4. Chapter 4
Chapter four
EMMA EASTON
My eyes flutter open to see the dim light of morning seeping through the curtains. I blink slowly, staring at the ceiling.
We’re safe. We’re not being shot at anymore.
My chest rises with a deeper breath than I’ve taken in what feels like days, and I turn my head, my gaze landing on Heather curled up beside me. Her blonde hair is tied into a messy bun, her face relaxed in sleep, one arm tucked under it.
A small smile tugs on the corner of my lips as I stare down at my best friend. But then I remember his dead, cold eyes, looking straight through me like there was nothing left behind them at all.
My hand lifts to press lightly against the tender, sore skin on my throat.
My fingertips hover for a second before pressing just enough to feel the bruising.
As much as I want to, I can’t fight the image from last night.
His hands, tightening, the pressure cutting off my air, the sound of my own pulse roaring in my ears as I tried to get him to see me.
My body was desperate not to die. He was. ..killing me.
Would he have succeeded had it not been for Micah?
I sit up so fast that Heather stirs beside me.
“Hey…” Her voice is thick with sleep as she pushes herself up onto one elbow. It takes less than a second for her expression to change when she sees my hand at my throat. Her face twists in recognition. “Em…”
“And that fucking bitch is here,” I hiss before I can think about it. Heather doesn’t say anything to that as I clench and I unclench my fists. My throat hurts, and my eyes burn. I blink quickly, trying to push it back down before it spills over, but it’s already there. “He...he tried to—”
Heather’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “I know.” Her hand finds my arm. “But he didn’t.”
“Only because Micah stopped him.” My hand drops from my throat, gripping the blanket instead as I draw in a slow breath, trying to steady myself.
Trying to push past the image of him looking at me like I was his enemy.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
“I need to see him. He could be awake.” The words are out before I’ve fully thought them through. But I need to see him. I need to—
“Emma.” Heather’s voice stops me, not harsh, but firm enough that I pause.
I glance back at her.
“Just…wait a second,” she says carefully. “Maybe we should talk to Rafe first. Or Adela. They might—”
“No,” I cut in. “I just…”
I don’t finish the sentence. I push myself to my feet anyway, ignoring the way my legs feel unsteady for a second as I move toward the door. My hand wraps around the handle, and I pull it open.
And stop.
Micah is already standing there.
My body jolts as our eyes meet. He looks drained. I can tell by the tension in his jaw, and how his gaze flicks over me quickly before settling back on my face.
“I was just coming to talk to you,” he says.
I incline my chin. “I was going to see him.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes. “I want to go down first,” he says.
I stare at him, annoyance flaring. “Micah—”
“Just give me a minute,” he adds, tone serious enough that it has me clamping my mouth shut. “I need to see where he’s at. He woke up in the middle of the night, and…” he trails off.
He’s already seen something. He must have. My chest squeezes, but I force myself to breathe through it. “Fine,” I say quietly, even though it doesn’t feel fine at all.
Relief flickers across his expression. “I’m going to talk to Adriana first,” he adds. “Last night was…a lot. For all of us.”
Adriana.
My stomach twists at the name. I don’t say anything, but he must see it in my face.
“She’s the only one who knows exactly what happened,” he continues.
I nod again, because I don’t trust myself to do anything else.
Micah glances past me toward Heather, offering a kind smile and a tired wink.
Heather snorts softly. “Sorry I left you alone again.”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay, blondie. Thank you for being there for me.” And then he’s gone.
I stand there for a moment longer, staring at the empty hallway. Behind me, the bed shifts as Heather moves.
“I think he’s right,” she says gently.
I close my eyes for a second. “I know,” I admit, even though it tastes bitter. I swallow, my hand lifting again before I stop it this time. “He almost fucking killed me.” The words feel unreal coming out of my mouth. Because the Jude I always knew would never do anything to hurt anyone.
Heather doesn’t flinch. “Exactly.”
Silence stretches between us for an agonizing moment.
“Adriana kept saying he’s gone,” I murmur. “Over and over.”
Heather doesn’t respond, and I get slightly annoyed. Because that silence allows me to stew in my stupid thoughts.
“What did Micah see?” I ask without really looking at her.
She hesitates. “He just said that it’s hard to recognize Jude. He’s out of it.”
I shake my head. “I should be the one to talk to him,” I add, more quietly now. “I know how to handle this. I can try to—”
“You can’t treat him like a patient, Emma.”
I turn to look at her.
Her expression softens. “You have to treat him like he’s the man you love,” she says quietly. “Not like he’s a problem you need to figure out.”
My fingers flex at my sides. “Do you think I’m too…clinical?” I ask.
She tilts her head, considering me. “You see people in patterns,” she says. “You take them apart so you can understand them.” A small pause. “That’s not a bad thing. But sometimes…people don’t need to be understood right away. They just need to be held together.”
A breath slips out of me, almost a laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about this. “Yeah,” I murmur. My gaze drifts toward the hallway again, toward where Micah disappeared, toward the stairs that lead down to him.
To my Jude.
“I’ll try something different,” I say, though I don’t quite know what that means yet. “But love isn’t always enough to bring someone back from the edge. Sometimes they need more than that. I’ve seen it too many times.”
Heather nods. “Then don’t choose one or the other.” She steps a little closer. “Just…meet him where he is. Not where you think he should be. Not where he used to be.” Her eyes hold mine. “I’ve watched people shut down completely because everyone around them treated them like a problem.”
A beat.
“But I’ve also seen what happens when someone is just…
there. No pressure or expectations. Just love, without trying to control how it looks.
” She reaches out, brushing her fingers lightly against my arm.
“He doesn’t need you to fix him right now, Emma.
He needs you to remind him who he is when everything else is telling him he’s not that person anymore. ”
My eyes burn hearing her say this to me.
“Thank you, Heather.” I turn away before I can second-guess myself and step into the hallway, heading toward the bathroom.
As I push the door open, movement catches in the corner of my eye.
I slow, my gaze shifting downstairs to see Micah and Adriana heading outside.
My jaw tightens instantly. A selfish, ugly part of me wants to follow them.
I want answers and someone to blame. Maybe I just want five fucking minutes alone with Adriana.
But none of that gets me closer to Jude. So I look away, and keep walking.