Page 166 of Requiem
“No,” she says, crying harder now. “Don’t apologize for surviving that, Jude. I am so fucking happy that I didn’t lose my other brother.”
I look away sharply, dragging a shaking hand across my face while my chest heaves unevenly beneath my jacket. Some part of me still expects disgust after everything. Instead, my family looks at me as if they had almost lost me.
Then my father steps forward. Alaric Graves has always carried this admirable steadiness about him. Even growing up, he was the kind of man who made chaos feel manageable simply by walking into a room. I spent most of my life wanting to be like him without ever really admitting it out loud. Right now, his eyes shine as he looks at me. Then he pulls me intohis arms without saying a single word. And for some reason, that’s what finally breaks whatever control I had left.
Because my father has always represented strength to me, and now his arms are wrapped tightly around me while I shatter against him.
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly near my ear.
And the sob that tears out of me afterward feels like it could split my ribs open. Years of grief and terror and shame seem to burst from me. “I’m sorry,” I choke out against his shoulder. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
My dad pulls back to look me directly in the eyes, his expression tightening painfully. “For what?” he asks softly. His jaw flexes. “None of this was your fault, Jude. I’m…I’m just so happy that I didn’t lose my other son.”
I can’t respond, because guilt still lives so deep inside me now that it feels stitched directly into my very bones. How dare I risk my own life when my little brother’s was stolen? I can’t believe how many times I tried killing myself, knowing the damage I would have done to my family.
My mother reaches for my hand while tears continue slipping down her cheeks. “We are so proud of you,” she whispers shakily. “Do you understand me?Proudof you.”
Vanessa nods quickly beside her.
“And you stayed clean,” my father adds quietly, emotion roughening his voice now, too. “After everything they did to you.” His eyes hold mine steadily. “That tookstrength, son.”
The words hit that sad, broken thing inside me, because Nolan spent years convincing me I was weak. Then Alexei.
Emma remains quietly near the edge of the porch throughout it all, giving us space. When my gaze finally finds her again, she’s already watching me, her own eyes glassy now. As if she knew all along, this moment would put something back inside me that I thought was gone forever.
But standing with my family right now, I feel the tension in my chest loosen. I think it’s the realization that maybe I’m finally allowed to come home again.
Chapter forty-four
EMMA EASTON
The strange thing about peace after a long period of torment is…that it feels weird. For weeks after everything ended, I kept waiting for the world to collapse again. For another phone call. Another nightmare crawling out from the dark to drag us backward into survival mode. Even now, months later, there are still moments where my pulse spikes unexpectedly if Jude takes too long coming back from somewhere or if an unknown number flashes across my phone screen.
But those moments are becoming smaller now, drowned out by ordinary things. Things we almost never got to have.
Like grocery shopping.
Jude stands beside the cart under fluorescent lighting with a loaf of sourdough tucked beneath one tattooed arm while arguing with me over pasta sauce. His dark hair is falling messily into his hazel eyes while he squints suspiciously at ingredient labels. “This one should taste better.”
“It literally tastes the same.”
“It absolutely does not.”
I laugh while reaching around him for the jar anyway, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward in immediate victory before he leans down to give me a quick kiss. It’s like we’re just another couple buying groceries on a Thursday night.
“This organic shit is about to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted,” he says with a grin.
I roll my eyes. “Jude, you spent years injecting drugs into your bloodstream.”
“All the more reason for me to care now, yeah?” He shoves me playfully as we continue on our way.
Normal.
We’re becoming normal. And it’s the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened for us.
Other nights, I sit cross-legged on the kitchen counter at the cottage while Jude cooks shirtless in his sweatpants, tattoos flexing across his back and shoulders as he moves around the stove singing softly along to whatever song is playing through the speaker near the sink.
It feels almost exactly like before.
