yikes, then turns and staggers back onto the porch. I watch through the window as he collapses onto the bench outside, resting his head against the glass.
Olena is still gasping in my arms, so I pull back and try to get her to focus on me.
Her eyes are squeezed shut and she’s shaking.
I rack my brain, trying to think of what to do.
Miles used to have panic attacks when we were younger, after Mom and Dad died.
I try to remember what was helpful for him all those years ago.
“I’m going to pick you up and take you back to my room,” I tell her. I scoop her up and carry her there, sitting her down on the edge of the bed. Crouching in front of her, I squeeze her hands.
“Olena,” I say softly. “Olena, look at me.” I brush my thumbs over her flushed, wet cheeks and try again.
“Olena. Look at me. Breathe with me.” She raises her tear-streaked face to mine and meets my gaze, breath shuddering.
“Breathe. Just breathe.” I breathe slow and steady, pulling her forehead against mine, until her breath evens out to match my own.
We stay like that for another minute until I’m sure she’s coming down the other side of it.
I pull the rumpled blanket from behind her and wrap it around her shoulders like a cocoon.
She’s wearing my shirt, I notice with a small smile. A warmth settles in my chest at the thought of her scent on it.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, kissing her tears on one cheek, then the other. “Miles is my brother. He’s got a drinking problem. I thought he was doing better, but…” I trail off. There’s so much to explain, and this is not how I imagined explaining it. “I didn’t even know he was in town.”
She inhales a shaky breath. “It was… I was…” She tries to speak between jagged gasps, but the tears well up in her eyes once again.
I kneel and pull her into my chest, stroking her hair. “Don’t. You don’t need to explain. Not now. Just breathe.” I’m gutted I wasn’t here to protect her. My heart wrenches when I think about the panic that Miles’ sudden appearance clearly caused. I know he’s harmless. But she doesn’t.
I pull back and kiss the bridge of her nose, promising to be back quickly with a glass of water.
When I return, she’s lying down on the bed, still wrapped in my blanket, curled up on her side and turned away from me.
I place the glass on the bedside table and kick off my boots, then climb in behind her, wrapping my arm over her and pulling her into me.
We lie there for a few minutes in silence, and I breathe in the sweet smell of her hair, flashes of our night together coming to mind unbidden.
Now’s not the time, I remind myself. There’s a serious problem still waiting for me on the porch.
“I’m gonna have to go deal with him,” I whisper into her ear, nosing her hair out of the way. She smells amazing and I don’t want to leave her. Fucking Miles and his fucking timing.
She says nothing but gives me a small nod. I kiss the back of her head, wishing this morning had gone much differently. It takes all my willpower to extract myself from her.
Shoving my boots back on, I storm outside to confront Miles, pausing when I notice he’s now passed out, sitting up, on the porch bench.
Cursing under my breath, I leave him and return to the truck.
I let Murphy out. He stretches awake and hops down out of the cab, lumbering toward the front porch to his next napping location, familiar enough with Miles to have been unperturbed by the commotion he made earlier.
Pulling the bag of groceries off the front seat, I return to the kitchen and pull out the paper bag of chocolate croissants I bought to share with Olena.
I put one on a plate and flick the switch on the coffee maker with agitation, before taking the croissant back to my bedroom for her.
I stop short in the doorway, plate in hand. My flannel shirt is laying on the bed and she’s buttoning her own shirt, having apparently located her clothes somewhere in the chaos. My eyes land briefly on her bra and the curve of her breast. God, she’s beautiful.
“Olena?” I ask carefully. She doesn’t meet my gaze, just stuffs her phone in the back pocket of her jeans and sniffs, wiping at her eyes with her other hand.
“I need to go.” Her eyes are still on the floor, looking for more of her belongings, no doubt.
I step back silently as she hurries into the hallway, then comes back into the room. She finds one sock, then the other, and slips them on her feet, stumbling awkwardly in her hurry to leave.
“Are you sure? I have breakfast. And coffee’s brewing.” The words feel trite as they come out, as if breakfast is enough to repair what’s just happened to her.
Don’t leave, I silently beg. But I can’t ask her to stay.
“No, I need to go,” she says again. “I can’t… I’m sorry.” Her pained eyes don’t meet mine.
She pushes past me, her delicious scent reminding me of everything we shared last night, making it even harder to watch her walk out of here. She finds her shoes near the front door and shoves them on quickly, not looking back as she leaves.
I follow her at a distance, giving her space so she doesn’t feel cornered. Standing in the front doorway helplessly, I watch her open my truck to retrieve her purse, then climb into her own car and drive away.
She barely looks back at me.
It takes me a moment to tear my eyes away. I exhale a breath. Fuck.
I’m still holding the damned plate.
I turn to look at Miles, still sleeping on the porch, and give a hard kick to the leg of the bench he’s sleeping on.
The jerking motion jostles him awake. His eyes fly open and he squints at me with a frown. “What the hell, Jude?” he asks, like he hasn’t just scared Olena off and ruined my morning.
“Wake the fuck up, Miles.” I’m pacing in front of him.
“Okay, okay,” he relents as I pause and offer a reluctant hand to pull him up. He takes it and stands with a wobble.
“You good?” I ask.
“Yeah, man, I’m good. I’m good,” he assures me.
I don’t believe him.
“Well, that makes one of us. Get your ass inside. I’ll get you some coffee,” I grumble.
Standing at the kitchen island, I resentfully fill two mugs with coffee. I glance at the croissant meant for Olena and frown, shoving the plate across the counter to my brother, who perches unsteadily on a stool on the other side.
“How much did you have to drink this morning, Miles?” I ask, although I don’t really want to know. What I want is for him to get his shit together.
“I dunno, man, not that much. I’m fine, really.” He looks tired.
“You don’t smell fine.” I frown, placing a mug in front of him. “Drink this; it’ll sober you up.”
“That’s a myth, you know. That coffee helps you sober up. I saw it in a magazine,” he says unhelpfully.
My eyes narrow as I look at him. I brace both hands on the counter across from him, leaning close. “It’s coffee or a slap in the face, Miles. You got a preference? Because after this morning, I’m thinking I know which one I’d choose.” My lips are tight in a grim expression.
“Okay, geez, coffee it is. Sorry,” he says, taking a dutiful sip.
“I thought you were doing better lately.” I take a bite of my croissant. It’s fucking delicious. I inwardly groan again at the morning’s events. This is not who I was supposed to be sharing decadent baked goods with.
“Well, things changed,” he says, averting his gaze.
“When?” I press.
“I dunno, dude, they just did.” He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it.
Too bad.
“When did you start drinking again, Miles?” I’m not letting him off the hook. Not after he gave Olena a goddamned panic attack.
He shrugs, as if being fuzzy on the details will help soften the reality that he’s relapsed. “I dunno. Maybe a few weeks ago. Or months?” He squints up at me.
“Months?” My voice is louder than expected, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Okay, probably not months. Not months.” I can tell he’s trying to ease my obvious alarm.
“Have you called your sponsor?”
He leans back in his seat, grimacing. “Barry is a killjoy, Jude. I’m not calling him.”
“Barry keeps you sober. Barry is good. You’ve gotta follow the program, man,” I remind him and he looks away with guilt in his eyes. He doesn’t respond. “Fine, I’ll call him then,” I say. I move to pick up my phone.
Then, I remember: “Wait, Miles, your car’s out front. You drove here?” My big brother disappointment is on full display. “That’s so fucking dangerous.” I’m shaking my head as I scroll through my phone for Barry’s number.
“Hey, man, I got here safe and sound. It all worked out,” he says casually.
I level him with a look that says you’re fucking lucky you did.
“Why are you here, anyway? What’s happening in Seattle?”
“Aw, you know, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”
He’s lying. He’s always been a shitty liar. I don’t know why he bothers trying this crap with me. “Bullshit. Out with it.” I put the phone down.
He meets my eyes reluctantly. “Okay, so, that power-tripping foreman I told you about… kinda laid me off.”
“You lost your job?” My hands grip the edge of the counter. I look at the ceiling, searching for patience. “Miles…” I rub my face, exhausted. “When are you gonna get it through your head that you can’t keep going like this?”
He frowns, then takes a bite of Olena’s croissant. “Who was that girl, anyway?” he asks, pumping his eyebrows suggestively. He’s trying to change the subject. I let him; I’m too tired to do this again right now.
“Don’t worry about it.” I turn and grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it at the sink. I put the water in front of him and pull out a second glass for myself.
“I don’t know, man, she didn’t look like a don’t worry about it kind of girl,” he says with a knowing look. “Looked to me like you were doing a lot of worrying about it, in fact.” He raises his eyebrows with a smirk.
I roll my eyes.
“What’s her name?” He tries again.
“None of your business.”
“Okay, cool, cool. I can take a hint.” He gets up and walks over to the couch, then falls heavily into his usual seat with a sigh before he seems to have a better idea and moves to lie down. “Say no more,” he says as he adjusts into a comfortable position. He closes his eyes.
I grab a spare blanket and pillow from the hall closet, then walk back to the couch, dropping them heavily onto his stomach. A satisfying oof noise escapes his mouth in surprise. His eyes fly open, then he narrows them to look at me.
“How long do you need to stay this time?” I ask, looking down at him, both of us knowing I won’t kick him to the curb.
“I dunno… two, three days, max?”
“Great,” I say, puffing out a breath before I walk away. I don’t bother to ask why this time.
I pick up my phone and dial Barry’s number.