I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.
“I can see the life I was supposed to have,” he murmurs. “With you. Iseeit.”
My heart is cracking open. “What do you see if you let yourself?”
He sighs, staring straight ahead at the wall. “I see everything we once discussed, Em. I see you and I living in a house like my parent’s. You know, the kind you wanted.”
I smile, feeling a tear roll down my cheek.
“I see the band back together, playing at local bars and having fun again.” His eyes fill with unshed tears. “I also see you at your studio, happy, and helping people, because you’re good at it. You’re good at seeing people.” He sniffs. “And I see a beautiful wedding ring on your finger. A unique one, that speaks of our journey apart and together again.”
I swallow down a sob as tears keep falling silently, dropping onto my lap.
And then he looks at me. “And I see you teaching our kid how to paint out their feelings. And me, showing them how to play out their dreams.”
I have to take a moment to ensure my voice will even be able to come out steady. “That is all still possible, you know.”
He huffs, a sound that’s between a laugh and a sob. “I don’t know how, Em.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I say quickly. “Just like we would have figured it out as two kids in love before.”
His lips twitch. “You really think you could love me after everything I’ve done?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
His gaze returns to the wall. “You haven’t even seen everything. You don’t know it, yet.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
My hands clench into fists in my lap. While it’s true that I’ll likely be horrified, broken, and sick at everything that he’s done, I know that he didn’t want that. He was forced to do it all.
“Maybe I should go to bed,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to be honest with you. About what I want, and what might not be possible. I’ve been broken over and over again, and I’m not sure that when I’m put together again, it will ever be…right.”
My heart squeezes. “You beingaliveis right. Please don’t forget that. Jude, when you—” my voice fractures. “When you held that gun to your temple, I thought I was about to lose you. I had never been so scared in my life, aside from your overdose. Losing you is my worst fear. After everything, you can’t tell me that you don’t believe we were meant to find each other again? You can’t still believe that we weren’t supposed to.”
He’s silent for a moment, and when he looks up at me, his expression is heartbreaking. “I don’t know, Emma,” his voice cracks into a sob. “Everything I did…everything thathappenedto me…happened for nothing. It was allfor nothing.”He inhales sharply, as if suddenly triggered by something.
Instinctively, I tense. But he just shakes his head, willing whatever it was away. “I hope you know how strong you are.”
He looks up at me through tired eyes, and it makes something twist painfully in my chest. Because I don’t see the things he’s done, or the damage he keeps trying to bury me under. I seehim,still fighting through everything that should have destroyed him a thousand times over.
Emotion crawls up my throat so fast I have to swallow it down before it spills out of me. “You don’t have to do this alone,” I say softly, recognizing that what I’m about to say is something I tell my patients every day. “It’s okay to ask for help. There’s no darkness that is greater than the light we carry.”
His gaze lingers on mine, searching in a way that feels almost hesitant. “Half the time it feels like I’m just holding myself back. Like if I slip for a second—” He cuts himself off, like even the thought is too much.
I don’t let him stay there. I shift closer instead, slow enough that he can stop me if he needs to, but he doesn’t. He just watches me, something unsteady flickering behind his eyes as my hand finds his. His fingers are warm now, and they curl around mine immediately.
“I’m right here,” I murmur. “I’m always right here.”
A half-smirk tugs at his lips, and his grip tightens. “I know.”
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable at all. It’s just two people sitting together, sorting through years of thoughts and truths. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, slow, almost absent.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says quietly, barely a whisper.
“You won’t,” I answer gently.