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“I appreciate it.” He hums thoughtfully as he rakes a hand through his hair. “Anyhow,” he pushes back in his seat with a slow shrug, his artfully drawn shoulders lifting and falling with the movement. “All that to say, I get it. I dealt with a lot of anxiety, too. For a long damn time. The only thing that helped were the anti-anxiety meds my parents had prescribed for me. And, well, I don’t intend to overstep, Declan, but it might be helpful to look into—if you haven’t already.”
I nod, clenching my teeth to stave off my renewed tears.
The sky is streaked in a rainbow of impossibly vibrant colors beyond the water, and it feels like a sign. A message from Quinn to listen to Jude’s advice and get my shit together.
The honest truth, though, is Ihavethought about it—seeing someone and getting on something that might help. But almost anyone with anxiety knows that just the thought, just the suggestion of doing that very thing, brings on a massive wave of anxiety in itself. So shoving that shit down into the dark hole of your consciousness becomes the norm. Until the next timesomeone suggests the same thing, or until you grow so tired of fighting yourself that it feels like the only answer.
One I’m not willing to accept yet.
“Yeah, I might,” I say, but it tastes like a lie.
“Good,” he responds, and silence falls between us.
I clear my throat, tearing my eyes from the floor of the boat to his. “Thank you, by the way, for sharing all that. I hate that you know that kind of loss, too, but at the very least, it’s nice to know someone understands all this…” I lift my hands, circling two pointed fingers around my head, “chaos.”
“It’s nothing. But thank you, too. For the same.”
Our stares linger, and it’s like we take a collective sigh. Not an actual sigh, but something akin to it that has us relaxing in our seats, taking an easier breath, leaving our souls feeling just a little bit lighter, too.
In an attempt to steer our minds in a lighter direction, I decide to finally ask about the nickname he’s given me. “So… what’s with theLittle D,by the way?”
His burst of laughter is unexpected, and my curiosity grows.
He opens his mouth, but closes it again, a color bordering on actual pink rising up his cheeks. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s embarrassed, but I’m not sure Jude is capable of embarrassment.
“It’s uh…” He clears his throat, biting back a chuckle with a shake of his head. “Well, fuck. This is going to come off bizarre no matter how I try to spin it, so bear with me. It’s something we do back home, with my family. And with our friends and whatnot. Based on seniority, or stature or whatever. So, I dubbed youLittle D.Honestly, I said it without thinking. It’s more of a habit, really. And we’ve been around each other a bit recently, so…” he continues to ramble, which for Jude, is kind of impressive.
The warm color in his cheeks deepens, blooming further beneath his cheekbones.
And I can’t help but smile.
Judeisembarrassed, and it’s really something to see.
Skimming a rough hand through his hair, his eyes drift back to mine. His lips tip up into a smile, too. A slightly nervous smile—if Jude even doesnervous, as well. It makes the corners of my own lips tug higher, my own blush washing over my cheeks as his stare reaches deeper, pulling meindeeper.
Goosebumps break out along my skin, and a soft chill races up my side. I fold my arms around myself and rub away at the feeling.
He misinterprets the gesture. “You cold?”
“Oh, no, I’m okay.” I shake my head, but I can’t chase away the chill.
His eyes drift over me, a soft,“Just a sec,”passing through his lips before he stands up and disappears around the side of the boat. He returns a moment later with a dark hoodie in his hand. My fingers brush against his as he holds it out for me and I take it from his grasp.
Tipping my face down, I pull his sweatshirt over my head.
It smells just like him. Like I remember him smelling when his lips brushed against mine on the balcony. Like warmth, and the hint of flora, and the shift in the air just before a thunderstorm.
Tiny flutters erupt in my stomach.
“Thank you,” I say, and my words are soft breath of air.
A slowly-rising smile tugs at one corner of his mouth—knowing, intentional—and the butterflies…they go wild.Fluttering wings flit against my insides, leaving me speechless, breathless.
It’s a lot nicer, though, than the anxiety that usually fills its space.
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A week, and another, pass by after our day on the lake, Addy and I hanging out—staying in and watching movies or going out with Boss and his friends, with Jude—the first of which, by the way, did apologize profusely for leaving me stranded in the club parking lot that one night.