“Well, I’m not sorry. Are you going to tell me who I have to kill?” he asked, mercifully changing the subject.
“I’m fine. I didn’t mean to freak out on you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I downplayed my breakdown.
“Don’t do that. I’m glad I was there, and I’m glad you’re here. Just like if I need you, you’ll let me climb in your bed anytime too. Right?” He tickled my side, and I squealed and crawled away, moving to sit next to him instead of lying directly on him. I still gripped his arm like a life preserver, and I probably traced the band and cross on the inside of his arm a hundred times, but I wasn’t ready to let go.
“Listen.” He twisted and played with the bracelets on my wrist. “You’re allowed to need people. You’re allowed to needme. I volunteer. Do you need it in writing?” he asked while we both focused on the TV.
“Maybe youshouldput it in writing.”
He laughed at my deflection but leaned over to a side table and grabbed a black ballpoint pen. Hovering over my shoulder, he stretched both arms around me and turned my hand over to writeI volunteeron the inside of my wrist—then tenderly drew a lopsided heart.
“Now will you tell me what happened?”
“I overreacted. It was nothing. Probably hormones.” I rapidly replayed his words and tried not to react to how intimate his writing on my skin felt.
Stop overanalyzing. He’s just a fixer like you.
“In our limited history, you tend tounderreact. You know you can tell me.”
“I know. I trust you, but I…”
He turned me to face him. “We both know whatever caused you to be that upset would probably causemeto risk jail time. I’m glad you know that. But in case you haven’t noticed, I can control myself. The fallout will not land on you. I promise.” He leaned his forehead to mine, and I had to concentrate to remain conscious. “I can’t promise there won’tbeany fallout, but I can’t get between you and the threat if I don’t know what it is. So, tell me when you’re ready. But I know you. You didn’t overreact, it’s not nothing, and you don’t have to handle it on your own.” He turned and leaned back, pulling his arm out of my hands and wrapping it around me again as I wiped away more stray tears. “I don’t want you to handle it on your own, Lu.”
I snuggled into his side with my arm across his chest and my eyes on the movie, but the only thing I focused on was his heartbeat.
He knows me.
I don’t think I’ve ever truly experienced that before.
We stayed quiet for the last few minutes of the movie and watched another into the early morning hours. We held our breath and tried to stay silent when Jace got home, but hiding from him gave us the giggles. Okay, it was me.
I had the giggles.
Jude was laughing at me because I couldn’t stop laughing. Then we were both red-faced and wheezing, gasping for air with tears streaming down our faces, hiding under a blanket, trying not to make a sound.
There was no good way to explain this situation, and neither of us had the energy to try, so the unspoken decision was that we wouldn’t. Jace had been at the hospital for twelve hours and would likely sleep until afternoon, so slipping out wouldn’t be too hard.
I was a hot mess when I got there, but Jude koala’d me back to my normal level of sass. I cried until there was no moisture remaining in my body, then laughed until I cried some more. Exhaustion led me to that dangerously cuddly, filter-less place that will one day lead me to do something epically embarrassing.
It’s definitely not if; it’swhen.
The whole night was ninety-nine percent innocent, but I could’ve gone home around two in the morning. Jace might’ve heard me, but I could’ve accepted his narrowed glare of suspicion for being in Jude’s bedroom and told the truth. It would’ve been far less suspicious and boundary-blurring if I’d just left.
But I didn’t.
Jude set an alarm like the mature adult that he is and put his phone on the nightstand face down next to mine. I never looked at my phone because I was afraid I’d see a name I wasn’t ready to see, and I was content to let him handle things that night. I was comfortably tucked into his side with my hand on his chest, and I didn’t want to move. He didn’t seem to want me to go, so we slept fully clothed on a made bed with a throw blanket.
By morning, I was curled against his back, and he had my arm pulled under his, holding my hand, probably because I was cold, but we weren't tangled up like a one-bed mix-up in a romcom.
Really. Well,mostly.
I woke up during the silent pitch-black hours of the morning facing away from him, but I felt his rhythmic breathing against my back with his heavy arm across my waist, and I’ve never feltso …safe. In my half-conscious dream state, I silently begged God to let me keep him. Just as a friend.
Please, I need this one.
I know it’s irrational, but I’ve always felt like the moment I get attached toanything, it somehow gets taken away. Not that life’s fair to anyone—I know it’s not.
In ninth grade, a quiet new kid in my English class passed me a handwritten note on real notebook paper. He said I was cute and asked if we could be friends. I replied on the same page, and we continued passing notes whenever he was in class, though he was absent a lot. He’d go a mile out of his way to walk me home just because he liked to talk to me.
