by Sarina Bowen
“Thanks,” I said for the hundredth time.
“De nada.” She disappeared.
I did my thing, my broken arm drooping more and more as I got tired. But the water felt so fucking good.
The bathroom door opened again. Then a gentle hand cupped my elbow, supporting my arm. That felt better. “Thanks,” I mumbled, trying to rinse off. “I’ll just be another second.” In spite of May’s instructions, I fumbled the faucet off with my left hand.
Since I was dripping wet and naked, it startled me to hear the shower curtain begin to slide open. But then I was even more startled to find Sophie was the one who’d opened it. “Hi,” she said shyly.
“Hi.” I just stared at her pretty face, drinking her in.
“You didn’t call me,” she said, picking up a towel. But her eyes twinkled.
“Uh, I’ve been…”
“Asleep for three days,” she said, breaking into a smile. “I know. I’m just teasing you. May told me you’ve practically been Rip Van Winkle. How do you feel?”
“Better,” I said, realizing it was true.
Sophie pressed the towel against one side of my face and then the other. “I missed you.” She put one hand on my naked hip and then kissed my chin.
Damn. Her soft lips on my skin felt amazing. She wrapped the towel around my wet body and then pulled me into a hug. “Mmm.” I pulled her closer and took a deep breath of her apple-scented hair. Sophie. We stood there for a while, just holding each other.
Then, with a sigh, Sophie began to dry me off. And I let her. She ran the towel over my chest, and then I turned around so she could reach my back. Her hands lingered on my ass, and she pressed a kiss to my back. “Come out of there so I can dry your hair.”
I stepped carefully out of the bathtub and wrapped the towel around my waist. I couldn’t tie it one-handed, so I just held it closed. Sophie grabbed another and toweled off my hair, then finger-combed it. I stood there and let her fuss over me. There were big problems between us and too many things that still had to be said. But for those ten minutes I refused to worry about it.
“I brought you some clothes,” she said.
“You did? From where?”
“From your room. Your father gave me the key. They’re in the TV room.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.
“Seriously?” I was trying to picture Sophie and my father having a conversation.
“Yeah. I mean—he had all the paint protection garb on, so he couldn’t hand it to me himself. But he told me exactly where to find it on the hook in his kitchen.”
“He was painting…a car?”
She gave me a quizzical look. “Of course a car. A Prius. Lime green with a white section on the door. Looked great.”
Wow. I never would have believed my father would have the resolve to step in and finish that job.
Back in the TV room, I found that May had changed the sheets on the couch. There was also a note on the pillow. I’m doing some reading up in my room. Holler if you need anything.
Seemed like May had made herself scarce.
Sophie plucked my Farm-Way T-shirt out of a shopping bag and carefully pulled it over my head.
“Thank you,” I said quietly as her soft hands smoothed the clean cotton over my chest. She was only a few inches away, and her nearness overwhelmed me. I just wanted to pull her down on the sofa, curl my body around her and never let go.
She blinked up at me, her wide eyes solemn. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you,” she whispered.
It was a perfect echo of the words I’d said to her on Thanksgiving. But I really wasn’t ready to hear it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Sophie in my life. I wanted her very badly. I just wanted there to be a better me to give her in return. Not some guy who got beat up by drug dealers, who was currently couch-surfing at his only friends’ house.
Right.
I took a couple of steps away to regain my composure, closing the TV room door so I wouldn’t flash May while I changed. A pair of my boxers was visible in the bag Sophie had brought, so I plucked them out.
Sophie tugged the towel out of my grip. “Sit down,” she said.
“I can handle this part,” I said, sitting on the edge of the freshly made-up couch.
To my surprise, she dropped to her knees, put her elbows on my thighs and began dropping kisses at the juncture of my groin and thigh.
“Fuck,” I whispered as goosebumps rose up on my skin. “Sophie,” I warned.
“The door is closed. Since when are you a prude?”
I groaned as she began dropping open-mouthed kisses across my lower belly. It quickly became clear that my dick had been uninjured by this latest bout of bad luck. As Sophie leaned in, blood flowed south, and quickly. She wrapped her arms around my body, resting her cheek against my thickening cock. Her sigh was deep and soft against my skin. She turned her head a few degrees and kissed the tip of my cockhead sweetly. “Sit back,” she commanded. “Let me make you feel good.”
And just like that, I was getting blown on the Shipleys’ couch on a chilly Tuesday evening. Wind rattled the windows as she stroked her wicked tongue from my root to my tip. “Oh, damn,” I stammered. Her lips parted and she took me deep. My body began to crackle everywhere, like fresh logs catching in the fireplace.
Whoosh. I was just gone.
“Mmm,” Sophie moaned around my dick. She gave a good, hard suck that had my eyes practically crossed. “Love the taste of you,” she whispered, her eyes flicking up to look at me. Then she ducked back down and took me into her mouth again.
The sight of her head bobbing over my cock was crazy-making. With my good hand I gathered her hair in my fingers. “Fuck,” I gasped as her own hand slipped between my legs to stroke my balls. Rolling my hips forward, I bit back a moan. “You kill me,” I bit out. “Come here. Want your mouth.” I tugged her upward.
Sophie rose and our lips crashed together. Right away I pushed my tongue into my mouth, tasting her. Claiming her. No matter how many hours I’d spent trying to convince my heart that Sophie was off limits, my body always fought back. Mine said my good arm, pulling her in close. Mine said my mouth as I welcomed her in.
Mine said Sophie’s hand as she palmed my dick, stroking me like a champ.
I was already close. Too close. “Ride me,” I invited, knowing my injuries would prevent me from doing my best work in bed.
But she just smiled against my lips, swirling her thumb over my slit. Sophie played me like one of the pianos in the practice rooms where she used to sing after school, her sweet voice rising up to slay me every time I heard it. I rolled my hips, fucking her hand, because I couldn’t resist.
“Look out,” I gasped as my pleasure began to crest.
Instead of getting out of the way, Sophie slid quickly down, taking me into her mouth once again. The exquisite shock of it broke me, and I groaned so loudly that the cows out in the barn probably heard me. Then I was coming and cursing and stroking her hair one-handed.
When the dust settled, I was leaning against the back of the sofa, breathing hard. Sophie kissed my belly softly, relaxing against my hip. “You spoil me,” I said quietly.
“Someone should.” She got up and found my boxers and the clean pair of sweats she’d brought me. Dropping those in my lap, she picked up a glass of apple cider that May had brought me earlier and drained it.
I pulled on my clothes and then lay down on the sofa. “Come here,” I demanded. “I want to hold you.”
She looked down at me and frowned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Oh, please. I’m too mean to die. Get down here.”
Carefully, she curled up with her back to my chest. I kissed the back of her head and hugged her with my knees. “All we’ve ever had were stolen moments,” I said, even though it was too sad of an idea for this moment. “I wish I could hold you all night.”
“You will,” she said quickly.
“Not likely.”
Sophie peered at
me over her shoulder. “Why do you do that? If I looked at the world that way, I’d lose my mind.”
“And you shouldn’t be a pessimist. You have lots of choices.”
“I have the same number that you do.”
I shook my head and started to argue. But she rolled over and grabbed my chin. “When you’re back on your feet, you’ll see. I know you’ve had a bad run, but it’s going to get better.”
Arguing the point would only make me sound stubborn. So I kissed her on the nose and just settled into the moment. She nestled against my chest and everything was right with the world, if only for a short time.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
I almost said no, but then I remembered something. “Actually, can you check my eBay account for me? I might have sold a couple of Porsche parts.”
“Sure. If you tell me your password.”
Oh, man. Busted. “It’s Sophie2010.”
She looked up, a question in her eyes.
“The year I first kissed you. I’m a sap, I know.”
“I like saps.”
“Good thing.” I squeezed her a little tighter.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sophie
Internal DJ set to: “Auld Lang Syne,” the Barenaked Ladies version
Jude napped for a little while, and I lay there, just happy to be with him. Maybe he was still too sick and achy to see it, but things were about to turn around for us. After a while I heard May in the kitchen, so I got up and went to talk to her.
“How’s he doing?” she asked, stirring a pot of beef stew on the stove.
“Okay I guess. He doesn’t complain to me, though.”
“That’s good?” May guessed, peeking at me from beneath her bangs.
“Yes and no. I think he’s worried, but he won’t admit it. He’ll never admit it.” Even as the words left my mouth, I knew how much they bothered me. “Before, he preferred to get high than to tell me he was afraid.”
“Men, right? They don’t think they can speak their feelings.”
“Right. Although in Jude’s case, he grew up without anyone to tell them to. His mother split when he was young, and his father drank his feelings away.”
May winced. “Hello, role models.”
“Yeah.”
“Stay for dinner?” May asked. “The rest of my family has obviously abandoned us. I think they said something about going out for pizza.”
“Sure, thanks! What can I do to help you?”
“Not a thing. Audrey made this stew yesterday, so it’s incredible. Do you want to wake up Jude? We could get him to sit at the table like a human.”
“Good plan.”
“The rolls I’m warming in the oven will take ten minutes, though. So no rush.”
I went back into the TV room and perched on the edge of the couch. When I put a hand on Jude’s chest, he raised his good hand to cover mine without opening his eyes. “Hi,” he said, and the sound of his husky voice strummed right through me like a guitar chord. I missed him. I craved him.
“May heated up some stew for dinner. If you get up in ten minutes you can dine in a vertical position.”
He opened his eyes and smiled at me. “Sounds exciting.”
“I know, right?”
His fingers stroked mine. “So what have I missed in the past few days while I did my Rip Van Winkle imitation?”
“Ah, well…” I had no idea how Jude would react to the questions I was about to ask him. “I’ve been doing some digging.”
“What for?”
Clasping his hand in mine, I confessed. “I’ve been reading the police file from your accident three years ago.”
“What?” Jude removed his hand from mine and pushed himself upright with his good arm. “Why?”
“Because I still have some questions. I think we should hire an investigator, Jude. I’m not kidding.”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “That is a very bad idea, Soph. All that will happen is that your father gets pissed off.”
“Fuck him,” she whispered.
“No thanks,” he said through clenched teeth.
“He doesn’t get to decide what questions I ask anymore, though. I’ve given him way too much power over me.”
“Yeah? Well, let’s review,” Jude said sternly. “The last time my name came up in conversation he slapped your face. He’s threatening to condemn my garage, which is the only place I can earn a living. And his guys pull me over whenever they fucking feel like it. And you want to poke that bear?”
“Yes! I think there’s something fishy about the way your case was handled. Get this. Yesterday I learned that your trial lawyer—the public defender? He was disbarred last year. For negligence.”
Jude made a face. “That doesn’t shock me. But I still don’t know why it matters. Gavin is dead, baby. Even if my lawyer slept through the trial, that will never change. I already did my time, I got out. The only way life gets easier is if I make enough money to get out of that town so I don’t have to let them hassle me.”
My blood pressure spiked. “Jude Thomas Nickel,” I demanded. “That’s not how it works with you and me. We never let the bastards win.”
After I said those words, I wished I could take them back. Because they assumed too much. I was back to thinking of Jude and me as two people against the world. But as I watched him turn his perfect face away from mine, my confidence wavered.
“Look,” I whispered. “What if there’s a slim chance that a judge agrees with me? They could reopen your case if it was mishandled. What if you don’t have to be a felon?”
His eyes squeezed shut. “Funny. I just spent three years trying to come to grips with being one.”
That was the point when I should have taken a goddamn hint and dropped it. But I didn’t back off, because I had a gut feeling that there was finally something hopeful on the Jude and Sophie horizon, and I would not be denied. “If your conviction was overturned, you could get a job anywhere.”
He actually snorted. “I’d no longer be a felon. But I’d still be a drug addict with hospital bills and a three-year hole in his employment record. How many convictions are actually overturned each year? One? Two?”
“Jude,” I begged quietly. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“I’m saying that I want to believe in our future, and you’re telling me not to bother.”
His beautiful eyes looked up at me in the same measuring way they always did, only this time I felt like maybe I fell short. “I care a great deal,” he said eventually. “That’s why I don’t see a future for us.”
“I…” My words got stuck in my throat because Jude had just hurt me worse than my father’s slap. “I’m trying to tell you how much I love you, and you just say I’m crazy.”
“I’m just saying that even if your father framed me, which sounds ridiculous, I’m still an addict who’s one bad day away from a relapse. There’s no way we can blame your dad for everything. I pull all my own worst stunts.” He put a hand on my belly. “You were a good girl when I met you. But I wanted you to be a bad girl. And look where it got us?”
Now my eyes were stinging and my face was hot. “I’m not my parents’ good girl, and I’m not your bad girl,” I said, my voice shaking. “Those are just bullshit labels. And since when are you interested in other people’s opinions?”
“I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard. “You’re right. That was a stupid thing to say. You’ve always been your own girl.” His eyes shone with great kindness, and his thumb stroked over my rib cage. But it didn’t help even a little bit, because he hadn’t taken back the part that really bothered me.
I don’t see a future for us.
“You think you’re being smart about this,” I said, my eyes beginning to sting. “I know you hate it that other people are taking care of you right now. I know that is hard to swallow and that you’d rather take care of yourself. But I’m begging you not to be so short-sighted. Becau
se someday I might need help from you. Did you think of that? When things go wrong for me, who’s going to be there to pick me up?”
He drew a slow breath. “Someone stronger than I am, I hope. Someone who doesn’t have a history of solving his problems with a syringe.”
Somehow I’d let this conversation go too far down an awful path. I wanted to backpedal—to have this talk another time. But Jude took his hand off my belly and laid it on his own chest. Then he took another deep breath as if steadying himself to do something hard. “I don’t want you to think about the accident anymore. Don’t get in your dad’s face on my behalf. And don’t come around for a little while. It’s safer that way.”
“You’re…sending me away?” I stammered.
“We…” He cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I shouldn’t have started up with you again. We were over the day your brother died. It’s not fair to you for me to pretend otherwise.”
“Pretend,” I spat. “You said you’d do anything for me.”
“Yeah?” His voice roughened and his eyes got red. “I guess I lied to you. I do that sometimes.”
At that, the worst wave of pain I have ever felt sliced through me. It was worse than the awful night three years ago when I didn’t know if he was alive or dead. Because then I still had hope.
I jumped up off the edge of the couch as the first sob escaped me. Then I ran out of the room.
In the kitchen, I grabbed my coat and boots. I mumbled some kind of apology to a sympathetic May, and then stumbled out to my car.
I drove home with tears tracking down my face, my inner DJ silent for once. There was no song sad enough for the way it felt to hear him deny me.
Not REM’s “Everybody Hurts.” Not Pearl Jam’s “Black.”
Not even the Jeff Buckley version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.”
I was willing to do anything for Jude. And none of it mattered if he wouldn’t let me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jude