“Because it will feel that way,” he answered, brushing my hair over my shoulder.
I groaned louder. Holly had made it off on time and, while I’d willed the drive from the airport to Juilliard to go slowly, it of course hadn’t. The goodbyes Jude and I were forced to make every Sunday never got easier. We went to schools nearly five hours apart, so the possibility of sneaking in an afternoon weekday visit was out of the question. When we said goodbye, it was goodbye for an eternal five days.
Except for this week. It would only be for three days due to Thanksgiving break. It was truly a time to be grateful.
“So you’re okay with celebrating with my dad and mom on Thursday?” I asked again, just to make sure. Jude had been civil, as had they, but there was a strain between the two families that I doubted would even slacken with time. Jude’s father murdering my brother because my father had fired him was the kind of drama day time television creators couldn’t even conceive of. It was the kind of thing people didn’t “get over” after a few family dinners.
“Luce,” he said, stroking my face, “you’re my family. Where you go, I go.” He blinked, looking through the windshield. “There’s no one else but you.”
I didn’t like to dwell on Jude’s lack of family because it made my heart hurt like it was now. Jude truly had no family. No parents, no siblings, no grandparents, aunts or uncles. And not due to choice. Jude’s family had all, one by one, abandoned him.
I knew, at the core of his anger and possessiveness of me, this was what he feared most from me: one day turning my back on him and walking as far away as I could get.
The ache in my heart deepened.
“Good,” I said, trying to play it off like I wasn’t hurting, “because we’re a team and teams don’t let their members go to family holidays alone.”
“Okay, team,” he said, turning in his seat, stalling just as much as I was. Taking a glance at my dorm looming in front of us, he sighed. “’Til Thursday?”
I picked up where his sigh let off. “’Til Thursday.”
Leaning in, his eyes drifted down to my mouth. “Better make it a good one then.”
I couldn’t help but smile, despite feeling like shit. Wetting my lips, I leaned closer, making it a good one.
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.