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If only.

Jude

I’m an asshole.

I already knew this, but after this morning, I’m surer than ever.

He’s a grown-ass man. He can get in his car, drive wherever he wants, and do anything he pleases. So why did I panic when I actually thought he was doing just that?

Because you like him.

You secretly enjoyed your day with him yesterday.

Tate was certainly pissed at my behavior. But before all that anger and vitriol he spewed at me, his eyes shone with abject terror.

Why?

What scares him so terribly that he’d have such a panicked expression and would be ready to bolt? I’d snagged him before he got far and he seemed…relieved to see me.

What are you hiding, Tate?

Who did this to you?

Ever since he left in a fury, I’ve been mulling over both of our actions. Violet gave me the stink eye, which had me holing up in my office like a coward to avoid her. Even my damn cook knows I’m an asshole.

Guilt has long taken over my curiosity about his behavior. Now I just want to look him in the eye and apologize. I was out of line and I know it.

Rather than stalking the internet for more clues about Tate, I sit in my chair by the window, watching over our property. Callum eventually leaves my house. He’s not storming off but eagerly striding back home.

Tate has a positive effect on this family.

And I’m doing my best to blow it.

Before I can make the decision to seek out Tate, my phone buzzes. I don’t recognize the number, but it’s local, so I answer it.

“This is Jude,” I grunt out in greeting.

A deep, vaguely familiar chuckle greets me on the other end of the line. Though it’s older and gruffer, the playful cadence is one I’ll never forget.

“Fuckin’ Baker,” I say before he can speak. “How’d you get my number?”

“Still the same dick from high school, I see,” he throws back. “How the hell are you, man?”

“Dandy,” I deadpan. “How’d you get my number?”

“Your dad. Saw him in town the other day. Said you might like to reconnect.”

Of course. Dad is always meddling, trying to bring me out of the shadow realm and into the human one.

“Nah.”

He snorts out another laugh. “Too bad, asswipe. We’re reconnecting whether you like it or not.”

Chatting with my old buddy is better than facing Tate and acknowledging what a douchebag I was earlier. I suppose I can catch up for a few minutes.

“What are you up to these days?” I ask reluctantly. “Coaching high school ball?”

“Nope,” he says, voice growing serious. “After everything that happened to you and, you know…” He trails off. The unspoken words areyour momand they make my heart clench painfully. “Well, I thought I’d become a firefighter.”