Page 112 of Sing For Me

I shoot him a look.

“Don’t answer that,” Jude says, giving me a grin.

I almost smile. A wash of guilt rides over me as I remember what Reese said about how Jude views our dynamic. But I’m not in the mood to be nice, so I keep walking.

“So how’s the other guy?”

I look sharply at him as we walk past the doors of the main floor. Plastic hangs in the doorways where the frames are going to be, and I look down to see a shaft of light hit my hand. It may not be cut, but my knuckles are bright red and streaked with a smear of blood.

“Not good.”

“Who was he?”

The fact that he has to ask that makes me feel sick. I don’t actually hit people on the regular. I haven’t hit anyone since Seamus, and that was only once as an adult.

I realize how shitty that sounds as I say it.

“Reese’s ex.” I pull back one of the plastic curtains and step into the room.

Jude follows. “Did he do something?”

I crouch down next to one of the boxes where an electrical outlet will be placed in a week or so, inspecting the rough edge of the drywall like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“He got onto the set somehow and tried to go after Reese.”

Jude’s eyebrows go up.

“Not like a physical thing. I don’t think. But…”

I rest my upper arms on my knees and run my hand through my hair. “He’s a dick, and he kept her down for years. Fucking years. She’s… He messed her up, and I can’t abide by that, you know?”

Jude grins, then leans back against the wall. “You sound like a fucking cowboy.”

“What?”

“Only cowboys say abide. I guess you would make a good Wyatt Earp.”

“One of Dad’s favorite movies.” I’d forgotten how much our dad loved cowboy stuff. Still does.

“I’m surprised he turned into a tourist when Mom died,” Jude says. “Thought he would have bought a ranch or something.”

“I’m not sure what’s worse.”

We both laugh then, but it doesn’t last.

“So Reese is pissed at you, huh?”

“That’s an understatement.” I rock back so I’m sitting on the ground. “And Cass looked at me like she wanted to make an Eli-skin rug.”

“Gross.” Jude slides down the wall to sit beside me, though there’s a good five feet of space between us. “Well, at least it’ll take the heat off me.”

I look over at him. “What are you in trouble for now?”

“I kinda went overboard on that interview about the ghost.”

I dip my head down onto my forearm, which is now resting across my knees. To my surprise, I find myself trying not to laugh, imagining just how overboard Jude could have gone. “Did you do a one-man reenactment of the murder?”

“No, but I should have. Good idea.”

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