Page 148 of Jude

Either way, this was the only way I knew in this moment to reach her.

I tapped the screen and sent the files.

SOFIA

The springs of the rusty iron cot groaned beneath me as I shifted, trying to find a comfortable position on the thin plastic mattress.

I pulled Jude’s hoodie, which I now slept in all the time, over my head, trying to shut out the light.

The fluorescent light bulb in the hallway flickered through the transom window, keeping me awake.

A sudden chime from my phone shattered the silence of my tiny cubicle.

I picked up the device, my thumb sliding across the glass to reveal a notification with a link to a private video message from Jude.

My heart raced as I tapped the screen.

The video initialized, revealing the interior of his home studio with a chair in front of the camera.

Jude appeared onscreen, and my heart jolted.

His black vest hugged his chest and shoulders, his black jeans hugging his thick thighs.

He was barefoot, but when my gaze fell on his face, I caught the bags under his eyes and the sorrow in his green depths.

Guilt hit hard, but I took an inhale and tamped it down.

I had to remain strong.

Still, intrigued by what he had to share, I kept watching.

He sat down and reached for his Martin.

He strummed a few notes, gazing down at the strings before gazing straight into the camera.

‘This is the only way I can share how shattered I am, babe, for what I did to you. This track’s called ‘A Velvet Kind of Violence.’

The first track was a melancholic arrangement, featuring the stark resonance of his acoustic guitar strings.

Its somber, raw, and intricate fretwork captured a sense of desolation so beautiful and heartbreaking I teared up.

What really caught my attention was how typical the composition was of Jude’s genuine lyrical genius.

His talent showed in the complex chord structure and the words.

‘‘My hands were built for heavy chords and dirty fights, never meant for something as soft as you. I’m sorry for letting you go, but now I’m here for you. So hide your face in my chest, sweetheart, while I show this city a velvet kind of violence.’

He sang with remorse and the deep sorrow woven into every single vocal vibration, his voice cracking on the final cadence.

After a long moment staring down at his guitar, he glanced up into the camera.

‘Next one’s titled ‘Infinity Belongs to Us.’

His rough, gravelly voice rasped out the gritty reality of holding on when everything else turned to ash.

He sang about the sleepless nights without me, and the absolute refusal to let go of the bond we’d forged.

He held the final chord, letting the wood of the guitar body reverberate as the last harmonic faded into the air, his intense eyes locked onto the lens, onto me.