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. Because 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
Cravings Meter: 1 for drugs. 9 for Sophie