“Hurt him? You do every time you pull shit like this. Every time you put your needs before his. If you really love him, you would leave. And stay gone. Get some help to get over him, to move on, if that’s what you need. But leave. Him. Alone.”
She jerks her chin up, and for the first time, I believe the tears glistening in her eyes are real. “Whatever,” she replies, voice hoarse with those tears. “I didn’t ask for your advice, or your help.”
“I know,” I murmur.
“I never meant to hurt him,” she whispers again, as if needing to not so much convince me as much as herself. “I never…”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she blows out an audible, heavy breath. Then, without another word to me, pivots and disappears down the staircase.
I stare at the empty space for several long minutes. Will she call NAMI? It’s freaking amazing, but I care. And I hope she cares enough about herself to contact them.
“Cypress.”
My head jerks to the side at the sound of that familiar voice. Jude stands at the top of the stairs he’d climbed so silently, I hadn’t noticed him. Or I’d been so lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed.
Oh God. Could he have overheard…? My mind rewinds the past ten minutes and hits play, rerunning the conversation between his ex and myself.
Jude isn’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…
But what you’ve done to him, the pain you’ve inflicted on him? And knowingly, consciously continuing to do it to aman who is selfless, kind, and just damn good…
On instant replay, I sounded more like a possessive girlfriend than a roommate or stepsister. And while we are—were—lovers, I have no rights to him. My luggage just inside the door testifies to that.
Still, all I can do is stare at him. Visually trace the sculpted lines and planes of his face, the dark slashes of his eyebrows, the sensual curves of his mouth with phantom fingertips. Maybe he hadn’t heard any of that. Maybe… The breath rushes from my parted lips on a silent gust.
Oh yes, from the dark heat blazing in his eyes, he’d caught the conversation.
He shifts forward and, gently cupping my shoulder, guides me back into his home, shutting the door firmly behind us.
“You defended me,” he murmurs, that steady, too-sharp-for-comfort scrutiny roaming my face as if searching for the why.
I’m drawing a line at the people I love.
It takes everything in me to school my expression, not allow him to peer beneath the mask to see how his words have shaken me. Because they have. Inside, I’m a palm tree in a category-five storm, battered by the winds, bending to them, but refusing to break.
I can’t break.
I shrug a shoulder. “Not that it did much good. I’m not even sure she’ll follow through with anything I said. Maybe you moving thousands of miles away where she can’t get to you will get through to her.” Just mentioning his imminent trip to London scours my throat like a rusty, wire brush. It’s another reason why I’m leaving him first.
Watching him pack and walk away from me isn’t an option if I’m not here.
“Maybe,” he agrees. “Doesn’t matter anymore. I’m through. Are you—” The toe of his boot nudges one of my suitcases, and he glances down. My breath freezes in my lungs. The seconds tick by like tiny sonic booms, and my suddenly pounding heart adds to the cacophony. Slowly, he lifts his head and pins me again with that hooded stare. “Going somewhere?”
That calm, almost casual tone isn’t fooling me. Not when his eyes are gleaming like sharply cut jewels. “Yes,” I say, amazed my voice is steady, even when inside I’m shivering and fighting my instinct to charge across the space separating us and throw myself against him.
I briefly close my eyes, dipping my chin as the thought punches me in the chest. A painful, blunt, and stark reminder of why I’m doing this. Of why I have to—no,need to—leave. If I don’t, I’ll be Ana, begging him not to leave me.
Because they always leave.
“Yes,” I repeat, returning my attention to him. “I’m staying with Mom for a week or two until my new place is ready.” I have no “new place,” but he doesn’t need to know that. Besides, when the check from the condo sale arrives, I can easily afford first and last month’s rent along with a security deposit, even after taking care of Mom’s surgery and repaying Dan.
“I thought that wasn’t even an option,” he quotes me from that conversation in the ratty motel room. God, was it only a month ago? It feels like an eternity. And, at the same time, a moment.
“Then it wasn’t. But when you don’t have other choices, you find you can put up with anything. At least for a little while.”
“But you do have another choice, Cypress,” he counters, shifting forward a step, then pulling up short. That aborted movement slices through me, and my heart bleeds. “I don’t remember mentioning anything about you having to move out.”
“No… But I do have to.” I shake my head, spreading my hands out, palms up as if hoping the words I need will suddenly appear before me like some magic trick. “Jude, I…thank you for ever—”
