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“Deal.” I inhale his smoky hair. “I’m done hiding, sweet boy. I think I’m ready for you to see me—all of me—especially the ugly. I just hope you’ll stick around after.”
He pulls back and threads his fingers into my hair. “I already see you, Jude. I’ve seen your heart and it’s beautiful. This face is a pleasant surprise. There’s not one single ugly thing about you inside or out.”
“He killed my mom.”
Tate is silent for a beat and then nods. “I am so sorry he did that to you.”
“I couldn’t save her…” I trail off, searching for that never-ending self-loathing that’s always crawling at my skin and finding nothing.
“You did your best, Jude. I’m proud of you for trying. You’re a hero to me.”
His words play out over and over in my head until I can almost imagine Mom saying them. Is that how she would have felt too? Proud of me for trying? Would she have seen me as a hero?
Yeah.
Yeah, I think she would have.
Tate
Six days later…
Cinnamon.
Gah.
My favorite Jude smell usually comes from his bed, where his scent lingers the strongest. This time, it’s coming from the air. Someone is baking at the crack of dawn and I’m forced to get out of bed early to follow my nose.
Of course my traitor cat is already gone.
I pull on one of Jude’s hoodies because I like how it swallows me and then grab my sweatpants from the floor to dress in before leaving the bedroom. Outside of the room, the heavenly aroma teases of something sweet and decadent for breakfast. I cannot wait. I continue to follow my nose all the way to the dining room.
Wyatt sits in his wheelchair, an amused grin on his wrinkly lips. “Food always lures you out of bed, huh, Tate?”
“Every time,” I say with a dramatic sigh. “If only the people in this house were normal and had cereal for breakfast, maybe a guy could get some sleep around here.” I squeeze his shoulder and he pats my hand. “How are you feeling, Wyatt?”
“I’ll feel better when I get my hands on one of those cinnamon rolls.”
“Let me see if I can scrounge you one up.”
I leave Wyatt to peek in the kitchen. Jude, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his hood covering his profile, is hard at work drizzling creamy icing all over a batch of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.
These people are going to make me gain twenty pounds!
Violet, busy at the stove flipping bacon and scrambling eggs, winks at me when I enter. I walk over to her and give her a quick hug. It’s a thing now. If I forget, she gets onto me for breaking her heart. And I can’t have that on my watch.
“Morning, sweetie.”
“Morning.”
I break away from her to hug Jude from behind. He’s stiff at first but relaxes in my hold. This past week has been stressful, to say the least. Dealing with the aftermath of Sean, both me and Jude have been spending our fair share of time at the police station and with our lawyers, hand-selected and approved by Hugo.
Yes, I, Tate Prince, have an attorney—the best of the best—who is helping me with my case against Sean. It’s surreal to think he’s actually going to be punished for the monster he is.
When he was arrested later on the day of the fire, I cried like a baby. It was mostly relief and happiness for myself that I could finally breathe easy. But I also cried for his family. I’m sure his wife was shocked and humiliated by what Sean had done. Their girls are probably confused and miss their daddy. The whole situation sucks.
“You’re thinking loud,” Jude murmurs, his body rumbling from the vibration of his deep voice. “You okay?”
I pull away and step beside him to watch him with his task of icing the cinnamon rolls. “I’m fine. Just thinking about the girls.”
