Page 77 of Requiem
Why the fuck did they save me?
My chest tightens painfully as I drag in a breath that doesn’t feel like enough. They shouldn’t have. Because now they’re part of this. And I know exactly how this ends.
They’re going to die.
Chapter twenty-one
EMMA EASTON
For a second, I just stand there. And then everything hits at once.
I pull my hand away and force myself to move, one step, then another, until the hallway gives way to the basement living room. Rafe is focused on the monitors with a blank expression. Heather stands beside him, arms wrapped tightly around herself, and Micah brushes past me, already looking toward the screens before I can even speak.
I don’t say anything. I don’t think Ican. I just follow their line of sight to see him.
Jude sits on the floor beside the bed, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed as if the weight of everything has finally dragged him down. His shoulders move, barely at first, then more noticeably, and it takes me a second to understand what I’m seeing.
He’s crying.
My heart splits. A sharp, aching pressure blooms right in the center of my chest, making it hard to even breathe as I take a step closer to the monitors without meaning to.
“Hey,” Micah says quietly.
I don’t look at him. My eyes stay locked on the screen, on the man who just kissed me like he was starving for it…and now looks like he’s falling apart alone on the floor. “I shouldn’t have left him,” I whisper, my voice barely holding together. “I should’ve stayed. I should’ve—”
“Emma,” Heather says gently, stepping closer, her hand finding my arm. “Giving him space is good right now.”
I shake my head, even though I hear her. “I pushed him,” I say, the words tumbling out unevenly. “I made him look at me. I kept pushing and pushing and—” My breath stutters. “He flinched. Did you see that? Heflinchedat me.”
Micah exhales slowly beside me, dragging a hand through his hair as he watches the screen. His jaw is tight, but his voice is steady when he speaks. “All that and he still kissed you.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“He didn’t hurt you,” Micah adds, softer now. “That’s huge, Em. You know it is.”
I do. But it doesn’t make this easier to watch. On the monitor, Jude rubs face like he’s trying to pull himself back together, but his shoulders are still shaking just enough to give him away.
I feel Rafe’s presence beside me. “This is not failure,” he says calmly.
“It feels like it,” I whisper.
“It isn’t,” he replies, just as steady. “That man in there just experienced adirecttrigger, maintained enough control not to harm you, and then removed himself from the situation before escalation. You’re allowing your emotions to run you, dear therapist. Get it together.”
I blink, my vision blurring. “He’s crying,”
“Yes,” Rafe says. “Because he’s aware. He knows what he almost did and what he wants instead. That conflict is where recovery lives. It’s ugly and painful. But it’s necessary.”
My chest tightens as I look back at the screen. “He thinks he’s going to hurt us,” I whisper. “I can see it. He’s already decided it.”
Micah’s head drops, his voice rough when he answers, “Yeah. I know.”
Heather’s hand squeezes my arm gently. “We’ll just keep on him. If anyone can do it, you guys can.”
Micah smiles and kisses her sweetly.
I let out a shaky breath, my eyes never leaving the monitor. “I’m going back in tomorrow.”
***
