Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
EMMA EASTON
My heart won’t slow down, the damn thing. The jet engines seem to vibrate up into my bones. I sit rigid in my seat, fingers fidgeting anxiously in my lap, staring across the narrow table at Micah and Heather.
Heather’s brown eyes flick up and lock onto mine.
They widen enough to tell me she’s barely holding it together, too.
That the image of a man getting his throat sliced open is looping behind her eyes the same way it’s looping behind mine.
Rafe had smeared the man's blood on my jaw, filling me with a kind of terror I've never known.
As I met his gaze, I realized that I was indeed staring into a monster's dark soul.
I think I might actually be in shock. I’ve barely spoken since we took off. Words feel weird right now. Honestly, if I open my mouth, I have no idea what will spill out. Sobs? Screaming? I don’t know. I'm not used to anything like this.
I just watched some get murdered.
Behind us, Rafe, Adela, Nico, and Kieran lounge across the couches like they've travelled a lot together. Rafe keeps looking at me. Not staring, exactly...but checking in. His gaze flicks to my face and away again. I don’t know why it unsettles me so much, but it does.
There’s something intense about him that feels far too perceptive.
If I had a client like him, I'd pack up and move away, honestly.
Heather finally breaks the silence. “I told you alcohol helps,” she mutters, lifting her glass. She’s nearly finished with her second glass of wine, her movements definitely looser than before.
“It’s seven in the morning,” I counter quietly.
“When you’re on a plane, time doesn’t matter,” Adela says cheerfully from behind me, holding up her own glass in solidarity. “It always helps my nerves. Hell, I’d usually get drunk at the gate before takeoff.”
I nod, but I don’t reach for anything. The idea of alcohol right now makes my stomach twist. Micah is leaned against the window across from me, hoodie pulled up, mouth slightly open. He's asleep, peaceful, and completely unbothered.
I resist the urge to kick him.
Instead, I turn my head and stare out the window.
The sun is rising over the ocean, spilling gold across the water in soft, dreamlike streaks.
It’s…beautiful. I think of how the world just keeps spinning even after the horror I witnessed last night.
Life just keeps going for some of us, while for others, it feels like everything is crashing down.
Nova flashes into my mind with her little black paws and big, begging brown eyes.
She’s with Mr. and Mrs. Kent right now. Safe.
Loved. Then I think of my clients and the studio, with the comforting smells of paint, coffee, and ocean air.
Dr. Cassandra Waters is holding things together.
At least she’s still allowing our clients to paint if they feel they need it.
Some of them can’t finish a session without it.
Those are the people I see myself most in.
I swallow hard. I just want this to be over.
I want Jude back. I want a quiet, peaceful life together in Seaside.
Sunday dinners with his parents—his mom insisting I drink one more cup of lavender tea, his dad smiling at how affectionate Jude is with me at the table.
I want to visit my parents. I want a wedding.
I want…a life.
I know he wants it too. That’s the part that hurts the most. He left to protect me, thinking that he was saving me by walking away again. He doesn’t know that I would do anything for him. That I would choose him every time—even like this. I won’t let him go. No matter how hard he tries to force it.
Adela’s laugh cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back into the present. Heather’s joined them now, leaning back with her wine, trying and failing to pretend she’s okay.
So I sit there, across from a sleeping Micah, alone in my head.
Two black cars are waiting for us when we step off the plane. They're both sleek with tinted windows, highlighting the fact that we're with a very powerful man.
Rafe, Adela, Heather, Micah, and me in the first car. Nico and Kieran take the second, pulling in behind us as soon as the doors shut.
The car glides forward, and I press my forehead lightly against the cold glass of the window as the city comes into view.
Moscow.
I can’t believe I’m seeing it with my own eyes.
The buildings stretch high towards the sky. My chest tightens, but I’m here.
In the same city as Jude.
The thought alone makes my heart pound again, like my body recognizes his proximity even if my mind is trying to stay calm. I wonder how close he is. Miles? Blocks? Is he awake right now? Is he hurting?
No one speaks for the entire ride, which I'm kind of grateful for. I think at least the three of us are processing the fact that we're here.
When we finally turn onto a long, winding forest road, the weight on my shoulders seems to fall off. The dense trees close in on both sides, and the noise of the city disappears completely, replaced by quiet. Real quiet.
I didn’t realize how badly I needed that.
Then the car slows.
The driveway opens up suddenly, and my breath catches.
A cabin sits ahead of us, tucked against a small river that glints faintly through the trees. It's two stories with wide windows and warm wood, the forest protecting it on all sides.
It’s beautiful. Cozy, even.
We step out into crisp air, my boots crunching softly against the snowy gravel driveway.
For the first time since we landed, I inhale as much air into my lungs as I can.
I always tell my patients to do this whenever they're attempting to calm down.
Slow, deep breaths can trick your body into relaxing.
Your heart will slow, and your breath will find its strength instead of shaking so much.
Inside, the cabin is warm and welcoming, with wood floors, soft lighting, and a stone fireplace. It smells like pine and clean linen.
“Rooms are upstairs,” Rafe says, already shrugging out of his jacket. “Micah and Heather, you’re together. Emma—yours is at the end of the hall.”
Heather squeezes my hand as she passes me, her eyes still tired but steadier now. Micah yawns like he hasn’t been absolutely traumatized by witnessing a murder twelve hours ago. But then again, he's probably seen worse.
When I get to my room, I let out a long exhale.
It's quiet and simple, with a large bed dressed in white, a dresser, and a chair by the window.
I set my bag down on the mattress and walk straight to the glass.
Outside, the river moves lazily past the cabin, trees stretching endlessly beyond it, their reflections rippling in the water. I wrap my arms around myself.
This close.
I glance back at the bed, my heart twisting with hope so sharp it almost hurts.
Soon, I think.
Soon he’ll be here.
I picture Jude stretched out on the bed with that beautiful, boyish grin that I fell in love with. I picture him reaching to pull me beside him, enveloping me in his scent.
I cling to that image.
Because when I think of that version of him, it makes me really fucking sad. I don't think I'll ever get that again. But who knows? Perhaps I'll be different soon, too. I can feel it happening inside me. There's a rage and a desperation that will likely drive me to do anything for that man.
I head back downstairs, my socks soft on the wood. As I pass the room Micah and Heather took, the door is still shut. Water runs faintly through the wall—probably enjoying a nice hot shower together. I don’t blame them.
The smell of coffee hits me as I reach the bottom step.
Nico has completely taken over the dining room table, with two laptops open and cables snaking everywhere, like he’s building a control center.
He’s typing fast, eyes locked on the screen.
Adela stands at the refrigerator, one hip popped, looking through what appears to be a takeout menu taped to the stainless steel door.
“Ugh, what a weird day,” she mumbles. “Wine first thing in the morning, and coffee with dinner.” She then rubs her temples. “Fuck me. I drank too much.”
“But you weren’t anxious, were you?” Nico asks with a smile.
“No,” she groans.
Rafe is by the sliding glass doors, phone pressed to his ear, staring out at the river. And Kieran is sprawled on the couch, one boot planted right on the coffee table, scrolling through his phone. His shoulder-length brown hair is tied in a low, messy bun again.
“You could really fucking help, you know,” Nico snaps without looking up.
Kieran doesn’t even glance at him. “I am helping.”
“With what?” Nico shoots him a glare.
“By not fucking things up.”
Nico exhales sharply.
“Ugh. You’re so annoying without Laura,” Kieran mutters.
That gets Nico’s attention. He looks up slowly. “Shut the hell up, Kieran. Help me, you son of a bitch.”
Kieran rolls his eyes, but he gets up anyway, wandering over to the table and peering down at the screens. “Fine. But if this explodes, it’s on you.”
Adela snorts.
Nico turns his dark gaze on her next. “Listen, you and Rafe are going to have to not be fucking loud. I already miss my girl too much.”
Adela laughs. “What are you even talking about?”
“You know damn well,” he answers swiftly, typing something else.
She grins. “It’s like real-life porn, Nic.”
He makes a disgusted sound that could only come from a man deeply offended on multiple levels. “You’re revolting.”
She laughs and finally notices me standing there. “Hey. Come look at this menu. We’re ordering tonight. Groceries tomorrow. But I don’t feel like doing any of that today. Jet lag.”
“And hungover,” Nico laughs.
“Ugh, I’m going to put a bullet between your eyes if you don’t stop pissing me off,” she mutters.
Before I can say anything, Nico cuts in again, glaring at the laptop. “Motherfucker.”
“Jesus.” She raises a brow. “Kieran’s right. You are a miserable oaf without Laura.”
He groans.