Don't Kiss the Bride

I’m not sure how much time passes, but the next thing I know, Jude is barreling into the exam room.

He looks huge and primal in the tiny, sterile room, with his thick blue-and-black flannel shirt, dusty jeans, and heavy work boots. His hair is tied back, and he’s got at least four days’ worth of stubble. Despite my trauma, butterflies stir in my stomach as I recall how that stubble felt chafing against my thighs.

My heart literally aches when he stands next to the bed staring down at me with tears in his eyes, and his hands clasped under his chin.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he says, slowly shaking his head.

“It’s not your fault.”

Choking up, he rubs his eyes with his palm, then pulls the guest chair close to the bed and sits. He takes my hand, holds it so tight in his it hurts, and presses it against his lips.

“It’s fucking killing me to see you like this.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him with a weak smile. “It’s just a mild concussion and a few stitches. They’re discharging me soon.”

“Twenty stitches.” He reaches out and runs his finger lightly along my temple, right above the gash. “Every time I look at you, I’m going to be reminded that I did this to you.” He pulls his hand away, and his jaw muscles twitch with anguish and anger that I can actually feel raging inside him.

A bolt of fear zaps through me, making my head throb even more. What if he can’t stand to see me again, now that the two-inch scar on my face is going to be a constant reminder of his messed-up sister who completely screwed his head up?

Closing my eyes against the pain, I say, “Lucky, it’s not your fault. Your sister did this because she’s pissed off. I don’t think her intention was to attack me. She wasn’t expecting me to come home. I think she just wanted stuff to sell and she messed up the car to make some kind of a statement.”

“I never thought she’d do something this fucking crazy. I already called a security company. New locks and surveillance cameras are going in fucking tomorrow.”

I nod because that will actually make me feel a lot better. “I saved your stuff.” I force myself to sound optimistic. “I think she took off with my things, though. My laptop, my wedding ring… she smashed my car.” Thinking about the special things she stole from me and the image of my car windows bashed in makes me nauseated with despair. I furiously try to fight back the tears burning in my eyes, but they slip through and track down my cheek. I quickly wipe them away.

“Did the police get her?” I ask.

“No,” he says gruffly. “I’m going to take care of it.”

Fear prickles up my spine. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m going to take care of it. I’m not going to let them get away with this. This has Jimmy written all over it. I don’t even care if it was my sister doing the dirty work—she crossed a fucking line. You’ll have your stuff back, and I’m gonna fix your car.”

“Jude—”

He cuts me off. “Can Megan give you a ride home and stay with you tonight?”

I narrow my eyes at him as goosebumps sprinkle over my arms. “I’m sure she will. Why?”

“Give me your cell phone.”

“What?” The throbbing in my head ramps up.

He lays his cell phone on the bed next to me. “You take mine so you’ll have one, and give me yours for the night.”

Nervously, I hand him my phone, which miraculously stayed in my pocket throughout the entire attack. “But why?”

“I’m gonna use it to track your laptop. Then I’m gonna find those motherfuckers and get your things back.”

Oh, no.

No. No. No.

“Jude, please, just let it go. They’re hopped up on drugs and dangerous. I don’t care what they took. None of it is worth you getting hurt.” If something happened to him, I’d be devastated. I can’t even think about it.

“Yeah?” He stands. “You think they’re dangerous? Well, so am I, and I’m not letting this fucking go. That scumbag took off with my sister when she was only sixteen years old. He took her from her family and turned her into a goddamn junkie, and I know he put her up to this shit today. It ends tonight. That fucker is gonna get everything he deserves.”

The venom dripping from his voice and the intense rage blazing in his eyes is terrifying. It’s hard for me to believe this is the same man who holds my hand, cuddles our pets, and brings me lottery tickets every night just to see me smile.

Though his face is hard, he leans down and presses his warm lips gently to my cheek. “I’m gonna make things right,” he whispers. Straightening, he gives my hand a squeeze before he lets go. “You rest, and I’ll see you when I get home.”