Chapter 12 Jude #2
He sobers then, watching me closely. “You’re a good man, Jude. Don’t let her make you think otherwise.”
I look away. Compliments from Ryker hit different. They come rare, carved from honesty.
“I just don’t want Maisie to end up like her,” I say. “Or worse—like me.”
He frowns. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Always cleaning up after someone else. Never fixing yourself.”
He exhales. “We all clean up after someone, man. It’s what we do.”
He’s not wrong.
We fall quiet again, the kind of silence that feels shared, not empty.
Eventually, he stands, glancing once more at Maisie. “I’ll check in tomorrow. Bring coffee.”
“Thanks.”
He pauses at the door. “And Jude? You’re doing the right thing.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
When he leaves, the room feels smaller. I watch the snow thicken outside, soft flakes piling on the porch rail, swallowing the footprints we left earlier.
The kettle hisses. I pour the water, make tea, and sit by the window again. The only sound left is Rufus’s snores and Maisie’s soft sighs.
I lean back, sip the tea, and let exhaustion settle in.
I wake to the smell of cinnamon. Maisie is at the counter, holding the jar upside down over a bowl of oatmeal.
“Easy there, chef,” I say, voice rough.
She grins. “You said you liked cinnamon.”
“I do, but I’d also like to taste the oats.”
She giggles. It’s a small sound, but it’s hope.
Rufus flops down by her feet, tail sweeping crumbs off the floor.
“Mom called?” she asks.
“Not yet,” I lie.
Maisie frowns, stirring her oatmeal. “She’ll call.”
“Yeah,” I say. “She will.”
When she finishes eating, she pulls on her boots and asks if she can play in the snow. I help her zip up her coat, tuck her mittens under her sleeves.
She runs outside, Rufus bounding after her, both of them vanishing into a flurry of white.
Through the window, I watch her make a snow angel beside the fence that divides our yards.
Ryker steps out onto his porch, coffee in hand. He watches, too.
It’s like time folds—Claire’s laughter echoing in the same space, her hands tracing the same patch of ground, the smell of wet pine and fresh snow.
“Looks familiar,” he calls out.
I smile faintly. “Yeah. Guess some things come back around.”
He nods, gaze distant. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
Maybe not.
Maisie waves at us from the yard, cheeks flushed, scarf crooked. Rufus rolls beside her, scattering snow everywhere.
I lift my hand in return, feeling something shift in my chest.
The phone rings mid-thought, cutting through the quiet like a blade. I don’t even have to check the screen to know who it is.
Amber.
I let it buzz once. Twice. I consider not answering.
Then I sigh and swipe. “Yeah.”
“Where the hell are you?” Her voice crackles through the line—raw, hoarse, still thick with leftover tears.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fox Hollow.”
“You what? You took Maisie all the way back there?”
“Yeah, because she was standing in a hallway while you and Luke threw glass at each other.”
She groans. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything. I’m trying to keep your kid from watching another one of your implosions.”
“Fuck, Jude, you act like I meant for it to happen!”
“You never mean for anything to happen. That’s the problem.”
There’s a pause. I can hear her pacing—hard footsteps on tile, the creak of her kitchen chair as she sits. “Luke’s gone,” she says finally.
“Yeah, I figured.”
“He left last night. Took the truck. Said he needed space.”
My throat tightens. Same script, different year.
“And you needed to scream at him about the sonogram?”
Her breath catches. “You don’t get it.”
“No,” I say, sharper than I intend. “I do. You pick men who need fixing, you light matches, and you call me when everything’s on fire.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
Don’t talk to me like I’m some lost cause.”
I rub a hand over my jaw. “You’re my sister. You’re not a lost cause. But you keep making it damn hard to believe you want help.”
The silence that follows is long and heavy. I almost think she’s hung up.
Softly, finally, she asks, “How is she?”
I look out the window. Maisie’s bent over a half-finished snowman, Rufus trying to steal the carrot nose. She laughs, the sound carrying through the glass.
“She was quiet yesterday but… she’s okay now,” I say. “She’s laughing this morning.”
Amber exhales shakily. “Good.”
“She misses you.”
“I miss her too.”
“Then do something about it,” I snap before I can stop myself. “Get help. Talk to someone. Stop letting your life happen to you.”
Another pause. Then, quietly: “You think I don’t want to be better?”
“I think you don’t know how to stay better.”
She doesn’t argue that.
For a few seconds, all I hear is her breathing. “Maybe… maybe you should keep her for a bit.”
That stops me cold. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Amber—”
“Just until the holidays are over,” she says quickly. “I need time to figure things out. The house is—Luke took half his stuff, and the place is a mess, and I can’t…” Her voice trembles. “I can’t do it right now, Jude.”
I close my eyes, pressing the phone tighter against my ear. “You want me to tell her that?”
“No,” she says, breaking. “Just—tell her I’m working. Tell her I’ll come after Christmas. Please.”
“Amber—”
“Please,” she repeats.
The word hits harder than it should.
Outside, Maisie lifts her face toward the sky, snowflakes landing in her curls. She looks happy. Lighter.
Maybe this is the right call. Maybe it’s the only one.
“You can’t keep running like this,” I say. “Eventually she’s gonna stop waiting for you to come back.”
Her voice is small now. “I know.”
I sink into the chair by the window, staring at my reflection in the glass. “What’s the plan, then?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Then get one.”
She lets out a broken laugh. “Always the dad, huh?”
“Someone’s got to be.”
That earns me another silence. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not hanging up.”
I don’t say anything.
“Tell her I love her,” Amber says finally. “And that I’m sorry.”
“I will.”
She hangs up before I can say anything more.
I stare at the phone for a long time, thumb hovering over the screen. Then I set it facedown on the table and let the quiet settle.
Outside, Maisie’s finishing the snowman, proud and pink-cheeked. Rufus barks, tail a blur.
Ryker steps out onto his porch again, hand raised in question. Everything okay?
I nod. Maybe.
He nods back, no follow-up, no pity—just that unspoken understanding we’ve built our lives on.
Maisie waves from the yard, mittened hands high. “Uncle Jude! Look!”
I step out into the cold, breath fogging, boots crunching against the snow. “Looks perfect, bug,” I call back.
And somehow, it does.
Even with everything cracked and unfinished, even with Amber’s chaos hanging in the air, this small, snow-dusted moment feels whole.
I shove my hands into my coat pockets, watching her spin in slow circles as Rufus chases his tail.
It’s the holidays. There’s no plan. But for now, she’s safe.
I will keep her safe.