36. Jude
JUDE
“Did he say where he was going?” Mel asks.
“No. Only that he needed air and a walk. Oh god, where is he?” I sink my head into my hands and Mel shuffles closer on my couch, wrapping a supportive arm around my shoulders.
“He’ll be somewhere. He probably went to a bar and got wasted or something, slept it off on a bench somewhere.”
I swallow the bile that’s been present in my throat since I woke up and realized Slade never returned last night. I stayed awake as long as I could waiting for him. But I must have drifted off, because then it was 6 a.m. and his side of the bed was cold.
“That’s not him,” I tell Mel, desperately wishing I was wrong, and her explanation made sense. But this is Slade, I know him. He wouldn’t have said he was coming back and then…
I clasp a hand over my mouth.
He’s disappeared on me before. It makes total sense he would do it again, regardless of whether he swore he wouldn’t leave without a goodbye again. He hates goodbyes. Maybe he really has left.
I screw my eyes shut, a shiver running through me, which Mel does her best to rub away.
“He’ll be back. He came all this way to find you again. Why would he do that if he wasn’t planning on staying? Where would he go? Would it make you feel better if we go and check some places?”
I nod, my brain fumbling as I mentally check through all the places he could be.
There’s only one place I know he’s visited regularly since being back in the city.
“Beaufort Diamonds on Fifth Avenue.” I exhale in a rush. “He said he was going to see his family today. I don’t know anywhere else he could have gone.”
Mel squeezes me. “Then that’s where we’ll start.”
It’s still early as we approach. The store shouldn’t be open yet. But as we get closer, there’s a swarm of people coating the sidewalk directly in front of the giant gold doors.
“What the hell?” Mel gasps as the driver pulls over a few buildings away because he can’t get any closer.
“They got a sale on or something?” the driver asks.
“Or something,” Mel replies, thanking him and settling the fare.
We climb out and approach the crowd. It’s only as we get closer that the cameras stand out.
“It’s the press,” Mel says, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene.
Perfectly coiffed news men and women are talking into their microphones, gesturing to the locked doors behind them. They’re all waiting for something.
Fragments of their sentences filter toward us as we move closer.
“Killed in a fire onboard his father’s yacht.”
“The body too badly burned to identify.”
“Sterling Beaufort, newly married and having a baby. And now this. Just what else will The Beaufort family surprise us with?”
Their voices swirl around inside my skull, pecking at me with incessant shrillness, until one clear voice from a news woman rings out above all the others, making my heart stall.
“The city of New York wakes up with many questions this morning, following the news that Slade Beaufort, the son of billionaire Beaufort Diamonds owner, Sterling Beaufort, has been found alive, three years after he was declared dead following a fire on his father’s yacht. More on this story as it emerges.”
I grab onto Mel, needing something to steady me. They found him, or he found them. Is that where he went last night, to see them? He said he was going to wait until today, but maybe he couldn’t stand not knowing how they’d react.
“Something’s happening!” Mel shouts above the swell of the crowd as lights flash and people yell and surge toward the building.
A man, flanked by two other men in dark suits, steps out and raises his hand in the air, calling for silence. The sea of reporters hush, waiting on whatever he’s about to say.
He clears his throat, taking a piece of card from his inside pocket. “I have a statement here from The Beaufort family, which I shall now read.
“Yesterday evening, we became aware of the sudden and shocking news that our beloved son, brother, and nephew, Slade Beaufort, whom we believed to have perished in a fire that claimed his mother’s life three years ago, is in fact, alive.”
The crowd gasps, and the clicking of cameras goes wild.
“We don’t have answers at this point. But we can say that he appears to be in good health, and we are feeling indescribably blessed that he is home with us. We’d ask that you please give us time as a family to navigate this sudden news, together, and in private.”
The man tucks the card away and looks up. “The store will remain closed today. No questions at this time, thank you.”
He steps inside, and the crowd erupts, shouting questions like vultures as they hammer on the glass of the door and take pictures through the windows.
“Well, shit,” Mel says.
“Where is he?” I choke out.
“With his family by the sounds of it. Where do they live?”
I shake my head. Googling them never brought up anything personal. They keep everything private. I know they all live in Manhattan, but that’s all I have.
“I don’t know!” I sob.
“Did he tell you anything that would narrow it down?”
“No.” I press a hand over my forehead which feels like it could explode from the building pressure inside my skull. “I have no idea. He’s never said. Do you think he’s okay?”
“He’s with his family. I’m sure he’s fine.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. She’s right. Slade’s with his family. I just wish I could hear his voice and look into his eyes. Then I’d know if he was really okay.
“This is so much for him. He…” I feel so helpless. So useless. I need to know if he’s okay.
“Unless you can think of where they might be, you’re going to have to wait it out,” Mel says, trying her best to console me. “He’ll get in touch.”
I spend the morning watching the news for updates like a hawk with Mel by my side after I call into work sick.
The local channels are all over the story like a rash.
Not much emerges, except hints at Slade having amnesia, followed by a flurry of doctors invited to talk about the effects of memory loss and how it could have occurred in this situation.
Is that what the Beauforts are telling people to explain Slade’s reappearance? That he had memory loss and didn’t know who he really is these past three years?
The idea makes anger ignite through my veins like a lit fuse. He knows exactly who he is. He’s suffered every day, knowing that he was no longer a part of their family. That they’d deserted him. Blamed him for something that was never his fault.
Do they even understand what their actions did to him?
I click off another news channel in disgust as they talk about unidentified people who’ve woken from comas years later and finally been able to tell doctors who they really are.
I open the fridge and peer at the sandwich Mel made for me before she went to work. She made me promise I’d eat it, but I close the door, unable to stomach even an attempt at a bite.
The buzzer for the door goes. It could be my parents, even though they have a key.
They’ve been stopping by since the news broke.
I don’t know exactly what my mother told my father, but he’s seen the news, and he knows it was Slade he had dinner with the other night.
He’s actually been surprisingly considerate, asking if I’m okay, and what he and Mom can do to help.
He offered to see what he could find out through the medical contacts he has, thinking he might be able to speak with the Beauforts’ family doctor.
I head to the screen, expecting to see them. Instead, a huge guy in a dark suit stands on the street, filling the screen. I recognize him from somewhere.
I press the intercom. “Can I help you?”
He looks directly into the camera. “Miss Jude Yardley? My name is Denver Layne. I work for the Beauforts.”
That’s who he is. I’ve seen him when I’ve Googled them. The press has been reporting on his romance with Sinclair since he became her bodyguard. The guy looks like you could drive a truck into him and he’d not even flinch.
“Is Slade okay?” I ask in a rush.
He glances up and down the street like he’s on alert, his voice coming out gruff. “I’m here to take you to him. Please pack a bag.”
Nerves twist in my stomach. The entire journey has been made in silence.
I wanted to ask so many questions—about how Slade is, about what’s going on, and where he is.
But they all dried up on my tongue as soon as I slid into the rear seat and the hulk that is Denver got in the driving seat and calmly pulled out into the city traffic.
Nothing he can tell me will give me the answers I need. The only thing that can do that is seeing Slade. When I can look into his eyes.
The bag I packed is so hastily thrown together, I have no idea what’s in it.
And I look like a hot mess. My hair is piled up in a knot on top of my head, and my face is puffy from crying.
I’ve got yoga pants and one of Slade’s T-shirts on.
I’ve been unable to take it off since he never came back. It still has his scent on it.
“We’ll take the elevator.”
I snap my gaze from my lap, meeting Denver’s eyes in the rearview mirror before I look around at the underground parking area.
“Okay.”
We ride up in an immaculate elevator with a hi-tech-looking screen that Denver scans his thumb on. He carries my bag in one hand, insisting he take it when I try to argue.
The elevator stops and there’s a brief pause as it settles on the floor.
“He’ll be glad you’re here, Jude,” Denver says, gently.
My heart clenches. He doesn’t need to elaborate. I have no idea what I’m about to walk into. But I do know this.
Slade needs me.
The doors slide open and my breath catches. In front of me is a huge open-plan living area belonging to a penthouse. There’s an open staircase to one side, and the entire back wall is double-height windows, showing the city and Central Park behind them.
I’m aware of people in the room, but they’re all a blur. None are him.
“Where is he?” I ask Denver as we step inside.
“Jude?”