by Carian Cole
And I can’t stop thinking about what Megan said—about Jude loving me. I know he cares about me, and he’s obviously attracted to me, but love?
I doubt it.
To be honest, the more I think about love, the more it scares and confuses me. Sometimes I have these moments where I think, oh my God, I might be falling in love with him and I might actually like it, and I feel all happy inside. But then a huge wave of fear swallows that feeling up almost immediately.
Falling in love means I could get my heart shattered. Because, seriously, what are the chances of Jude falling in love with me and us actually staying together? Slim to none. He’s thirty-four, and he’s never had a serious relationship. I’m eighteen, and I haven’t had one either. I’d rather stay friends forever than risk letting the L-word turn us into a mess. The road to falling in love can really only go one of two ways—toward forever or toward never speaking again. Both are terrifying.
“It feels weird going inside,” I say to Megan as she unlocks the front door for us.
“How do you mean?”
“It’s scary to find a stranger in your home. Twice.”
“I can’t even imagine. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“I hope not. Jude says he’s going to change all the locks and put in a security system.”
Once we’re in the foyer, I make sure the front door is locked behind us as Cassie and Gus come running down the hall to greet us. We both kneel down to pet them.
“I’m so glad that bitch didn’t do anything to hurt Cassie or Gus,” I say. “She had them both locked in the sunroom.”
“Very true,” she agrees. “I’m starving. Can we eat?”
My sore brain has a hard time following Megan’s usual abrupt switches in conversation. “Um, sure. Of course.”
She follows me into the kitchen, which thankfully, Erin didn’t trash. “You can help yourself to whatever you want,” I say.
She opens the refrigerator. “Aren’t you hungry? I’ll make us both something.”
“I can’t eat anything from in there.”
She frowns at me. “Why? There’s a lot of food in here.”
“Because Erin was in there yesterday touching all of it.”
“Okayyyyyy… everything is in containers, though. I don’t think she came in here, opened everything, and licked all your food.”
That’s true. I threw away the chicken Erin touched, but I don’t know what else she could’ve had her hands on, and it’s throwing up my triggers.
“I know, but I just can’t.”
She blinks at me. “Well, we have to eat.”
“You can, I’m not hungry. I just want to go change.”
“Sky, you have to eat. There must be something that’s sealed and not opened yet in here.” She rummages around in the fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs and a package of cheese.
“I can make us omelets,” she announces triumphantly.
I almost gag. “Too squishy. I can’t eat eggs like that.”
“Okurrrr,” she jokes, moving on to open the cabinets. “You are super high maintenance, girl. How about this?” She pulls out a box. “Instant mashed potatoes, never opened?”
“I eat that sometimes. I could have that, I guess.”
“Good. I’m going to make an omelet for me, and potatoes for you.” She studies my face, her smile slowly fading away. “Are you okay? Do you want me to come upstairs with you while you change? Then we’ll eat?”
My voice catches in my throat, so I nod, relieved that I don’t have to actually say I’m afraid to go up to my room alone.
Smiling sympathetically, she hooks her arm in mine. “Let’s go do that. We’ll put comfy clothes on, I’ll make us dinner, and we’ll chill out and watch a chick flick. We haven’t had a sleepover in years!”
I think we were thirteen years old the last time I slept over at her house. It seems like a lifetime ago.
Upstairs, Megan gently cleans the blood off my face and out of my hair.
“That’s a gnarly gash,” she says, staring at it. “Do you think you’ll need plastic surgery for the scar?”
“I’m not sure. The doctor said it was possible. I’ll have to see how bad it is once it heals.”
“Once the stitches are out, put vitamin E oil on it. I read that helps scarring.”
I may opt for plastic surgery if I have a noticeable scar. I don’t want to go through the rest of my life telling curious people that some girl hit me in the head with a hammer.
We eat dinner, then curl up on my bed together to watch movies. Megan texts with Erik almost nonstop. I don’t mind though, because it’s nice to see her so happy and smitten. I can’t stop myself from glancing at Jude’s phone to see if he’s used mine to send me a text, but there’s nothing. My brain is spinning with worry about him and conjuring up visions of every worst possible scenario. All I care about is that he comes home safe.
“So, he just gave you his phone, unlocked?” Megan asks when she catches me looking at.
I nod. “Yes. He has mine, too.”
“And why aren’t you snooping the hell out of it right now?”
“Why would I do that?”
She leans over me to look at the screen. “To see if he’s talking to other women.”
“That’s none of my business.”
“You’re his wife. And you’ve been hooking up. You totally have the right.”
I hold the phone in my hand, slightly tempted to look. Of course, I’m curious—who wouldn’t be?
“No.” I quickly put the phone down beside me before I change my mind. “I don’t want to be that kind of person. It’s an invasion of his privacy.”
“Oh my God, Skylar. What planet are you from? Do you want me to look through it for you?”
I slap her hand away as she reaches for the phone. “Megan! No. It’s wrong.”
“I look at Erik’s phone every time he goes to the bathroom. I know his passcode.”
“Why? If you don’t trust him why are you with him?” I don’t ever want to be that way with a man.
“I trust him. I just want to see if other bitches are messaging him.”
“Are they?”
She shrugs. “Just his mom.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous. I’m pretty sure Jude isn’t seeing anyone or having any booty calls. He’s home every night.” Since I moved in, Jude has never not come home at night. He never smells like perfume. He’s never left the house looking like he’s heading out for a date. I never catch him texting or leaving the room to have a private conversation on his phone. Everything about him screams single.
There was that lipstick stain on his face that one time, though.
“Hmm,” Megan says, quirking her mouth to the side. “His phone could be riddled with porn, then. Maybe he jacks off every night.”
“It’s still none of my business what he does with his own hands and his dick. I have a vibrator, and I wouldn’t want him creeping on me.”
She looks surprised. “You do? Which one do you have?”
A knock on my bedroom door wakes me into a lurch of panic, and it takes me a few seconds to remember where I am. My brain is foggy and disoriented, my head still throbbing. I grab Megan, who’s asleep next to me in my bed.
“What’s happening?” she asks drowsily.
The knock sounds again.
“Skylar? It’s me,” Jude says through the door.
“He’s home,” I whisper. Relief floods through me but my heart is still pounding against my ribcage.
“Well, let him in, silly,” Megan says.
I climb out of bed, and a quick wave of dizziness almost makes me fall back. Steadying myself, I carefully cross the room and unlock the door.
“Thank God,” I say, choking on a sob and resisting the need to throw my arms around him and never let go. “I’ve been so worried about you. Why didn’t you call or text me? I’ve been freaking out thinking something horrible happened. Like you were dead. Or in jail.�
�� I swallow hard. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
“Didn’t I promise you I’d come home?” His voice is deeper than usual, and it makes my insides vibrate.
I sniffle and my lower lip trembles. “Yeah, but I was still going crazy worrying.”
He drops the pillowcase he’s holding and pulls me into his arms. I press my cheek against his chest and he palms the back of my head. “Shhh…” he whispers, rubbing my back with his other hand. “I’m here. There’s nothing to worry about anymore.” I hug him tighter, clasping my hands behind his back. He smells of sweat and cigarettes, and his heart is pounding against my cheek. I close my eyes and let him blanket me in all his masculine heat. I feel safe and protected. Finally.
When we part, he hands me the ragged pillowcase of my things, and my phone. That’s when I notice the knuckles of his right hand are cut open and bleeding.
Grabbing his hand, I ask in a hushed voice, “What happened?”
“I beat the living fuck out of Jimmy Vantz, that’s what happened.”
I stare up into his eyes in the dark hallway. “What about Erin? You didn’t hurt her, did you?” As crazy as Erin might be, she’s still his sister and I wouldn’t want him to hurt her over what she did to me. She’s family, and I’m… I don’t even know what I am to him.
“Of course I didn’t hurt her. But she’ll be too busy taking care of that brain-dead asshole to ever come back here.”
I gulp, unsure if he’s exaggerating or telling the truth. “You shouldn’t have done this—just to get my stuff back. It wasn’t worth it.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It was. Nobody gets away with hurting you, Skylar. No one. Not even me.”
“What does that mean?” Has he hurt me? Does he think he might?
“Exactly what I said.” He reaches out and cups the side of my head in his palm, and I think oh wow, he’s going to kiss me right here in front of Megan, but he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he runs his thumb gently across my temple.
“Does it hurt?” His eyes, illuminated by the glow of the television in my room, are smoldering with a kaleidoscope of emotions.
Suddenly, I wish Megan weren’t here.
I wish things were different, so I could fall asleep in his arms, in his bed, and feel safe here again. The feeling of security and safety I’ve always felt in this house has been rattled, and that’s just as horrible as what Erin did to my car and to my face.
“It hurts a little.”
He pulls me to him and touches his lips right over my stitches. I wince from the pain, but I don’t care because I want every single kiss from him. The sweet ones, the angry ones, and even the ones that hurt.
“Maybe that’ll make it better,” he says all soft and sexy.
“It does,” I say.
“Hey, Jude, you can sleep with us if you’re afraid to be alone, too,” Megan teases from the background, ruining the moment.
Jude grins and snickers. “Don’t flirt with married men, Megan,” he says, not taking his eyes from mine.
“Good answer!” she replies. “Unexpected and disappointing, but perfect.”
“You’re a good husband,” I whisper.
He winks at me, then walks down the hall and disappears behind his closed door. I ache to follow him. He’s been injured today, too—deep in his soul—and I wish I could kiss it better.
Chapter 37
Jude
I’ve never dated.
This realization comes to me as I’m sitting in the sunroom with Gus purring on my lap, listening to Skylar talk to Megan on the phone in the living room.
“I’m fine, really. I’ve just been resting. Yes. It’s so sweet you guys are doing that together. No, I’ve never eaten there. You know I don’t like restaurants. You have to tell me all about it tomorrow.”
I’ve never taken a woman out to eat, or to the movies. I’ve never vacationed with someone. My version of dating has consisted of drive-through dinners, hanging out in bars, motels or at her place, having sex, and then making a quick exit.
I’m not sure Skylar has ever had any real dates, either.
Suddenly, this is all bothering me.
A lot.
She took a hammer to the head trying to save my stuff. I’ve fucked her rough and raw; slow and sweet. I’ve laid awake at night thinking about her, worrying about her, wanting her, and missing her.
I’ve slowly fallen for her smile. My favorite curve.
Somehow, she’s squirmed her way under my skin, and surprisingly enough, I don’t want to dig her out.
I’m feeling like we should do something date-ish. Something to show her I’m not with her just to sit on the couch, watch movies, and have sex when one of us is fucked up.
I want—no, I need—to make her happy and show her that she’s special to me and I want to be more than friends. She deserves that.
Dinner would be too much pressure for her, and a movie feels a little too cliché for us. I pet the cat, spinning date ideas in my head that I think she’ll like and that I can pull off quickly.
When she’s off the phone, I go to the living room, carrying Gus with me. She’s lying on the couch, holding her phone above her face as she scrolls the screen.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask her.
Her brows knit together as she stares at me, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the slash on her forehead. My stomach twists into an instant knot of anger and guilt.
“Why are you holding the cat?”
I pull my gaze away from the zig-zagged cut and look down at the cat, which I’m holding like a baby. “She was sitting on me and I wanted to get up.” I shrug. “So, I just brought her with me.”
She smiles. “Okayyyy…”
“Do you have plans?” I repeat.
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s Friday night and my best friend is attached at the lip to her boyfriend, so… the answer is no.”
“Good.”
“Why is that good?”
“I want to take you out.”
She sits up and pulls the throw blanket over her shoulders. “Out?” She eyes me suspiciously.
“Yeah, like a sort of date thing,” I say awkwardly.
“Date thing?” she repeats. “I can’t do—”
“It’s not dinner,” I interrupt, knowing exactly what she was going to say.
“Oh.” She smiles crookedly. “Okay then.”
“Someday, we will go out dinner, though. Just not tonight.”
She moves her wavy hair out of her face and looks at me with a puzzled expression.
“Did something happen?” she asks. “You’re acting weird. Why are you still holding the cat?”
I put the cat on the couch next to her. “Everything’s great. I just thought it’d be nice to go out of the house together.”
Her smile grows. “What should I wear?”
“Something warm and comfortable,” I say.
“And funky?”
I grin at her. “Of course.”
“What time is this out-of-the house date thing happening?”
I didn’t know having a date would come with so many questions. I feel like I need a nap.
“How’s eight o’clock?”
“That works.” She looks around the room. “Should we just meet out in the foyer, then? Or are you going to go outside and then knock on the door?”
“Cute,” I say, walking away. “See ya at eight.”
“Where are we going?” she asks when I come down the stairs. She’s waiting in the foyer with her eyes all bright and animated.
Somehow, she managed to pick the perfect outfit. Dark, skinny jeans, boots with faux-fur cuffs, a gray puffy coat with matching faux-fur hood, and a tight black sweater that hugs all her curves. She doesn’t wear makeup often, but tonight her eyes are dusted with silver, glittery shadow and lined with black liner that make her eyes look crazy sexy.
“You look great.” I lean down and kiss her, lingeri
ng on her lips, tempted to carry her upstairs. I fight it and stick to my date plan. “You ready to go?”
“You didn’t tell me where we’re going.”
“You’ll find out when we get in the truck.”
I hold her hand as we leave the house and, continuing my date-ish theme, I open the passenger side door for her. When I get behind the wheel, I hand her a folded piece of paper.
“What’s this?” she asks. “Instructions?”
I laugh. “Addresses of all the local houses that have cool holiday light displays.”
Her mouth gapes open as she unfolds the paper. “Oh my God, is that what we’re doing? Going to look at Christmas lights?”
“Yeah… unless you’re not into it. If you’re not, we can do something else. We could go to a movie.”
“Are you kidding? I’m totally in to it.”
Finally, I’m doing something right.
I tune the radio to a classic holiday music station and head toward the first house on the route of ten homes I mapped out from a list I found online.
With each house display we visit, Skylar gets more and more excited, claiming each one as better than the last. I’m too busy looking at her smile to even notice the lights. I haven’t seen her this happy since before the attack.
I’ve missed her smile and her spark.
What Erin did to her changed her. She’s been quieter, withdrawn, more OCD, cautious. She suffered way more than just a nasty cut on her head.
Every time I look at her, I’m reminded of what happened, and I fucking hate myself because it’s my fault. Maybe in some sick way the scar is meant to never let me forget all the shitty decisions I’ve made. I just wish it was in the middle of my forehead and not hers.
“We should put up a ton of lights on your house next year,” she says as we drive past a house that has cool glowing icicles and lights bouncing across the yard. “You have that cool fir tree on the front lawn, we could put a big star on it, and lots of lights. And you could outline the house and windows like the other houses we saw. Maybe we could get the Santa with the sleigh and the reindeer and put it on the roof, and get one of those waving snowmen to put on the front porch.”