Unable to stare at the suitcases any longer, I spin on my bare heel and return to the room that had been mine for four weeks. Seemingly without my permission, my hand lifts to my chest and rubs the ache that’s been there in some degree for the past week. Since I left Mom’s apartment in the middle of the night, actually.
The night I admitted to myself that my time with Jude had to end.
It hadn’t been him witnessing the emotional mess that is my mother. Well, mostly not that. It’d been me seeing it fresh and devastatingly new through his eyes. Seeing how I’d grown up, always second fiddle to a man who played center stage even after he’d up and gone without a single shred of remorse or thought for those he left in the background.
Seeing who I would become if I ever fell in love so hard, so deep, that nothing and no one else mattered. Becoming a gray, ghostly shade of my former self. Surrendering my independence, my dreams—myself—just for a phone call or any hint that someone thought of me, cared for me.
Yes, viewing all that through Jude’s eyes almost broke me. Did shatter me on that dark, cold sidewalk. Stepping out of Jude’s arms had been one of the hardest things I’d done, but it’d been necessary. Because in that moment, the truth had been as clear as the mantel with all the pictures capturing the best times of her life.
I only had myself.
True, I’d failed myself, disappointed myself, had even hurt myself. But never,neverwould I abandon myself. That is the one thing no one else can ever promise or do to me. Not if I don’t let them.
That’s why I’m standing in the safest, most peaceful, happiest place I’ve stayed since returning to Chicago—maybe in my life—and am searching for anything I might’ve missed when packing. Because I made the mistake of forgetting that truth and depending on Jude. Trusting in Jude.
Loving Jude.
Just that blasphemous thought whispering through my mind has me retreating, physically and emotionally. Panic grabs at me, its long, bony nails scrape over my heart, my soul. No, becoming attached to someone and loving them are two completely different things. And with as much as I’ve witnessed and experienced, there’s no way in hell I allowed myself to be so foolish as to fall in love with him.
He’s such a good man. God, he’s one of the best I’ve ever met. But I can’t let myself become so dependent on him that I lose myself. That I throw away my dreams, my goals just for his love, his attention. I can’t become a reflection of my mother. And it’s possible. He’s an addiction already; he’s my drug of choice. It would be so easy for me to convince myself that he’s all I need. And when he left—because he would leave, they all did—I would be shattered. Just unrecognizable pieces of myself.
No. I can’t do it.
Spying my phone charger on the bedside table, I swipe that up and head back toward the living room. The chime of the doorbell peals through the apartment. Frowning, I set my charger on top of my purse and cross the floor toward the front door. Can’t be Jude. He has a key, and not to mention, his shift at the shop ends at eleven tonight. Which is why I chose tonight, my evening off from The Rabbit Hole, to move. Sneaky and cowardly, yeah, but I own it.
I press my eye to the peep hole, then fall to my feet with a soft thud.
Seriously?
Dread and anger tangle inside my chest in a bright red and dirty brown, oily mix. The last thing I should do is open the door. Nothing good can come of it. I should just walk away until the person on the other side does the same, and then leave the apartment and not look back. Close this chapter like a mature, grown woman…
I unlock the door and yank it open.
Ana’s eyes widen before they narrow into dangerous slits. “What the hell are you doing here?” she snarls.
Blood pumps through my veins, speeding faster than a shopaholic on her way to a sale on Rodeo Drive. Yet I force a calm into my voice that belies the furious need to dropkick the bitch down the stairs she just climbed—unwelcomed and unwanted.
“Funny. I was just about to ask you the same thing,” I say, propping a shoulder against the door frame. Casual, and letting Jude’s crazy ex know in no uncertain terms that she’ll enter this apartment over my dead body. And I have zero plans of high-fiving ol’ St. Peter anytime soon. “I live here.” Well, I did. “You, on the other hand, don’t. And since Jude isn’t here, I’m going to assume you weren’t invited.” I shake my head, mock disappointment heavy in mytsk.“I would’ve thought your parents would’ve taught you better manners than to drop by somebody’s house without warning.”
“Who are you to question me?” Her glare skims down my body, taking in my faded T-shirt and equally worn jeans with holes in the knees. Her scorn deepens. “I asked around, and you’re not even with Jude. You’re his charity-case, bar-rat stepsister, that he’s obviously taken pity on and let crash. Because that’s how he is. So don’t stand there and make it seem like you’re more to him than you are. Just a stray he brought in off the street.”
Okay, that hurt. But damn if I’m going to let her see it. Straightening, I smile. Good, I’m glad the heifer took the gloves off. Contrary to how Jude seems to see her—fragile, unstable—this woman is just like those I’ve known in the streets of Chicago and in the corporate offices of California. Manipulative, catty, mean girls out of puberty. They give women—real women who don’t need to cut another down just to feel better about themselves—bad names. And since she doesn’t seem to have any issues showing me her true colors, I have none revealing mine to her.
“You’ve been busy, I see,” I drawl. “Well, you’re right, I am his stepsister, and yes, he did let me stay here. But get it correct. I’m nobody’s charity case. I take care of myself, do for myself, something a little girl playing at a woman who lives off mommy and daddy’s money would never understand.” This time it’s me who scans her up and down from her perfectly styled and curled hair, down the coat that costs more than two paychecks from The Rabbit Hole, to the tips of her expensive stiletto boots. “Another thing. If you think I’m going to stand here and brawl like some alley cat in heat over a man, then I hate to disappoint you. Not going to happen. But—” I step forward and into her space. With her boots on, she has me by a couple of inches, but that doesn’t mean a thing. “I will drag a bitch with truth. So today’s your lucky day.”
An ugly and totally unbecoming shade of red slashes her model cheekbones. “You’re trash who doesn’t know her place. Jude is mine, and I’m not about to let some whore come in and take him from me.”
“Judeisn’t your possession or some toy you can write your name on so the other kids won’t play with him. He’s a man. With feelings, and a sometimes too-big heart that selfish, manipulative people take advantage of. Sound familiar?” I get closer still and lower my voice, even though we’re the only two people on the landing. “He told me what happened with you.”
Her head jerked back, surprise flaring in her eyes. “He wouldn’t do that,” she shot back, but there’s a note of uncertainty in that haughty tone. Uncertainty and something else. Something that smacks of guilt.
“Only because he was upset after that display you pulled in the shop. But that was your intention in showing up there, wasn’t it? Embarrass him for not falling into line, playing on his sympathy, trying to guilt him into seeing you just one more time. You’re like a spoiled child denied her favorite doll. And you know what? Whatever floats your boat. But when you purposefully harass him by showing up to his job?” I bite out, edging even closer and backing her up a step. “You stalk him; you’ve gone too far. Look.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. A wave of sadness swells and crashes over me. Sadness and compassion. Which I would’ve never thought I could feel for this woman. “I don’t often share about my family, but I know what it is to feel so alone and hopeless. I’ve also lived with a woman, my mother, who grieved the loss of a man who left her for another woman for thirteen years. And she never recovered from it. She’s a shade of who she was, and she’s never experienced all that life has to offer her because she can’t let go of the past. Can’t let go of my dad. It’s a miserable existence, Ana. Miserable for her, and for those she loves. Spending even one minute chasing down someone and trying to make them want you is one minute too long. You don’t want that for yourself. The people in your life—your parents, your friends—can’t want that for you.”
Her sneer deepens, and even thoughWhy am I even bothering?floats through my head, I continue.
“I know I’m the last person you want advice from. And by no means am I a therapist or psychologist, but I’ve lived with a depressed woman. I’ve taken care of her, so that gives me some authority on the topic. Go talk to someone before you get too caught up in this. NAMI Chicago didn’t help my mom too much, but that was only because she didn’t try. It’s free and if you’d rather no one in your family know, it’s a good place to start. They have a hotline. Just give them a chance.” Shaking my head, I hold out my hands, palms up. “Look, being rich, entitled, and selfish—none of those make you a bitch. Having emotional issues definitely doesn’t make you one. But what you’ve done to Jude, the pain you’ve inflicted on him? And knowingly, consciously continuing to do it to a man who is selfless, kind, and just damn good? That does all day.”
The color drains from her face, and for once, that arrogance is gone. She blinks, her eyes glistening. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I would never—”
