His hair’s unwashed, pushed back like he’s run his hands through it too many times. His eyes are rimmed red, dark crescents carved beneath them. His cheekbones look sharper than they used to, like he hasn’t eaten a real meal in days. There’s a faint tremor in his fingers as he drags a hand across his mouth. But the worst part is that I still know him, even like this.
His eyes land on me, and his entire body goes still. “Emma?” he mutters, almost as if he genuinely thinks I’m an illusion his brain conjured.
I force a breath in. “Hey, Jude.”
His friend steps aside immediately, and murmurs, “I’ll, uh...give you guys a minute,” before wandering toward the living room with the subtlety of a golden retriever spying on a squirrel. He’s absolutely still watching. Just pretending not to.
Jude leans a shoulder against the doorway, crossing his arms like he’s bracing himself. Or blocking himself. Or both. “What are you doing here?” His voice is rough, but underneath it, there’s curiosity and confusion.
“I talked to your parents today,” I say gently.
His jaw flexes instantly. He looks away, cursing under his breath. “Of course you did.”
“They’re worried about you,” I say, and he exhales sharply through his nose, tension coiling through him.
“Yeah, well. They always are,” he mutters. He looks past me like he’s trying to end the conversation without actually ending it.
I ignore the silent dismissal and keep going. “Come to my studio tomorrow night.”
His gaze snaps back to mine. “Why?”
I shrug lightly, even though my heart’s racing hard enough to bruise my ribs. “Might be good for you. Painting. You used to love doing that when you needed to think.”
“I don’t know.”
“I saw the headlines, and I know you’re only here to get better. Or something,” I cross my arms across my chest.
He just stares at me, quiet.
I bite my lip, and the words leave my mouth before I can hold them back. “If you die, I’ll never forgive myself for not forcing you. So it would be great if you just came.”
Something flickers across his expression. Longing or fear...I don’t know. It’s fast, but I catch it. He swallows, looking down at the floor. “I…” He hesitates.
“We’ll come,” his friend calls from inside.
He sighs, glancing back into the house. “Yeah. Okay.”
A breath shudders out of me. I nod and take a small step back. “Good. Seven?”
“Yeah.” His voice is quiet now, almost soft.
I’m about to say goodbye when he lifts his head again, eyes narrowing like he’s working something out.
“Is your number still the same?” he asks.
My chest squeezes. “Yes.”
Jude nods once, slowly. Then, he glances over his shoulder. “Micah, quit staring.”
His friend, Micah, doesn’t even pretend innocence. “Bro, I’m not staring. I’m supervising.”
Jude groans, scrubs a hand over his face, then looks back at me. “Alright,” he says quietly. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I whisper back, and force myself to turn away before I can change my mind or fucking fall apart.
Chapter thirteen
EMMA EASTON
