He covers my mouth with his own, once again preventing me from saying any more.
“Jude,” he breathes into a kiss so full of emotion that it says everything we can’t.
I kiss him back for as long as I possibly can, and we pick up the pace until I have to break away with a gasp.
“Do it,” he urges.
I rest my forehead against his as I come in deep waves around him. Ones that tether me to him like we’ll be joined for eternity. Ones that will leave ripples on my heart forever. The only evidence of what lies inside. Because I can’t say it. He won’t let me say it.
“Good girl,” he whispers.
He swells inside me, and I whimper as he comes with a rich groan, his fingers tightening on my hips. He guides me up and down, emptying all he has in slow, deliberate strokes, his eyes never leaving mine.
I part my lips again, but his soft words halt me.
“Don’t say anything, Jude. Not a word.”
This time, it’s me who has to keep silent. Just like he didn’t tell me it was him that first night together in the dark—here on our last night, beneath a blanket of stars, I don’t tell him that I’m glad it was him.
Or that it will only ever be him from now on.
Afterward, we lie on the deck, staring at the night sky in an easy silence—my head on his chest, his arm around me and his lips pressed against my hair as if in one gentle never-ending kiss.
There’s nowhere else in the world I would rather be right now.
“This is perfect,” I breathe, sinking deeper into his embrace and spotting one star brighter than all the rest. “So beautiful and peaceful.”
He kisses my hair. “You bring me peace, Saint Jude,” he says softly.
I smile at the way he remembers the story I told him about why my mom chose my name.
“That must mean you’re a lost soul.”
“Yeah, maybe I am.”
The aching honesty in his words has me turning my head to see his face.
“Everyone who’s lost can be found.”
He’s silent for a beat, then says, “Not if they don’t want to be.”
I frown, easing up to a sitting position so I can look at him properly.
“Come back to New York with me.”
He sits up beside me. “Jude?—”
“Please,” I beg, despite knowing I shouldn’t. You can’t force a person to do something they don’t want to and expect them to be happy. It’s like my father trying to force me into med school and a career as a surgeon. Yet the words pour from me anyway, fueled by the hope that if there’s a tiny chance, no matter how small, I have to try.
I can’tnottry.
“Please think about it.”
“I’m dead.” His sharp words cut through the air like a blade. “And there’s a reason the world thinks it.”
“Then tell me the reason, because I don’t get it.”
“What’s not to get? I’m not coming back with you. Not now. Not ever.”
