He’d made himself vulnerable all night. It was the least I could do. I watched closely as Jude took my moisturizer, screwed open the lid and dipped his fingers inside. A dollop of cream gathered on his forefinger. It was strangely erotic—the way he plunged his finger inside, with intent. Curving it around the rim of the jar, swirling it. “I think my mom used to brush my hair because it was like… a bonding ritual. Every night, she would brush it and then braid it. Then, she’d tuck me into bed. I was never a good sleeper—I had all kinds of anxiety and fears as a kid. It’s why my dad got me my first planner. Taught me to control the fear by having a plan. But my mom had a different approach… she would meditate before bed and when she tucked me in, she put quarters on my closed eyes. Then she told me that if I managed to wake up with the quarters still on my eyes, I could keep them.” I chuckled, a sad, wilted sound. “I never did… I think it’d be impossible for anyone entering REM to sleep the whole night with quarters on their eyes. But… it made me feel safe. Our nightly ritual.”
“Does this make you feel safe?” Jude massaged the moisturizer into my temples and forehead, dabbing his fingers lightly over my skin.
“Yes.” One word. And yet, it was really hard to admit. So hard to say. “My mom died right before my fourth birthday.”
His fingers froze along my cheekbones. A frown tilted his full, pink mouth and I couldn’t help another sad laugh. “Come on,” I said, “You’re too beautiful to frown like that.”
His mouth curved into a tiny smile, but his eyes… those green eyes still frowned back at me. “You’re one to talk.” He brushed his thumb below my eye and gathered a single bead of moisture. One lone tear I hadn’t even realized had slipped out. Then, he lifted his thumb to his mouth and sucked my tear off the tip. He was literally drinking my sadness. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Marly.”
“Thanks,” I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice. “My dad… he tried to take over the nightly ritual, but it just wasn’t the same. He knew it. I knew it. And after the first couple clumsy attempts, I just started braiding my own hair after I brushed my teeth. He never said so, but he was relieved. I remember the first time I came out of the bathroom with the braid a knotted mess at my nape, he smiled and told me how proud he was of my independence. And as he tucked me in, and kissed my cheek, he whispered to me, “Let the fire inside you burn brighter than the fire around you.”
Jude stood, walking around behind me and kneeling. “Did you and your dad develop your own bedtime ritual?” I felt the gentle pull of my hair and recognized the pattern as his hands worked three sections into a braid.
“Not really. He would usually come upstairs and tuck me into bed. But that was it.”
Jude worked silently. Did I feel safe here with Jude? Cared for? I hadn’t talked about my mom in years. Dad loved me; had cared for me, in his own way. He was never super affectionate, but after mom died, I was always provided for. He showed his love with gifts, and lessons and active time together—golfing and tennis and teaching me practical life lessons. But this sort of attention? Brushed hair and handsy affection… even Omar didn’t often show his love like this. “Is this aftercare?” I asked, remembering my research for the audition.
“Yes,” he said, leaving it with that simple one-word answer. As he got to the end of my braid, he held out his hand. “Hand me your elastic, please.”
I tugged the hairband off my wrist and passed it back to him. After he secured the braid, he stood, tugging back the comforter. “Lay down, Poppy.”
I stood and as soon as I did, the floor and the ceiling switched places, a staggering reminder that I wasn’t yet sober.Whoa. Jude caught me around the waist, guiding me to the bed.
“Still a little tipsy, huh?”
I nodded, falling back onto the soft mattress. “Guess so.”
“Do you get sick when you drink?”
I shook my head no. “The last time I threw up from drinking too much was when I was seventeen at my graduation party.”
“Good,” Jude said, grabbing a wastebasket. “I’m going to put this here anyway. Just in case.”
I lowered onto my back until I was looking at the smooth ceiling. The bed dipped as Jude sat next to me.
When my eyelids grew heavy, I fought them to stay open. He was too beautiful to look away from. His deep voice broke the silence. “Close your eyes, Poppy.”
For what felt like the millionth time that day, I did what I was told to do, letting my eyes close and darkness engulf me. The room spun, but less than before. Beside me, I heard a rustling sound and then two cool, metal circles rested on my closed eyes.
Tears filled beneath my flattened eyelids. If I thought hard enough, I could almost still smell the lavender oil on my mom’s hands. His lips pressed against my forehead, firm, but gentle. “Good girl, Poppy. Sleep sweet.”
The bed dipped as he stood and I heard every footstep he took toward the side door. There was a creak as it opened into what I assumed was Jude’s adjoining room and then a quiet click as I drifted off into the deepest sleep I’d had in a long, long time.
