Page 76 of Wicked Temptations
“My ex, Dylan. He tried. Really fucking tried.” Jude’s jaw worked. “But I couldn’t give him what he wanted. Kept him at arm’s length until he got tired of fighting for scraps and left.”
“That’s not the same thing as your parents.”
“No, but the result was.” He looked up at me then, eyes dark and haunted. “And before Dylan, there was Jimmy, and he—” Jude’s fingers tightened on the fork, and he sighed in a way that made me dread what he said next. “Our control issues complemented each other, and we just... just.”
I didn’t like the sound of that at all. I could read between the lines all too well. “He hit you?”
Jude didn’t answer, just set his fork down carefully, like he was concentrating on not breaking it. “I just learned to keep everyone out. Safer that way.”
I wanted to find this Jimmy fuck and break every bone in his hands. Wanted to make him bleed for putting that guarded look in Jude’s eyes, for teaching him that vulnerability meant pain.
But Jude was sitting here, opening up despite all that history. Despite everything I’d said in anger.
That took more guts than anything we’d done on stage.
“I get it now,” I said quietly. “Why you keep running.”
Jude’s mouth twisted. “Yeah, well. I’m a real catch.”
“You are,” I said, and meant it.
His eyes met mine, searching for sarcasm or pity, but he wouldn’t find either. Just honesty. Raw and unfiltered.
Which made me think about how I’d chased him. How he’d been running, and I’d been gaining on him, and then he’d fallen. The sound he’d made when he’d collapsed. The way everything had just stopped.
My throat tightened. “I’m sorry. For getting you hurt.”
Jude’s brows pulled together. “What?”
“Your ankle.” I gestured vaguely at the moon boot. “If I hadn’t been chasing you so hard, if I’d just let you go—”
He laughed. Actually laughed, short and surprised, shaking his head like I’d said something absurd.
“Ash.” He leaned back in his chair, one hand coming up to rub at his face. “You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t trip me or push me or anything. I was running, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I ate shit all on my own.”
“But if I hadn’t—”
“No.” He cut me off, firm. “You don’t get to take credit for my fuckup. I’m the one who drew blood and then bolted like an idiot. That’s on me, not you.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that if I’d just backed off, given him space, none of this would have happened.
But the look on his face said he wouldn’t hear it.
“I don’t blame you,” Jude said quietly. “I never did.”
Something in my chest loosened. Just a fraction, but enough that I could breathe a little easier.
Jude picked at the edge of his curry container, not quite meeting my eyes. “I’ve been watching the videos. All of them.”
“Jude.”
“I couldn’t stop.” He set the fork down, then picked it up again, like he needed something in his hands. “I’ve been sitting here with this fucked ankle, stuck in this apartment, watching you perform with someone else. Watching you two do our sequences.” He looked up at me, and there was so much emotion in his eyes that I thought I’d break in two. “It’s been killing me.”
“You could have answered my messages.”
“I know.”
“So why didn’t you?”
