1. Jude
Jude
She was standing in my living room.
Amy.
No, not Amy.
Mila.
If that was even her real name.
My head was spinning. My small house was filled to the brim with my nosy family, and Ripley stood next to me, on high alert.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I hadn’t seen her in over a year, and now, as she stood in front of me, explaining herself, all I could think was trouble.
My pulse pounded in my ears. This was bad. Dangerous.
Gus, who stood nearby, gave me a nod. That gave me a sliver of comfort. I could always depend on my older brother to take charge when things got difficult. He and I had worked together, keeping the family timber business going, for a decade, and we had developed our own shorthand.
Neither of us liked to talk more than necessary. So with one look, he understood what I needed and gathered up his wife and infant daughter.
“The kids need to get to bed, and we should give Jude some privacy,” he said.
Cole followed suit, collecting beer bottles and plates and taking them to the kitchen.
Finn and Noah did the same, clearing out the living room and packing up their kids. We’d been having family pizza night, a recent tradition.
It was one of my favorite pastimes. Cooking for my brothers and their families.
I hadn’t anticipated becoming an amateur pizza chef, but I’d loved the challenge. The endless testing and careful preparation soothed me. I thrived on finding the perfect hydration ratio for my dough and getting the wood-burning oven to the precise temperature to bake the pies to perfection.
It suited my need to keep my hands busy. Stretching and kneading dough was therapeutic, and it forced me to slow down a bit.
The company wasn’t terrible either. I lived alone up here on the mountain in my little house, just Ripley and me, and most of the time, it was exactly the way I wanted it.
But once in a while, it was nice to be surrounded by my family.
When my house was filled with laughter and jokes, it reminded me that healing was possible.
That with all the shit our father had put us through, we’d be okay.
We could be a family, despite the lies and deceit and the way he tore us all apart.
We were moving forward, creating new bonds, welcoming kids and building lives. Even so, we were still living with our father’s crimes hanging over our heads. We’d spent the last year evolving and finding our way.
Now, a bleeding woman had appeared, and she was standing in my living room, telling me we were in more danger.
The woman who had haunted my dreams.
She’d been here more than a year ago, played a role in the best night of my life, and then poof, she’d disappeared, never to be heard from again.
Now she stood, trembling, breathing shallowly, bleeding, in my living room.
Her hair was different. Shorter and darker.
Her black leggings were torn, and the gash on her thigh looked quite deep.
Her T-shirt was streaked with dirt and blood, and her arms and face were covered in fresh bruises.
My gut dropped as every detail registered.
My mind spun and I clenched my fists. Caught unaware like this, by such a chilling sight, I felt out of control. My thoughts spiraled in a way I typically worked hard not to allow. How much danger was she in? Who had hurt her? What could I do to help?
Cole walked out with the rest of my brothers and their families but returned a moment later with a large duffel bag. He’d barely set it on the coffee table before Willa was tearing into it, producing bandages and gauze.
She led Amy… er… Mila to the couch and gently helped her sit on the ottoman. Then she kneeled in front of her and asked a slew of pragmatic medical questions. Thank God for Willa. She was cheery and professional, even while tending to the scared, bleeding woman.
“Jude, can you get a set of clean clothes?” Willa asked over her shoulder.
Wordlessly, I went to my room and collected a T-shirt and a pair of sweats.
When I returned, she was assessing the injuries, gently talking through what she was seeing. The woman was awe-inspiring.
Mila sat on the ottoman, her face totally serene.
She looked like she’d fought a bear, but she was composed and calm.
Still beautiful. Regal, almost.
Tall and slender, with sharp cheekbones, plump lips, and steely gray eyes.
Every detail of the night we’d spent together had been burned into my brain. She’d burrowed its way into my soul in a way no other woman had.
That night, I’d seen her in the crowd, dancing with abandon as I played. I’d met her a few times at the dojo in Heartsborough. She’d come to a few self-defense classes I’d helped teach, and we’d chatted a bit. I thought she was gorgeous then.
But the night she showed up at the Moose, she was luminous. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Every single note I played was for her and her alone.
As a musician, I was used to being ogled by women. I was used to being approached after a set and flirted with while I played.
But I’d never experienced a connection like I had that night.
We had an entire conversation without speaking.
Her smile was electric. I could close my eyes and pull up the memory of it even now, every detail still crystal clear.
A spark had ignited, a tether linking us. So the moment the set ended, I strolled up to her and took the beer bottle from her hand and took a swig. The move was completely out of character for me. I was typically the quiet and let women come to me type.
But with her? I couldn’t hold back. As if, subconsciously, I knew we had limited time, so I was determined to make the most of it.
An hour later, we were here, tearing each other’s clothes off. Once we’d quelled the need consuming us, we laughed, talked, raided the kitchen, took Ripley out for a late-night walk. Then we fell asleep tangled in one another.
But when I woke, I was alone.
She’d left without a trace.
Without leaving a phone number.
While I still believed her name was Amy.
Cole nudged me, breaking me out of my thought spiral.
“You okay?”
Arms crossed, I nodded, unable to look away as Willa shined a flashlight in Mila’s eyes.
“You have a concussion,” Willa concluded, clicking the light off. “Likely mild, but we need to be careful.”
Mila put her head in one hand, that shoulder slumping, while she kept the injured arm cradled to her chest. “That explains the headache.”
“What happened?” my sister-in-law asked. “Can you explain? I’d like to take you to the hospital—”
“No hospitals,” Mila snapped. Her body tensed like a coiled snake ready to strike. She held her injured arm with the good hand, her eyes flashing with panic. “Hospitals ask questions and make records. Can’t risk it.”
Willa turned to me, her expression full of all kinds of questions.
My heart constricted painfully. “Can you help her?”
My sister-in-law was a wonderful doctor and an even better person. She made house calls regularly and had braved a snowstorm not all that long ago to help a pregnant woman in distress. And on top of that, she took care of the citizens of Lovewell every day.
“I can try.” She turned and patted Mila’s thigh. “Let’s get you out of these dirty clothes. Then I’ll examine you. We need to immobilize that shoulder. Given the bruising on your arms and stomach, I’d also like an X-ray to check for fractured ribs.”
Mila shook her head vigorously, letting out a cry of pain that made my heart leap into my throat. Eyes filling with tears, she breathed in sharply. “Please. Can you please examine me here and see if anything’s broken?”
Willa let out a big sigh. “Generally I need images to diagnose, but I’ll try this way.”
“I’ll call in a favor,” I said. “I’ve known a couple of the EMTs all my life. They could transport you to another hospital. Take you all the way to Augusta if we need to.”
“No.” The tears streamed down her cheeks now, leaving tracks in the dirt still covering her.
I squeezed my hands at my sides and inhaled deeply. I’d never felt so helpless or terrified. Her hair was crusted with dirt. Every inch of her was filthy. And the bruises were darkening by the minute. This woman, who’d been so alive, so strong the night we’d spent together, looked so frail.
Every instinct in me screamed to protect her. But how could I do that if I didn’t know what was going on?
“Who did this?” I asked, the words coming out deeper than I’d anticipated. “Who hurt you?”
Willa peered over her shoulder, brow arched. “Boys, give us some privacy, please. I need to examine my patient. You may hear noises as I poke around, but please stay in the kitchen. I’ll take care of her. Promise.”
I couldn’t leave, not while she was crying and in so much pain.
But I was too weak to fight off Cole, the biggest of my brothers, when he took the clothes from my hand and set them on the couch, then grabbed my elbow and pulled me into the kitchen.
While I paced the small space, he loaded the dishwasher, studying me every few seconds or so.
He wanted answers. But what he didn’t understand was that I didn’t have any.
“Boys,” Willa called after only a few minutes. “Clean off and sterilize the kitchen island, please.”
My heart lurched, and Cole went ramrod straight, looking at me with the same kind of horrified expression I was probably wearing. Sterilize the counter? Fuck. Mila needed a hospital, so why was she refusing to go?
We knew better than to disobey Willa’s medical orders, so I choked the questions back and helped my brother clean off the large island.
I’d donated the small table and chairs I’d once had set up in here and then installed the island a couple of years ago.
I wanted more prep space, and the granite countertop made the tiny kitchen feel more modern.
Cole grabbed the cutting board and plates while I grabbed bleach wipes from under the sink, and in minutes, we had it all cleared, cleaned, and sanitized.
Willa led Mila in with her hand on the small of her back.