NINETEEN
"How long has she been out?" Jude's voice broke through my dreams, but didn't fully free me from them. Dreams that had been more dark than light, more nightmare than dream.
"Since she basically walked through the door," Holly replied, sounding far-off.
"What's going on, Hol?" His fingers started stroking my hair.
"She wouldn't say, but I've got a few ideas."
"What ideas?" His voice was so tight with worry, and something else. Exhaustion, maybe?
"Nope, not my place to say. Lucy can tell you what's going on when she wakes up."
Jude's mouth pressed into my temple and stayed there for a beat, like he was trying to breathe me in. "I was so worried, Hol. So fucking worried."
"It's going to be all right, Jude. Whatever Lucy needed you for, you two will work out."
"Yeah," he said against my skin, "I know."
It might have been his lips, or it might have been his words, but one of the two freed me at last from the curtain of dreamland.
"Luce?" Jude's face was blurry as my eyes adjusted. "Baby? Are you all right?"
"You made it," I said, smiling up at him. I already felt ten times better just having him close.
"I told you I would."
"I know," I said, shifting below him. "What time is it?"
"A little before midnight."
"How did you get here so fast?"
His fingers continued running through my hair, soothing me. "I chartered a plane," he answered. "A fast one."
This time, the price tag didn't bother me. He was here in less than eight hours' time. "Thank you," I said, knowing two words were inadequate, but not being able to offer him anything else right now.
Jude smiled his reply. He was so close I could smell the scent of his favorite soap. Having him here, his presence, his smile, his scent . . . I was home.
"I know I should probably let you wake up and give you a minute, but I'm dying here, Luce. I've been dying since I got your call." His voice got tight again. "What's the matter? What happened?"
For one of the few times in my life, he looked scared. Scared of the questions and scared of the answers.
"First things first." Holly appeared behind Jude holding a cup of orange juice and a handful of crackers. "You haven't eaten anything for hours, Lucy. Eat this. Drink this. Or else." She winked as she waited for me to sit up.
I twisted around so I could face Jude and took the OJ and crackers. "Thanks, Holly." Again, there was so much I owed her for, but two words of gratitude were all I had right now.
Jude waited for me to take a sip and get down half a saltine cracker, but I could tell the waiting game was killing him. How could I break what happened to me this afternoon to him gently? If there was a way to ease the blow that the man Jude had been so certain had a thing for me had just plastered his lips to mine, I wasn't finding one.
Segue . . . ease him into it with a segue.
"Anton kissed me."
Segues, apparently, in my book, sucked.
The worry lines of Jude's face deepened, until each wrinkle was its own canyon. "When?" His voice was so rough it scared me.
"Right before I called you." I took another sip of my juice and waited.
"Where?" His jaw was locked and his shoulders were tensing.
"At the office."
And now the veins in his neck were popping against his skin. We'd hit rage liftoff.
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know," I said. "And I don't care."
"Well, I care, and I'm about to find out." He pulled his phone from his pocket and started searching through his contact list. I knew who he'd call first on this Anton manhunt.
"No," I said, wanting to grab the phone out of his hands and toss it out the window. But then he'd just go find mine. "You're not going to go find him so you can teach him a lesson and kick his ass."
"That's exactly what I'm going to do," he said instantly, stopping when he got to the I's in his phone.
"No, you're not," I said firmly, setting my juice and crackers down. My attention and hands were needed elsewhere. "I don't need you, or anyone else, to prove to some other guy that I belong to you."
"He kissed you, Luce," Jude said, his eyes immediately narrowing. "It appears you do need me to do just that."
I gently traced the scar I'd memorized years ago. "It doesn't matter how many guys want to, try to, or actually succeed before they feel the slap of my hand on their cheek," I said, forcing him to look me in the eyes. "Because the only one of them I want to kiss is you. And that's what matters."