42. Chapter 42
Chapter forty-two
EMMA EASTON
When we get out of the shower, I can barely hold myself together. Jude and I haven’t really spoken since court. Since I learned more about what happened to him. We had just washed each other in silence, standing under the hot spray of water. His eyes were vacant the entire time…like he was lost.
I’m scared.
I don’t want to lose him…but what if I do? What if everything inside him comes crashing down, and he can’t survive the fallout? Like Adriana? He’s endured more trauma and pain than anyone I’ve ever known.
I sit near the edge of the bed wearing one of his black shirts and underwear, my knees drawn against my chest while the television flickers silently across the room. Some late-night news station is still running coverage about the trial beneath bright red banners and scrolling headlines.
I can’t look at it anymore.
The second time Adriana’s name appeared across the screen earlier, I muted it. I still can’t stop hearing it.
“Either now trying to escape Alexei…or years from now trying to escape my own mind.”
My stomach twists painfully. The sadness inside me tonight feels endless.
The bathroom door opens softly behind me, and I glance up.
Jude steps out a second later, his hair damp and gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, exhaustion carved so deeply into his face that it almost physically hurts to look at him.
He looks tired all the way through his soul.
His eyes meet mine briefly before shifting away again. That hurts too. Everything hurts now.
He crosses slowly toward the balcony door instead of the bed, reaching for the cigarettes resting beside his phone before slipping outside into the cold night air.
He stopped smoking for a while in Seaside, but it makes sense that he started again in Moscow.
I don’t bother telling him to put it out. He needs whatever he can to cope.
I watch him through the glass. He leans heavily against the railing after lighting one, bare shoulders tense, while smoke disappears into the snowy air around him.
There’s something different about him tonight.
Adriana’s recording reached inside him and reopened every wound he’d barely been managing to keep stitched shut.
My chest tightens painfully because hearing what happened to him out loud…
It changed something inside me, too.
Not my love for him, but the grief. The grief feels so much larger than it ever did before.
And the fact that the woman I once hated practically sacrificed herself to save us makes me feel so conflicted.
Micah surely would have died had we not been able to get back to the mansion and call for an ambulance.
I hated her for hurting Jude, and he once wanted to kill her. But as I look out at him, I wonder how he feels about her now. She really seemed to care about him in the end. She even brought him back by saying my name when he almost killed himself.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Jude steps back inside a few minutes later and notices. He crosses the room quickly, concern overtaking exhaustion.
“Em?” His voice is careful, like he’s afraid of startling me lately. He’s been so careful with me, refraining from even touching me.
I wipe beneath my eyes, embarrassed for some reason even though he’s seen me cry a hundred times before. “I’m okay.”
He knows I’m lying. He kneels beside the bed, resting his forearms against the mattress beside me while searching my face with tired eyes that still look haunted. “You’re hurting,” he says quietly.
A shaky breath leaves me. “What if you never left all those years ago?”
His throat works as his eyes study my face. “I can’t think about that. It will fucking kill me, Em.”
I bite my trembling lip. I know he’s broken, but I’m broken, too. “I hated hearing everything that was done to you.”
Pain flickers sharply across his face before he lowers his gaze toward the blankets between us. For a second, neither of us says anything. “I’m sorry,” he whispers suddenly.
My brows pull together. “Why would you apologize to me?”
He lets out a hollow laugh that doesn’t sound like him at all. “Take your pick.”
“Jude.”
His jaw locks hard. “You heard everything today,” he says softly, refusing to look at me now. “What they did to me. What I became because of it.” His throat bobs visibly. “And maybe right now you still think we can survive this, but eventually…”
The pause has my heart pounding against my ribs. “Eventually what?” I whisper.
His eyes lift toward mine then, and the fear inside them is so raw it physically aches to witness. “You’re going to realize we’re not the same people anymore.”
The words hit me like a punch. “No.”
“I’m serious, Emma.” His voice cracks now.
“After Moscow…after Alexei…after everything that happened…” He drags a hand shakily back through his damp hair.
“I don’t even know who the fuck I am half the time.
And your light has been dimmed.” He pauses, jabbing a thumb against his chest. “I did that. I can’t fucking forgive myself for it. ”
Tears sting my eyes.
He laughs again quietly, but there’s something awful underneath it now. “And after hearing all of that in court today?” He swallows hard. “If you need space from me after this…I’ll give it to you.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“I mean it.” His voice grows softer. “If seeing me hurts you now, or if hearing about Henrik or any of the other shit changed something for you…” He exhales shakily through his nose. “I’ll wait for you. Years if I have to.”
Oh my god.
The devastation in his voice tears straight through me. “Jude—”
He stands, shoving his hands through his hair. “Nothing has felt the same since I almost lost you. I—I love you.”
All of that shatters my soul. Because he means it. He genuinely believes loving me means preparing himself for the possibility that I won’t be able to love him back after this.
“Everything is different between us,” he breathes, almost sounding out of breath.
I cross my arms, feeling nauseous. “Do you not think that…that we’ll work now?”
He’s silent for several beats, and I have to place my hand on the mattress to steady myself. With effort, I stand on shaky legs and take a step toward him.
“How fucking dare you?” My voice trembles with anger, and his gaze snaps up to mine.
“I’ve loved you since you left me years ago.
I never stopped. No one was good enough for me.
No one was gentle with me the way you were.
” Tears are spilling down my cheeks now.
“You are everything to me, Jude. You always were and you always will.” I take his face in my hands, seeing the pain in his expression.
“I’m processing all of this, too. I’m sorry if I’m… withdrawing. I don’t mean to.”
“I’m scared.”
His confession is a blow to my chest. I brush my thumbs over his cheekbones, swiping a few tears away. “I am, too.”
Before he can say another word, I pull his head down and kiss him hard enough to interrupt the spiral completely. He makes a startled sound against my mouth, then immediately melts into me.
I kiss him harder. Desperately. Because I need him to understand. Need him to feel this. Need him to stop looking at himself like he’s something ruined beyond love.
“I love you,” I breathe against his lips before kissing him again. “Jude, I love you so much.”
His forehead presses against mine. “You almost died because of me.”
“And I would do it again,” I say immediately. “If it meant getting you away from that horrible fucking man.”
Jude stares at me.
“I would survive hell for you,” I whisper. “I don’t want to live without you ever again. Do you understand me?”
A devastated sound leaves him, and then he kisses me again, passionately. Months of fear and grief and longing collapse between us all at once as his hands slide into my hair, his mouth trembling faintly against mine while emotion pours out of him in waves too large for words now.
I feel tears on his cheeks. Mine too. Neither of us stops kissing anyway.
Jude pulls back only slightly, his nose brushing mine while his hands cradle my face with heartbreaking gentleness. “I don’t want to go further,” he whispers. “You’re still healing.”
I kiss him again before answering. “I don’t care.”
“Are you sure?”
My voice shakes. This man has always made sure that I was safe. Even with him. “Yes, Jude. I’m sure.”
And slowly, carefully, he guides me back to the bed.
The backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, and I sink down onto the duvet, the soft fabric a definite contrast to the rigid tension in Jude’s body.
He hovers over me, his damp hair falling into his hazel eyes.
The clean yet musky scent of him floods my senses, calming me even as my heart hammers against my ribs.
He searches my face for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of pain. But there is only need. Only a desperate, clawing hunger to be close to him, to seal the distance that the horror of the last few months had carved between us.
“Emma,” he breathes, my name a prayer on his lips. His thumbs brush over the damp tracks of my tears. “Tell me if it hurts. I’ll stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I whisper, reaching up to tug gently at the waistband of his sweatpants.
He groans when my fingers wrap around him, and finally, he lets himself go.
He captures my mouth again, slower this time.
His tongue sweeps against mine, tasting me, and I open for him.
My hands roam over the hard planes of his warm shoulders, tracing the intricate ink of the tattoos on his arms, feeling the muscles coil and flex under my touch.