“I’m not hungry, Luce,” he said. “I’m good.”

We’d gone from bad to worse in ten seconds. Things were not looking good for the rest of the afternoon if we continued at this rate.

“Son‌—‌” Dad started, nothing but concern in his voice, before Jude’s head whipped around to glare at him.

“I’m not your son,” Jude said, his jaw clenching. “The man whose son I am is in jail for killing your son. So don’t pretend we have some sort of relationship that entitles you to refer to me as ‘son.’” Bursting up in his seat, Jude shoved his chair back and marched away from the table.

Popping up in my seat, I followed after him. Even at a fast walk, he was thundering through the exit before I was out of the dining room. I’m sure people were watching the two of us, but all I paid attention to was the wide back thundering out into the street.

As soon as I shoved through the door, I ran down the steps and into the street. “Jude!” I hollered at him, but he didn’t hear me. He was pacing beside the bed of his truck, his hands on his h*ps and his eyes somewhere else completely.

Then, clutching his head, he kicked the wheel of his truck before driving his fist into the rusted bed. His other fist followed, until both were moving so fast I couldn’t tell which one was responsible for each metallic note exploding in the air.

“Jude!” I ran across the street towards him, almost slipping on the fresh snow. “Jude, stop!” I said, braking to a stop beside him and grabbing one of his arms. He was so intent upon beating the shit out of his truck I had to wrap both arms around one of his before I got his attention.

“Jude,” I said, taking in a breath, “what are you doing?”

His gaze turned from the dents he’d hammered into his truck to my eyes. They didn’t eclipse from black to light like they normally did when I interrupted one of his bouts of rage, and having him look at me with those dark, tortured eyes made a chill crawl up my spine.

“I need you to leave me alone right now, Luce,” he said, biting around every word.

“Like hell I’m leaving you alone,” I said, not letting go of his arm.

“Damn it, Lucy!” he shouted, driving his other fist into the truck bed. “I’m not safe to be around right now.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” I said.

“I never would intentionally, but I hurt things, Luce. I hurt people,” he said, looking away from me. “I sure as shit don’t mean to, but it’s in the damn DNA. The only way I can protect you from me is if I recognize the times it’s not safe to be around me, tell you, and you actually listen.” His tone had turned from angry to pleading‌—‌almost begging. He was begging me to turn around and leave him alone when these kinds of moments were when we needed each other most.

“I need to sort out my shit right now. I need to do this alone,” he said, fitting his hand over my cheek, but it was careful, like he was afraid the contact might break me. “Tell your parents I’m sorry.”

I lifted my hand and folded it over his on my cheek, trying to press it harder against me. It was met with a warm wetness. Holding my hand out in front of my face, I grabbed his. “You’re bleeding.”

“Barely,” he said, pulling his hand away.

“Barely bleeding is a paper cut,” I said, staring at his other hand also dripping blood. “You’re creating pools of blood in the snow. You need stitches.”

Opening the driver’s side door, I grabbed the keys he left underneath the seat. I didn’t know where the nearest ER was, but we were in New York. One couldn’t be far off. “Get in,” I instructed. “I’m taking you to get those gashes stitched up.”

“No, you’re not,” Jude said, grabbing my waist and hoisting me out of the truck. “You’re going to go back inside and enjoy the day with your parents.”

“You need to get those looked at,” I said, waving my hands at his.

“Leave it alone, Luce,” he warned, letting me go and hopping into his truck.

“Stop acting like an ass**le and think!” I said, kicking his door as he closed it.

Rolling down the window, he sighed. He wouldn’t look at me. “I’m working on it,” he said. “Will your parents give you a ride back to your place?”

“If I said no, would you stay?”

He didn’t pause. “No,” he said, starting the truck up. “But I would make sure a cab was here to drive you home safely.”

Infuriating.

“Then yeah, they’ll drive me home.”

“Good,” he said, nodding once. “I’ll call you later. After I get my head back on straight.”

I laughed some of my frustration out. “If I had to wait for you to get your head on straight, I’d be waiting forever.”

His face lined as his eyes closed. “I think I’m starting to see that too, Luce.”

Then, without the shortest look my way, he eased out of the parking space, pausing and waiting for me to move.

Relenting, I took a few steps back.

“Bye,” he whispered, heading down the road, the truck’s wheels drawing lines in the snow. My eyes filled with tears, but I wouldn’t let them fall because letting them fall was like admitting there was something worth crying over. Something worth crying over wasn’t a place I wanted to visit when it came to Jude and me. So I didn’t cry. I forced the tears to disappear. I focused on the blood dotted snow at my feet, shoving away the thoughts that snuck up on me, whispering it was a metaphor for what was to come.