“Jude?”
“Yeah, Lu.”
“I will confirm your hero status to anyone. Anytime. One hundred percent.” His shaky exhale make my heart flip. “You’re my favorite. Don’t tell Sam.”
“And you’re mine.”
I’ve been his since day one. I didn’t know what that would look like, and I still don’t, but outgrowing him or giving him up is no longer something I can do. This isn’t a season or temporary.
We fit.
I close my eyes and picture his face. “This is the most you’ve ever talked. Thanks for trusting me.”
“Trusting you is the easiest thing I do.” He echoes my words, and I know they’re now permanently etched on my heart. “I’m sorry I didn’t try to stop you from dating him. I was giving you time to … I don’t know…”
“It was my own fault.” I sigh.
“Not entirely. But fair warning. I’m done holding back.”
“Good. The next time you see me about to mess up my life…”
“There isn’t going to be a next time, Lu.”
Something about that statement feels like we turned a page, and the temperature in this closet is rising fast.
“Can you guarantee that?” I taunt.
“I think so. I know you were kidding the other night when you said I should be in charge, but if you want me to take the lead here, I will.”
“I do.”
“All right, then. Just let go. I got you.”
“I don’t know, boss. Sounds risky,” I tease, wanting to hear a smile in his voice before I hang up.
“Baby, I’m the safest bet you’ll ever make.”
There it is.
“I know you are.”
“Have fun tomorrow, Punk.”
Chapter 23
I Want to Break Free
Liza’s asleep when I finally come to bed, but I watch her face for a beat to be sure she’s not faking. She must’ve gotten tired of eavesdropping since she went to sleep without questioning me about the hour I spent in her closet.
Her chest rises and falls gently, and she never moves.
I need a therapist. At least an amateur one. I need Annie to put those six psych courses to better use than I have and help me out, but I’m sure she’s asleep.
Maybe … Mom?
The divorce is too fresh to bother her with my relationship issues, but maybe a fresh take is what I need. I don’t want to upset her, but my feet are already hanging over the side of the bed.
I pad down the hallway and climb into her king-size bed, where she sleeps alone after twenty-five years of being isolated, bullied, and taken for granted. She slept in a recliner in the living room for the last few years, claiming the reason was a combination of back pain and Dad’s snoring.
