Page 72 of This Might Hurt

ANDREW

Wyoming’s favorite music station always knows what song I need to uplift me from the depths of despair. Last time it was “Redneck Woman”. Today I’ve been serenaded by “Save a Horse (Ride A Cowboy)” no less than four times in the last three hours. I haven’t decided yet which one I hate more.

The chorus ends abruptly as I cut the engine of my Jeep Wrangler and stare at Ramona’s white Victorian, standing tall and silent against the brown hillside.

In the mid-morning sun, I can see all the subtle architectural details that prove it’s much older and more real than any part of Carrick House.

I’m not sure I’m real enough yet to deserve a place here.

All I can do is ask.

My black trainers crunch loudly on the gravel as I climb out of the car and stretch my aching back.

After Grant took me to LaGuardia, I landed in Bozeman at three in the morning.

I took my first mildly terrifying Uber to get from the airport to my family’s compound so I could pick up my own car, then drove here without stopping to sleep.

I’ve been awake for almost thirty-six hours.

Based on my glances in the car visor mirror, I look like it, too.

It’s so quiet out here, compared to the city.

I can hear the wind, like a constant sighing through every blade of grass.

Even though there’s a white Impala parked in front of the garage, I can’t make out any signs of life besides the occasional squawk of a chicken.

My stomach won’t stop churning, no matter how often I tell myself everything’s fine.

If he’s not here, I’ll come back later. Again and again, for as long as it takes to prove that I’ve chosen him.

But he has to be here. He must have sensed I was coming, through my stupid magic cum bond that has somehow become my only path back to him.

I feel like I’m going to start crying again.

Maybe I should have taken a nap after all.

The porch stairs have been fitted with a long wheelchair ramp that leads to a flat landing at the bottom for Lena’s chair to rest on instead of the gravel.

It’s the first sign that Jude and his sister are even here.

I can’t spot a doorbell, so I have to pull open the screen door and prop it with my shoulder while I bang on the dark red front door.

Nothing happens for so long that I walk back to the edge of the porch and study the view, trying to decide how creepy it would be to sit on the steps all day.

At the creaking of hinges, I spin around, my heart beating out of my chest. “Jude, I—”

My disappointment must be written all over my face, because Ramona shakes her head with a weary expression.

As she studies the rumpled suit I wore to work yesterday, I realize I’ve never seen her without a welcoming smile before.

It’s unexpectedly distressing. “Hi,” I blurt helplessly, taking a step toward her.

I had a speech prepared, but it vanished from my head approximately six hours ago. “I came back.”

Her eyebrows furrow, her tight gray curls bobbing in the breeze. “For how long?”

I blink at her, confused. “Forever?” That shouldn’t have sounded like a question, so I try again. “Forever. Not at your house, obviously. With him. I’m sorry, can I please see him?”

She presses her lips together, her face still stern. “He’s struggling, Andrew. He hasn’t been eating, and he smokes all night then sleeps half the day.”

The words crush whatever is left of my brittle, confused heart after the last week.

“Shit. We had an argument, but it was my fault for leaving. I’m sorry.

” When I try to step through the door, she blocks my way with a warning hand.

Her knowing eyes pry me apart in a way that makes me afraid I might always be an outsider here.

“I won’t have you getting his hopes up and then leaving again. It would be better to let him grieve and move on.”

“Here.” I dig my phone out of my pocket and flick through my emails with a shaky finger.

“I started writing a resignation letter on the plane. Here’s my draft.

” I thought she’d just glance at the screen, but she catches my wrist in her wrinkled hand and puts on the glasses hanging around her neck so she can read every half-baked word.

“That’s a good start.” Her voice thaws a little, probably because I’m staring at her like a kicked dog.

But when I step forward again, she doesn’t move.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. You come in and sit at the kitchen table.

I’ll make you a cup of orange ginger tea, and you’ll finish and send that email. Those are my conditions.”

I didn’t expect the mental resistance I feel at her words.

The last remnants of my family’s control pull me back with one more cruel question—if Jude rejects me enough times that I break, what will I go back to if not them?

I truly don’t have an answer, but I’m starting to realize that’s what makes this real.

“I can do that,” I breathe. “It won’t be final, though. I have to sign a legal copy, go over paperwork with my lawyer, meet with the board. If you think I should wait…” But I can’t make myself say it.

“No,” she interjects quickly, before I start hyperventilating. “I understand. Just show me that you mean it.”

Even though I’ve been in this house before, I’m still overwhelmed by the intensity of every room, the friendly clutter, the dust in the corners.

I follow Ramona meekly into the kitchen and take a seat at the dining table while she boils water.

“How’s Lena settling in?” I’m not sure if I’m allowed to talk, but I need a distraction.

Ramona’s blinding smile takes over her face before she can help it. “She’s wonderful. She reminds me exactly of myself when I was her age. And she has much more patience for my hobbies than her brother ever did.”

“I’m glad.” I rub my gritty eyes, thinking about how I could have spent this whole week with them instead of sitting in executive meetings if I hadn’t been so fucking stubborn.

“Andrew?”

I glance up as she sets a steaming mug of tea in front of me, the bag floating gently in the water. Her face has softened into something kind.

“Jude told me about what happened. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re both young, and you were forced to make a very difficult choice. It doesn’t cancel out the fact that you’ve done so much good for him and Lena. I’m not angry with you; I just can’t let him get hurt again.”

Relief leaks through my sore body as I wrap my hands around the heat of the mug. I barely know her, but I want her to allow me into this weird little family. “Thank you.”

“I’ll come check on you in twenty minutes.” She pats my shoulder and leaves. There’s a faint murmur of voices in the living room I can’t make out, then I hear the back door slam and spot her head through the window bobbing around in the garden.

I pick up my phone, but the words swirl in front of my eyes as I desperately try to sense Jude. My body and brain are raging at the fact that he’s only a few rooms away and I can’t get to him. The more I stare at the half-finished jumble of thoughts in my email, the less I can think of what to say.

“Hey! You in there!”

I look around, trying to figure out if I’m tired enough to start hearing things. Then the faint voice comes again. “Hellooooo.”

Hoping Ramona won’t catch me breaking her rules, I ease out of my chair and stick my head into the living room.

“God, finally,” Lena groans. “I’ve been hollering at you for five minutes.

” Her wheelchair is parked in a cozy corner I couldn’t see when I came in the door.

It looks like she’s reading on a tablet attached to the arm of her chair.

I stand there awkwardly, trying to figure out if she’s angry with me, happy to see me, or something in between. Based on the look in her eyes, I’m not sure she knows either. “Can I come sit with you?” she asks finally.

“Sure, if my presence doesn’t upset you.”

She shakes her head like she’s tired of being around dramatic men.

“I hate seeing Jude sad, but I don’t hate you,” she explains as I push her around the corner and across the hall to sit next to me at the table.

“He’s so…pure. Everything’s black and white to him.

From what I heard, you asked him to compromise and he wouldn’t even consider it.

I have definitely experienced that part of him, so I get it. I think you two will be okay.”

“Ramona says I have to send a letter of resignation before I can see him.” I slump over the table, stretching my arms out so she can see my phone screen. “I’ve never written one. I feel like I need to explain why I’m leaving, so the company is held accountable. But I can’t figure out how.”

“Hmm.” She wrinkles her nose, squinting at my poor attempt. “Jude didn’t tell me the details, but aren’t you quitting because you don’t want to fight with these shitty people anymore? Why don’t you just…quit?”

“It doesn’t seem fair to let them off the hook.” It’s like I told Jude—if I give them everything they want without a fight, what was the point of all those painful years?

She raises her arms slightly in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just saying. Jude is upstairs and you’re down here, and if you quit trying to make a point you could be up there with him.”

I don’t know what face I’m making, but she bursts out laughing. “Oh crap, you already hate your know-it-all little sister, huh?”

And just like that, I’m back to almost crying. I can’t seem to regulate my emotions at all, because I lost the only person who could see and understand and love every version of me at once.

“Here, let’s use a template,” Lena says hastily, before I can start melting down.

I watch, trying not to smile at her seriousness as she uses the voice commands on her tablet to search how to write a fancy resignation letter.

She nods for me to scoot my chair around and read over her shoulder as we study various options and debate our favorites.

I was mostly humoring her, but within fifteen minutes I have a finished draft that’s significantly less awful than my own attempt.

“Send it,” she orders.

“But I—”

“Send it and go get my brother. I miss him.”

So I send it. Nothing actually changes from the moment I press send to the moment after, but it’s like that old question—if every cell in your body regenerates, are you the same person? It feels like my last cell just replaced itself.

I stand up so fast my chair almost falls over backward and look frantically around for Ramona.

“Go on,” Lena shoots me a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll tell her you did a good job. He’s up in his room.”

I take the stairs two at a time, sending Buckley scattering in a panic from his place at the top. Jude’s door is mostly shut, so I force myself to rap lightly on the frame instead of throwing myself straight through. There’s no answer. The room looks dim, and I can’t hear any noises.

Grasping the chilly brass knob, I nudge the door open far enough to slip inside and close it behind me.

For a moment, I think he’s not here. The lights are off, but sunlight spills in a long golden river across the carpet and over the bed.

It glows off a messy tousle of blond hair against the pillow, a sweet, boyish profile, a bare shoulder.

Every muscle in my body relaxes. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but at least I’m in the same room as him. Now we can take it as slow as we need.

I reach out to wake him, then hesitate with my fingers an inch from his arm.

He looks so peaceful, like a version of us that was never lonely or afraid.

The rustle of my clothes sounds loud in the stillness as I strip off my suit and leave the pieces scattered on the floor.

It takes forever for my exhaustion-clumsy fingers to open all the buttons on my shirt, but Jude doesn’t move besides that slow, steady breathing. He’s here; my journey is finished.

I’m shivering in just my briefs, so I lift up the corner of the comforter and ease myself between the sheets, the tangled cave of warmth around his body.

He doesn’t wake up, even when the mattress dips under my weight.

The drape and press of his loose, naked body against mine makes my cock stir, but I force myself to ignore it.

I just rest my head on the pillow and study his profile.

The fullness of his mouth, his slightly turned-up nose, his Adam’s apple.

Mine. Even if he turned me away, even if he replaced me, they would always be mine.

I should wake him up. We need to talk about the future—our future, not mine or his.

I need to tell him every single tiny thing I’ve done and seen in the last week, then listen as he does the same.

I need to ask if he’ll still let me be good for him.

But speaking is a complicated thing, and I’m so tired.

This room, the creaky little bed barely big enough for us, the sweetness clinging to his skin, they’re beyond words.

Like somewhere you return to when you’ve finally done enough.

So I slip my arm over him, tucking him into the shape of me, and close my eyes.