Trust. What I hadn’t given him months ago. What I’d paid for for not giving it to him. What I’d promised him he’d always have.
And this was Jude’s low blow. Asking me to trust him, knowing I couldn’t deny him this when I had before. I knew what I’d seen, so I couldn’t believe him. But I knew him, and because of that—no matter how preposterous this whole denial thing was—I made up my mind to trust him.
“Fine,” I breathed, realizing trust was as painful as love.
The breath he’d been holding fell out of his mouth, the lines ironing from his face. His whole body relaxed. “So we’re good?” he asked so softly it was like he was afraid of the answer. “We’re going to be able to make it past this?”
My hands were shaking because this was it. The end.
“I trust you, Jude,” I began, focusing on my trembling hands because I couldn’t watch his face break again, “but I can’t do this right now. I need a break.”
I had to pause to collect myself before I could go on. “I can’t keep doing this up and down, never knowing what’s going to be around the corner thing. I need some time to get myself right. To figure out what I want and how and if we fit into that picture. I need to focus on school and dance and what I want out of my future. I need… time.”
He’d stayed silent, unmoving, the entire time, letting me get out what I needed to.
“Luce,” he said after a minute of silence, “are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
His voice almost made me break down into sobs again. “Yeah,” I said, turning my hands over. “I think so.”
He sucked in a breath, his head falling back against my mattress.
“I just need some time right now, Jude,” I rushed, wanting to give him a scrap of hope I knew wasn’t there to give. “I need a break from the tornado you and I create everywhere we go.”
“How much time?” His voice was a whisper, his own gaze focused on where my hands shook in my lap.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “A month. Maybe more.”
“A month?” he gasped, punching the floor again.
“I don’t know, Jude. I just don’t damn well know right now,” I said, hanging from the verge of losing it again. “I’m sorry.”
And I was. Despite whatever had or hadn’t happened in Jude’s bedroom Thursday night into Friday morning, I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want to be the one responsible for the pain in his voice or the agony on his face.
He studied me, silently watched me. For what felt like five minutes. His eyes didn’t miss one detail.
Crawling across the floor to me, his hands folded over mine in my lap, where they still shook.
“Okay,” he said, his voice tight. “Take your time. Take as much time as you need.” Sucking in a breath, he let it out slowly. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. No matter how long it takes. I’ll always be here, Luce. I’m yours,” he breathed, squeezing my hands, “forever.”
He stood up, looking down at where I sat, just keeping it together by a thread, and stared at me. Like the idea of turning and walking out that door was crippling. Leaning down, he kissed the top of my head.
“Love ya, Luce,” he said, turning and heading for the door. “And I’m sorry me being in your life has made it so difficult. And I’m sorry I’m a piece of shit trying to feel his way out of being such a piece of shit.” Opening the door, he paused before closing it behind him. “I’d do anything to make you happy.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, my eyes flitted towards it, wishing I could take back everything. But I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep doing this to myself. It wasn’t healthy feeling these kinds of searing emotions on a regular basis.
I sat there in the same position, telling myself I’d made a huge mistake, only to remind myself I’d done the right thing two seconds later. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been playing devil’s advocate with myself when a tapping sounded outside the door.
“Come in.” My throat ached and my voice was hoarse.
India stuck her head in, frowning when she saw me on the floor. “Did that bastard just break your heart?” she asked, stepping inside and kneeling beside me.
I shook my head. “No,” I said, “but I think I might have just broke his.”
“You two,” she said, hanging her head. “When are you going to get your shit together, huh?”
My hands had stopped shaking, but they were numb. Dead.
“Maybe never,” I answered. “Maybe we were never meant to be together in the first place.” Saying those words hurt my throat worse than the sobs had.