This Could Be Us (Skyland, #2)(109)

“I cut myself,” I finally say, taking off the winter coat and hanging it on the hook by the door.

“How?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, as confident in briefs and one sock as most men would be in an Armani suit.

“I found out some news about Edward that made me lose my mind a little,” I say, forcing a laugh. “I took my machete to his clothes, his shoes.”

My eyes stray to the holes and dents still in one wall.

“His man cave.” I shrug. “I knew the Bird jersey was his most prized possession, so I shattered the glass, which is, of course, how I found the drive.”

“And how you cut your hand?”

“Right.”

“What did you find out about Edward?” he asks.

I settle on the chaise longue and pull my knees to my chest, shame seeping in, cold and familiar. “My doctor called and told me I had chlamydia.”

“Sol, shit.” He stands and crosses the small room to sit beside me on the chaise longue. “That motherfucker.”

“It’s curable… I mean, I’m fine now, but that was how I knew for sure Edward was cheating on me.” I turn my palm over in my lap. “You know what I realized, though?”

“What?” he asks, tracing the ugly scar.

“It bisects my lifeline.” I smile down at the lightning bolt of raised flesh across my palm. “And that’s how I think of it. That day, that realization split my life into two parts, from blind trust to eyes wide open. I wouldn’t trade the knowledge of who Edward really is for anything.”

“I still can’t imagine how you felt hearing that.” He brushes my hair back with one hand.

“Hey, some good came of it.” I smile up at him. “If I hadn’t temporarily lost control, I would never have found the drive, and he might not be in prison.”

“And we might not be here now.” He links our fingers and sets our joined hands on his knee.

The idea that Judah would be out there in the world with someone else, or just not with me, and that I’d still be trapped in that plastic bubble Edward tried to maintain, makes me shudder. Terrifies me. I snuggle into Judah and reach up to cup his face, touching my mouth to his. It’s as much an entreaty as it is a kiss—a soft pleading passed between our lips, an invitation to stay while I figure my shit out because I don’t want to imagine him out of my life. I don’t know exactly what this is we’re doing, or what I’m ready to call it, but I want it. I want him, even if a part of me asks if I’m sure I’m ready.

I think he pretends not to see the tears at the corners of my eyes. It’s a kindness because he likely assumes I’m at a breaking point. He would be wrong. I’m not crying because I might break. I’m crying because I’m healing, and I’m just so damn grateful for the journey I’ve chosen. I need to see it through, but will I lose Judah while finding myself?

He squeezes my shoulder and runs a finger down the bridge of my nose, which I’m sure is red by now.

“Also, should I be concerned at how casually you said ‘my machete’?” he asks, the question lifting the somber tone of the conversation.

“No need to worry.” I slant him a teasing look. “I don’t think I’ll ever need to use my machete because of your bad behavior.”

He captures my chin between his fingers, holds my eyes, the humor fading into sincerity. “I promise you won’t.”

It’s a pledge that lands like a balm on my injured memories, and I know I can trust him. I can’t even bend my mind to imagine Judah doing the things Edward did, treating me the way Edward did.

“I know,” I tell him, covering his hand where it rests on my face.

“Good,” he says, grabbing my Wild card. “So what do you think? One last hand?”

I find a chuckle hiding somewhere and roll a look down his barely clothed body.

“You know you’ll lose and end up completely naked, right?”

Bending his head, he kisses the curve of my neck and takes my earlobe between his teeth, whispering, “I thought that was the point.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE





JUDAH


Tell me again how I ended up being the parent explaining what I do to Adam’s class?” I ask Tremaine.

She laughs, writing her name on the guest badge at Harrington’s front desk. “They already had three lawyers come this week. Nobody had an accountant, so short straw goes to you, buddy.”

“And they’ll be so excited to hear about me crunching numbers all day,” I tell her dryly, affixing the guest badge to my sweater. “What made you want to come too?”

Her smile dwindles, and a frown takes its place. “I wanna see this new teacher of Adam’s in action. There’s some aspects of his IEP I want to make sure are being executed. This feels like a good excuse.”

“There won’t be any instruction happening,” I remind her. “Just me talking about how titillating a career in accounting can be. So how will that give you a sense of what’s going on?”

“I’ll know, Judah.” Tremaine watches me from under sleek, dark brows. “Do you doubt my detection abilities?”

Once Tremaine, based on gut alone, withdrew the boys from a school for autistic kids that later landed on the news for neglect and borderline abuse. My specialty is research and data, gathering all the facts, but I’ll defer to that famous gut instinct of hers every time when it comes to Aaron and Adam.