“Your hour’s not up yet,” I say finally, voice steady.
He hesitates, staring at the floor, at the paint-stained tiles like he’s fighting with himself. Then, slowly, he follows. He sits beside Micah, shoulders tense, hands still shaking faintly.
“Iknowit’s been years,” I say quietly. “But I still feel like Iknow you better than most people. And when I heard you weregoing to be here, I knew I wanted to see you. You don’t have to talk aboutus, okay?”
He looks up, and for a heartbeat, his eyes flicker—like a spark fighting to ignite again.
I swallow. “I assume Micah knows about us?”
Micah answers swiftly, lips curving. “Oh yes. I know all about Jude’s first and only love.”
My heart squeezes.
Jude sighs heavily, leaning back into a slouch, dragging a hand through his messy black hair. “You just don’t know what my life has looked like since you,” he mutters.
“I don’t,” I admit softly. “But I want to. If you’ll allow it.”
Heather stands from her spot beside me, brushing her hands on her scrubs. “Healing looks likethis,” she says, nodding to the charcoal-covered canvases. “It’s messy and chaotic, but it speaks for the darker parts of you. That’s why I love what she does for people. Itreallyworks, guys.”
Micah smiles at her, a quiet, crooked grin. “You sound like you’ve worked with plenty of troubled people.”
Heather laughs under her breath. “I’m not really used to rockstars, I admit.” Their warm moment lingers before Jude’s low voice cuts through it.
His jaw flexes. “Paint and nostalgia isn’t going to save me. Do you think it could? Really?”
“No,” I say, combating the victim mentality he’s formed over the years. Oftentimes, when someone falls and struggles to get back up, they’ll start believing they don’t deserve to. “I think maybe you’ll save yourself if someone reminds you that youcan.”
He stills, and I know the words land. Micah looks at him, quiet now, studying him like he’s trying to gauge how far gone Jude really is. Heather’s arms cross, her expression softening.
Then Jude exhales a shaky breath and drops his gaze. “I’m owned, Emma. And you have no idea what that’s like.”
“You’re right,” I say honestly, the reality of that stabbing mein my gut.Owned?“But Idoknow what it’s like to want to doanythingto save someone. I feel it every single day in this job. And I feel it right now.”
The silence stretches. Micah shifts forward, elbows on his knees, voice low. “She’s not wrong, man. Maybe this won’t fix shit, but...it’s better than pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. You and I both have wanted to fucking die for years.”
Jude’s eyes flick to his. They exchange a long, loaded look—years of friendship, shared damage, unspoken truths.
Heather breaks the tension with a small smile. “See? That’s progress.”
Micah grins at her, and she grins back.
But when I glance back at Jude, he’s watching me. Not angry now. Just...lost. “I’m going to be very fucking honest here,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you anywherenearthis. Those people…” He shakes his head. “They’re dangerous. I left you years ago. And it was for a goddamn reason.” The last word was a vicious hiss.
I meet his eyes. “I don’t care. You’re worth it. Both of you.”
Just then, Micah exhales and stands, brushing his palms against his jeans. “That’s an hour. If we were going by that.”
Heather smiles softly at him. “Thank you for coming. It was nice meeting you, Micah.”
Micah gives her a boyish smirk. “You, too,Heather Hardin.” He pats Jude on the shoulder before heading toward the door. He glances back once, his eyes flicking between Jude and me. Sympathy, maybe, or warning. I honestly can’t tell. Then he disappears through the door.
Jude stays. He doesn’t move for several beats. Just stands there. He looks down at me, his dead hazel eyes soften. “Youshouldn’t be doing this, Em.” His voice cracks halfway through my name. “When I got here, I specifically hoped toavoidyou. I don’t want you caught up in this shit.”
I shake my head. “Too late.”
His mouth twitches, something between a frown and asmile. “Still stubborn as hell, I see.”
“You always liked that about me.”
