by Carian Cole
My heart shimmies with hope that he misses me as much as I miss him.
He’s sleeping when I arrive at his room in the hospital, and it’s probably for the best because I need a moment to just look at him. To watch him breathe and give my heart time to calm down and believe that he’s going to be okay.
His upper body is propped up on pillows. An IV line snakes into a vein in his arm. Beside the bed is a tray on wheels holding a small pitcher of water, a cup, and a plastic tray.
I’m caught off guard by how pale and vulnerable he looks. Jude has always exuded strength and masculinity. He’s always the powerhouse in the room.
But not today.
Today he is bruised and weak.
I blink back tears, refusing to let them well up in my eyes.
I need to be strong today, because that’s what marriage is sometimes. You take turns being the strong one.
Quietly, I move to stand next to his bed, and softly touch his hand. I fight the urge to bend down and kiss his stubbled and bruised cheek, not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t want to startle him awake and make his head hurt. My touch causes him to stir and open his eyes. Blinking, he stares at me with his forehead creased. For a brief second there’s a blankness, a total lack of focus in his eyes that scares the hell out of me, but it passes quickly, and a slow smile curves his lips.
“Sparkles…” His voice is a rough whisper.
“Hi. I came as soon as I could.”
He squeezes my hand, and my heart clenches like a vise when a tear slips from the corner of his eye. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he says hoarsely.
I can’t resist any longer. I lean down and gently kiss his cheek.
“How do you feel?” I ask softly.
“Tired.”
I suck my lower lip between my teeth as his eyelids twitch and then gradually close.
“Just rest,” I say.
“Stay,” he whispers, before he drifts off again.
“I’ll be right here.” Without letting go of his hand, I pull the guest chair close to the bed and settle in it. I stay just like that, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps.
I’ve missed him, and the life we inadvertently created together. I wish we could go back and untangle the threads that made a mess of things between us. I wish we could erase the doubts and fears that took hold of us and tore us away from each other. None of it seems to matter when reality such as this moment is staring me in the face. It wouldn’t matter if I were a hundred, or five, or any age in between—I would still love and care about this man with my whole heart and soul.
“Excuse me.” A soft voice and a hand on my arm wakes me. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are ending in five minutes.”
I rub my face and stare up at the nurse, then look over at Jude, who’s still sleeping.
Sitting up, I stretch my stiff neck. “Can I stay a little longer?” I ask in a hushed tone. “I’m his wife, but I was out of town when he got hurt. I don’t want to leave him.”
She smiles with sympathy. “I’m sorry, but it’s hospital policy.”
“I understand,” I reply, quietly standing. “Is he okay? Is it normal for him to be so tired?”
“Yes, that’s normal for a head injury like this. He’s doing fine. He might be discharged tomorrow after the doctor does his rounds.”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
“I’ll come back in a few minutes.”
I push the chair back in the corner and pick up my purse before I stand by the edge of the bed. I don’t want to leave him. I wish I could hear his voice, see his smile, before I leave.
I wish I could tell him I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.
I wish he could tell me why he didn’t stop me.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” I whisper, and blow him a kiss before I leave.
I call Aunt Suzy, and then my father, on my drive back home to let them know that Jude seems to be doing okay. My dad attempts to start the you need a new start in life conversation but I cut him short. I’m too worried about Jude to think about divorce and moving to a new state for a fresh start.
None of that feels right to me.
While I’m glad to be back home, the house feels uncomfortably quiet and lonely without Jude here. Other than the time he stayed out all night talking to Asher Valentine, I’ve never slept in the house without him here.
I wander into his bedroom. Not to snoop exactly, but to see if there’s any blatant signs that he’s been with another woman. I feel like a sketchy bitch when I check his trash for condom wrappers, but I have to know.
I’m glad to see there aren’t any.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see something on his nightstand that I don’t remember ever seeing before, and I cross the room to see what it is. At first, I think it’s a postcard, but as I get closer, I realize it’s a picture.
Of me.
My heart feels heavy when I pick it up. It’s the first picture I texted him when we first met. My hair is a mess and I’m smiling like a goofball with Gus on my lap.
I smile at the memory.
I put the picture back, careful to make sure it’s exactly where it was, and go to my own room. Gus and Cassie follow me and jump on the bed, seemingly happy to have their nightly routine back. Exhaustion has my head throbbing with a dull ache, but I know I won’t be able to sleep when thoughts of Jude are running rampant in my mind. Him getting hurt is painfully eye-opening. What if it had been more serious? What if he’d died? I wish we had talked more over the phone while I was staying with my father instead of leaving things so unfinished.
Regardless, unless he outright asks me to leave, I’m staying here to take care of him until he’s better, whether he likes it or not.
With a deep sigh, I flop down on the bed. My necklace falls to the side of my neck, and I bolt upright, reaching behind my head to unclasp it. I hold the small vial in my hand, staring at the tiny letters inside.
Now is when I need to know what the message says.
With shaky fingers, I unscrew the tiny silver cap and pour all the miniature letters onto my comforter. Frowning at them, I realize even my small fingers are still too big to easily rearrange the letters. I run to the bathroom to get my tweezers, then start to play around with words.
Never.
Love.
You.
Only.
Stay.
Holy moly. This is impossible.
Two hours later, I haven’t made any understandable progress and I need a break. Venturing downstairs, I munch on some graham crackers and have a small glass of iced tea. I stare out the window at the moon and attempt to clear my head of jumbled words. Slightly renewed, I return to my room filled with determination to figure out the message.
At two thirty a.m., with my eyes blurry and my heart pounding with excitement, I finally have the letters arranged into what I’m positive is my message from Jude:
You’re the only one I ever want to stay.
A tiny squeak escapes from my throat.
My insides are fluttering wildly, wondering if he means these words literally—as in, does he never want me to go? Or am I just the only woman he’d ever consider staying with, if he actually wanted a relationship?
I take a picture of the assembled message with my phone so I can read it whenever I want, then gingerly put all the letters back in the vial and twist the cap back on.
The words are so subtly romantic, so powerful. If only he could actually say them.
Chapter 51
Jude
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting,” I shoot back. It’s not true, though. I can’t sit still, or stop worrying about everything I should be doing. I’ve been home for a week and I’m going stir-crazy.
She reaches across the couch, pulls my phone out of my hand, and throws it onto the coffee table. “You’re not resting. You’ve been on your phone nonstop since you came home from t
he hospital. You’re not supposed to be staring at the screen that much. Are you trying to give yourself a seizure?”
Skylar’s been amazing at playing nurse since I came home. The first few days, she helped me up and down the stairs, get in and out of bed, and on and off the couch. Every four hours she made sure I took my pills. She massaged my back with the gentleness of a butterfly. She held an ice pack on my head all night when I had a migraine, refusing to let herself sleep until I felt better. She cooked for me and did my laundry. She took care of Cassie. She read over all the emails going back and forth about the bar because the brain fog I had made me forget things ten minutes after I read them. She drove me to the doctor for my checkups. Anything I needed—she was right there with a smile.
We haven’t kissed or touched, but the moments she’s spent taking care of me, and me letting her take care of me, were intimate in a way that far surpassed sex.
I never thought I’d say that.
I never thought I’d have that.
“I’m not going to have a seizure. That would’ve happened right after the accident,” I say, even though I’m still getting headaches. “I have to make sure everything is moving forward.”
“Uncle Al is taking care of things with the bar.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
She frowns at me. “I’m sure everything is fine. The doctor said you have to rest—mentally and physically. You can’t be stressed out.”
Stressed out doesn’t come close to describing how I feel. I’ve got a ton of money on the line with the relaunch of the bar, and I don’t have the clear to start resuming my daily activities until next week.
Falling through the fucking floor wasn’t exactly how I wanted to end my career. It’s my own fault, though. I was exhausted and distracted and not paying attention when I should’ve been. My mind was on a certain little blonde who I was missing, madly.
Staring out the window at the snow falling, I drink the tea she made me, which tastes like dirt and honey, but I force it down, and eye her over the rim of my cup. She’s sitting on the other end of the couch, engrossed in editing product photos on her iPad for the boutique. The way her blonde hair hangs over her face and down over her shoulder makes me want to push it back, nuzzle into her neck, and kiss her until she melts in my arms.
I resist.
I’m still fighting with the fact that just a few weeks ago, she dredged up all my fears.
Asking for a divorce.
Giving the ring back.
Leaving our home with half her stuff and a pet I grew to love.
Twice I brought my lawyer’s number up on my phone to start the divorce papers while she was in Connecticut, and twice I couldn’t get myself to do it.
I don’t want a divorce.
Skylar hasn’t just been playing nurse since I got hurt, she’s been a wife.
My wife.
I’ve been falling deeper and deeper for her, and wrestling with decisions more and more.
And meanwhile, she’s been looking at studio apartments and has plans to pick one soon.
“Are you tired?” she asks after I yawn.
“A little. I think I might take a hot bath before I go to bed. My back is sore.”
Leaning her head back against the couch, she turns to me with a wistful smile. “It’s a great night for a bath. Especially in your bathroom. Tell me you didn’t put those skylights in for a night exactly like this so you could watch the snow.”
I nudge my foot against her leg. “Aha. I knew you were in there fantasizing about my tub every time you went in there to get my pills.”
“Guilty,” she admits.
Last year I remodeled my ensuite with a big clawfoot bathtub perfectly positioned under two heated skylights. I added long windows along the wall overlooking the backyard—too high for anyone to see in, but giving me a great view of the sky and trees. It’s the perfect place to relax.
“If you want to use my bathtub, be my guest. You earned it for taking care of me.”
“Maybe we could together?” she asks in a soft, cautious tone like she would if she were attempting to lure a wild animal to go home with her.
I push my hair out of my eyes and stare at her, unsure I heard her correctly.
“Together together?”
She swallows and nods.
“I thought we weren’t going down that road anymore.”
She chews her lip and touches the necklace, gently moving it back and forth on the chain. The playful twinkle that was in her eyes seconds ago has been replaced with a vulnerable longing.
“Maybe we can make an exception for tonight?” Her words—her eyes—are infused with hope, and something else that makes my heart pound.
Love. It looks like love.
My defenses kick in to standby mode.
“We’re not light switches, Skylar,” I say softly. “We can’t just flip on and off.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
I inhale a low, steady breath. I haven’t exactly been a pillar of consistency myself. “You don’t have to be sorry. We both have things to figure out.”
“We will… but for tonight maybe we can forget about all that? Please?” A hint of desperation laces her voice. “I want to have a fun, magical night. With you. I think we both need it.”
The word fun is both sword and savior. It’s sliced the thought of love right outta my head and saved me from all the emotions, expectations, and heartache that come with it.
Besides, the temptation of getting into a hot bath with her, skin against skin, enveloped in steam, is a whole lot of yum I can’t resist.
Standing, I hold my hand out to her, and pull her body hard against mine.
“I can do fun and magical,” I say.
I really should’ve said no.
But fuck it.
I finally feel stronger. We’ve been cooped up in the house for a week, dancing around each other, careful not to get too close, avoiding an end that we both know is coming.
She wants a fun night. That’s my specialty.
Chapter 52
Skylar
I’ve been lusting after Jude’s bathtub since the first time I saw it. It’s just as sexy and masculine as he is. Sleek white with industrial fixtures. A cool mix of smooth and rough.
“Did you do all this?” I ask, turning in a circle in his bathroom. “The skylights, the double vanity, the tub…?
He nods. “Yup. Did it all myself. Even the tile shower.”
“It’s beautiful.”
When I turn back to face him, he grabs my face in his hand and slowly backs me up against the wall.
“So are you,” he says.
I stare up at him, instantly breathless from his touch.
I wish he was like this all the time—in control, taking what he wants, unleashing all his suppressed feelings.
Sex is where he feels confident and safe. I’m guilty of using it to get closer to him, just like I am right now. I’ll probably regret it tomorrow, but I’m throwing in the towel for tonight. I want one more night with him before I decide to move out. One night to put everything else aside and just be close to him.
Leaning his arm on the wall above my head, he descends on me and covers my mouth hungrily with his. His hand slowly moves from my cheek down to grasp the front of my throat. Fisting his shirt in my hand, I pull him closer and open my mouth to his, licking my tongue along his lips.
He inhales deeply through his nose and releases his hold on me. I catch the darkening of his eyes—a glimpse of the depth of emotions he tries so hard to hide. His gait is still slightly rigid from pain as he moves away to switch off the overhead light and then flick on a smaller, dimmer light above the vanity. We’re bathed in a warm, golden-amber glow.
“Undress for me.” He slowly leans over the tub and turns the faucet on, then sits on the edge with his long legs stretched out in front of him.
My pussy quivers in response to his soft, deep command. Grabbing the hem
of my sweater, I slowly pull it over my head. His eyes cling to my every move as I reach behind me to unclasp my black silk bra. I let it fall at my feet along with my shirt, then unbutton my skinny jeans.
I’m glad to see his lips tip into an appreciative smile at the sight of the red hearts embroidered on the triangle of black fabric of my matching panties.
“I never knew your funky outfits continued under your clothes.”
I kick my jeans off but leave the panties on for him to admire. “Surprise.” Smiling, I hook my thumbs under the thin bikini straps.
“Wait,” he says, stopping me. “Come here.”
I slowly walk across the tile floor, drinking in the way his gaze wanders over every inch of me as if he wants to devour me—from my hard nipples, down to my toned calves, then up to my lips. I’ve always been confident in my body—despite having very small breasts and not a lot of curves. The lust in Jude’s granite eyes stokes my confidence even more, banishing any doubts that my body might be too boyish for a man like him.
As I approach him, he grabs my waist. Stepping over him, I stand with my legs spread over his body.
His hands encircle my ankles, and he slowly trails his fingertips up my legs, all the way up to my hips. “These fuckin’ legs in heels almost ruined me on our wedding day.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead against my stomach, breathing me in. My body stirs with excited flutters beneath his touch.
His mouth moves along the thin waistband of my panties, his tongue dipping under the edge of the fabric. “I thought you wanted me to take the shoes off that day. You didn’t like them,” I point out.
His nostrils flare. “I wanted you take everything else off.”
The warmth of his breath and the rough stubble of his beard against my skin sends goosebumps over my flesh, and my heart pounds with the realization that he wanted me in secret even back then.
Grabbing my ass in both hands, he pulls me closer, and lowers his mouth to swipe his tongue over the thin silk, pressing it between my folds, wetting it more than my own juices already have.