The engine roars to life, and I sit there, quiet, shaking, bruises throbbing. My fingers drum against the wheel, restless. I love her, and I almost just took out my frustrations on her body. Iwould never force her, no. But I wasn’t in my right mind at all. It wouldn’t have been fair to make love to her when I’m feeling like this. Even though she was receptive, she didn’t know. She didn’t know my mental state, didn’t know the meth, the adrenaline, the beating, theeverything. I could’ve crossed a line.
I bite my lip, flinching at the war inside myself.
Micah doesn’t talk. He just sits there beside me as a solid support, as he always has.
I inhale. My body hurts. I lean back, finally letting a long, shaky sigh escape. “I...I’m sorry,” I mutter, more to myself than to anyone else.
Still, he doesn’t speak. I know I’ve fucked up. The Audi slides forward into the night. Emma’s house fades behind me. I feel the weight of everything I almost did, and the relief that our friends stopped me. Because she’s not something I can destroy. She’s not something I can touch like that when I’m broken.
The door to my bedroom slams behind me, and I don’t even try to lock it. I just collapse onto the edge of the bed, my head in my hands, the weight of everything clawing me down.
Micah walks in after me without a word. I can hear his quiet breaths, and I let myself...break. I shudder violently, and tears sting my eyes. I’ve been holding it all in—everything: the kills, the bruises, the drugs, the adrenaline, the way I almost lost myself with Emma. All of it crashes down like a tidal wave.
“Jude…” Micah whispers, sitting beside me. His hand rests on my shoulder, hesitant at first, then firmer when I don’t pull away.
“I...I can’t…” My voice cracks. It sounds like someone else. Like a kid who’s been shoved into too many dark corners. “He’s taking control. He’s gonna take me from...from Seaside.From her." A sob escapes me. “I just got her back, man.”
Micah exhales sharply, and I feel him shiver too. He’s crying, too. His hand rubs my back, slow, soothing, and grounding. “We can figure something out,” he murmurs, though I can hear the tremor in his own voice. “We can’t just give up.”
I shake my head. “You don’t get it, Micah! He...he’s smart. He’s ruthless. He doesn’t care about anyone. He’ll make me...I’ll...I’ll be his. He’ll kill her if he knows how much I love her. He already knows about her and Heather. He’s evil.”
Micah pulls me into him, strong arms around my shoulders. I press my face into his chest, finally letting myself sob. Full, raw, heartbreaking. Every dark thing, every fear, every failure I’ve ever felt—all of it pouring out.
“We’ve been through too much,” I choke out. “All of it...all of it, and he’s gonna rip me away. And I...I can’t lose her. I can’t loseher.”
Micah holds me tighter. His tears drip onto my hair, his quiet sobs shaking the both of us.
“I’d rather die than live without her,” I whisper, broken.
“You won’t,” he whispers back. “You hear me? Youwon’t. We’ll fight him. Together. Somehow, we’ll get you out of this. But we need to work together and not just give in. You hear me?”
I shake my head again. I love him for what he’s offering. A lifeline in the middle of a wild, endless ocean, a chance to stay afloat when I have no clear way to survive. But even now, I’m swallowing water, drowning anyway.
Chapter thirty-five
EMMA EASTON
Heather shows up at my studio with two smoothies and an expression that tightens something in my chest immediately.
Dammit. Of all mornings.
I’m running on fumes after Jude’s...whatever that was last night. I didn’t fall asleep until sometime after four. Even then, it was more like lying in the dark, replaying every second on a loop. Three cups of coffee later, the fog behind my eyes hasn’t faded.
We settle on the velvet couch by my coffee table, sunlight pouring through the tall studio windows. My brushes sit in their jars. My easel still holds yesterday’s half-finished canvas. It had brighter colors than how I feel today, that’s for sure.
And the anxiety starts gnawing before Heather even speaks.
I’ve been drowning in work lately, showing up for everyone else’s trauma, stacking misery on misery, and meanwhile, the man I love is imploding. I want so badly for my personal life to be theoneplace that feels steady and joyful. It used to be. My best friend helped with that. But ever since being pulled into Jude’s orbit…
I can’t even form the thought fully. Still, a question whispers in the back of my mind, soft but annoyingly persistent:
Is it good for me to love him this much?
I want him to get better, of course I do. I want to support him. But what if trying to save him drags me under, too? My job is brutal. Heather’s is worse—she’s a trauma nurse; she sees horrors I can’t even conceptualize. We cope in our own ways, but loving two men who areactivelyunraveling?
How much can we hold before we break?
And then a darker thought slips in, one I wish I could shove away, but it squeezes my throat.
