Clash

“How the hell would I know?” he repeated, his face screwed into disbelief. “How the hell would I know, Luce?” Okay, now he was looking insulted. “I know because even if I drank every last drop of alcohol in every seedy bar in this town, there’s only one girl I’d want to crawl into bed with. There’d only be one girl I could even fantasize about going to bed with.”

“Let me guess,” I mused, tapping my temple. “Adriana Vix?”

Jude pounded the floor with his fist. “Would you stop being so damn difficult?”

“Would you stop screwing manipulative bitches behind my back?” Low blow, but that’s where I felt like hitting right now.

“I can’t stop what I never started,” he said, popping his neck, attempting to diffuse the ticking time bomb from going off again.

“So you’re telling me a naked, freshly showered Adriana Vix just magically appeared in your bedroom?” I hoped it sounded as preposterous as it was.

“Would you believed me if I told you what happened?” he asked, keeping his words slow, his muscles relaxed.

“No,” I snapped, “but I’m sure it will be highly entertaining and quite imaginative, so please, tell away.”

He took in another breath, really trying not to react to me baiting him.

“After I left the restaurant, I drove back to my house. I was pissed and angry at myself for ruining the day, so I grabbed myself a bottle of tequila and went upstairs and sulked in my bedroom until I was drunk.”

“Shit faced drunk,” I clarified.

“Luce,” he dropped his gaze at me, “you and I both know it would take a hell of a lot more than a bottle to get me shit faced.”

So what if the man could hold his liquor? Not on that day. Not on an empty stomach. Not after he’d left his girlfriend in the middle of a snowy street.

“I was buzzing for sure, but when I crawled into bed that night, I was alone. And I at least had a pair of boxers on.”

“So Adriana slipped into your room, stripped you, positioned you, and hopped into the shower?”

“Maybe.”

“And I have ‘dumb’ tattooed to my face where?” I asked, glaring over at him.

“I’ve never once treated like you were some dumb broad, Luce, so don’t go there now,” he said, almost shouting. “I’m telling you what I know happened, I’m admitting what I don’t know, but I swear to you, on your brother’s grave, that I did not take Adriana Vix to bed with me that night.”

I recoiled from the words, scooting farther from him. “Don’t you bring my brother into this,” I warned, lifting my finger at him. “Don’t you swear on his grave, you lying bastard!”

“All right,” Jude said, exhaling through his nose. “I won’t swear on anyone’s grave. I’ll just give you my word. I didn’t do it, Luce. I love you. I’ll only ever love you.” The pain flashed through his eyes again. “I need you to believe me.”

I laughed. “Too damn bad.”

Dropping the half eaten chocolate bar to the side, he exhaled. He was tired and drained, maybe even more than I was.

“Then I need you to trust me, Luce.” Looking up, he met my eyes and I didn’t need words to read his meaning.

Trust. What I hadn’t given him months ago. What I’d paid for for not giving it to him. What I’d promised him he’d always have.

And this was Jude’s low blow. Asking me to trust him, knowing I couldn’t deny him this when I had before. I knew what I’d seen, so I couldn’t believe him. But I knew him, and because of that‌—‌no matter how preposterous this whole denial thing was‌—‌I made up my mind to trust him.

“Fine,” I breathed, realizing trust was as painful as love.

The breath he’d been holding fell out of his mouth, the lines ironing from his face. His whole body relaxed. “So we’re good?” he asked so softly it was like he was afraid of the answer. “We’re going to be able to make it past this?”

My hands were shaking because this was it. The end.

“I trust you, Jude,” I began, focusing on my trembling hands because I couldn’t watch his face break again, “but I can’t do this right now. I need a break.”

I had to pause to collect myself before I could go on. “I can’t keep doing this up and down, never knowing what’s going to be around the corner thing. I need some time to get myself right. To figure out what I want and how and if we fit into that picture. I need to focus on school and dance and what I want out of my future. I need… time.”

He’d stayed silent, unmoving, the entire time, letting me get out what I needed to.

“Luce,” he said after a minute of silence, “are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

His voice almost made me break down into sobs again. “Yeah,” I said, turning my hands over. “I think so.”

He sucked in a breath, his head falling back against my mattress.

“I just need some time right now, Jude,” I rushed, wanting to give him a scrap of hope I knew wasn’t there to give. “I need a break from the tornado you and I create everywhere we go.”

“How much time?” His voice was a whisper, his own gaze focused on where my hands shook in my lap.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “A month. Maybe more.”