TELLING MY MOM had been harder than I thought.
Seeing her break down in front of me, knowing I’d caused it, had nearly torn me in half. I’d been her world for as long as she could remember.
Keeping me alive had become her life.
And I’d basically just thrown that in her face and said, No, thanks.
I knew they all thought I was giving up, and in a way, I guessed I was.
But it was my choice.
Mine.
I was done being coddled and given half-truths. I was a grown woman, and it was time I started acting like one. If I had only a limited time left on this earth, I would choose how to spend it.
Me.
Not anyone else.
In the short time I’d known Jude, he’d given me a taste of what life could be like if things had been different, if I had been born normal. It was bittersweet, knowing what kind of life we could have had, and my soul ached, knowing it was something we’d never have. But growing up abnormal, apart from society, I knew I had to be thankful for the time I had been given.
And I wanted to spend that remaining time with Jude, not fighting for something that was never meant to be.
A knock on the door pulled my attention upward, and I watched as Jude walked in, reminding me of all the times he’d done so in the past. I had been moved upstairs, back into the cardiology unit, and even though I was in a different room than I had been previously, it still brought back fond memories to see him enter.
The day had passed in a blur, and I’d slept most of it away. The moonlight now lit up the room, casting a warm glow on his tanned skin.
“Just couldn’t stay away,” he said, pulling a chair up to the bed. His mood was heavy even though his words were light and joking.
“Well, they do have pudding here,” I joked, attempting to pull a smile from his lips. “Marcus said all my tests came back fine, so I should be good to go in a day.”
“Good.”
His fingers laced with mine, and I watched his brows furrow together.
“Talk to me, Jude. I know you’re upset about what I decided, but I—”
He rose from his chair and crawled next to me on the bed.
“I don’t want to talk right now,” he whispered, lifting the hem of his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor.
My hands eagerly reached out to touch him, moving over his chiseled lines and defined muscles. “What if someone walks in on us?” I asked, my gaze slowly rising to meet his.
“I sent your mom home for the evening, and Marcus is on his break. As for anyone else, I just really don’t fucking care.”
His daring words excited me, and I moved to quickly shed my clothes, but his hand steadied me.
“No, let me,” he said.
As if we had all the time in the world, he took care in removing each piece of clothing, watching in utter fascination as each tiny part of me was revealed.
“I could spend a lifetime staring at you,” he breathed against my skin.
His lips kissed every inch of me until I was moving uncontrollably against him. He pulled a condom from his wallet and shed the rest of his clothes. Pulling the blanket over us, he gently settled himself over me. Every touch felt deliberate—like he was memorizing each curve and valley with his palm, like he was already losing me.
“Hey,” I said, turning his chin upward. “I’m still here. Be here with me.”
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he answered with a torturous long kiss that I felt down to my toes. My fingers dived into his hair, and I pulled him closer, needing more.
“Slow,” he said against the crook of my neck. “I need slow tonight.”
It was so different from the frenzied, passionate lovemaking we’d done the night before. He’d been nearly frantic, overcome by emotions and anger. Tonight, I still felt the emotions in him, swirling under the surface, but they were different.
As he cradled my face, looking into my eyes with such love and devotion, I struggled to find the puzzle piece I seemed to be missing.
“I love you, Lailah Buchanan,” he chanted.
He thrust deep into me, causing spirals of bliss to ricochet through my body.
Never breaking his agonizingly slow pace, he stayed steady, burying himself deep, as his mouth captured mine. His hands caressed my milky shoulders and squeezed my round breasts before finally sliding down to grip my hips as he continued to move against me. I felt my body clamp down, and I moaned, our kiss muffling my cries of passion, as Jude jerked against me, finding his own relief seconds later.
We redressed, and I curled up next to him once again, loving the warmth his body gave off. I never felt cold when I was in his arms. I drifted off to sleep, his arms closed around me, and I felt safe.
I had a dream.
Jude and I were walking hand in hand through an airport. With smiles plastered across our faces, we proudly handed over our passports to be stamped.
We got the keys to our rental, and with no directions or instructions at all, we hopped in our tiny toy car, laughing as Jude’s head hit the roof. We were exhausted from our flight but so exhilarated and happy. We were here—finally.
He reached into a backpack and pulled out my old notebook before flipping through pages and pages of crossed-out dreams.
“The last one,” he said, holding a pen out to me.
I looked down and saw, among the dark blue and black lines, number seventy-two sat untouched.
“Have my heart broken?” I said, looking up at him in confusion.
He smiled and nodded. “It is the last one. We wouldn’t want to leave anything undone.”
“But I thought…” I stumbled on my words as I watched his expression twist into something sinister. “You promised…” I whispered.
“I lied.”
I woke up, startled, my arms reaching out…searching for him.
He was gone.
My hands brushed my arms briskly, trying to warm away the chill I had in his absence. I looked around the dark room, hoping to find his sleeping figure somewhere, but he was nowhere.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something on the tray table next to my bed. As my gaze shifted, I saw the small pudding cup with a plastic spoon beside it.
I smiled and picked it up before holding it against my chest like a prized possession. It was then that I saw the letter underneath.
In Jude’s angular handwriting was my name written on a plain envelope.
My hand shook as I opened it.
The note crumbled in my hands as tears soaked my cheeks.
Closing my eyes, I remembered his tortured gaze and lingering touches as we’d made love last night. He’d known. As I had been trying to figure out why he was so melancholy, he had been saying good-bye with every kiss, every last caress.
And now, he was gone.
An echoed sob tore through the silence as the reality of my situation solidified.
He’d left me all alone.
No, he’ll change his mind. He just needs time.
I searched around the room for my cell.
I’ll text him and tell him to come back, so we can talk it over.
Once I explained my reasoning to him again, he would understand.
I jumped out of bed and found my backpack that Jude had packed for me. I rifled through it, finding clothes, toiletries, a journal, and my notebook.
But no cell phone.
It was gone.
He’d taken it.
Stopping dead in my tracks in the middle of the room, the enormity of what had happened finally came crashing down on me.
Jude was gone…and he wasn’t coming back.
I turned back around, feeling wobbly on my shaky legs, and I pulled the notebook from the backpack on the floor. I walked aimlessly back to the bed. Pulling a pen from the drawer next to me, I opened it up and found the number I’d just dreamed about. As tears dripped onto the page, I dragged the pen along the paper and crossed out the one thing Jude had promised he’d never allow.
I pulled the notebook to my chest, curling into a ball, and I fell asleep with my newly broken heart.
The comforting walls of my childhood room now felt claustrophobic and confining.
I used to lie in the hospital and dream of the soft feel of my own sheets and the crisp smell of my mother’s fabric softener on my pillow.
Now, as I stared up at the white popcorn ceiling and I felt my legs drag against the freshly laundered soft sheets, it only served as a reminder of what I was missing.
Jude’s sheets never smelled like anything but Jude, and they were anything but soft. Scratchy and cheap, the blue fabric had several holes from years of use. But none of that had ever bothered me because I was in his arms, safe and warm in his arms.
Since he’d left, I hadn’t felt warm in days. California was on the verge of record heat, and I was burying myself under piles of blankets, trying to replicate the feeling of his warm embrace.
Nothing had worked.
Nothing would ever replace him.
No one knew where he was. He’d quit his job at the hospital, and Marcus had said Jude’s apartment was empty.
He’d vanished without a trace.
A knock on my bedroom door signaled my mother’s hourly checkup. Between her and Grace, I was never alone. I was perfectly healthy—for someone who was slowly dying. But my emotional health was worrisome, according to Marcus.
No shit.
I was not to be left unattended.
So, I had babysitters—again.
“Hey, sweetheart. I brought dinner,” my mother said, balancing a tray between her hands.
“Not hungry.”
“Lailah, you have to eat,” she pushed, placing the tray down beside me.
I sat up, crossing my legs, as I looked down at the plate. “Macaroni and cheese?” I inquired. “I can’t have that.”
She smiled. “I got a recipe online. I was able to make a low-sodium version.”
My face grimaced. “Awesome.”
She huffed. “Come on, Lailah. I’m trying. You barely eat. You won’t talk to anyone, and you cry yourself to sleep. I don’t know what to do. Ever since he—”
“No! We’re not talking about him,” I said, raising my hands in protest.
“Fine. But you need to at least eat. I’m worried.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks, making my chest tighten.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m going to be okay, I promise. I just need time. And see?” I picked up the fork. “I’m eating.”
“Good.” She gave a weak smile. “Can I stay here with you?”
I nodded, scooting over to make a spot for her on the bed. I grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV. I figured watching something mindless would be far better than conversation.
Nope. Definitely wrong.
My gut twisted as the food in my stomach suddenly turned sour. There, on the nightly news, in bright HD quality was Jude in a polished three-piece suit, walking into the towering skyscraper of Cavanaugh Investments. Cameras and microphones were being shoved in his face, and he pushed them away.
The caption at the bottom read, Elusive Cavanaugh Son Returns to Spotlight.
“Jude!” a reporter shouted. “Where have you been?”
“Is the recent downfall of your family’s company the reason for your sudden reappearance?” another yelled.
He turned swiftly to address the crowd with glaring confidence. His eyes stared into the camera that was dead ahead, and my heart flip-flopped at the sight of him.
He looked regal. His tattoos were covered underneath the expensive fabric of his tailored gray suit. His hair had been cut shorter, accentuating his chiseled jawline and pale green eyes.
“While it is true that Cavanaugh Investments has had its share of hurdles in recent years, like most Americans, I can assure you, we are on the mend. My number one priority at this time is my family and the thousands of people we employ. Thank you,” he said, turning back, severing my view of his face.
I watched the last few seconds as the cameras followed him. Reporters shouted more questions that he ignored, and then he disappeared behind the double doors.
The TV shut off, but I continued to stare at the black screen.
“Are you okay?” my mom asked.
“No,” I answered honestly.
At least I had my answer. I knew where he was. He’d returned home, back to his normal life and far away from me.
I was too hard to love, too difficult to be around.
He’d chosen the easy path, the safe route.
I guessed I had, too.