“Do you talk to them often?”
“Used to.” He swallowed. “Before we came out here.”
“They don’t know you’re on the run?”
“It’s safer to keep them out of it,” he said, keeping his words quiet. “But I miss them.”
Memories of my parents danced through my mind. It didn’t hurt to talk about them quite as badly as it used to, but every once in a while, the grief caught up with me.
“It feels weird that you know everything about me. There’s nothing I can add to even the playing field . . .”
“You can still tell me,” Jude said. “You know—if you wanted to. I’d like to hear it from you.”
Jude took a slight left at a fallen tree. How he knew where to turn when there were no discernible walking trails was beyond me. The forest parted, opening up to the edge of the mountain.
“Watch your step,” he said as he offered his hand.
I took it, holding on for dear life as we slowly eased down a steep slope to a rock face that hung off the edge of the mountain. Jude switched hands, holding my left hand in his left hand and bracing my other arm in his hand as I took baby steps down toward the edge.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Careful, though.”
Finally, I made it down to the rock and immediately plopped down. I hadn’t made it this far just to fall to my death in a freak accident.
Rather than sitting beside me, Jude took the spot behind me. But he never let go of my hand. His bent knees bracketed my hips, and the heat radiating from his chest warmed my back.
It was. . . comforting.
The limbo of trying to decide what side of the spectrum of good and bad Jude fell on was exhausting.
Rather than fretting about it, we sat in silence and simply looked out at the view.
“My parents died in a helicopter crash right before I finished my undergrad,” I said. “Freak accident. They took an anniversary trip and were doing a sightseeing tour. There was some . . . mechanical failure. And they were gone. Just like that.”
His thumb smoothed over the back of my hand. “That’s shitty.”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “It is.”
For some reason, his simple acknowledgment eased the grief. He didn’t try to explain it away. He didn’t give me well-meaning platitudes like “they’re in a better place” or “at least it wasn’t something slow like a terminal illness.”
“I have so many good memories of them. Our family was really tight-knit.”
“Having a photographic memory probably helps. You can hold on to the good times.”
“I have an eidetic memory. Not a photographic memory.” I picked up a pebble with my free hand and rolled it between my fingers. “I have short-term recall.”
Jude leaned forward, his lips brushing my ear. “Like when you’re counting cards?”
A slow smile crept up my lips. “Using your brain isn’t a crime.”
His chest rumbled against my back as he laughed. “And yet we’re on the run.”
I leaned back and reclined against his chest. Frankly, I thought he’d bolt. Jude had been skittish since our kiss.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around me and held me.
“I’ve never been on the run before,” I said as I tipped my head back onto his shoulder. “I feel like I should be scared of thesituation. Scared of you.” I closed my eyes as the sun crept out from behind a cloud, warming my face. “But I’m not.”
Jude pressed a kiss to the back of my head. “You’re not?”
