Heather’s eyes light up. “I’ll come tonight,” she says casually, leaning on the table as we share lunch in my studio again. “Be yournurse. Make sure it’s not too weird.”
I scoff, but I feel my lips twitch with the tiniest smile. “I don’t need a nurse, Heather. But then again, I think he’s bringing his friend.”
She leans closer, grinning. “Oh, honey, youdo. Trust me. I’ll play whatever part you need me to. Tough friend, concerned guardian angel, silent observer...whatever gets him in here. You should hire me, honestly. It’syourbusiness. I’m actually offended, come to think of it.”
A sudden laugh bursts from me. I catch her gaze and, after a second, nod. “Co-business. And alright. You can come. But you better not embarrass me.”
Heather pumps a fist in victory. “Deal. I’ll be your backup. I’ve got you, babe.”
“I appreciate you a lot for this. Truly,” I whisper.
Her eyes soften. “Listen—it’s amazing that you’re trying to help him and everything. But if it threatens to uproot any part of your life, please choose yourself.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, because the truth isn’t what she wants.
The truth is, I’ll choose Jude.
As long as he gives me something—hope, love, a glimpse of the boy he used to be—I’ll choose him. I know exactly what that says about me. I’m rational everywhere else. Careful, measured, analytical. But when it comes to him, all of that dissolves. I still remember the boy I knew I was going to marry. The one who swallowed my heart so no other man could ever possess it.
Maybe that makes me weak. Or reckless. Or stupid.
Or maybe it just makes me honest.
“Yeah,” I say instead, my voice steady. “I’ll choose myself. Don’t worry.”
And Heather smiles, relieved. All while I sit there knowing I just lied without blinking.
The clock reads 6:45p.m., and I’m bouncing my knee so hard it’s a miracle the coffee table hasn’t tipped over. Heather returns to the studio, scrub bag slung over her shoulder, and immediately catches my frantic energy.
“Emma,” she says softly, sliding onto the couch beside me. “Breathe. We can do this.”
I nod, but it feels hollow. My stomach twists into knots, every muscle on edge. “I know. I just...what if I screw it up? What if he hates me? I’ve worked with addicts before, and they can turn on a dime. I think I’m going to have to see him as a patient instead of my ex. I just…I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I, I—”
Heather reaches out, gripping my hand. “You won’t screw anything up. You love him. Just...let that guide you. That’s all you need.”
I swallow, trying to match her calm. Her voice is steady, but my chest is hammering so loud I’m surprised she doesn’t hear it through my ribcage. And then the sound of tires rolling on asphalt outside makes my heart seize. I press my palm to my chest.
“He’s here,” I whisper, breath hitching.
Heather leans closer, whispering just for me: “I’ve got you. Remember that. You’re not alone in this.”
The sleek black Audi pulls up, my throat tightens, and I feel my stomach drop.Damn. Heather squeezes my shoulder.
“You can do this,” she says again.
I nod, fists clenched, forcing myself to step toward the door. My pulse races as if it’s trying to escape my body. I brush my hands on my trousers, trying to act like I haven’t been holding my breath for the past hour. Seven o’clock on the dot.
Shit.
The Audi door swings open, and my stomach lurches as he steps out. His messy black hair falls over his forehead, and hisdead hazel eyes stare out at me like they’ve seen too much to ever truly look alive again.
I swear I see just a flicker of unease in his gaze. His pupils dilate, and for a second, the world narrows to just him and me. Micah steps out behind him, wild shoulder-length blonde hair tumbling around his face, blue eyes dark and steady, grounding in contrast to Jude’s chaos.
Heather waves politely to Micah. “Hi! I’m Heather Hardin, Emma’s Nurse. I help with her clients,” she says brightly.
Jude glances at her, recognition flashing. “Hello, Heather.” He knows what we’re doing. He is standing ten feet away, shoulders tense, like an animal ready to bolt. His gaze is fixed on me when he finally speaks, voice low and rough. “Why the hell am I here, Emma?”
My throat tightens, my hands ball into fists at my sides. My words catch in my chest, and I have to swallow hard. “I...I want to help you,” I manage, voice trembling despite my effort to stay steady.