I was looking at him the same way.

“Thank you, Jude.” I paused on my way to the bathroom and looked at him. I’d believed and assumed horrible things about him. I’d become another member of the mob letting the worst shit stick to him. It made my throat burn. “And I’m sorry,” I said, hoping he could read in my eyes what my words could not convey. “Holly explained everything and I’m so, so sorry, Jude.”

Pushing off the doorway, he took a step inside. “I know, Luce.” He gave me a sad smile.

I disappeared behind the bathroom door, pajamas in hand, tears in eyes.

“I didn’t think your room would be so . . . girly.” His nose was curled from the tone of his voice.

Sliding out of the sausage casing dress, I stuck my head out. “Don’t we know better by now than to assume anything about each other?” I peaked a brow and smiled.

He chuckled. “I’d hope so,” he said. “So you’re saying this would be a bad time to mention the five other children I’ve fathered with five different women? Or have you trailed me to all of their trailers already?”

I flung the dress out the door, hitting his face.

Sliding it off his face, he crumpled it up. If it was any indicator of how little fabric it consisted of, he was able to palm it in one fist before stuffing it in his jacket pocket. “I’m keeping this as a souvenir, Luce. You looked amazing.”

“Like you were looking at the dress,” I hollered out at him, sliding into my nightgown.

“If you wear a dress like that, Luce, here’s a pointer. Guys aren’t going to be admiring the material.”

Everything felt like it used to. Back to normal. Well, the only normal Jude and I could ever be, but it was ours, and enough. I ran a brush through my hair a few times, just so it didn’t look like I was going for the ratty look, and stepped back into the bedroom.

Jude was propped up in my bed, flipping through my student handbook. “I heard you got in,” he said, putting it back on the nightstand. “Juilliard, Luce. Even the dumb hick I am and I’ve heard enough about it to know that’s something to be proud of.”

I bent a knee beneath me and sat beside him. “And I heard you got into just about any university you want. That is, if you don’t go for that whole seven figure, NFL thing.”

He bowed his head against the head board. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Have you made any decisions?”

“Not yet,” he said, like it was no big deal. Like having a full blown scholarship to whatever school you chose wasn’t a big deal. If that wasn’t, it was hard to imagine what Jude considered a big deal.

“Jude,” I said, planting my hand on his stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me about Sawyer? Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t the dad?’ It was one of the many questions I couldn’t even begin to answer.

“Would you have believed me?” he asked, his voice strained.

I knew the answer, but I didn’t want to give it air.

“And I also knew that if you assumed I was Jude’s dad, and that I’d lied to you about that, it would be enough for you to be done with me for good. It was the only way I knew to keep you safe from me.”

I lifted my hand from his stomach. “So you planned this? The whole time we were together, you were scheming some way to screw up royally so I’d leave you alone?”

“No, Luce,” he said, grabbing my hand back. “So I’d leave you alone.”

“That morning when I confronted you about Holly and the baby, you didn’t deny it.”

“But did I confirm it?”

I narrowed my eyes. “By not denying, you did.”

Sliding his beanie lower, he closed his eyes. “That’s because I knew that was the only way I could save you from me. I didn’t plan it out that way, but when you confronted me about Holly that morning, I knew that if I was going to be a man and let you go, that was my only chance. And lucky for me, I had the balls to do it that day.”

“What? Lie to me?” I asked with an edge.

Jude shook his head. “Walk away from you.”

This whole thing between Jude and me had been one, carefully managed miscommunication orchestrated by him. I was hurt, and I was pissed, and I even understood why, but most of all, I was done with it.

“You about done walking yet?” I asked, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at his face.

He tossed the pillow back. “Undecided on that one.”

If I didn’t know why he was undecided, that answer might have stung. “Why are you here now then?”

“Because I want to be,” he said, confessing it like a sin.

“And you didn’t want to be here before?” I scooted closer, wishing that for two damn minutes, we could be on the same page.

“I did,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “I’m just tired of fighting it right now.”

There it was, the breakthrough I was waiting for. The red light had changed. “Do me a favor and don’t fight it again.”

Sitting up, he looked at me. His stare was crippling. “I will, Luce. I’m going to keep fighting it because you don’t deserve some dead end guy with my past ruining your life.”

Throwing my arms up, I exhaled. Humility was a good thing, but being a martyr was as bad as believing you were god’s gift. I was done with the routine. “If you’d shut up about all the reasons I shouldn’t want you, maybe you’d hear that I don’t care,” I said. Well, I shouted. “I know the worst parts of you and I know the best parts of you.” I paused to get a breath. “And I want you.”