43. Chapter 43 #2
And once, a few weeks ago, I woke up crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. I still remember Emma pulling me against her chest without hesitation, fingers sliding through my hair while she whispered softly against my temple until my body stopped shaking.
You’re home. You’re safe. I’ve got you.
Nobody has ever loved me so gently. And I hate to admit that I started believing there was no such thing as a love like that. But she’s reminded me of what it’s like to find the person you were destined to be with.
“What’s the song about?” she asks softly from the kitchen.
I glance over my shoulder toward her.
She’s leaning against the counter now, watching me while steam curls upward from her favorite tea mug beside her.
I shrug. “Still figuring that out.”
“That’s a lie.”
A smile pulls briefly at the corner of my mouth. Emma knows me too well now. I look back down at the guitar resting against me, fingers finding another chord. “I’ve been talking to the band a lot.”
Her expression softens instantly. “Yeah?”
“Finnick thinks we should do something this summer.” I glance toward the ocean beyond the windows. “Not touring, or anything. Nothing huge.” My thumb drags slowly against one of the strings. “Maybe just one event to see how people respond.”
Emma stays quiet, letting me continue at my own pace.
“Echos said she’d join us.” I exhale softly. “There’s this organization in Portland that helps struggling artists pay for housing while they’re in school. Music, acting, dance, all that.” I swallow once. “I thought maybe we could raise money for them.”
“You’d be really good at that,” she says quietly. “And…Echos? Are you serious? She has the voice of a literal siren.”
I nod, glancing back toward her again and find her already looking at me.
That look again.
The one that says she still sees me, loves me, wants me. Even after everything.
Emma disappears briefly down the hallway before returning a minute later carrying a plate. The smell of chocolate, butter, and warm bread hits me.
My eyebrows lift. “Are those chocolate chip croissants?” I ask, my heart clenching. I suddenly remember before Moscow, how she made some for me when I was still struggling.
“I almost burned the first batch.”
“You’re still better than me,” I grin to myself when I think about how our fun banter is returning. It’s taking a while, as she’s become a different person through this, too. But it’s happening. And it sometimes feels like when we first fell in love.
She snorts softly as she walks toward me before carefully lowering herself beside me on the floor. Even now, months later, she still favors her side slightly when she moves too quickly.
My gaze flicks there automatically, and she notices.
“It only hurts sometimes now,” she says gently. She sets the plate down before reaching up to touch my face, fingertips brushing against the stubble along my jaw.
I lean into her touch, and her expression melts. Then she picks up one of the lyric sheets resting near my knee.
I tense. “Don’t judge me too hard,” I mutter.
“I would never.”
Her eyes move slowly across the page while silence settles around us again, filled only by distant ocean waves and the sudden sound of Nova sneezing.
I smile at the simplicity of this evening.
I’m no longer terrified of receiving a text message that ruins everything.
Or a man beating me almost to death with cruel words.
Then Emma’s breathing catches, and I look up to see her eyes watering.
“You like it?” I ask quietly.
She nods, pressing her lips together like she’s trying not to cry. “I love it. What’s it called?”
I hesitate for a moment. “Falling Star.”
She bites her lip, tilting her head. “That’s beautiful, Jude.”
Emotion swells in my chest. Before I can answer, my phone vibrates against the floor beside me. I reach for it, seeing a text from my sister glowing on the screen.
Vanessa
Driving down from Portland tomorrow morning. Mom keeps crying already lol. Dad’s pretending he’s calm, but he’s absolutely not. I can’t wait to see you again.
My throat tightens constricts.
Emma watches my expression carefully. “What is it?”
For a second, I just stare at the message. Three months ago, I genuinely believed I would die in Moscow. And now my sister is driving down the coastline to see me in the morning. Life is fucking strange.
It’s beautiful, terrifying, fragile…but beautiful.
Emma’s fingers slide gently between mine.
I squeeze her hand once before exhaling softly. “I think I’m ready,” I whisper.
She leans in to kiss me, her soft lips tasting of chocolate. “I know you are.”
***
My parents’ beach house rises ahead of us through the fading wash of spring dusk, framed by towering evergreens that sway in the ocean wind. Warm string lights glow along the wraparound porch in strands of gold. It’s beautiful.
The sight of it has me tightening my grip on the steering wheel for a second before shutting off the Audi. Silence settles inside the car afterward. I was going to sell this thing, considering I fucking overdosed in it. But I just can’t find it in me to get rid of the damn thing.
Beside me, Emma watches quietly. Her hand slides gently over mine. “You don’t have to do this perfectly,” she says softly.
A weak breath leaves me as I stare out through the windshield toward the house. “That’s unfortunate, considering I’m currently seconds away from throwing up.”
The corner of her mouth lifts faintly before she leans across the center console and presses a slow kiss against my cheek. “You’re okay,” she whispers.
I nod, but my fingers still flex anxiously against my thigh before I finally force myself to open the door.
Emma walks beside me up the stone pathway toward the porch while my pulse pounds harder with every step.
Because suddenly all I can think about is the moment they look at me and really see me again.
Not the version from magazine covers or the version twisted apart online during the trial.
Me.
The son who disappeared into addiction, violence, blood, and captivity so completely that even he stopped recognizing himself.
“They already know,” Emma says gently, reading my thoughts with terrifying accuracy. “And they still love you.”
That almost makes it worse. When we first arrived back in Seaside, I didn’t want to see my family until I got some help.
Rafe had been very adamant about my going to therapy, that crazy motherfucker.
So Emma came here and explained everything to my parents.
Told them about what I went through. All of it.
The lights inside the house glow warmly through the enormous front windows as we reach the porch steps. I can already see movement deeper inside the living room.
Then the front door swings open, and my mother appears.
Rachel Graves stands frozen in the doorway, her long black hair falling over one shoulder while her blue eyes lock onto mine so intensely it physically hurts to hold her gaze.
She looks beautiful, exactly the way she always has, but there’s grief in her expression.
Fuck, I’ve done so much damage to this amazing woman.
I hate myself.
Her hand flies to her mouth, and behind her, Vanessa appears, her own blue eyes already filling with tears. Then my father steps into view behind them both, broader and steadier, his hazel eyes fixed entirely on me.
Nobody speaks at first.
And I swear for one horrible second I’m seventeen again, standing in front of people I love while terrified they’re finally about to realize something inside me is fundamentally wrong.
Then my mother breaks. “Oh, sweetheart,” she whispers shakily.
The sound of her voice destroys me instantly.
She crosses the porch so fast I barely have time to react before her arms are around me, pulling me tightly against her while a sob breaks from her chest. Her hands clutch at the back of my jacket.
And suddenly I can’t breathe either. “Hey, mom,” I choke out weakly, my voice cracking apart.
Her fingers slide into my hair the same way they used to when I was younger and sick or scared or heartbroken over something small. “Oh my god,” she cries softly against my shoulder. “You’re home. You’re finally home. My sweet boy.”
The words make my heart feel heavy. I nod shakily against her because I physically cannot force words past the pressure building in my throat.
Vanessa wraps herself around both of us, crying openly now without even attempting to hold it together, and suddenly all three of us are tangled together beneath the porch lights while ocean wind tears softly through our hair.
“You scared the absolute shit out of me,” Vanessa whispers brokenly after pulling back just enough to grab my face between both hands.
A weak laugh escapes me through tears. “Sorry.”
“No,” she says, crying harder now. “Don’t apologize for surviving that, Jude. I am so fucking happy that I didn’t lose my other brother.”
I look away sharply, dragging a shaking hand across my face while my chest heaves unevenly beneath my jacket. Some part of me still expects disgust after everything. Instead, my family looks at me as if they had almost lost me.
Then my father steps forward. Alaric Graves has always carried this admirable steadiness about him.
Even growing up, he was the kind of man who made chaos feel manageable simply by walking into a room.
I spent most of my life wanting to be like him without ever really admitting it out loud.
Right now, his eyes shine as he looks at me.
Then he pulls me into his arms without saying a single word.
And for some reason, that’s what finally breaks whatever control I had left.
Because my father has always represented strength to me, and now his arms are wrapped tightly around me while I shatter against him.
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly near my ear.
And the sob that tears out of me afterward feels like it could split my ribs open. Years of grief and terror and shame seem to burst from me. “I’m sorry,” I choke out against his shoulder. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
My dad pulls back to look me directly in the eyes, his expression tightening painfully. “For what?” he asks softly. His jaw flexes. “None of this was your fault, Jude. I’m…I’m just so happy that I didn’t lose my other son.”
I can’t respond, because guilt still lives so deep inside me now that it feels stitched directly into my very bones. How dare I risk my own life when my little brother’s was stolen? I can’t believe how many times I tried killing myself, knowing the damage I would have done to my family.
My mother reaches for my hand while tears continue slipping down her cheeks. “We are so proud of you,” she whispers shakily. “Do you understand me? Proud of you.”
Vanessa nods quickly beside her.
“And you stayed clean,” my father adds quietly, emotion roughening his voice now, too. “After everything they did to you.” His eyes hold mine steadily. “That took strength, son.”
The words hit that sad, broken thing inside me, because Nolan spent years convincing me I was weak. Then Alexei.
Emma remains quietly near the edge of the porch throughout it all, giving us space. When my gaze finally finds her again, she’s already watching me, her own eyes glassy now. As if she knew all along, this moment would put something back inside me that I thought was gone forever.
But standing with my family right now, I feel the tension in my chest loosen. I think it’s the realization that maybe I’m finally allowed to come home again.