“Was it though? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want you to—” I waved my hands vaguely. “You know.”
His gaze narrowed. “No, what?”
“This.”
“Care?” he supplied, the laugh that followed lacked any humor. “Sol, don’t let your parents pick your dreams.”
The worst part of sitting across from him in this sticky booth was that he wasn’t wrong. Jude had this way of seeing straight through my crap.
“There’s no guarantee with composing, or music really…” I trailed off, staring blankly ahead.
Music as an industry was unforgiving. It chased trends. There was no guarantee I’d ever use my degree the way I wanted. My mom and dad paid for twelve years of piano lessons. They bought the baby grand in our dining room. They nurtured the dream my whole life, and if I was being honest, perhaps they also slowed it down.
But I couldn’t blame them. They, like all parents, only wanted what was best for me. My mom, a doctor, was practical and no-nonsense, always examining the full picture. My dad, a teacher, was less severe, but still pragmatic. Teaching music could lead to something stable, maybe even a college job someday if I continued my education. I could still compose on the side, test pieces I’d written on my students and our music conferences.
“Solace…” Jude took my hand, leaning forward. “I don’t think—”
“Can’t you just be happy for me?” I couldn’t help but frown. He was kind of being a dick. I’d hardly agreed with most of his decisions, the ones that took him farther and farther from me. For a guy who wanted people to stay, he really couldn’t figure that out himself. “I always support you.”
He exhaled a loud and strained breath. “You’re right.”
I gave his hand a quick squeeze and dropped it, taking another sip of soda. “I thought you had important meetings this weekend? You texted me on your way to dinner, then I missed your call. Why didn’t you tell me you changed your flight?”
There was a heavy beat of silence.
“The same reason you composed that song, I think,” Jude said hoarsely.
I looked at him then,really looked at him—caught in the strange pull between us. His expression had shifted, twisting violently until his gray eyes couldn’t hide the devastation in them. He’d gotten so tall without me noticing, his shoulders broader and the angles of his face sharper. I could hardly believe the muscle stacked beneath his button down, or the tattoo I thought I peeked beneath. He looked like a stranger, but he felt like home.
My gaze caught on his mouth before I could stop it. The soft curve of his upper lip and the faintest downturn that spoke of confessions held close. Heat flickered low in my stomach, sudden and disorienting. I swallowed, forcing my attention back to his eyes.
The corner of his mouth tipped into a menace-laden grin. “I’m pretty sure you knocked us off course when you rejected me.”
I snorted. “In the third grade? We were nine.”
“And your point?”
“My point is that at nine, your greatest love story should be between you and your dog.”
He barked out a laugh, shaking his head before taking another bite of his burger. “Not for me.”
“That’s honestly concerning.”
“You’re telling me.” He pointed at me with a fry. “I’ve been suffering for years because of you.”
I rolled my eyes, stealing the fry from his hand and eating it before he could protest. When did we start just admitting these things to each other? Was it the distance? I’d spent the entire year trying to push him from thought, only for him to slip back in my head anyway.
“See? Toxic behavior,” he muttered.
“And yet, you persist.”
His gaze held mine then, amusement softening at the edges into something more serious. Something steadier. “I do.”
My smile faltered slightly.Oh. He wasn’t joking.
“Did you mean what you said about us being ill-fated?”
