Page 81 of Requiem
I don’t know if I’m talking to her or to myself. Maybe both. But I mean it. So I’ll sit here all fucking night if I have to.
Chapter twenty-three
EMMA EASTON
My hand is flat against my chest as I try to calm my rioting heart. I’m standing in the hall just outside Jude’s room, and I’m nervous. Micah stands a little behind me, arms folded, jaw working like he’s chewing through every possible outcome he doesn’t like. He’s been extremely protective of me when it comes to Jude. He probably knows that if Jude hurt me, he’d never forgive himself. It would likely destroy him for good. So I understand how critical of a moment this is.
Especially when Alexei is close to beating down our door. He could break in and take Jude now, but he’s waiting for the party to raise the stakes. It’s such a public event that it wouldguaranteeJude’s downfall. He would be a wanted man, with millions of people hating him. They already kind of do, and it’s breaking my heart. They just don’t understand the hell he’s been through. I’ve had to take Micah’s advice and delete all social media from my phone, because I can’t take what people are saying about him.
Heather is on the couch, quiet but ready to support me like always. Rafe leans against the wall by the monitors, where Jude is already awake.
No one speaks for a few seconds as I stare at the door. It’s ridiculous how ordinary it looks with its wooden frame. Nothing about it suggests that, on the other side, is the one person who can destroy me.
I clench my fists at my sides.
I can do this. I can bring him back. I just have to be the woman who loves him with everything she has.
“He’s stable,” Micah says finally, voice low, like he doesn’t want it to carry too far down the hall. “Not calm, per se. But stable.”
Rafe glances at me. “He asked for you earlier.”
I swallow, grounding myself the way I’ve been practicing. Inhale. Exhale. “Okay,” I say softly.
Rafe’s eyes flick toward me. “You don’t have to rush this.”
I let out a breath that almost becomes a laugh. Because the truth is, there’s nothing rushed about it. Not anymore. This has been building in a thousand invisible ways since the moment he looked at me like he wanted to kill me and almost did.
“I’m not rushing,” I say.
My hand lifts toward the handle, then pauses just long enough to feel my heart beating against my ribs.
Behind me, Micah shifts. “Be careful, Em. We’ll be right here.”
I nod. “If I need you, I’ll raise my arms.”
Heather sighs, and Rafe doesn’t move at all.
I take one more deep breath, open the door, and step inside.
Jude is sitting in the chair, hands restrained behind him, positioned so he’s contained without pain. He chose to do this to keep me safe. His hair looks like it’s still damp from his shower. He’s only wearing jeans and a loose black shirt that hangs perfectly on his frame.
My pulse instantly spikes at the beauty in him that never left. If anything, it’s become sharper, honed from years of a difficult life.
His head lifts the moment I step in, and our eyes meet instantly. It catches me so hard I almost stop walking. Because it isn’t avoidance. It isn’t that flicker of panic I’ve been bracing for. It’s direct.
My throat tightens with the realization that he is just as ready as I am.
“Emma,” he says, his voice rough.
I offer a small grin. “Hey,” I manage.
His jaw flexes. “Come closer,” he says.
For a moment, I hesitate. He’s restrained and cannot hurt me. I’ll be okay. I just hope he will be, too. I stop just in front of him, close enough that I can see the tension in his shoulders and the way his breathing has shifted.
His eyes flick down, then back up again, like he’s checking his own limits before he speaks. “Sit with me,” he says. “On my lap.”
My pulse stutters. I glance at his hands again, restrained behind him.
