“She was a scammer,” I said, a humorless laugh catching in my throat.“Psychic readings, past-life regressions, tarot.All fake.She had a little box of stones she used to call her ‘divination kit.’Half of it was aquarium gravel, and the rest was stuff she picked up at flea markets.”
The memories were sharp.Too sharp.Like they’d been waiting under the surface for years, just looking for a crack to flood through.
“We never stayed anywhere long.Six months max.Any longer and someone caught on.A grieving widow realized she’d been promised a visit from her dead husband for the low price of five hundred bucks and a ‘donation to the spirits.’A mother figured out the curse on her son was made up.And then we’d be gone.U-Haul in the middle of the night, fake names, burner phones.Again and again.”
Jude’s hand reached for mine.Quiet.No fanfare.Just fingers sliding into place with mine and giving a gentle, grounding squeeze.
“And the scams kept evolving,” I murmured.“At one point she started selling these tiny glass vials of ‘Holy Water’ from a sacred stream in Italy.Claimed the Virgin herself had blessed it.Said it cured infertility, heartbreak, and back pain.Spoiler alert: it was tap water with a sprig of basil.”
Jude laughed softly through his nose, but it wasn’t mocking.
“What happened to her?”he asked gently.“Do you still talk to her?”
That’s when it happened.
The tear slid down my cheek without warning.I didn’t feel it building.Just suddenly there—warm and silent, betraying me.
“No,” I whispered.“She’s in prison.Upstate New York.Got caught finally—wire fraud, tax evasion, all of it.I haven’t spoken to her in years.Don’t plan to.I can’t.”
I blinked.Another tear.
“I made it my life’s work to expose people like her,” I said.“Frauds.Liars.People who prey on belief like it’s a buffet.I swore I’d never let anyone else fall for it.”
Jude pulled me into a hug.
No words.Just the warmth of his arms.Just his chest against mine, his heartbeat steady and solid while mine spiraled out of control.I wept against him, messy and sudden and loud in the quiet room.My hands fisted in the back of his shirt like I was afraid he’d disappear.
And then—
Jude kissed me.
It was soft at first.Just a brushing of lips, like he was asking permission with his mouth.I answered him with mine, and everything slowed.Time.Thought.Breath.It was a kiss born of something deeper than lust.Something sacred.
The last time we kissed, I had rushed it.Tried to turn it into sex before it could become a feeling.Jude had pulled away then, told me to slow down.
Now, I didn’t want to rush.
But God, I wanted more.
I felt it when Jude sensed my hesitation.My fear.My nerves that this would spook him.That if I moved too fast, I’d lose him again.
He pulled back slightly, breath brushing my cheek.“I’ve never felt so connected to another man,” he said, voice low and raw.“Not like this.”
And then he kissed me again.
This one was different.
Deeper.
Hungrier.
But not desperate.Not transactional.
It wasn’t like the sex I was used to.Fast, anonymous, and forgettable.This was intimate.This was two people cracking open just enough to let the other one in.
His hand slid under my shirt, splayed warm against my ribs.My body trembled, not from arousal, but from how unfamiliar it all felt—being touched like I mattered.Like I wasn’t just a body to use or a source of information, but something sacred.
My heart ached with it.
