16. Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
EMMA EASTON
My phone has not stopped lighting up since the video went out last night. It sits face down on the counter, vibrating against the wood in small, relentless bursts that never quite give me enough time to think before the next one comes in. I don’t need to look to know it’s them.
After telling Micah to answer his phone earlier, I realized that I needed to just face this. Other people’s trauma? I can deal with that. My own? Damn. It’s harder than I ever thought. Does that make me a bad therapist? Someone that people shouldn’t take advice from? Probably.
I stare at the screen, deciding to send my parents to voicemail. I’ll call them back after I speak to Jude’s parents, first. I find his mom’s contact info and press call before I can talk myself out of it.
“Hello?” Rachel’s voice comes through on the third ring, and it’s fragile in a way that makes my throat close immediately. “Oh, thank god, you called.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed. “Hi,” I manage.
There’s a beat of silence, then another voice cuts in, closer to the phone. “Is he okay?” Alaric. He sounds like he hasn’t slept. “We saw the video, Emma.”
Nausea crawls up my throat. “I know,” I say quietly. Talking to his parents about this is probably the most painful thing I’ve had to do.
“Is it real?” Rachel asks immediately. “Emma, please tell me that’s not him. That it’s edited or…or something taken out of context.”
My grip on the phone tightens. I look across the bedroom like I expect him to be standing there listening.
But he isn’t. And it makes my stomach hurt.
I have to lie to them all right now. At least until we can get ahead of this.
“He’s—” I start, then stop because the words feel useless.
“The man in the video isn’t dead.” Lie. “But Jude did get into a fight. And now, he’s getting help. We’re in Moscow.”
That’s the only truth I can offer them right now. I feel like shit.
“My boy…” Rachel’s voice is fracturing. Her world is crumbling right now, and I’m lying to her. Yes, her son is a killer. He’s killed a lot of people. But that would only destroy her without him being at least safe and away from all of this.
That’s when I hear another voice in the background. “Mom, let me talk to her.”
There’s a shuffle, then the sound of someone taking the phone. “Emma?” Vanessa.
My throat tightens instantly in a different way. I haven’t talked to her, really, since Jude and I broke up. She left for college and to pursue her vet career in Portland shortly before we split. “Hey,” I say softly.
She exhales, sounding out of breath. “Tell me he’s not…like that,” she whispers. “Please. Tell me that…that my brother didn’t do that.”
I press my lips together, trying to find words that won’t shatter her further. “He’s not what they’re making him out to be,” I say carefully. “But he’s also not okay.”
Silence.
Then, quieter: “I knew something was wrong when he stopped texting me back.”
My eyes sting. He was always very close with Vanessa growing up. “He didn’t stop caring,” I say quickly, because that matters more than anything. “He’s just…not in a stable place right now. He’s recovering from something really severe, Vanessa.”
The line goes quiet again, as if all three of them are sitting with that. But then I hear Vanessa’s voice fade as she cries.
I close my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
Alaric’s voice cuts in. “Emma, is he safe to be around? Don’t put yourself in danger.”
I steady my breath. “I wouldn’t be here if I thought he was a danger in that way right now,” I say honestly, carefully choosing every word. “But he is unwell. He’s…in recovery, being monitored.” I clear my throat. “When he is able, I’ll have him call you, okay?”
“Okay,” Rachel breathes out shakily. “Does he know about the video?”
“Yes,” I say.
Another pause. Then she says something that punches me in the stomach.
“I don’t know how to unsee it.”
My chest tightens painfully. Neither do I.
Alaric’s voice softens, but it’s still filled with concern. “Emma…just…please don’t let him disappear from us completely. Tell him that we love him, and that we’ll never give up.”
My throat tightens so hard it almost hurts to speak. “I’ll tell him,” I whisper.
When I hang up, the silence that follows is damn near suffocating. For a moment, I just stand there, phone still in my hand, listening to everyone talking downstairs. This time, it’s my parents. I’ll tell them the same lies and hope that they buy them.
Deep breath, Emma.
***
My body is exhausted, but my mind won’t shut the hell up.
It keeps replaying everything from earlier.
He had a rough day, barely eating anything at all.
I never ended up going in to see him. None of us did, other than Micah offering his second dose of the day.
And talking to both of our parents drained me.
I hate lying to people, even if it’s for the better. It still feels like a stain on my soul.
I inhale slowly, calming my breath the way I’ve been trained to do a thousand times before. I know I’m not going to be able to sleep. I glance at my phone, seeing that it’s nearly 1a.m.
Fuck it.
The floor is cold beneath my feet as I move toward the door, pulling it open carefully before creeping downstairs.
The doors to the basement bedrooms are closed, Nico and Kieran sleeping soundly behind them.
I let my gaze drift toward the monitors, and there he is.
Jude is lying on the bed, tangled in the sheets, his chest rising and falling. He’s sleeping, thankfully.
I lower myself onto the couch without making a sound, settling into the cushions as my eyes remain locked on the screen, studying every detail.
There’s something about watching him sleep that brings me so much comfort.
I used to love looking at his calm, sleeping face.
I’d stare at him sometimes, just enjoying his warmth, listening to his breathing.
At least he’s not struggling as much as before. The Suboxone must have eased some of that pain. I watch him for a few more seconds, letting myself exist in the dark, letting myself see him without the immediate urge to react. But in that quiet, fragile moment, my mind drifts.
~ A memory ~
I’m back in sunlight, where the air smells like cut grass and a warm summer evening.
Jude is sitting beneath the old tree in my parents’ front yard, the one with the huge, wide roots that break through the ground.
His guitar rests against his thigh as he laughs.
His head tips back when he hits a wrong chord on purpose, just to make me flinch, and when I throw a pinecone at him, he catches it midair without even looking. He knows me so well, the jerk.
“Come on. Try harder,” he says, still laughing. “It’s not that many chords. I’ll show you again.”
“I did try,” I argue, dropping down beside him in the grass. “I’ll launch a rock at you next time you laugh at me.”
“You’re just bad at it.”
“I’m not bad at music,” I say, reaching for the guitar like I’m going to take it from him. “You’re just obsessed with showing off.”
That makes him grin wider. That boyish, devastating grin that always feels like it was meant for me alone.
“It's okay, baby. We're meant to create in different ways.” He leans into me a little, shoulder bumping mine, and for a moment, the world feels small in the best way. Like nothing exists outside this patch of green and him, and the way my heart keeps tripping over itself whenever he looks at me like that. Some say that first loves never make it. But they’ve never met us. They don’t know that I’d do anything for him.
I love him with everything I have.
He starts strumming again, softer this time. “You’re staring like a creep,” he says without looking up.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m appreciating the view. Sue me.”
That finally makes him look at me. And there it is again...that softness he never lets anyone else see. Before I can think better of it, I reach for him.
“Emma—” he starts, but I’m already pulling him closer.
He lets the guitar tilt away, forgotten in the grass.
His hands find my waist immediately, joy bursting through me.
The tree is behind me when he spins me, guiding me back without breaking eye contact.
My shoulders press against the rough bark as I scoot all the way against it.
My fingers pull at the grass when he crawls forward, opening my legs.
“Is this a bad idea?” I ask, even though I don’t move away.
His breath brushes my mouth when he answers in a breathless whisper. “Probably.”
But he doesn’t stop. His kiss is warm and soft at first, filled with appreciation and love, before deepening.
But when I wiggle beneath him, I feel his arm muscles tense.
My fingers curl instinctively into his shirt, pulling him closer as if there’s any closer left to go.
His arms brace on either side of me, keeping me caged between him and the tree.
Within moments, his hands are at my waist, yanking me down so my back is now flat on the grass, and he’s towering over me. In an eager movement, he reaches between us to shove my dress up my thighs.
“H—here?” I ask, mouth parted against his as we breathe each other in.
He answers by kissing me again, sinking two fingers inside me.
I arch off the ground at the immediate stretch, gasping against his lips.
I’m absolutely feral for him. Ready to drown entirely.
Happy to. Other than Heather, Jude is my best friend.
He sees me differently, always offering love and support for anything in my life that seems remotely stressful.
He’s the calm sea inside the eye of a hurricane. The soft breeze that brings relief to a scorching sun.
He’s...everything.
He groans as he pumps his fingers deeper, my gaze darting around to ensure that our fence is indeed too tall for our neighbors to see. Part of me doesn’t even care, though. I’m in love.
I fumble with his belt buckle, losing myself in his scent, his breathy groans, and his warmth. Everything feels suspended and perfect. But that’s when I hear the particular sound of my mom’s car.
My eyes snap open. “No,” I breathe against his mouth, already laughing a little because I know exactly what’s coming.
He groans like he knows it too.
We break apart just enough to see each other properly. His forehead rests against mine for half a second, both of us breathing fast and feeling more alive than ever.
“That better not be your mom,” he mutters.
“It is.”
He closes his eyes like he’s struggling to hold it together. The only time I ever see Jude lose himself is when he's worshipping me.
We stand, and for a second, he keeps me pinned between him and the tree. Finally, he exhales, drops his hands reluctantly, and picks up the guitar from the grass like nothing happened at all.
But his fingers brush mine when he stands back. A silent promise that we’ll finish what we started later.
“I should help her with groceries,” he says, already walking backward like he doesn’t want to leave but knows he has to.
“You’re so kind,” I call after him.
He grins over his shoulder. “Later,” he says. “Be ready, baby.”
And then he’s gone around the side of the house to meet my mom, leaving me with a heart so full, it could burst into fragments of light. Sure, we’re two crazy kids in love. But I’ve never been so sure about something in my life.
No one could ever be Jude.
~*~
I swallow hard, tears threatening to spill over at the memory. That version of him isn’t gone. It can’t be.
My gaze sharpens as I look back at the screen, not just with grief or memory, but with the clinical knowledge of pattern recognition and response tracking.
His nervous system is recalibrating. Every tremor, every flinch, every moment where he isn’t fighting me is a step forward, no matter how small it looks. And if we can do this right...
Then we can bring him back.
I push myself up from the couch, my movements quiet as I approach the monitors a little closer, studying him.
Somewhere beneath the fear and the grief and the memory of everything that’s been taken from him.
..there is still something left to fight for.
Something worth burning the world down to protect.
My hands curl into fists at my sides as clarity strikes.
I’m not losing him.
And I will fucking kill anyone before they hurt him again.
I move toward the stairs, already planning my next move, already stepping deeper into this new version of myself that doesn’t flinch at what has to be done.
Because the woman I used to be? She loved him.
But the woman I’m becoming? She’ll fight like hell for him, even if she loses parts of herself along the way.