Текст книги "Clash"

Автор книги: Nicole Williams

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

CHAPTER NINE

The scent of patchouli and the beat of reggae swept through the hallway, alerting me that my roommate and friend, India, had, was currently, or was about to get her freak on in our dorm room. It was an every other day occurrence in my life.

If I was lucky, I could dodge in and dodge out with my books so I could study down in the commons area. If I wasn’t, and the room starting erupting with screams and grunts and snarls, I’d just have to wait it out. The last time I’d walked in on India with her man of the day, I’d seen things no god-fearing person should have to.

Stopping outside the door, I listened. Nothing but Bob Marley getting his grove on. “Indie?” I said, tapping on the door. “Is it safe to come in there?”

“Safe, little miss pure and prude,” India shouted back at me through the door.

Opening the door, the muskiness of patchouli almost floored me. India was draped over the chair we had stuffed in the corner wearing her red silk kimono bathrobe, smoking something that probably wouldn’t be kosher with the resident advisor.

“Have a nice time?”

“Eh-huh,” she breathed, giving me a stupid little grin. “If you were five minutes earlier, we could have made this a three way.”

Throwing my bag down on my bed, I plopped into our rolling chair. “Sucks to be me.”

India leaned forward in her chair, her dark skin still dotted with sweat. “Speaking of sucking,” she began, pursing her lips together, “did you guys…?” She made a few circles with her index finger.

“None of your business,” I said, spinning a revolution in the chair.

“So you didn’t,” she said, leaning back into the chair.

“Nope,” I said, clucking my tongue, “we didn’t.”

“It does suck to be you,” she said, chuckling.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, grabbing our stuffed aardvark we kept propped on our computer desk and tossing it at her. “You’re getting enough for all of us.”

“Yes,” she said, taking another pull of her smoke, “yes, I am.”

Giving the chair another spin, I stared up at the ceiling, stalling on the whole studying endeavor because, while India was the female equivalent of a manwhore, there was no else who could listen or offer better advice when it came to the complicated world of men than my roommate. Save for Holly, but she was stuck on a flight for the next couple of hours and I needed advice STAT.

“How was Jude?” she asked, picking up on my stalling tactics.

“He was…” I sighed, replaying the weekend. A lot of highs and lows. “He was Jude,” I settled on.

“Roller coaster Jude,” Indie said, making a mm-mm-mmm sound with her mouth. “Now, honey, that’s one ride I’d never want to get off.”

“I know,” I said, starting to feel dizzy from the spinning. “I don’t want to either.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is the roller coaster,” I said. “We’re either on top of the world or knocking on hell’s door. There’s no in between. No breathing room. Just constant up and down at one hundred miles per hour.”

It always felt good talking with India about my concerns with Jude’s and my relationship. She never judged, just gave solid advice.

“I know, Lucy,” she said, shifting in her seat, “but your man’s a passionate person. Just like you are. If the two of you are together, you’ve got to accept the roller coaster as a way of life. You wouldn’t want him to change who he is any more than he’d want you to change. The drastic ups and downs will be what spending your life with Jude will be like. That’s a fact. You just have to ask yourself if it’s worth it. Is what the two of you have together worth the sacrifice?” Her eyes narrowed on me, driving the message home.

I knew she was right, and I knew it was worth it, but I was human and couldn’t help but want the unattainable. “I just wish I could trade in the roller coaster for a carousel. Able to anticipate what was around every corner, making the journey with less dramatic ups and downs.”

“I get that,” India said, nodding her head, “but that’s not the hand you were dealt, baby. Jude was the hand you were dealt, and that man is no carousel, Lucy. That man is the super-duper-looper, Six Flags, knee-trembling roller coaster extraordinaire.” She sucked in a breath, out of it after that deposition.

“I know,” I admitted, already feeling better.

Jude was a roller coaster‌—‌I was a roller coaster. Together we created that super-duper-looper thing. It was scary, standing on the ground and looking up at it, but if that’s the ride I had to take to be with Jude, I’d be first in line.

“Hey, thank your stars your man ain’t no kiddie bumper cars,” India added, taking another puff before blowing out a smoke ring. “I dated a man once who was like that. The man who is solely responsible for why I don’t date any more. He even made love like the damn kiddie cars. Bump. Sputter, sputter,” India sat up, jolting back and forth. “Bump. Sputter, sputter.” I started laughing, watching her acting out the scene. “Bump. Sputter, sputter. Bump. Fizzle.” Curling her nose, she groaned, collapsing back into the chair.

Our laughter blended down the hall with Mr. Marley.

“Great practice today Lucy,” Thomas said, coming up behind me as I walked out of the auditorium doors.

“Well, it helps my partner is one hell of a dancer,” I said, nudging him as I wrapped my scarf around my neck.

It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and the New York weather was already bringing it on. What had possessed a girl who believed sun was essential to life to go to school in a place where the winters ran frigid and long?

My pointes bounced against my body as I walked, reminding me why.

“Yeah, so, your boyfriend,” Thomas started, looking uneasy just speaking about Jude, “does he know we’re partners for the winter recital?”

Poor Thomas. He was a dancer, not a fighter. I would be scared out of my tights too if I was supposed to be lifting by the crotch the girlfriend of a boy who packed a mean punch.

“Not yet,” I said, throwing my cap on too. I would be living in a state of hat hair from now until May.

Thomas cleared his throat, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. “Are you planning on telling him?”

“Of course,” I said, turning towards my dorm. I still had to finish one more assignment before the end of the day and the sooner I tucked myself into bed, the sooner Jude would be here in the morning to spend four whole days together. India was flying back home to her parents’ place outside of Miami, so we’d have the whole room to ourselves.

I wasn’t planning on leaving it once. That’s what delivery was for.

“When?”

I shrugged. I hadn’t really given it much thought. “This weekend, I guess.”

“Okay,” Thomas said. “I just want to be prepared. It’s probably for the best he knows sooner rather than later. Will make the shock a little less… extreme.”

“You’ve thought this out,” I said, trying not to smile to give away my amusement. “Good for you.”

“Yeah,” Thomas said, “if the dude almost beat my ass for helping you out of a corset, he will murder me on the spot when he sees our modern interpretation of the ‘Rape of Persephone’.”

Thomas spelling it out for me moved telling Jude about our performance and the “encounters” Thomas and I would share on stage up to number one on the list. The more notice Jude had about it, the more time he could get used to the idea so he, as Thomas had put it, wouldn’t murder him on the spot.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be all right,” I said, stopping outside of the dorm hall.

“I’d say I’ll be anything but ‘all right’ after your boyfriend is done with me, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” Heading down the sidewalk, Thomas waved. “Have a nice break, Lucy.”

I would.

“You too,” I called after him, rushing into the building because I was twenty seconds away from breaking into a chatter fest.

India was already gone by the time I made it back, but she’d left a gift behind. Lying on my bed was a black shopping bag, cascading with red and pink tissue paper. Not the first colors one thought of when they celebrated Thanksgiving.

Tearing into the bag, I tossed the tissue paper behind me, peering inside. My mouth dropped as I pulled out the item on top. It was black, lacy, and had holes in places that were normally covered.

“India,” I muttered, shaking my head. Tossing the lingerie off to the side, I grabbed the first thing in the bag my fingers fell on. Something cold and hard. I pulled out a pair of hardcore handcuffs, complete with key, dangling from my finger. Throwing them back in the bag like they’d stung me, I rolled the top of the bag over and stuffed it into the depths of our closet.

I might be ready to take the next step with Jude, but I wasn’t ready to go from A to Z in the same night. I’d be regifting these gems at Christmas to the girl who’d so carefully selected them for her resident prude.

I hurried through my last assignment and emailed it off to the professor by eight that night. Having a cup of hot tea and a microwave vegetarian burger for dinner, I turned off the lights and crawled into bed, hoping I’d fall into a deep sleep.

After tossing and turning my sheets into a tornado three hours later, I realized sleep and I weren’t making things easy for one another. Giving up some time after midnight, I threw an old DVD into the player and watched two movies all the way through before I managed to nod off. My alarm was blaring less than two hours later.

So much for the recuperative qualities of sleep.

CHAPTER TEN

I was on my third cup of coffee, and somewhere in between my second and third, I’d crossed the line from alert to jumpy. Oh well, edgy was better than comatose.

The knowledge Jude would be arriving any time helped my outlook significantly. My parents had made reservations at some fancy place downtown, wanting to treat us to a nice meal for Thanksgiving. I’d insisted that we didn’t need anything fancy, but Mom said she’d just landed a big new account and things were looking up. No matter what I said, she hadn’t relented, so the four of us were eating at some swanky place in SoHo.

Jude had already texted me asking what I was wearing and wondering if this was a tie required kind of joint. I’d replied telling him it was a whatever-he-showed-up-in kind of a joint because Jude always looked amazing. Tie or no tie.

I’d selected something fancier, a cranberry colored vintage style dress, because I’d been living in jeans and sweaters and it felt good to dress up every now and then. Sliding into my Mary Jane’s, a knock sounded at the door.

I practically danced across the room. Throwing the door open, I found Jude standing there, looking a bit uncomfortable in his tie and dress shirt, holding his hands behind his back. His discomfort melted when he took a good look at me.

“You get more beautiful every time I see you,” he said, taking me in like he was trying to cement this moment in his memory.

“Thank you,” I replied, taking a curtsy. “And you clean up rather nicely yourself.” I ran my fingers down his tie.

“It’s Tony’s,” he said, guessing my thoughts.

“Tony has ties?” It didn’t fit my picture of the charmer I knew.

“He’s Catholic,” Jude said, watching my fingers slide down the tie. “And his mom calls him every Sunday to make sure he went to mass. So yeah, Tony’s got a shitload of ties.”

“It looks nice on you,” I said, letting the charcoal tie fall back into place.

“Tony had to help me tie it because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing,” he said, popping his neck from side to side like the thing was strangling him.

“Do you have your bag?” I asked, not seeing one in view.

Jude’s face fell. “What bag?”

My face fell right along with his. “The bag you were supposed to pack to spend four whole days with me,” I said, wanting to pout. “That bag.”

“Oh,” Jude said, his arm reaching for something, “you mean this bag?”

Snatching it out of his hands, I tossed it onto the bed. There. Now we were set for the weekend.

“And this is also for you,” he said, removing his other hand from his back. Another rose. A pink one this time. We were making progress; it still wasn’t the red rose of love, passion, and in my book, sex, but it was a step in the right direction from the white rose of purity he’d given to me last.

He chuckled as I continued to study the rose. “It’s just a flower, Luce. Not the answer to all of life’s questions.”

Taking it from him, I rested it on my pillow. “Everything means something. Whether we want to admit it to ourselves or not.”

Walking into my room, he stared at my bed before looking back up at me. He gave me a stupid little smile as he grabbed my coat hanging over the swivel chair.

“I suppose that’s true,” Jude admitted, holding my coat open for me, “if you’re a woman. But for us men, a rose is a rose. And unless we’re in love with a girl or hoping to get our brains screwed out of our ears, we don’t go out of our way to get them.”

Stuffing my arms into my knee length wool coat, Jude slid my hair out from beneath the collar. His fingers just barely grazed my neck and it shot like a bolt through my body. Anticipation made his touch even more flammable.

“So which of those man reasons reduced you to buying a rose for a girl?” Cinching the coat’s belt, I turned to face him.

He had that same smile on his face. He lifted his brows. “Both.”

My stomach flopped and dropped.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the room. “We’ve got all weekend. Let’s make it to Thanksgiving lunch, brunch, whatever it is, before the clothes start flying.”

Closing the door behind us, I blew out a breath. “If we have to.”

Jude chuckled as we made our way down the hall. “Since your parents kind of flew across the country so they could have dinner with their precious daughter and her son of a bitch boyfriend at some yuppie restaurant, yeah, I’d say we have to.”

“You make a lot of sense for a member of the male species,” I said as we made our way down the stairwell.

Jude gave me a look that said obviously.

My heels clanged down the stairwell, filling the space with the echo.

“How in the hell do you girls walk in those things?” Jude said, studying the shoes with a wince.

“We have special powers that enable us to do so.”

Jude stopped on the stair below me. “Yeah, well, special powers or not”‌—‌scooping me into his arms, he heaved me against his chest‌—‌”I don’t want you breaking your neck on the stairs.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck. “You’re going to carry me down four more sets of stairs?”

“No,” he replied, his eyes flashing down at me. “I’m going to kiss you down four more sets of stairs.” Lowering his neck, I lifted mine, and when our mouths connected, I wasn’t sure how he was able to keep bouncing down the stairwell without collapsing, but I wouldn’t have been able to. Maybe that’s the real reason he’d decided to carry me.

Stiff arming the exit door open, a New York surprise was waiting for us. Airy flakes of snow swirled from the sky, landing on our faces. Jude looked up, taking his lips with him. The sky was clouded, a grayish blue hue tinting them.

“Looks like a storm’s heading our way,” he said, carrying me the rest of the way to his truck. “Good thing I’m prepared.” Kicking his new snow tires, he opened the door and dropped me inside.

I glanced over at my Mazda, parked in its spot, its windows already covered by a thin layer of snow. Snow tires were a foreign concept to me, and I was unequipped for the winter that was already here, it appeared.

“Don’t worry, Luce,” Jude said, hopping in next to me. “I’ll get you taken care of. I’ll drive your car up to the shop sometime this weekend and get a pair of snow tires put on.”

I didn’t like that solution for a couple of reasons. “You’re not going anywhere this weekend unless you count moving from the head of my bed to the foot of it,” I began, peering over at him as he pulled out of the parking lot. He was smiling. “And I’m more than capable of taking care of my own snow tires. I don’t need you to do everything for me.”

His face twisted. “Why not?”

“Because,” I answered.

“Because why?”

Because for a bunch of reasons, but I didn’t feel like listing them off the entire drive. So instead I scooted next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. “Just because.”

The drive to SoHo lasted all of twenty minutes, but my head tucked into Jude’s neck with his arm hanging over me made the drive go by even faster.

“This the place?” Jude asked, inspecting the restaurant that seemed to be built with windows as we rolled by.

“This is it,” I answered, looking for my parents. They’d flown in earlier this morning and said they’d be getting situated into their hotel before meeting us for lunch. Jude was visibly uncomfortable, continuing to stare at the place like he didn’t belong.

“Hey,” I said, resting my hand on his leg, “you all right with this?”

Of course I wanted him to share Thanksgiving with my family, but not if it meant he was uncomfortable the whole time.

Maneuvering his truck into a tight spot on the street, he glanced over at me. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He grabbed my hand and kissed it before turning off the car. “You’re my family. I go where you go, Luce.”

That warm feeling that seemed ever present when Jude was around melted through me. His words were as skilled as his hands. I knew then the plight of riding the roller coaster was worth being able to call the man beside me mine.

Coming around my side, Jude swung the door open for me and, instead of lending me a hand, he scooped me back up into his arms. Pressing a warm kiss into my forehead, he carried me across the snow white street and didn’t set me down until we were standing in the foyer of the restaurant.

We were both laughing, consumed by each other, so the patrons and restaurant staff staring at us like the circus had just come to town didn’t register with either of us right away. A line of guests waiting for their tables were appraising us with sour faces, and the hostesses standing behind their podium were bouncing from Jude with wide eyes to me with narrowed.

“Sorry,” I said, clearing my throat.

Jude’s hand weaved between my arm, gripping into my waist‌—‌his other one repeated on the other side.

“I’m not,” he said loudly, the words echoing through the high ceilinged foyer.

And then he was dipping me low to the ground, his eyes smiling down on me before his lips made slow work of unfreezing mine. As soon as they melted into submission, he leaned back. Smiling down on me, he whispered, “I’m not,” before lifting me back into a vertical alignment.

The room was spinning and now onlookers’ narrowed eyes had been exchanged for small smiles. A few of the men even tipped their martini glasses at the two of us.

“Name under your reservation,” the petite, red-haired hostess said, still looking at me with narrowed eyes. That was fine. I’d be giving her the stink eye if a man like Jude had just dipped her to the floor, not giving a care if the whole world saw how crazy he was for her. Being Jude’s girlfriend was worthy of stink eyes near and far.

“Larson,” I answered, giving her a sweet smile while I wrapped both hands around Jude’s arm.

Checking her book, her eyes darted back to where my hands were affixed to Jude. “Table twenty-two,” she barked to the hostess beside her.

“Right this way,” the other one said, leading us into the dining room.

“Thank you,” I said with another smile as we walked past the red head whose eyes I could feel watching every rolling step Jude’s ass made. Stare all you want, honey, because the man is mine.

My parents stood up from the table as soon as they saw us crossing the expansive dining room. They were both smiling, both getting closer to resembling the parents of my youth. The parents they’d been before tragedy had changed us all into people we didn’t recognize.

Jude held my hand tight in his, kneading it like it was a worry rock. I understood why. Even for me, pre financial family crisis, this place would have been a bit out of the Larson family league, reserved for once a year special dinners maybe. But for Jude, someone who’d come from not exactly a destitute family, but a poor one, before spending five of his teen years in a boys’ home where hot dogs and canned vegetables were an every night occurrence, this place probably seemed like a foreign land.

A foreign land where the citizens were staring at him, his one size too small dress shirt stuffed inside a dark pair of jeans with cuffs fraying over old Converse, like he was an unwelcome tourist.

I stiffened, gripping his hand tighter and glaring at a few of the worst offenders as we passed.

“My Lucy in the sky,” Dad said, opening his arms as we approached.

“Hey, Dad,” I replied, letting go of Jude’s hand to give him a hug.

“Happy turkey day,” he said, squeezing me tight.

“Gobble, gobble,” I said, smiling over at Mom.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, her face looking younger than the last time I’d seen her. Some of the deep wrinkles had ironed out, and instead of looking perpetually pissed off, she tended more towards the peaceful side of facial expressions.

Moving from dad to mom, I gave her a hug.

“Hey, Jude,” I heard dad say, the smile of pure enjoyment in his face. “Sorry, that just never gets old.”

“Hi, Mr. Larson,” Jude said formally, shaking hands with him. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Looking over at my mom, Jude cleared his throat. “Thank you for inviting me,” he said, shifting his weight, his face looking uneasy. Coming around the table to him, I grabbed his hand up again and he visibly relaxed. This was going to be harder for Jude to get through than I’d anticipated. I’d hold his hand all afternoon if that’s what he needed.

My mom came around the table and, stopping in front of Jude, she rested her hands on his shoulders. “We were glad you could make it,” she said, her voice soft and her smile just sad enough to guess at what was going through her mind. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled Jude into a hug. He looked as awkward as she did.

Greetings out of the way, we took our seats. I scooted my chair closer to Jude’s and found his hand under the table cloth.

“This is a fancy place,” Jude said, gazing up at the painted ceilings and chandeliers hanging above us.

Dad’s gaze followed Jude’s and, even though it was only a little after noon and he was sitting in a high backed chair that wasn’t anything like his old recliner, Dad seemed alert‌—‌present in the moment. It was a nice change. “It’s a little over the top, but the food’s supposed to be amazing,” Dad responded.

Jude nodded, glancing down at the restaurant’s Thanksgiving day menu. “Really fancy,” he added, his eyes widening as he checked out the prices. “You’ll have to let me pay for Luce and myself, Mr. Larson.”

Both of my parents’ faces looked offended.

Jude somehow managed to work part time at a garage close to the campus to bring in a little extra cash. I didn’t know how he managed to work twenty hours a week on top of his classes and football schedule and still make time for us, but he did it. He said he was only able to do it because he didn’t sleep. I didn’t think that was much of an exaggeration.

“We couldn’t let you do that,” my mom said. “We invited you two here and we insist.”

Jude opened his mouth, which was as good as a wasted effort when it came to arguing with my mom, when dad waved his hand.

“We’ve got it, Jude,” he said. “It’s the least we could do.”

Jude’s face went flat‌—‌a little color even drained from it‌—‌before his hand clenched around mine. “The least you could do because you ruined my family?”

My head whipped to the side, my mouth opening. I’d known Jude was uneasy, but I never would have guessed he was this upset. I was wrong. I’d pushed this on him. Too much, too fast.

My dad’s shoulders sagged as he leaned back into his chair. “I meant the least we could do since you’ve taken such good care of our daughter.”

Neither Jude nor anyone else had a chance to reply because our waitress arrived, her eyes automatically targeting on Jude. “What can I get you all to drink this afternoon?” she asked. Well, she asked Jude.

No one replied; we were all still in a shocked silence from Jude’s mini explosion. So I broke the ice. “I’ll have a pomegranate tea.” I suppose I could have tacked on “please” for good measure, but the broad wouldn’t take her moon eyes off of Jude.

“I’ll have a water,” Jude said, staring at his menu.

“Oh, get something fun,” Mom said, trying to lighten the mood. “They’ve got a special hot cider for today or‌—‌”

Jude glanced up, his eyes landing on Mom. “I’ll have water,” he repeated, his jaw tightening.

Shooting Mom a leave it be look, I glanced back at the waitress. She was still fixated on Jude. “You know what? I’ll have a water too.”

Jude looked over at me, the muscles of his neck straining, and I grinned at him. He looked as distressed and ready to go crazy as a caged gorilla. I never would have guessed one Thanksgiving brunch with my parents would be as potentially dangerous as it was becoming.

I should have known better.

“Make that four waters,” Dad said, dropping his menu.

“Do you all know what you’re going to order?” the waitress asked.

“We’ll have four of the five course Thanksgiving day meals,” dad said, collecting up our menus.

“I’m good,” Jude said, shaking his head. “Thanks, though.”

“Jude,” I started, before he leveled me with a look that cut off my sentence.

“I’m not hungry, Luce,” he said. “I’m good.”

We’d gone from bad to worse in ten seconds. Things were not looking good for the rest of the afternoon if we continued at this rate.

“Son‌—‌” Dad started, nothing but concern in his voice, before Jude’s head whipped around to glare at him.

“I’m not your son,” Jude said, his jaw clenching. “The man whose son I am is in jail for killing your son. So don’t pretend we have some sort of relationship that entitles you to refer to me as ‘son.’” Bursting up in his seat, Jude shoved his chair back and marched away from the table.

Popping up in my seat, I followed after him. Even at a fast walk, he was thundering through the exit before I was out of the dining room. I’m sure people were watching the two of us, but all I paid attention to was the wide back thundering out into the street.

As soon as I shoved through the door, I ran down the steps and into the street. “Jude!” I hollered at him, but he didn’t hear me. He was pacing beside the bed of his truck, his hands on his hips and his eyes somewhere else completely.

Then, clutching his head, he kicked the wheel of his truck before driving his fist into the rusted bed. His other fist followed, until both were moving so fast I couldn’t tell which one was responsible for each metallic note exploding in the air.

“Jude!” I ran across the street towards him, almost slipping on the fresh snow. “Jude, stop!” I said, braking to a stop beside him and grabbing one of his arms. He was so intent upon beating the shit out of his truck I had to wrap both arms around one of his before I got his attention.

“Jude,” I said, taking in a breath, “what are you doing?”

His gaze turned from the dents he’d hammered into his truck to my eyes. They didn’t eclipse from black to light like they normally did when I interrupted one of his bouts of rage, and having him look at me with those dark, tortured eyes made a chill crawl up my spine.

“I need you to leave me alone right now, Luce,” he said, biting around every word.

“Like hell I’m leaving you alone,” I said, not letting go of his arm.

“Damn it, Lucy!” he shouted, driving his other fist into the truck bed. “I’m not safe to be around right now.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” I said.

“I never would intentionally, but I hurt things, Luce. I hurt people,” he said, looking away from me. “I sure as shit don’t mean to, but it’s in the damn DNA. The only way I can protect you from me is if I recognize the times it’s not safe to be around me, tell you, and you actually listen.” His tone had turned from angry to pleading‌—‌almost begging. He was begging me to turn around and leave him alone when these kinds of moments were when we needed each other most.

“I need to sort out my shit right now. I need to do this alone,” he said, fitting his hand over my cheek, but it was careful, like he was afraid the contact might break me. “Tell your parents I’m sorry.”

I lifted my hand and folded it over his on my cheek, trying to press it harder against me. It was met with a warm wetness. Holding my hand out in front of my face, I grabbed his. “You’re bleeding.”

“Barely,” he said, pulling his hand away.

“Barely bleeding is a paper cut,” I said, staring at his other hand also dripping blood. “You’re creating pools of blood in the snow. You need stitches.”

Opening the driver’s side door, I grabbed the keys he left underneath the seat. I didn’t know where the nearest ER was, but we were in New York. One couldn’t be far off. “Get in,” I instructed. “I’m taking you to get those gashes stitched up.”

“No, you’re not,” Jude said, grabbing my waist and hoisting me out of the truck. “You’re going to go back inside and enjoy the day with your parents.”

“You need to get those looked at,” I said, waving my hands at his.

“Leave it alone, Luce,” he warned, letting me go and hopping into his truck.

“Stop acting like an asshole and think!” I said, kicking his door as he closed it.

Rolling down the window, he sighed. He wouldn’t look at me. “I’m working on it,” he said. “Will your parents give you a ride back to your place?”

“If I said no, would you stay?”

He didn’t pause. “No,” he said, starting the truck up. “But I would make sure a cab was here to drive you home safely.”

Infuriating.

“Then yeah, they’ll drive me home.”

“Good,” he said, nodding once. “I’ll call you later. After I get my head back on straight.”

I laughed some of my frustration out. “If I had to wait for you to get your head on straight, I’d be waiting forever.”

His face lined as his eyes closed. “I think I’m starting to see that too, Luce.”

Then, without the shortest look my way, he eased out of the parking space, pausing and waiting for me to move.

Relenting, I took a few steps back.

“Bye,” he whispered, heading down the road, the truck’s wheels drawing lines in the snow. My eyes filled with tears, but I wouldn’t let them fall because letting them fall was like admitting there was something worth crying over. Something worth crying over wasn’t a place I wanted to visit when it came to Jude and me. So I didn’t cry. I forced the tears to disappear. I focused on the blood dotted snow at my feet, shoving away the thoughts that snuck up on me, whispering it was a metaphor for what was to come.