Page 9 of Hidden Vows (Love in Ashford Falls #3)

seven

ABBEY

My heart rate spikes, and I can’t help but be thankful that I’m not the one hooked up to the heart monitor.

This book has been such a roller coaster ride and so incredibly different from every other AJ Doherty book I’ve ever read.

The characters are still just as intricate and intriguing, but the storyline follows a path I’m not used to in his books.

It’s almost like he’s following the formula for a romantic suspense more than a thriller, and I just don’t know how I feel about it.

I love a good romance novel, but AJ Doherty is the furthest author from my mind when I think of romance.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hint of romance in any of his previous books, and I’ve been following him since he published his first book almost ten years ago.

My heart might be pounding, but my brows pinch with the cliffhanger at the end of the chapter. There’s no reason for me to close the book right now, but that’s exactly what I find myself doing.

Placing my bookmark, I close the book and tilt it to see how much further I have—about halfway there. I could finish it easily, but I still place the book in the empty seat next to me, done reading for now.

My eyes move to the hospital bed in front of me, and I can’t stop myself from moving to the edge of my seat, taking Walt’s hand in mine. While the doctors have started to wean Walt off the medication keeping him sedated, he hasn’t shown any signs of waking up.

“You have to be okay, Walt. I just got you back. I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.

” My voice is hoarse and I have to swallow to stop the tears building in the back of my throat.

“I don’t know what to do, Walt,” I whisper, dropping my head to the edge of his bed, his hand still held in mine.

“How am I supposed to live across the hall from him?”

It’s been almost a week since he moved into our old apartment—the apartment I refused to even look at the first few months after I moved into mine.

I almost didn’t accept Marybelle’s offer to move into the space above the bookstore when I first started working there nearly a decade ago.

The thought of all the reminders simply seeing that door would conjure terrified me.

To this day, the first memories that run through my brain are some of the happiest moments of my life.

Jude was adamant about carrying me over the threshold the day we moved into the apartment, no matter how ridiculous I told him it was. But there was so much joy and laughter that day. We didn’t have much when we moved, but we had each other, and that felt like more than enough.

I lift my head, looking at Walt. I know he won’t respond, but that doesn’t stop me from talking to him as if he will.

“It might not be fair, but no matter how much time has passed, I’m still hurt. I know I have every right to be hurt, but I hate that I can’t let it go. I hate that I’m not stronger.” Releasing Walt’s hand, I sit back in my seat, my eyes never leaving his face.

Almost a week of living across the hall from Jude, and I’ve run into him every day.

No matter what time I leave—and believe me, I’ve changed up the time every day—he’s still stepping out of his space at the same time.

He doesn’t say anything, but he watches me carefully as if I might disappear if he looks away.

“I’ve seen him every day, Walt, and even though he doesn’t say a word, it’s like I know what he’s thinking.

” My eyes fall to my hands in my lap, afraid of some judgment I know doesn’t exist. “Maybe it’s because I’m thinking the same thing—how different would our lives be if we made different choices in that one moment?

” Standing from my seat, I move to the window overlooking the parking lot.

I’m not sure if I really thought I’d ever see Jude again.

I think part of me always knew I would, but then again, I worked next door to Walt for ten years and still managed to avoid laying eyes on him.

Not for any reason other than seeing him would always remind me of Jude, and I couldn’t handle that pain.

Seeing Walt definitely made me think of Jude, but I was wrong about the pain.

It wasn’t the thought of Jude that hurt me when I finally spoke to Walt again; it was the realization that I missed out on sixteen years with a man who had been like a father to me.

I was in pain because I knew how much I hurt Walt, a man who never deserved that kind of treatment.

“I know I’m not the same person I was seventeen years ago, so how can I treat him like he’s the same? How can I feel for him as strongly today as I did back then?”

A noise behind me causes my entire body to jolt. Spinning to see the source of the sound, my heart rate spikes again.

I shouldn’t be shocked by the person standing in the doorway—he has every right to be here—but I hoped I’d have a little more time to myself.

“Sorry, I can come back.” Jude stuffs his hands into his pockets but doesn’t move to leave, his eyes staying trained on me.

“No. He’s your father. You should stay.” It takes a moment, but I unstick my feet and move back to the chair I was sitting in.

“He’d want you to be here,” he whispers, taking a few steps into the room.

“I’ve been here for an hour, and it’s not like he knows who’s here.” I reach for my bag on the floor, dropping it into my empty seat as I put my things away.

“Do you really believe that? That he can’t hear you?”

“I honestly don’t know, but either way, he’d want you here more than anyone else.” My voice is harsher than I mean, but I can’t control it. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I can’t find the energy to care right now.

The only sound in the room is the beeping from Walt’s monitor, and I take Jude’s silence as acceptance, returning to packing my things.

“Are you enjoying it?” he asks, and I look at him, wondering what he’s referring to, but find his eyes resting on the book in the seat beside me.

I contemplate ignoring him for only a second before I answer, unable to keep my thoughts to myself. “I don’t know, which might say exactly how I feel about it,” I mutter as I slide the book into my bag.

“What do you mean?” I hear his feet shuffle slightly, and when I look up, he’s standing on the other side of the chair.

“Just that I’m normally already in love with the story and characters at this point in the story.” I shrug, shouldering my bag.

“What’s different about this one?” His eyes bounce between mine, an emotion swelling in them that I can’t quite place.

“Jude.” I sigh, my shoulders deflating. I might not be able to read the emotion in his eyes, but I know this can’t be about a book. “Why are we talking about a book?”

“Honestly? I don’t want you to go. I know it’s selfish and I have no right, but that’s the truth.

” He shifts, removing his hands from his pockets, placing them on the back of the chair, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he grips it.

“I’ve…you’re…” His words trail off, and his head falls forward, clearly at a loss for what to say.

I can’t blame him. I don’t know what to say either.

I’ve seen Jude every day for the last week, but I haven’t allowed myself to study him, and in this moment, I finally allow myself the time to see him.

When I knew Jude before, he constantly fought the stereotype of the boy from the wrong side of the tracks—even if there weren’t any tracks running through this town.

He was clean-shaven, kept his hair short, and always wore clean-cut clothes.

He never looked comfortable in his own skin.

But he’s changed in the almost two decades since I’ve seen him.

His golden-brown eyes still show exactly what he’s feeling—if you bother to take the time to know him—but his features have matured.

His hair is longer, and instead of having a clean-shaven look, he’s grown a full beard, though it’s well-maintained.

He’s given up the almost stuffy attire he used to wear and swapped them out for a more laid-back appearance.

His jeans hug his hips and thighs, tapering into a pair of biker boots, and at the collar of his plain black T-shirt, tattoos poke out.

On his fingers, more tattoos are printed along his skin, though I can’t make out what the different symbols are.

I can’t know for sure since he’s wearing a leather jacket, but I have a feeling there are even more tattoos traveling up his arms.

He looks nothing like I remember and yet the same.

He finally looks comfortable in his body, and part of me hates that I wasn’t there to see that transformation.

“I’m sorry, Abs.” He lifts his head, eyes meeting mine. “I know that’s not nearly enough, but I?—”

“You don’t get to call me that anymore,” I say, cutting him off and bending to pick up the book. “You’re right, though.” Standing straight, I meet his eyes, and the pain I see in them makes me pause.

It’s not only pain. The pinch in his brow and the slump of his shoulders show a devastation I only remember seeing in him once before. Everything about his stance makes me wonder how he can still be in so much pain over everything.

“Sorry isn’t enough, and you don’t get to ask me to stay.”

“Abbey. I-I’m not the same person anymore.” His voice is so soft I almost miss it.

“I know,” I whisper. “Neither am I.”

It hurts realizing we don’t know each other anymore. I thought I’d see every version of Jude Murphy, but because of one stupid moment, I’ll never know the versions of him I missed.

He studies me for a second, and I see the moment something clicks in his brain—his eyes clear and his posture straightens. “I’m going to prove that to you.”

I step around the chair, moving toward the door. “Jude?—”

This time, he’s the one to cut me off. “I know you’re not ready.” I hear his steps behind me and feel his heat at my back. “But soon, we’re going to sit down and talk about it. All of it,” he whispers.

My eyes fall closed, and his voice is so close to my ear the warmth sends a shiver up my spine. I pray that he doesn’t notice how my body responds. Without saying anything or looking back at him, I step from the room and try not to run out of the hospital.

How can he still have that kind of power over my body—and my heart?