His head lifts, surprise flickering through those hazel eyes. “I can’t do that—” His hands twitch. His leg bounces. He keeps swallowing, like something’s lodged in his throat. I used to know his every expression. Every laugh, every mood shift before he even spoke. And right now, I know he’s barely holding himself together.
When I stand to take the pizza box to the counter, I hear him whisper something—so faint I almost think I imagined it.
“Sorry.”
I turn. “For what?”
He looks up at me, eyes rimmed in red. “For all of it.”
The sound of his voice breaking like that makes my chest ache so deeply it’s almost unbearable. I cross the room before I can think better of it and kneel beside him, resting my hand on his knee. He flinches.
“It broke my heart when you left, yes,” I whisper. “But I accepted it. I got on with my life. I thought of you way more than I probably should have...but I lived my life.”
For a long time, we stay like that—me kneeling beside him, his head bowed.
Then he whispers, “I don’t know how to stop. We’ve tried getting out before, but when we were caught, they forced us to detox for days. I thought I was going to die. It hurt so fucking bad.”
My stomach drops.
“You were...forced?”I ask, my voice louder than I thought it would be.
Forced isn’t a word that belongs anywhere near his life.
He exhales slowly. “I can’t really explain a whole lot.”
“You’re an adult,” I say, frowning. “You’re rich. Famous. You’re supposed to have free will.”
His heavy-lidded eyes lift to mine. He holds my gaze for several beats before saying, “My life is complicated.”
A bitter coldness blooms in my chest. “We can figure something out. You could go to rehab and get clean.”
He stares ahead, hollow. “It’s not that simple, Em.”
“I know it mightseemnearly impossible,” I say, my voice cracking. Tears burn behind my eyes, my throat tightening until I have to force the words out. “I just don’t want you to die.”
He looks away, blinking fast. When he exhales, it shakes. “I should probably get back before they start calling,” he murmurs. “I’m not at the house with Micah. Adriana especially won’t like that I’m out this late.”
“Who issheto care?” I ask quickly. “Their hold on you is toxic. You’re yourownperson with yourownlife. I don’t understand. What have you done that’s so bad, Jude? Howexactlydo they own you?”
He stills. His jaw tightens, eyes fixed on the floorboards. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I do.”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight.”
I nod, but he doesn’t move. His eyes are tired. Haunted. Still the same ones I fell in love with. And when he looks at me again, everything we were and everything we never got to be collide all at once.
He rises and wanders toward the front door, hands shoved deep in his pockets, hair messier than before. “I’ll come by tomorrow?” he asks quietly. “I unblocked your number. You can text me now.”
“Okay.” My voice barely exists.
We stand there a few seconds too long, neither of us ready to end this. He pulls his hoodie up and slips a cigarette from his pocket for the drive. His gaze flickers to my mouth, and I hold my breath.
He steps close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him. He always ran so warm that I used to call him my furnace. Hisfingers brush my cheek, and I close my eyes because it’s too much. Because I want him. Because...I never stopped.
I lean in.
He freezes.