My body buzzes with a restless energy. So, what? I wait for him to send a letter? That could take weeks. Or never. “What about the comments?”
“Oh, honey.” De’Shaun shares a knowing glance with Cora and shakes his head. “You never read the comments.”
“But”—I’m confused—“you just said you read for the comments.”
“When it’s not about people I care about.” Cora locks her screen and places her phone on the counter. “Believe me. You don’t want the keyboard warriors’ opinions. Not for this.”
I can’t decide whether I’m annoyed or endeared by her words.
“Shit.” De’Shaun picks up his styling tool. “We need to get back to work.” He meets my stare from over Cora’s head, picking up a section of her hair. “You good?”
“I can work,” I say, turning to my row of brushes. Focus on makeup. Get through the day. I can do this. There’s no reason I can’t. Except the thought of Jude, heartbroken in his condo with only Walter for company, is almost too much to push aside. “Last month my biggest problem was paying rent and finding reliable work.” I suck in a ragged breath. “Now . . . I . . .” Fuck. Is De’Shaun right? Does this change everything? It’s almost too much to hope. “What do I do?”
“What do you want to do?” De’Shaun asks.
“I think I need to talk to him.” I swallow thickly. “He still lied about my car.”
“Yep.” De’Shaun nods. “Pretty awful of him, paying to fix it for you.”
I glare. “And he got me this job.”
Cora makes a clucking noise, earning our attention. “No. He didn’t.”
“What?” I blink, confused again.How does Cora know—?Then it hits me. God, I feel stupid I never made the connection. She’s always photographed with them. “You’re friends with the members of Three Ugly Guys. The lead singer, Trent, he knows Jude Lawrence. I know he called in a favor.”
“Yeah, Trent called me a few days before you started. He asked if we had any openings, but he didn’t get you the job. I vetted you before I made the suggestion to production.” Her eyes hold complete sincerity, as if she knows how much I need to hear this. “You’re amazing, Rae. I wasn’t joking when I told you I’m addicted to your tutorial videos.” She turns in her seat when De’Shaun releases her hair from the hot iron. “Honestly, I wish you would make more.”
I swallow against the tightness in my chest. All the indignation I felt for staying away from Jude is gone. Yes, he did lie, but only about things we can work through. “I want to talk to Jude. I want him back.”
Cora’s eyes brighten, and she claps her hands. “Yes! Please tell me I get to be there when you win him back! I live for real life romance.”
I think back to his “Ask Ida” letter. Yeah, he made some mistakes, but I did too. I never let him explain. I wouldn’t hear the truth. I need to apologize for that. Jude laid himself out in that letter—all his feelings, all his love—and I want to do the same. “Would you both help me out? Tonight, after we’re done for the day?” I bite my bottom lip, and reach for a makeup brush, an idea taking flight.
49
Jude
There’s a knock at my door, incessant and persistent.Knock, knock. Knock, knock, bang.
The considerate response would be to answer it, but then I’d have to leave my couch. Why bother? It’s not her.
Walter springs from his perch on my legs and bounds off the couch, yapping and barking between ferocious growls. The knocking continues and I exhale and stare back at the television screen. I tune out the barking, like I do most things these days. If I ignore it enough, I can pretend the outside world doesn’t exist. That Rachel’s not out there somewhere, going on with her life without me.
Whoever it is gives up, and eventually Walter returns. My buddy. He stares expectantly, as if he’s forgotten I’m a ball of pathetic waste. I should get up. At the very least, I could walk him tonight. But then again, I should do a lot of things. The game plays on, but I don’t even care who wins.
A click at the door propels me to at least sit up and pull a blanket over myself. Because I also gave up wearing pants. I glance out the window, surprised to still find sunlight. Three times a day the security team comes into my condo to deliver takeout and take Walter for a walk. They never ask why I can’t do it myself, but then again, they probably don’t care because they’re getting paid.
The footfalls against my wood floors come to an abrupt stop. “This is disturbing.”
Shit.I only know one Australian. Who the hell gave him a key? “What?” I sit up and glance over to find Chance judging the current status of my condo. It’s bad. Really bad. Stacks of takeout boxes. Empty bottles of beer on every flat surface. Blankets wadded at the end of the couch. Dirty clothes scattered throughout. “I’ve been really busy.” But that’s not true. I’ve spent the last three weeks wallowing in self-pity. When Rachel left, I threw myself into my work. It’s how I coped after my mom died, and it’s a lot healthier than drowning in a bottle. The first week was hard, but I had hope. She wasn’t taking my calls or answering my texts, but at least I could leave voicemails and messages. I apologized. I begged. I didn’t stalk her at work though, figuring that would only ruin any chance of earning her trust again.
Day seven my messages stopped showing as delivered and my calls were going straight to voicemail. She’d blocked me. It was a kick in the balls and a slap of reality. She wasn’t coming back. She wasn’t forgiving me. I had fucked up the best thing to come into my life. My one chance at happiness. After that, I stopped moving forward. I stopped caring.
“I know you have money for a housekeeper,” Chance says, stepping over a pile of discarded pizza boxes. “Fuck, this is disgusting. You’re disgusting. When was the last time you showered?”
I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell it doesn’t. You made me bust my ass to finish the mermaid piece for the hotel opening, and we are going.”
