“Jude?” Her voice is gentle. “How many people have you known...who didn’t make it?”
I slow without meaning to. The question sinks deep into my soul. I stare out at the water, jaw tightening, counting my breaths like that might help. For a second, I consider lying or offering her a number that sounds manageable. Instead, I shake my head.
“Too many,” I say finally. The words scrape on the way out. “More than I can keep track of. Friends. People I played with. People I swore were fine the last time I saw them.”
She squeezes my hand, thumb brushing my knuckles like she’s grounding me. “I hate that,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” I huff a quiet, humorless breath. “Drugs don’t just take people. They tether you to ghosts. You start living with all of them.” I swallow hard. “Every time I use, I know exactly how this story ends. I just...don’t always care enough to stop it.”
She turns her face into my shoulder, and I feel her exhale there. “Do you...remember the times you’ve,” she quiets, as if her next words hurt her to say. “Overdosed?”
I start walking again, tugging her gently along with me. “Sometimes, I do, yeah.” My gaze searches the horizon. “Sometimes, I just remember doing the drug and then waking up to people around me, their voices high-pitched and scared.”
She nods, taking several quiet moments to really absorb the words. “I love this,” she whispers, gesturing between our bodies. “I loveus.And I don’t want that to be the end of your story.”
The words twist in my chest. I brush my thumb over her hand. “Yeah,” I murmur. “Me either.”
The drive back from the beach is quiet, the sun leaving streaks of pink and gold behind the clouds as it sets. Emma hums along to some reggae song on the radio, her hand brushing mine on the console.
The house still smells like bacon from yesterday morning when we walk inside. But then my phone buzzes, and I jerk slightly, instinct kicking in. No messages. No calls. Just a social media notification. I sigh and open my settings, turning the notifications off for that app, too. I never check social media because seeing myself through other people’s eyes is never something I care to do.
“When is dinner getting here?” Emma asks.
Micah checks his phone. “The delivery guy is on his way. Thank god, I need pizza so bad after today.”
Emma laughs. “Oh yeah, you didn’t really grow up with beaches, did you?”
He shakes his head. “Not the ocean. Just one of the Great Lakes. I grew up in Michigan, right off of Lake Michigan. I’d go over to Chicago a lot to do shows before I met Jude.”
“That’s so cool,” Heather chimes in. “I’ve never been to Chicago, but it looks like my kind of place.”
“I think you’d like it too much, honestly,” I say with a smirk. “A lotof shopping there.”
She throws a pillow at me just as the bell rings.
“Ugh,finally,” Emma sighs dramatically and skips ahead toward the front door. She opens it, and I hear a small gasp. “H—hi, who are you?”
My blood runs cold, and Micah’s gaze snaps to mine. I jump up and approach the door, my heart rate spiking.
No one texted me today. We should be left alone.
But when I make it to Emma’s side, I freeze.
Standing there, in a dark suit with that smirk that always makes my stomach knot, is Alexei. “Evening,” he says casually. “Hope I’m not intruding.”
Emma smiles at him, oblivious. But she looks up at me to answer. She doesn’t know that I’m actively threatening and killing for this man, and I can’t let her.
I step forward instinctively, placing myself slightly in front of her. “Hey.” My voice is low, hard enough to make her hesitate. She glances at me, confused. I can see the gears turning in her head, but she doesn’t understand.
Alexei tilts his head, amused. “We’ve got a bit to discuss, Jude. Alone.”
Annoyance flares in my chest, my hands curling into fists at my sides. I glance at Emma, her honey-brown eyes wide. I can’t let this touch her. Not him. Not this part of my life.This fucking asshole.
“I’ll be right back,” I mutter, my hand brushing hers quickly, almost apologetic. I leave her at the door, watching Alexei’s smirk widen as I step outside, my mind racing. As soon as the door clicks shut behind me, Alexei leans against the beam, hands in his pockets.
“Who is that beautiful young thing?” he asks, smiling like a fucking snake.
I swallow. “Just some girl Micah met on a dating app.” The lie leaves me easily, but he doesn’t seem to buy it.
