Chapter 7
Chapter seven
EMMA EASTON
I unzip my suitcase and set it open on the bed. I just stare at it for a long moment. Micah took Heather home for a little bit so she could pack up some nicer clothes for the trip. They’ll be back soon.
I fold clothes with tired hands, organizing them with such focus that I hope can distract me from the stupid thoughts swirling around in my head.
But it’s not working, unfortunately. I pause, one hand bracing on the edge of the bed, the other pressing flat against my sternum.
The sensation sharpens, breath turning shallow. My heart starts racing.
Not now.
Please, not now.
I force myself to inhale slowly, but it barely helps. My fingers fumble as I reach for my pill bottle. I swallow the medication with a gulp from my water bottle, my throat tight as I tip my head back. I sit on the edge of the bed and close my eyes. And just like that...
I’m eighteen again.
~ A memory ~
The world is gone. It’s black and disorienting, the remnants of a free-fall terror still clawing at my throat. I bolt upright with a gasp, my hands scrabbling at the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping me from tumbling into a starless sky. My heart is a frantic drum against my ribs.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think—
“Emma.”
Jude’s voice is soft in the dark. Before I can even really process it, his warm arms are around me, pulling me gently against the solid wall of his chest. He guides me down until my head tucked perfectly under his chin. His heartbeat is a slow, steady rhythm beneath my ear.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple. “I’m right here, baby.”
I do. I let my weight sink into him, let his warmth seep into the cold, panicked places the nightmare left behind.
We lie like that for several silent minutes, melting into one another.
And then, he reaches for his guitar beside the bed.
The first gentle chords vibrate through his body and into mine.
Then his perfect, raspy voice follows, quiet enough not to wake my parents downstairs.
Home. The sound feels like his hands smoothing down my spine, easing the tight fist squeezing the life out of my chest.
My breathing slows, and my hands stop shaking.
When the last note fades into the dark, I’m calm enough to turn in his arms. I look up at him. In the faint moonlight, he’s watching me like I’m his entire world. He’s so patient with me, even when I wake him with my nightmares.
I kiss him. It starts soft and filled with gratitude.
Then it deepens into desperation. I want him to know how in love with him I am.
How much I appreciate his willingness to be so kind and gentle with me.
He responds instantly, the guitar slipping from his lap to the floor with a soft thud as he pulls me closer.
We sink back into the warm blankets. He’s between my thighs, and I feel safe, wanted, and loved.
Jude breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against mine. “Em…you were literally just having a panic attack.”
I grin, my hands sliding down his back to grip the waistband of his pajama pants. I tug him closer, rolling my hips, and feel the hard, thick length of him straining against the soft fabric. A low groan rumbles from him.
“Please,” I whisper, nipping at his bottom lip. “This is the second-best way to help distract me.”
“First, being my lovely voice?” he asks, a smirk in his voice.
“Exactly.”
~*~
My eyes open, and I’m back on the edge of my bed, my heart finally slowing. Huh, even the memory of him soothing me helps. I swallow hard and reach for another sweater, folding it neatly before placing it into the suitcase.
“Okay,” I whisper to the empty room. And I zip the bag closed.