Page 57 of This Might Hurt

JUDE

This is the third time I’ve woken up wrapped in Andrew’s scent, his body heat, and I’m already certain I can’t live without it.

Today, for once, we don’t have to jump out of bed and go rushing—damn it.

I fumble around the mattress without lifting my face from my pillow, hoping maybe I misplaced him.

He’s not here, just a warm crater where he ought to be.

I can’t hear him in the bathroom, either.

Panic kicks in. I shove myself up to look around the unfamiliar room, so bland and cold compared to Ramona’s house and way too bright.

Whoever thought it was a good idea to put glass balcony doors in an east-facing bedroom should be shot.

They’re cracked open, letting in a muggy breeze and the sound of a lawnmower.

I pick up the note balanced on Andrew’s pillow and squint at the Innes Group letterhead.

Of course these fucks have their own stationary.

Holding it close to my bleary eyes, I struggle to parse out his gorgeous, old-fashioned cursive.

Went to get the interview details. Don’t come down; we need to make a plan first. I’ll be back soon.

“Fuck.” Wide awake and pissed off, I throw myself out of bed and drag on my dirty gym shorts that smell like horse snot.

I don’t even check which t-shirt I’m pulling on as I stumble out into the deserted hallway.

His entire family sucks ass, but that fucking uncle, Archie, sent my primal instincts into a panic like no one ever has.

There’s something deeply fucking wrong with him, and every bone in my body screams that I have to keep him away from Andrew.

I don’t even remember which direction we came from last night, so I pick randomly and start walking.

If I don’t find him in five minutes, I’m going to set the damn house on fire to get it out of the way so I can see where he went.

Every window I pass has an identical pointless nook, with built-in window seats and arrangements of fresh flowers.

They must get a truckload of flowers sent out here every three or four days and some poor fucker has to change them all.

“Excuse me, hello?”

I spin around, heart pounding. A short, curvy older woman with gray-streaked hair is standing at the other end of the hall with a tray. I don’t remember seeing her yesterday. “Sorry, I’m on my way out.” I point over my shoulder.

“Wait, are you Mr. Bishop?”

No one in this place has even looked at me. Hearing this lady say my name in a genuinely friendly tone of voice is kind of a head fuck. “That depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

She lets out a surprised laugh, then hoists the wooden tray in her hands. “I was going to bring you coffee and toast.”

I’m not eating toast while my boy is missing, but the tray looks heavy.

I feel bad enough to walk back down the hall and open the door to Andrew’s room for her.

“My name’s Jude,” I blurt as I watch her set it on the bedside table.

She’s at least fifteen years younger than Ramona, but she has such a similar humorous, welcoming energy that I can’t help it.

“It’s good to meet you. I’m Carla.” She comes back to the door and offers me her hand.

Her grip is painfully firm, and her blue eyes study me with an intense curiosity.

“I’ve been managing the estate since just after Andrew was born.

I hear congratulations are in order.” She gestures to the ring on my finger.

I don’t realize I’m standing there looking trapped, waiting for something bad to happen, until she sighs and flashes me a small smile.

“I’m not sure how this situation happened, but I do know the sappy grin he had on his face twenty minutes ago when he asked me to bring you coffee and introduce myself. ”

“Oh.” I balance one foot on top of the other, glancing uneasily down the hall. She’s nice, and the thing she said makes me feel amazing, but he’s not here and I need to find him. “I’m trying to take care of him, but this place is batshit insane. No offense.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, but her smile fades. “I can’t comment on that without losing my job. But I’ve never in my life seen him smile like that. So if you need anything at all while you’re here, truly, please come find me and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Oh, thank you Carla!” Andrew’s voice has me whipping around to see him jogging down the hall.

Unlike me, he got dressed in chinos and a sleek white polo that makes him look almost tan.

“You met Jude?” He hooks an arm around my shoulders and I can see in their faces that I was right—she’s as close to a Ramona as he’s ever had.

“I have.” She reaches out and squeezes his arm, her eyes gentle. “He’s wonderful. And there are two coffee mugs on the tray, your favorite almond roast, and a full breakfast for Jude. I need to get back to work.”

“Thank you,” I call after her as she walks away, hoping she understands that I’m not talking about toast and coffee.

“I wanted you to meet her.” Andrew hugs me tighter from behind, dropping his face into my neck, his breath sweet and minty.

I glance down at my clothes. “She’s the only reason I’m not downstairs in a World’s Okayest Brother tie-dye t-shirt doing something violent.”

He pulls back, his forehead creasing. “I left you a note and told you not to. I sent you coffee.”

“Yeah.” I drag him inside and slam the door, then push him on his back on the bed and throw myself on top of him so hard he curses. Squirming until I’ve crushed him as flat as possible, I squish his face gently with my hands, nose to nose. “Who did you talk to? I want a list.”

“You can’t be like this for the rest of our lives,” he complains with no conviction.

“One—try me. Two—if this was the other way around, tell me you wouldn’t be even worse. You’d be running around with the damn gun.” He presses his lips together sulkily. “Come on.” I tap his cheek and rub my hips against his, not to get off, just because I want to. “Give me names.”

“My mother and Colin—he’s the dark-haired one.”

“Not the big one?”

I can feel him tense. “No.”

“He’s really fucking bad, Andrew.” For all that I’m goofing around, I want him to understand that I’m genuinely scared. “I can sense it. He’s dangerous.”

He drops his head back and looks at the ceiling, his voice bitter. “You think?”

For a moment I forgot that he spent twenty-five years around that guy. I bet Andrew has stories about him that he will never tell me, because it would hurt me too much to hear. Not a single thing I say or do can change that. Instead of anger, it just makes me feel beaten.

When I don’t say anything, Andrew sighs and cups the side of my face in his hand, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “Eat breakfast before it gets cold, and I’ll show you the interview questions they gave me for this afternoon.”

I stretch my leg out and nudge the tray closer, so I can lift the lid off the plate and snag a piece of toast and jam without moving.

Andrew watches me with a slightly amused expression as I eat with my elbows propped on his shoulders.

“There are three questions I’m supposed to prepare.

” He fishes his phone awkwardly out of his pocket and flicks through documents.

“A memory of my grandfather, how I feel about becoming CEO as the youngest male Innes, and my vision for the company.” He lowers the phone and studies me with a flash of defiance behind his tired eyes.

“I thought that last one had a lot of potential.”

I don’t feel like smiling, but I can’t help it whenever he does, like a deep reflex. I drop the last bite of toast into his mouth and leave my fingers there until he licks them clean. “You sound pretty sure about this.”

“I’ve been thinking about how we made it through yesterday, even though it sucked. That was probably the worst part, right? So I’m hopeful today will go better.”

If I was being honest, I’d tell him that sounds like the stupidest thing he’s ever said.

He’s setting himself up to be hurt, exactly like he did yesterday.

But I’m not here to be honest; he asked me to help the good boy with his bad ideas.

And when he tried to back out of the plan, I’m the one who insisted we come here.

So I roll off of him and sit up. “Take a Ramona selfie with me, then we’ll write you a script. ”

“Where does she think we are now?” he asks as he leans into my phone camera shot and props his head against mine. We both have enough bedhead and wrinkles in our clothes that we look like we just finished fucking.

“Uh, I was going with a hotel in Boise.”

“Why are we in Boise?”

“I don’t know,” I grumble, sending the photo because I’m too lazy to take a less suggestive one. “Do you want to contribute to her Jude and Andrew fan fiction? I’m sure she’s already shipped us.”

Part of me wants to text her right now and tell her about the wedding, send her a photo of my ring, because I know that she would understand.

She’d listen while I explained how it’s starting to hurt, trying to hold on to the contradicting truths that this marriage is only for a week and forever at the same time.

And I think she’d have an answer for what I should do next, one I’m afraid I can’t find on my own.

ANDREW

“I don’t remember any of it. Give me the script.” I hold out my hand to Jude, who watches me with a pensive expression. “I forgot the speech,” I say again, more emphatically.

He makes no move to pull the sheaf of notebook paper out of his back pocket. “You didn’t. I listened to you rehearse it like fifteen times.”

The hum of low voices and clatter of equipment in the next room sends my panic even higher. I gesture to one of the massive walnut bookshelves lining the wall of the disused sitting room. “I will tip that over on you if you don’t give me my notes.”