Page 88 of The Way Back Home

“Hi,” I say quietly.

“Hi.” His gaze rolls over me. I probably look like death on a cracker, but he’s too polite to say as much, and I could kiss him for it. Jude moves aside, motioning for me to go first. “Come on in. You want some coffee?”

“Oh, Lord, you are an angel,” I blurt out. “Wait, I’m not keeping you from another date, am I?”

“Only the anal gland squeezing of a Great Dane at eight thirty, but she won’t mind being kept waiting.”

“Well, I hope you buy her dinner first,” I say.

“She’d likely eat me for dinner.” He closes the door and leads the way through the clinic to the house. Once in the kitchen, I set Betty on the ground and take a seat at the breakfast bar across from him. Jude pours us both a coffee, and I lean over the counter and inhale the rich, earthy scent, and sigh. I take a sip and feel the bandana bob against my throat.

“Kind of warm for scarves, ain’t it?” Jude says, glaring at the offending piece of fabric.

I swallow hard. “I hear it’s what all the kids are wearing these days.”

“Right, except it’s a hundred degrees out. And the dark circles under your eyes, are they fashionable too?” Jude’s gaze is full of challenge, of knowing, and I shift uneasily in my seat. “Why do I get the feeling you ain’t sleepin’ too well?”

“Because I spent the night with six dogs and a squealing piglet for company.” As if she could understand every word from my mouth Betty snorts loudly and hobbles excitedly around the rug in Jude’s lounge room, rubbing her face and snout all over the plush carpet. If she didn’t have on that cast, she’d likely be tearing around the room. It seems my little piglet loves to run.

“Why?”

“August and I are—”

“A big mistake?”

“I love him, Jude,” I whisper. I don’t mean to; it just comes tumbling out. He winces, clears his throat, and takes a sip of his coffee.

“You hear about what happened to the last girl that loved him?” I give him a puzzled expression, and he continues, “It killed her. I don’t know, I guess we killed her.”

“What?”

“After he . . . walked in on us, beat the shit outta me, and rearranged my face, he wouldn’t see her. Wouldn’t talk to her. He went back to Lackland that weekend and was deployed immediately after his training was done. He wouldn’t call her, wouldn’t write her back. Hell, I don’t even know if he got her letters. All I know is, she wasn’t right after he found out about us, and she died tryin’ to win him back.” He scrubs a hand down over his cleanly shaven jaw. There’s so much pain in his eyes, so much torment. “I don’t think she ever planned on killing herself. I think she just wanted to get his attention. She got it, but by then it was too late.”

“Oh, Jude,” I reach out and place my hand on top of his on the counter, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

“I loved her too. I know he can’t see that; I don’t even think she knew how crushed I was when she wouldn’t see or talk to me, but I loved her.” He shakes his head, draws his hand out from under mine. “What is it about him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play with me, Olivia.”

“I don’t know, maybe I just have a thing for the strong, sullen type.” Tears prick my eyes, and I blow out a huge breath.

“He hurt you?” he asks glancing again at my throat. I unfasten the scarf and expose the angry cut August’s blade left on my skin, and the bruises that I know are a hideous purple blue. He sucks in a sharp breath. “I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

“It isn’t his fault.”

“Jesus, really?” he snaps, looking horrified. “Whose fault is it, yours?”

“He’s suffering from PTSD blackouts, which is ironic because if it were anyone else, I’d know exactly what to do, what to say. I know how to fix men like August, but I don’t think I can fix him. I can’t make it better, Jude.”

The dam breaks, my tears spill over, and those words replay on a loop inside my head. I can’t fix the man I love, but I can’t quit him either, and I don’t know where that leaves me. Right now, it’s seeking refuge in a place where he can’t hurt me. At least not physically, anyway.

***

IFEED THE DOGS, GIVEthem water, and lock up for the night. I would have finished much sooner, but Dalton didn’t come in today, for the second day in a row. I need to go see him, I need to make sure he is okay, but Josiah, Beau and I were swamped with adoptions all day. I let the boys go early. They have a party they want to go to, and I don’t want Josiah seeing Jude show up here. I don’t know why; August will find out soon enough that I’m going to be living in Jude’s cabin—the whole town will know soon enough. The Cottons and I will be neighbors. Our cars will drive down the same road every day. We’ll dodge the same potholes and slow down for the same bends. He’s bound to find out, and while I have no interest in Jude as anything more than a friend, it still feels like a betrayal.

Doc’s waiting in the lot, and I climb in my car with Betty and follow him. Ten minutes later, he pulls in the drive of a huge log cabin, and I do a double take.

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