15. Chapter 15 #2
“Not hungry.”
I sigh. “You need to try.”
He shakes his head, already dismissing it. “I’ll throw it up.”
“Then we start small,” I push. “A few bites.”
“I said I’m fine,” he mutters, the irritation flaring again.
I let the silence sit for a second, then shrug. “You’re not,” I say simply. “But you will be.”
He exhales hard, like he wants to argue but doesn’t have the energy for it. His shoulders sag as he drags a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
Yeah. That about sums it up. I watch him pace a few more steps, then stop again, his back to me this time, chest rising and falling as he tries to get a handle on himself.
The progress isn’t gone…but it’s not stable, either.
Recovering from something like this isn't going to be fast or easy like they show in the movies. And standing here, watching him fight his own body like this, it’s impossible not to think the same thing that’s been sitting in the back of my mind since this started:
This is going to take everything we’ve fucking got. And then some.
***
By the time I make it upstairs, the house is starting to wake up.
The soft, warm kitchen lights are on. Adela is at the counter, pouring coffee into a mug, her hair tied into a perfectly messy bun.
Nico is already at the dining table, laptop open, fingers moving in quick bursts as lines of code flicker across the screen.
Kieran leans against the counter nearby, arms crossed, watching both of them with a casual expression.
“Morning,” I mutter, dragging a hand over the back of my neck as I step into the room.
Adela glances over her shoulder, offering a small, tired smile.
Nico doesn’t look up. “You’re up already.”
“Yeah,” I say simply.
Kieran’s gaze sharpens as he throws his shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. “How is he?”
I exhale slowly. “Rough morning. Rafe said he had a nightmare and has been in a weird mental state since.”
Adela hums under her breath, sliding a mug across the counter toward me, the scent of coffee hitting me just as I reach for it. “We’ve been digging again,” she says, nodding toward Nico. “The goddamn layers are unending.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Nico mutters, still typing. “Every time I think I’m close, something else locks down behind it. Alexei’s code is entirely reactive, the fucker. Nolan’s isn’t as hard to sift through, though. I’ve been taking that on. But Sinclair is the mastermind behind the deep shit.”
Her gaze drops, like she’s thinking.
My grip on the mug tightens. “You getting anywhere at all with it?”
“A little,” Adela says. “But not fast enough to really matter yet. Alexei’s a very powerful man. And Russia has some of the best hackers and cyber geniuses in the world.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “It’s definitely taking a lot.” A beat passes. “And his video is everywhere now.”
I close my eyes, exhaling through my nose.
“Yeah,” I say. “I know. I haven’t had social media on my phone for a while now, because I can’t deal with fans messaging me.
Hell, my fucking parents have been calling me all night.
They forget that they’re seven hours behind us here. I really need to call them.”
“You should,” Kieran replies. “But definitely make up your mind about what you’re going to say.”
“Comment sections are already tearing Jude boy apart,” Nico adds, eyes still focused on his screen.
My jaw tightens, but I don’t respond. Because what the hell am I supposed to say to that? I take a sip of the coffee instead, letting the heat ground me. It doesn’t do much.
Movement catches my eye. I glance toward the hallway just as Emma comes down the stairs, her steps quick, like she already knows exactly where she’s going.
The basement.
“Hey—” I start, already setting the mug down.
But she doesn’t slow.
I move fast, crossing the space and catching up to her just as she reaches the basement stairs. My hand closes gently around her arm, stopping her before she can take the first step down.
“Em,” I say, softer now.
She whirls on me, eyes searching my face. “How is he?”
“Still coming down from it,” I tell her. “He’s in his head this morning. Agitated. The meds are starting to kick in, but he’s not really settled yet.”
Her brows pull together, worry flashing across her features as she glances toward the stairs. “I just want to check on him—”
“I know,” I cut in gently. “I do. But give it a little time, okay?”
She hesitates. I can see the pull in her, the instinct to go to him anyway, to push past everything and just be there. But she exhales slowly instead. “Okay,” she says quietly. “Okay…yeah.” Her gaze softens as it shifts back to me, focusing on my face. “How are you doing?”
The question catches me off guard. I glance over my shoulder, my eyes landing on the living room. Adriana is sitting on the couch, a mug in her hands, staring at the fireplace. She looks exhausted.
“I’m okay,” I say finally, even though it’s only half true.
Emma studies me for a second longer. Then she steps forward and wraps her arms around me, and I melt into it.
Something about this girl is that she has the most comforting hugs.
My arms come around her automatically, pulling her in as I press my face briefly against the top of her head, letting myself breathe.
“It’s going to come in waves,” she murmurs against my chest. “Healing isn’t linear. You know that.”
I huff out a quiet breath, aware that her therapist brain is working overtime whenever she’s analyzing my face or my body movements. “Yeah.”
“He might look like he’s going backward sometimes,” she continues softly. “But that doesn’t mean he is.”
I nod against her. “I know.”
She pulls back, her hands still resting on my arms as she looks up at me. There’s determination in her eyes, even through the exhaustion. “We’ll get him there,” she says.
I hold her gaze for a moment, then lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. “We will,” I murmur. As I start to step back, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, glancing down at the screen. Mom.
A breath leaves me. “Speaking of parents…” I mutter to myself.
Emma’s brows lift. “You should answer it.”
My thumb hovers over the screen for a second, but I don’t. I let it ring out, the vibration fading in my hand before the silence settles back in.
She watches me. “Why didn’t you?”
I shrug, sliding my phone back into my pocket before it can ring again. “I will. Just…not right now.”
That’s only half the truth, and we both know it.
Her expression softens. “Mine have been texting me,” she admits quietly. “And Jude’s parents. I just…haven’t known what to say. Especially to his mom. She just watched her son kill someone on video.”
I glance back at her, then huff out a small breath. “Take your own advice, Em.”
Her lips press together, like she knows I’m right and hates it a little. Then she nods. “Okay. Those will be some hard conversations.”
I pull my phone back out long enough to send a quick text.
I’ll call in a little bit. Love you.
Emma watches me, then lifts her chin. “I’ll check on you later. Make sure you actually called them.”
A quiet laugh slips out of me. “Alright. Deal.”
She gives me one last look, one that’s filled with so much love and understanding it makes me feel warm.
I turn to go upstairs. “I’m going to grab a few minutes,” I tell her. “If you’re going to check on Jude…just don’t go in yet.”
She nods. “Heard.”
I head upstairs without another word. The door creaks softly when I push it open. Heather is awake now, sitting up in bed, arms stretching above her head. Her brown eyes find mine immediately, tired but alert.
“Hey, Meekah,” she says gently.
My chest loosens at the sound of her voice.
“Hey, blondie,” I reply, my own coming out rougher than I expect.
I don’t even bother trying to pretend I’m fine.
I cross the room and climb into bed behind her, pulling her back against me like I need to ground myself.
My arm wraps around her waist, my face pressing into her shoulder as I breathe her in.
For a second, I think I might actually fucking fall apart.
The thought of having to call and discuss this shit with my parents is terrifying.
They’ve always supported me, even when I was an asshole to them.
And I was. I regret every time I was mean to them, or said they were nothing but wallets to me when I was using.
They never gave up on me. Instead, they spent thousands of dollars trying to get me help.
After a while, they finally stopped. Mom thought I was going to die. Told my dad I was going to.
I love them so fucking much.
Heather shifts in my arms, her hand coming up to rest over mine. “You okay?” she asks softly.
“Yeah,” I murmur against her skin. “I’m good.”
It’s an automatic response, and I think she can feel it. Her fingers lace with mine, squeezing gently.
I close my eyes, holding onto that small, quiet moment for as long as I can.
I don’t know how long I lie there with my eyes closed, listening to Heather’s breathing even out again, feeling the slow rise and fall of her chest against my arm.
Long enough that my body starts to relax.
Long enough that my mind finally slips, and that memory I tried to push away earlier surges to the surface.
~ A memory ~
The cold ass air of Chicago fills my lungs the second I open the door, even in early fall. It’s probably going to be a shitty, freezing winter. Lovely.
I’m locking up the back door of the bar, keys jangling in my hand, the neon sign flickering behind me as the last of the staff trickles out. My shift ran late. It always does on a Friday night. Serving a bunch of drunk assholes at the bar.
“Hey, wait up.”