His words stopped me, but it was his voice that broke me. That deep, warm voice a girl could lose herself in had just been drained of all its soul.
“I don’t hate you, Jude,” I said, staring at the door. “I love you. That’s the problem. I love you so damn much it’s unhealthy.” I caught a sob that was about to burst from my chest. “That’s why I needed time and space. That’s why I can’t stay here with you a minute longer.”
“You’ve had time, Luce. I’ve given you your space,” he said, the bed moaning as he stood. “I’ve aged fifty years in three weeks’ time because I did my part and stayed away from you. But now you’re here. And maybe you’re not here because of me, but either way, you couldn’t stay away.”
He paused, and while I didn’t see what was playing out on his face because I couldn’t turn around and face him, I could imagine.
“You need more time? Fine. I can do that. I could do anything for you, Luce. But, please, for god’s sake, just give me some hope.”
A tear skied down my cheek, bleeding into one of my bandages.
“Give me the smallest sliver of hope there’s still going to be a place for you and me on the other side of this.”
I couldn’t lie to him. I couldn’t hurt him. Why these two desires couldn’t fit hand-in-hand was one of the reasons I’d concluded life wasn’t fair.
“I won’t lie to you, Jude,” I whispered, choosing not to lie to him which, by admission, made me hurt him.
Now I really couldn’t stay in this room any longer. Rushing towards the door, my legs feeling like they were going to cave under me with each step, I bit back the tears.
“Don’t go,” he whispered.
His request worked on me like it’d been a demand.
I heard the floor groan as he walked over it, slowly coming up behind me.
“Stay,” he asked, stopping behind me. I could feel the warmth rolling from his chest he was so close.
“I can’t,” I said, focusing on the shiny brass of the doorknob. It was both the gateway to my escape as well the path to my personal hell.
“I know,” he said, the floorboards whining as he took one more step towards me. His chest ran against my back, but he didn’t touch me anywhere else. “Don’t stay because you want to. Stay because I want you to.”
Damn it. My heart couldn’t break one more time before it became impossible to fit back together.
“Come on,” he pleaded, his heart bursting into my back, “think of it as an early Christmas present.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know I’m not entitled to one, but I want one. I need one.” Jude had just enough pride not to beg, but it was the closest I’d heard him to it. “Stay.”
And that was my undoing. The boy who made mothers cross the streets with their children when they saw him walking down the sidewalk; the boy who didn’t have any one else; the boy I loved, begging me as he only knew how to stay with him.
“Okay,” I said, reaching my hand behind for his.
His fingers laced through mine, kneading them like they were capable of giving him strength. Turning me around, he lifted his hand to my face and didn’t do anything but look into my eyes.
Letting out the breath he’d been holding captive, he folded me into his arms and Jude Ryder hugged me. He hugged me like I was everything he wanted and everything he could never have. He hugged me without the expectation of one embrace leading to something else.
It was the most intimate moment we’d shared. Fully clothed, vertically aligned, mouths separated, and I was drowning in intimacy.
As his arms started to unwind from me, I grabbed one of his hands and led him to the bed. Laying down, I patted the space next to me. He crawled into it, the mattress rolling me around as he settled beside me. Winding my arms around him, I tucked my chin over his head, knowing in the morning, I’d have to let him go. But not now. Not tonight.
It made me wish that tomorrow would never come.
“I love you, Luce,” he whispered, sounding like sleep was going to find him in the next breath.
I swallowed, pushing down the pain rising in my throat. “I love you, Jude.”
I hadn’t slept this well in weeks. Three weeks to be exact. Of course I knew what, or who, was responsible for the solid eight hours of sleep. Jude was still asleep in the exact same position as he had fallen asleep in last night, except the lines had smoothed out of his face.
I almost kissed those parted lips before I caught myself.
Sliding my arm from beneath him, I rolled to the side of the bed. My body was stiff, like I needed to lubricate my joints to get them to move properly. Glancing over at Jude to make sure he hadn’t startled awake, I slipped my boots on and stood up.
This feat hurt worse than it had last night, making me hope I still had that trial sized bottle of pain relievers in the glove box. Giving myself to the count of three, I let myself look down at him. This was how I would choose to remember him when my heart ached with every beat after I left him. At peace, content as I slipped out of his life.
Turning away, I moved across the room as quietly as a stiff jointed person could. The door whined open and my adrenaline spiked as I looked back at Jude, sure he’d be bursting awake.
But he was asleep, enjoying a few more minutes or hours of peace before he woke up and found I’d slipped out on him without a goodbye, but maybe that’s what last night had been. A goodbye.
Our goodbye.
Once I was down the hall, the stairs presented a challenge as each one made me feel like the muscles in my legs were going to burst through the skin. A few party stragglers were decorating the couches and carpet, but once I made it past them, I was home free.
The Mazda hadn’t been towed, beyond every miracle of traffic cops everywhere, so sliding inside the driver’s seat, I turned the key over and hit the gas the next instant. Now that I’d succumbed to the inevitable, I couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
It was a couple miles down the road, when I hit the first red stop light, that a folded piece of paper resting on my dash caught my attention. I kept my car clean, almost anally clean, so I knew it couldn’t have been some random outline or class notes. Grabbing it, I unfolded it, immediately recognizing the handwriting.
I just wanted you to know I’d be chasing after you right now, naked if need required it. But because I’m respecting your need for time and space, I’ll force myself to lie here in bed and pretend I’m asleep.
It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need one. Knowing Jude had some time in the night woken up, knowing I’d leave him without a formal goodbye, to scribble down a note and tuck it inside my car, made me curse the day I’d let doubt enter my life. The moment, somewhere along the way, I’d let doubt wedge its way between me and Jude until it had built a wall so high there was no way I could see to scale it.
I clutched the note in my hand the entire drive home.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
School was officially out for winter break. India had left yesterday for a sunny and sandy Christmas in Barbados, along with the rest of the dorm residents, and since my flight wasn’t until Sunday morning, I was going to have a quiet weekend all to myself. The prospect wasn’t appealing on any level of the pleasure scale.
Other than the note, I hadn’t had any contact with Jude since fleeing in my car last Saturday morning. And even though I’d cried in my bed every night since, feeling his phantom arms around me, it had been worth eight hours Saturday night. The pleasure then was worth the pain now.
Sitting in the swivel chair, watching the coffee pot percolate, I knew I couldn’t hang out in this empty room for another twenty-four hours like this. Rushing to my closet before I could change my mind, I slid into a pair of leggings, my boots, and debated what top to wear. The debate was over when my hand clutched the ginormous orange sweatshirt folded on the top shelf. I pulled it on and, after rearranging my hair and dabbing on a few smears of makeup, I was out of the door, my keys and purse in hand.
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br /> I headed north out of the parking lot, checking the fuel indicator to make sure I had a full tank. It was going to be a long drive.
Today was a big playoff game for Syracuse. A day before Christmas Eve game that was expected to be the game of the season. I couldn’t miss it. I’d missed Jude’s last couple home games and I couldn’t miss another.
We might have been taking a break, but I could still fade into the crowd of tens of thousands and enjoy him playing the game that seemed created for him. It was a selfish thing what I was doing, but given I was alone a day before Christmas, selfish seemed more acceptable today.
I passed the drive time listening to a few of my favorite CDs, trying not to think about Jude, failing, and then giving myself an early Christmas present and writing myself a hall pass to think about Jude as much as I wanted to today.
It was less than a half hour to kick off, which meant I had to park a mile away and trek in. I loved a football game—I always had. Even as a toddler plucking grass on the sidelines at John’s games, I’d loved it.
I loved the roar of the fans, I loved the clash of helmet hitting helmet, I loved the energy in the air, I loved the hot dogs. I loved it all.
But most of all, I loved watching Jude play. He played with the heart of a player who truly loved the game. He would have played every day even if it wasn’t in exchange for a college scholarship or, one day soon, in exchange for millions of dollars a year.
Jude played because he loved it.
And I loved watching him play.
Making my way up to the ticket window, I immediately wished I would have picked another.
“If you don’t just get prettier every time I see you, young lady,” the elderly man behind the desk said with a smile. His name was Lou, and he reminded me of my grandpa. “I haven’t seen you the past couple games. Mr. Jude hasn’t been messing things up with you, has he now?”
I smiled back politely. “No, Mr. Jude hasn’t been doing anything to mess things up,” I said, folding my arms over the counter.
“That’s good to hear, Miss Lucy. I wouldn’t want to have teach him a lesson on how a man’s supposed to treat a woman.”
“I don’t think any of us would want that.” I smiled and waited for Lou to wrap it up. The old man loved bantering back and forth with me and I was usually happy to play along, but this time was different. I doubted that if he knew how I’d hurt Jude, he’d be teasing me good-naturedly now.
Skimming through the stack of tickets, he pulled out two. Jude always left one for me and an extra in case I wanted to bring a friend. “I was wondering if these tickets would go unclaimed again today,” he said, sliding them through the window. “If I wasn’t certain Mr. Jude would have marched off the field to physically remove me, I might have slipped into one of these seats.”
“Why don’t you take them today, Lou?” I said, pushing them back towards him. “I just want a general admission ticket today.”
“Why would you want a general admission when you’ve got front row seats on the fifty, honey?” The frown lines deepened on his face.
“Please, Lou?” I asked, biting my lip. I didn’t want to explain to him what I couldn’t quite explain to myself. “Just one general admission ticket?”
He sighed, tapping his fingers over the counter. “Okay,” he said, “but only because I can’t say no to a pretty face.”
Stacking a GA ticket on the other two Jude set aside for me every game, he slid them back through the window at me. “It’s on the house, but you have to take these two with you. Mr. Jude would have my job if he found out you were here and I didn’t at least give them to you.”
“Thanks, Lou,” I said, taking the tickets. “Maybe one of these games you and I can use these together.”
Lou’s brown eyes softened. “That would be a real honor, Miss Lucy.”
Tapping the tickets on the counter, I turned to head inside the gates. “Thanks again.”
He nodded his acknowledgement, looking at a loss for words.
Weaving through the tunnel, the roar of the crowd amplified. Syracuse was taking the field. I hurried, not wanting to miss it. This was one of my favorite moments of the game. When Jude came sprinting onto the field, leading an army of men, all of them looking like they were as invincible as they believed they were, I got goose bumps every time.
Jude was only at the twenty when I made it within view of the field. Right then, watching him charge the field with his teammates, I knew I’d made the right decision in coming. The weight I’d had strapped to my back broke loose the moment my eyes found him. I could fill my lungs again, I could form a smile that didn’t feel forced, I could feel my heart beat like it wasn’t a chore any more.
I stared at him until the team had settled into pre game warm-up before making my way to my seat. Squeezing by a very pregnant girl inspecting her tickets with what I assumed was her husband dressed in an Army uniform, I glanced back at them again. Gazing up into the stands, their eyes fell into the back as she took the first step up.
I stopped, watching her take a second step. If being pregnant meant stair climbing at one per five seconds, I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy it very much.
“Wanna trade?” I asked suddenly. I couldn’t watch her suck in another breath as she attempted another step. “They’re pretty good seats.”
The husband looked at me, confused, then studied the tickets I was holding out for them. His eyes widened.
“Don’t get me wrong, miss, because I’d sell my first born for tickets like these,”—he shot his wife a sly smile as she smacked his arm—”but see that row, way in the back, right where a few spectators’ noses are bleeding? Those are our seats.”
I liked these two already. “How’s the view from up there?”
“It sucks,” he answered, helping his wife down the two stairs she’d just scaled.
Shoving the tickets into his hand, I smiled. “Well, the view from these seats doesn’t,” I said, backing away.
Kick off wasn’t going to wait for me to get my butt into my seat. “Just do me a favor and make sure to give number seventeen a hard time.” Turning around, I kept walking, smiling the whole way to my seat.
Lou had scored me a solid general admission ticket. Especially since I’d arrived late and didn’t have a reserved ticket. There were two empty seats at the end of the row; mine was the one second in. Smiling over at the family in the row in front of me, the littlest boy turned in his seat to stare at me. He had an orange number seventeen jersey on.
“I like your shirt,” I said. “I’ve got one just like it.”
His appraising eyes widened. It was good to know I could impress a five year old boy. “Do you want to be just like Jude when you grow up too?”
This boy with a smattering of freckles and a cowlick was going to make me cry. For the damn hundred and one too many times this past month.
“I sure do,” I said as he swung around in his seat.
“Me, too,” he said as his mom threw me an apologetic look. I waved it off. “I shouldn’t be telling you this since you’re a stranger and a girl, but Jude’s a superhero in disguise,” he whispered, looking from side to side.
“He is?” I said, glancing down at him on the field, warming his arm up. Tossing the ball, he glanced over to the stands, studying the front row. “Doesn’t the orange and white spandex kind of give his superhero status away?”
The boy’s face scrunched up, puzzling over that one. Two seconds later it cleared. “No,” he said with confidence. “Anyone can go out and buy some orange and white spandex. But no one else can be like Jude Ryder.”
Pulling a pack of Red Vines from my bag, I offered him one. It was the least I could do for Jude’s number two fan.
“Since I’m a girl and all, and am not on the up and up with the superhero circle,” I said, grabbing my own piece of licorice, “what puts him in cahoots with the likes of Superman and the Wolverine?”
“Danny, are you bothering this lady
?” his mom called across the row of what I guessed were his older siblings.
He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, looking at me. “Am I bothering you?”
“He’s fine,” I called down to his mom. “He’s keeping me company.”
“Okay,” she said, giving Danny the mom look. “Manners, okay?”
“K, mom,” he answered, propping up on his knees and sticking his chin on the back of the seat. “Your dad and mom haven’t explained it to you yet?” he asked, his freckled nose wrinkling.
“Explained what to me?”
“Superheroes aren’t real,” he said, looking a little sad for me. “They’re make believe.”
“But I thought you just said Jude was one,” I said, chewing the end of my licorice.
The boy rolled his eyes and sighed. “Comic book superheroes aren’t real. Jude’s a real life superhero.”
“Oooooh,” I said, nodding my head. “I get it now.”
Danny’s head spun around as the teams lined up on the field for kickoff.
“So what qualifies Jude as a superhero?” I said, leaning forward and watching the field with him. The visiting team kicked off as Syracuse charged down the field.
Danny glanced back at me, looking like this question was my most insulting one yet. “He’s strong, he’s fast,” he began, counting items off on his fingers. “He can throw a football, like, ten miles. He’s going to marry the most beautiful girl in the world and they’re going to make little superhero babies.” He paused; I wasn’t sure if it was because he was done with his list or catching his breath.
“Anything else?”
“And one day, he’s going to be President of the United States of America,” he said, twisting in his seat as Jude led his offensive line into position at the sixty.
“So all those things make him a superhero, huh?” I said, continuing to make conversation. Partly because the kid could keep pace with me on a couple of my favorite topics: football and Jude. And secondly, because it felt good to talk. To someone. Even if that someone was a pint-sized, freckle faced, superhero worshipper.
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