Sixteen

Sixteen

Max

I don’t get a lot of sleep. Every time I start to drift off, Jude’s face flashes in my mind again. I can’t stop thinking about the fear in his eyes when he saw me step out of my office earlier.

Rowan had told me Jude had been on his own for a long time—since he was a teenager. So almost a decade. And I know he moves around a lot, bouncing from city to city. I don’t think that was the first time someone attempted to mug him.

I feel bad just thinking it, but my gut tells me Jude lied. I don’t think he was about to get mugged. I’m almost positive that when I stepped outside, Jude was on his knees on the ground. It didn’t look like the guy was searching for money. I think he was looking for something else.

As soon as the thought pushes its way into my head, I want to shove it back out. I don’t want to think about Jude like that. I don’t want to think of anyone like that.

I’m probably blowing it out of proportion.

But what if I’m not? What if something really bad was about to happen to him out there?

With a sigh, I roll over and grab my phone from the nightstand to text Jude.

Me: Hey, I know you’re probably asleep and it’s not cool to nag, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.

I place my phone back on the nightstand and start to turn over again when it buzzes with a new text. I grab it again and open the message from Jude.

Jude: Definitely not cool. But thanks. I’m okay.

I hesitate for a long second, trying to decide if prying could hurt the situation. But if what I think almost happened did almost happen, then I need him to know he can say it to me.

Me: It didn’t really look like a normal mugging. It kind of looked like he wanted something else.

I bite my lip as the three dots appear then fade. I wish Patrick were here. He’d know what to say that wouldn’t fuck this up.

Jude: Yeah, I guess it wasn’t a typical mugging. But it’s whatever.

I pull back a little in surprise. How can he be so cavalier about that?

Me: Is it really whatever?

The three dots appear again and stay for a long time before disappearing. When they don’t show back up, I roll onto my back, keeping my phone at my side. I want to tell Jude that it’s okay to talk about it, but I also think maybe he’s not that kind of guy.

And that’s what this really narrows down to. I don’t know Jude at all. Rowan’s talked about him in passing, and it’s obvious he loves Jude, but I don’t know why Jude left so young. Rowan told me their dad was abusive, but he didn’t go into detail. He did tell me that his father died when Rowan was almost seventeen, which would’ve made Jude sixteen.

Maybe Jude’s seen so much violence that something like tonight wouldn’t have even fazed him.

That’s kind of sad to think about.

My phone dings with another message, and I grab it quickly.

Jude: I want it to be whatever.

My heart drops at the honest answer. Even though I can’t hear his voice, it’s as though I can feel his sadness through the phone.

Jude: I’ve been a lot of places, Max. I’ve seen a lot. It’s not the first time some guy’s tried to jump me, and it probably won’t be the last. But worrying about it isn’t going to fix anything. So, yes, I want it to be whatever.

My stomach aches. I’ve never come close to something like this, but Patrick had. Not personally, but he was called to several emergency situations where an assault had happened. I think those calls bothered him more than fires.

Me: Don’t you get lonely?

As soon as I send the text, I kind of want to take it back. This all feels too personal, and Jude made it pretty clear he doesn’t do personal. But I can’t just pretend I didn’t see anything. I can’t pretend that Jude wasn’t shaking when he left the office.

Jude: You get used to it. Night.

I try not to bristle at the abrupt end to the conversation. As it is, I got way more out of him than I thought I would.

But I can’t help lying in bed and staring at my phone, rereading the thread of messages. I’m having trouble getting that haunted look in Jude’s eyes out of my head. I want to demand that he tell me more, so I can get a better idea of how to help him.

It was easier with Patrick. When he had a bad day, he’d take a long shower, then I’d massage him until his muscles were relaxed, and a sweet smile lined his mouth. Then I’d fuck him slow and deep until he forgot everything but the two of us.

I know trying to fix someone you have feelings for is a big, red flag, but I don’t think Jude needs to be fixed. I don’t think he’s broken. I think he’s in a world of pain and maybe he doesn’t know how to make his way out of it.