Crash (Crash 1)

“Just pour me something!” India hollered over the music at the guy manning the drink table. He made a shotgun motion with his hand before mixing something that came out looking too pink and too strong.

“What for you, pretty lady?” he asked me after handing off India’s drink.

“Got anything that won’t make me shit-faced in two sips back there?” From the looks of the crowd, it was doubtful.

Another shotgun motion and he popped open a cooler and twisted the lid off a beer. The fist pumping song came to an abrupt halt right in the middle of the obnoxious chorus and then, a slow, very familiar song wove its way through the room.

“Hey, my man!” he yelled at someone over my shoulder. “What can I get you?”

“I’m not sure if I can have what I want anymore,” a familiar voice answered as Paul McCartney’s voice echoed off the walls.

The breath caught in my lungs. Setting the beer down, I turned slowly.

“Hey, Luce.”

It was him. Really him. Smiling at me with those liquid silver eyes.

“Jude?” I said. “What are you doing here?”

Not my best moment. With all the questions that played out in my mind over the summer, this was not one of them.

Taking a step closer, his smile grew. “I kind of go to school here.” Over his shoulder, India snuck away, shooting me a thumbs up and a knowing smile.

“So you totally snubbed the NFL?” I said, stepping closer, wanting to reach out and touch him to confirm he was really here.

“The NFL isn’t going anywhere,” he said, sticking his hands in his jeans. In his blue jeans. In fact, nothing was grey on him. He’d even lost the old beanie. He looked completely different, but completely the same too. “But some things are.”

Yeah, I knew he was implying something, but was clueless as to what.

“And you didn’t skip the border to keep from getting locked up for life?”

He chuckled, shifting his weight. “Nope. I’ve been crime free for a while now.”

“So why are you here?” I asked. “Aren’t there about a dozen schools with better football teams you could’ve gotten into?”

“Maybe,” he answered with a lift of his shoulders.

“Then why here?” I knew I was asking idiot questions, but I couldn’t stop them.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked at the ceiling. “I was hoping that would be kind of obvious.”

Nothing about now, or any of Jude and me, had been obvious.

“I’m here for you, Luce,” he confessed. “Shit, if Juilliard had a football team and actually wanted me, I would be there.”

I opened my mouth. Nope, words failed me.

“Hold that thought,” he said, lifting his finger. For once, he looked almost nervous. “I’ve been practicing this for a while and I need to get it out before you slap me and walk out on me. Ready?” Squaring his shoulders, he inhaled. “Hi, I’m Jude Ryder Jamieson,” he began, extending his hand. I took it, shaking it. He held onto it when I tried to pull it back. “My mom left when I was thirteen. My dad’s serving a life sentence for killing a young kid. I spent the last five years in a boys’ home being bullied, beat, and abused by the kids, the staff, and even the goddamn dog. I sold drugs. I did drugs. I got arrested. A lot. I screwed a lot of faceless women.” He paused, sucking in a breath. “And then I met one whose face I couldn’t forget. I fell in love with her. I hurt her because I fell in love with her and was afraid she was going to leave me the way everyone else had.” He lifted his other hand, cradling mine between his. “I still love her.”

I wasn’t able to draw in a breath at this point in the conversation, so I was lucky I was able to make any kind of reply. “Jude,” I whispered, not sure what to say next. We had so much history, history that made for the worst kind of foundation to build a relationship on.

“I love you, Luce,” he continued. Clearly he wasn’t going to stop until he said what he needed to. “And I’m sorry I ruined everything we had before I could admit it to you. Before I could admit it to myself. You didn’t make me a better person, because no one can do that. You made me want to be a better person. You believed in me and stuck up for me. You cared for me when no one else would. You made me better, Luce. You’re right—one person can make a difference. One person can change another person’s whole world for the better,” he said, his whole face on fire with his words. “One person ruined my world, and that was my dad, and one person saved mine, and that was you.” Raising his hands, he fitted them on my face. “The same tragedy upended our worlds. The same tragedy brought us here today. Don’t let it tear us apart.”

Cue the tears, because these were the words that obliterated my defenses. “Jude,” I began, determined to get more than one word out, “how can we even begin to move forward when the past will always be there to remind us of what we lost because of each other’s families?”

His thumb ran down my cheek. “Because I know I will never love anyone like I love you. That’s what will overcome the past every time it tries to rear its ugly head.” He stepped closer. “So it’s either you and me or me and me, Luce. And I don’t really like myself, so I hope you’ll pick the you and me option.”

I took another step towards him, our bodies coming together. “I don’t really like you either,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I love you.”

o;Just pour me something!” India hollered over the music at the guy manning the drink table. He made a shotgun motion with his hand before mixing something that came out looking too pink and too strong.

“What for you, pretty lady?” he asked me after handing off India’s drink.

“Got anything that won’t make me shit-faced in two sips back there?” From the looks of the crowd, it was doubtful.

Another shotgun motion and he popped open a cooler and twisted the lid off a beer. The fist pumping song came to an abrupt halt right in the middle of the obnoxious chorus and then, a slow, very familiar song wove its way through the room.

“Hey, my man!” he yelled at someone over my shoulder. “What can I get you?”

“I’m not sure if I can have what I want anymore,” a familiar voice answered as Paul McCartney’s voice echoed off the walls.

The breath caught in my lungs. Setting the beer down, I turned slowly.

“Hey, Luce.”

It was him. Really him. Smiling at me with those liquid silver eyes.

“Jude?” I said. “What are you doing here?”

Not my best moment. With all the questions that played out in my mind over the summer, this was not one of them.

Taking a step closer, his smile grew. “I kind of go to school here.” Over his shoulder, India snuck away, shooting me a thumbs up and a knowing smile.

“So you totally snubbed the NFL?” I said, stepping closer, wanting to reach out and touch him to confirm he was really here.

“The NFL isn’t going anywhere,” he said, sticking his hands in his jeans. In his blue jeans. In fact, nothing was grey on him. He’d even lost the old beanie. He looked completely different, but completely the same too. “But some things are.”

Yeah, I knew he was implying something, but was clueless as to what.

“And you didn’t skip the border to keep from getting locked up for life?”

He chuckled, shifting his weight. “Nope. I’ve been crime free for a while now.”

“So why are you here?” I asked. “Aren’t there about a dozen schools with better football teams you could’ve gotten into?”

“Maybe,” he answered with a lift of his shoulders.

“Then why here?” I knew I was asking idiot questions, but I couldn’t stop them.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked at the ceiling. “I was hoping that would be kind of obvious.”

Nothing about now, or any of Jude and me, had been obvious.

“I’m here for you, Luce,” he confessed. “Shit, if Juilliard had a football team and actually wanted me, I would be there.”

I opened my mouth. Nope, words failed me.

“Hold that thought,” he said, lifting his finger. For once, he looked almost nervous. “I’ve been practicing this for a while and I need to get it out before you slap me and walk out on me. Ready?” Squaring his shoulders, he inhaled. “Hi, I’m Jude Ryder Jamieson,” he began, extending his hand. I took it, shaking it. He held onto it when I tried to pull it back. “My mom left when I was thirteen. My dad’s serving a life sentence for killing a young kid. I spent the last five years in a boys’ home being bullied, beat, and abused by the kids, the staff, and even the goddamn dog. I sold drugs. I did drugs. I got arrested. A lot. I screwed a lot of faceless women.” He paused, sucking in a breath. “And then I met one whose face I couldn’t forget. I fell in love with her. I hurt her because I fell in love with her and was afraid she was going to leave me the way everyone else had.” He lifted his other hand, cradling mine between his. “I still love her.”

I wasn’t able to draw in a breath at this point in the conversation, so I was lucky I was able to make any kind of reply. “Jude,” I whispered, not sure what to say next. We had so much history, history that made for the worst kind of foundation to build a relationship on.

“I love you, Luce,” he continued. Clearly he wasn’t going to stop until he said what he needed to. “And I’m sorry I ruined everything we had before I could admit it to you. Before I could admit it to myself. You didn’t make me a better person, because no one can do that. You made me want to be a better person. You believed in me and stuck up for me. You cared for me when no one else would. You made me better, Luce. You’re right—one person can make a difference. One person can change another person’s whole world for the better,” he said, his whole face on fire with his words. “One person ruined my world, and that was my dad, and one person saved mine, and that was you.” Raising his hands, he fitted them on my face. “The same tragedy upended our worlds. The same tragedy brought us here today. Don’t let it tear us apart.”

Cue the tears, because these were the words that obliterated my defenses. “Jude,” I began, determined to get more than one word out, “how can we even begin to move forward when the past will always be there to remind us of what we lost because of each other’s families?”

His thumb ran down my cheek. “Because I know I will never love anyone like I love you. That’s what will overcome the past every time it tries to rear its ugly head.” He stepped closer. “So it’s either you and me or me and me, Luce. And I don’t really like myself, so I hope you’ll pick the you and me option.”

I took another step towards him, our bodies coming together. “I don’t really like you either,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I love you.”