27
She wore the leather jacket – Tommy's leather jacket – and a thick sweater she'd filched from her father at one point. Whenever she was sick, or partially incapacitated as she'd told Tommy earlier, she preferred it comfy and loose. Now she wished she'd opted for a tank. A bikini top, maybe. Or even a black bra. Anything to alleviate the fever Tommy spiked. Not even the coldness of the car he had her pressed against could cool her down. If only she could shed a few items.
Cold fear crash-landed in her gut.
No!
Damnit!
What bra was she wearing?
It was damn hard to concentrate when Tommy had her pinned to the side of his Porsche. Not that she hadn't secretly dreamt this dirty dream a million times before. And just as they'd done in her wildest imagination, his tongue chased her tonsils, her tongue chased his, and really, who knew what hand was where at this point! It was one hazy affair of lust spilling over and emotions running wild. After he'd blurted his love confession, Jude had decided to forgive and forget everything and just go for it. This was their chance, their moment. Done with the never-ending back and forth of accusations, claims of regrets, and failures to do better, she'd taken charge, had grabbed his head, and she'd dove for that dizzying kiss she gone far too long without. Sometimes, a message was best delivered by action rather than words.
And Tommy, bless him, had for once in his life not put up an argument. It could be that she'd caught him by surprise. She'd definitely done that! She'd caught herself by surprise for that matter. There weren't that many women in Tommy's life, she supposed, who put the moves on him as blatantly as she'd done and for that she forgave him the good half minute he'd needed to properly participate in the act.
After that?
Gee, had he begun participating. A man of many an experience, he'd wrapped his arms around her, he'd twirled them around like a ballroom dancer on the cusp of winning the big cup, and he'd flattened her to the car in no time. How they had managed to cross the distance toward the car, she couldn't tell. Also, she had dim recollections of her foot being injured but the pain had vanished. Not that she missed it.
She'd missed him.
She'd missed being Tommy's girl.
She'd missed the claim he'd always had on her. She'd missed being his weakness. She'd missed being the fold in the carpet over which he'd stumble and get into trouble. She'd missed being his good luck and also his bad luck. She'd missed being forgiven by him, she'd missed his infinite forgiveness and his need to receive hers.
She'd missed being the part of his life that could wreck it all and yet be worth the headache.
Nobody ever needed to tell her that she was a hardship at times. If she'd learnt one thing in the last months, that was it. She wasn't all sunshine and unicorns. She was a pain in the ass, a flawed human, and the maker of many mistakes. But a long time ago, she'd waltzed into Tommy's life and she'd changed it. Deep down she knew, despite all the drama and the regretful decisions, at the end of the day, Tommy was happy he'd met her. The same way she knew he'd influenced her life and had made it better. He'd made her better, as a singer and as a person. He'd taught her that the world was painted not in a handful of colors, but in fluorescent shades that differed depending on viewpoints.
That lecture applied to almost all aspects of her existence. Yet, as they groped each other with hunger and lusted for each other with swelling impatience, it certainly applied to the world of love. She twined her fingers through his no longer styled hair and gripped it, twisting his head and pulling it further against her neck. "Tommy…mmh…"
"Greedy," he murmured. The kisses he left on her skin pulled her under, stripped her of her shame, and lit a fire between her legs.
Angling her hips, trying to send a message, she widened her stance. A wanton invite. One he took up without hesitation. "Jude…" His fingers disappeared underneath her sweatshirt, crawled up her bare back, straight toward the clasp of her—
"No!" At once, she shoved against his shoulders. And she put weight into it! "No, you can't…I can't…" Oh God, she'd put on that ugly old sports bra of hers. The formerly white one, now horrid grey from washing it with her black sweats and blue jeans. Nobody would ever see it, she'd figured. Who could have guessed Tommy would undress her tonight?!
His hands fell away at once, flinching from her body to his face. He rubbed it, harsh and with instant remorse. "Fuck," cursed Tommy, collecting his wits, taking a large stride away from her. "Jude…shit…I shouldn't…we shouldn't—"
She tore her gaze up, snapping out of her bra-troubles.
No.
Not again!
"Will you stop?"
"Stop?" Tommy began pacing. "I practically tackled you!"
"After I made you! Did you forget that I kissed you?" Exasperated all over again, and suddenly acutely aware of the pain in her foot, she reclined back against the car and took a moment to even her breathing. "Sheesh, Tommy! We kissed, nothing more."
"Nothing more?" The look in his eyes was one of utter disgust. "We almost had sex!"
"We were a long way from that, believe me." In this bra, she'd not do it. No if about that! "If you take me home, I can change. I need to change. Takes less than five minutes. We could go to your place," she offered. Her father was at home, which made as little as holding hands with Tommy impossible. Turning sideways, she opened the door to get it.
"Jude, wait." Tommy stopped her, his hand against the door. "What we just did…we…"
Her breath hitched, not in a welcome way. She knew that look on his face, that panicked, self-loathing expression that had turfed many almost kisses before. To see it now baffled her. More than that. "Seriously?" Anger swept over her.
"Seriously!" It seemed to have swept over him, too. "Listen to me! I didn't plan this. It's not something you and I should do. It's wrong. It's—"
Would he ever make up his mind? "Do you want me?"
His glare was icy. "You doubt that?"
"Bloody have me," she bristled in return, fed up with this game. "Here's me telling you how it is: Last year, we mucked it up good because we both wanted this and were too proud to admit it. Not anymore. I'm done holding my voice. Be with me, Tommy. Choose me. You broke up with Anna. Hell, you literally just told me you loved me! Why can't you—"
"SEVENTEEN!" That's the number he shot her way, once more roughing a hand over his face. "Seventeen," he said a second time, quieter, with more weight. "I'm twenty-four, Jude. No matter how well we package us, it'll always boil down to age. "Yes, I love you. I can't help that. I want you. I fucking do. Shit," he burst, throwing a hand in the direction of his midsection, "it's fucking obvious, I'll say! But the one thing I can help is what I make of it. And I can't be with you."
If she'd thought she'd known heartbreak before, the hurt that dropped on her like a hammer falling from the sky took her legs out. "Tommy, please." Yet another time, he'd reduced her to a pleading, desperate person. "Don't do this. Not again." One hand still on the door, she held onto it, now. For support. The leg was forgotten. The cutting shards of her great expectations caused the ache. To plunge from the top to the bottom was new. She'd plunged before. A few steps here and there. Never the whole nine yards. Even last year's witnessing him with Sadie hadn't been as gruesome. Then, she'd only assumed his infatuation for her. This time, she knew for a fact that his feelings were real. That meant their chance had been real. Was real. Her eyes watered. "Tommy—"
"I wouldn't say this if my feelings weren't real. I can't be with you." His fingers dropped and he let her open the door. "Shall I take you home?"
"Home?" That was it? Dismissed by one lame excuse? She cleared her throat. She wanted to cry, only she'd no tears to shed. What little dampness had made it to her eyes scarcely sufficed. Everything felt hollow. Her body, her heart, her eyes. It made no sense. He'd always known her age. He'd known through all of last year. He'd known when they'd made love. He'd known when he'd wanted her to say 'I love you'. He'd known since the moment he'd met her. Why now? What had changed? "Why…" tried Jude, her voice coarse from the blow he'd dealt her, "why's it matter now? Why…" Her tired limbs sank down into the passenger seat. Standing up was too hard a task.
Tommy got in on the other side, closed the door, and stared out the front window. His hands clutched the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. "Because I love you." His voice was thick. Affected. "I finally understand what that means."
"Breaking my heart?" she asked bitterly.
His smile was bittersweet. "Setting you free."
A short drive later, they arrived. He waited for her to exit and drove off without any further words. Jude didn't feel like laughing at the absurdity of this moment, but a snort couldn't be helped. Spit out from heaven and left curbside in front of her father's house.
Love could go and fuck itself!
#Two weeks later…
Spied tossed the latest edition of Music Toronto onto the couch, giving a voice to his displeasure. "Squinty Frown relocates to New York, gets to work in a fancy-ass studio with fancy-ass New York musicians and what do I get? Two weeks of being grounded, all because I failed music. How was I supposed to know Beethoven was a musician? I thought he was a dog. We watch the movie each year on Christmas!"
Wally, next to Jude, burst into laughter. "What's next, you tell me Mozart is a chocolate?"
Speid gaped. "It's not?"
Jude listened with one ear as her band went back and forth making fun of one another. Despite her goal to remain solemn and sad, even angry, a smile crept across her cheeks and when Spied noticed and called her out on it, she quickly turned her head to hide it.
The morning after Tommy had dropped her off at home, he'd called her from the airport. He'd explained to her that he couldn't keep his distance, not when she was an arm's length away and constantly on his mind. "I'm going to New York," he'd informed her, not offering her a say in the matter. "Darius agrees. I told him. Everything."
For whatever reason, Darius had never mentioned it. He'd made a brief announcement informing everyone that Tommy oversaw setting up a G-Major office in New York and wouldn't be back anytime soon. He'd also be the first artist recording there. No other explanation. If anyone had any questions or if there had been rumors, they hadn't reached Jude's ears.
As days went by, her broken heart began to hurt a little less and that freed up room to devote to Tommy's reasoning. She didn't agree with him. Didn't see the issue about her age. But if he refused to be with her, then him not being around did make it easier for her to be here. She supposed out of all the shit he'd done, his move to a different city was a considerate one.
On the other hand, she'd have liked a change of scenery herself.
It was the last she'd heard of him. He'd not called since. Would she have picked up if he had? Jude couldn't say. What for? To be friends? Yes, she wanted to be his friend, she missed being his friend. She missed being so much more than being his friend, though. And being any less than that was a weight that continued to drag her down. No matter how often she tried standing upright, all it took was a mention of Tommy or a glimpse at something that reminded her of him and back to a crouch she was.
"Come on, Judyjude," cooed Wally, kneeling in front of her and presenting her his last gummy bear. "Smile for me? Quincy ain't coming back and that sucks, I get it. But to punish the world with your frown isn't fair, don't you agree?"
Kyle knelt down next to him, clutching her hand. "Hey Jude…"
She grabbed the gummy bear from Wally and tossed it at Kyle. And even though she was mad at him for teasing her with that dreadful song, a chuckle did escape her
Spied threw his hands up high. "She still knows how to laugh. Hallelujah! Hope's not lost. Wally, get the book with the jokes. Kyle, get the tablet with the funny kitten vids! The time for laughter has arrived!"
"You guys suck!" She did her best to sulk. But damn those lips of hers. They wouldn't uncurl.
"You love us," announced Kyle.
She snorted. "You wish!"
"Feistiness. The first emotion on the route to recovery."
Another chuckle. She slapped a hand over her mouth and huffed. "Damn you," blustered Jude, angry at them for playing her so well. "Leave me alone. I want to be glum."
"That's sooo grunge," whined Wally.
"Sooo Nirvana!"
"And you're wearing black. That's so not grunge."
"Yeah," nodded Kyle. "Black's punk."
"Emo punk," said Spied. "An important distinction. But see?" He pointed at her shoes. "White Chuck's. That crosses some lines. She's emo punk with a side of garage rock."
"Brit rock. Since fall last year, Chuck's are garage rock," lectured Kyle.
Wally x-ed his arms, demanding evidence. "Says who?"
"Says the latest Arctic Monkeys record."
"Ah," nodded both Kyle and Spied. The latter added, "well argued." All of them looked at Jude. "So?" wondered Kyle. "What's it, Judyjude? Punk, Rock, or a record in between?"
She rose to her feet and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. "I hate you bunches. Thank you for being my friends. Right now, I want to be left alone. But I'll be okay. I just need some time to…you know…"
"Yeah," nodded Spied, understanding. "We know. We're here if you need us."
"With corny movies and ice cream," added Wally.
Jude chuckled a third time. "Bye, guys." She shouldered her guitar and headed home.
#Three weeks after that
Spring was here. On the cusp of growing into summer. The weather was bright and sunny, the clouds had vanished, and Jude had banished all black hoodies and sweatshirts from her closet. In had moved black shirts. And blue jeans. She sat cross-legged on the floor of the empty garage and stared at the red Ferrari as it roared to life, surprised it had needed no help for that.
Satisfied it still ran, Chaz cut the engine and got out, adjusting his sunglasses. "You sure about this? It's not just a car, it's a huge chunk of money you're giving away."
"It was never mine to begin with. Tommy didn't care to take it back from me. I've tried to reason with him on numerous occasions." Not since he left for New York for they'd yet to speak again, but before that. "He refuses to take it back from me. You drive it. And when he returns, you can hand it back to him. Or sell it. Like I care." It wasn't her car and she needed to be rid of it. It was a big, red cancer cell poisoning everything. Every time she looked at it, she was reminded of all that had gone wrong in the last year. And she wanted to move on. It was time to move on.
"Hey, if you ever need a ride, call me, alright?"
"Will do. Thanks, Chaz."
With a wave of his hand, he got back in and drove off.
As the car slipped out of view, she laid back on the cold stone floor. The heat from the sun warmed her front, providing a sharp divide and it brought a memory to her mind. Of her pressed up against Tommy's Porsche, treated to passionate kisses.
Lately, as her wounds began to mend and the cracks of her superglued heart slowly started to close, doubt oozed from the scars. Doubt that was born out of her dissolving anger. Had Tommy left for a good reason after all?
Last week, her school had held a dance. She'd attended, more or less dragged there by her band. Most of the girls had shown up with boyfriends. Some from other schools. Two had arrived with older boyfriends. Older as in two or three years older. A far cry from twenty-four. They'd brought booze. The principal had cancelled the dance shorty after midnight. When she'd snuck away from the crowd, quietly slipping out of her band's watchful eyes, she'd overheard the two guys ranting about this busted kiddie party and being bored.
She'd rolled her eyes and if she'd been a little less exhausted from pretending to be enjoying herself all night – lest her school's 'newspaper' published another scathing article about their superstar student being too cool for school parties – she might have given them a taste of her foul mood. After all, nobody had forced them to attend and ruin it for everyone.
And yet, their words had been haunting. She'd imagined then what it would have been like had Tommy come as her date. Who would he have talked to? Who would he have hung out with? Jamie, who still avoided her? SME, who'd poked fun at him every chance they got?
He'd have gone to the dance for her. He wouldn't have had a fun time. And if he'd not come to the dance, she'd have been disappointed.
Age did matter. She wasn't blind to that, less now than she'd been before. It was the everyday, little moments in which it counted. The sum total of times it played a role began to dawn on her. It wouldn't have been a rare, isolated problem. It would have been a constant struggle. A persistent thorn around which a growing wound would have formed.
#August
"Your album hit number one today. You should be happy." Portia slipped into the chair across from Jude in the kitchenette. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," and she meant that. "I'm trying this new thing. It's called silent reverie. Something like a pleasant daydream. I'm imagining how long my album will remain at number one and how many golden records it'll earn me." The side of her mouth kicked up. "I'm holding out for three. That's got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"Confident. Alright, I hold your three and raise you two more. I'm convinced your new album is superhit."
"Five, eh?" She nodded. "I shall wait and see."
"Quietly?"
Jude tilted her head toward her at the sound of her concern. "You sound worried." Months ago, there might have been a reason for that. But not anymore. She was going out, having fun with friends, she'd even gone out on a date with a classmate. It hadn't worked out and she hadn't really been interested in it working out but the movie they'd gone to see had been funny and it had been nice to just get to know a person better. "I'm fine, Portia. I swear I am."
"Worried is the wrong word, I guess. You've changed, how about that? You used to be…not wild…spirited? It's tough to describe. Louder, maybe?"
Yeah. And then Tommy had left and she'd suffered a blow so hard it had rocked her entire world. At times it felt as though Tommy leaving was the culmination of the entire last year. Or even a culmination of their time together from the moment they met. A constant up and down, a rollercoaster of emotional absolutes. When he'd moved to New York, she'd hidden away and learned to appreciate silence.
Last summer and last fall, when she and Tommy had broken apart, she'd searched shelter in distraction, in excitement, in movement, in places where she could neither hear her thoughts nor feel her pain. This time, she'd tuned everything else out and focused on exactly that.
Curiously enough, it had helped. She'd learned a lot about herself. She'd realized she liked it quiet. Not always, but sometimes. She didn't have to throw her head back and laugh out loud for the sake of showing off her amusement. Her amusement wasn't a display, it was a personal experience. It belonged to her. She could revel in it in any way she wanted. And the same was true for every other emotion as well. She hadn't balled up and cried for weeks. She'd felt the emotions. She'd endured them.
But she'd screwed up, too: She'd cut her hair off, now sporting a choppy bob and hating every minute of it. Every second of it. Portia had suggested extensions and Sadie had gotten her a wig off amazon, but Jude chose to suffer the waiting period. One day, she'd told Spied, I'll be headbanging again with the hairiest of you!
All the short skirts of last fall had found a new space in Sadie's closet. She'd stockpiled on jeans, instead. And she'd spent an insane amount of money on two incredible leather jackets. Tommy's, she'd returned to him. Or to Chaz, who had then forwarded it to Tommy. Would she ever hear from him again?
The possible 'no' no longer scared her. If that's what life was, she'd take it. She'd handle it. She'd make do with it. Because life wasn't a box of chocolates. Or something like that. Or maybe it was. It had been a while since she'd seen the film.
"Jude?" From a few feet away, Mitch – D's newest uber-producer – called for her. "Can you help me out later? Sheryl's coming in for her debut single. I'd like your input. You know you got an ear for details that's better than mine."
She nodded and dropped her gaze back to the tea in her hand. "Let me know when she's here?"
"Will do."
After he left, Portia's face lost its concern. Instead, a strange new emotion took hold. "I envy you," she admitted almost under her breath.
It made her look up, stunned. "Me?"
"You don't notice. Or maybe you do and you simply don't care. Mitch likes you."
"He's twenty-three." Her brows curved up. "I got a rule about that," she joked.
Portia smiled. "Be that as it may, the fact remains. When I was your age, I would have jumped at that."
"At Mitch? Go for him!"
"He's too young for me. I got a rule about that," Portia threw back.
Jude chuckled.
"I married Tommy because he paid me attention. I always needed a man in my life. Took me years and a good deal of introspection to dare and be on my own. Even now, I still rely on Darius for a lot. I'm saying there's a guy, one of many, who'd like a shot at you, and you don't care. You do your thing. Producing. At seventeen. Impressive."
"I voice my opinion. I always do. Always have." After Tommy had left, she'd helped Kwest out and it turned out she was good at it. These days, Big D paid her for her contribution. "Co-producing, if anything."
Portia gave her arm a soft touch. "Anyway, I got work waiting for me. Which is why I came over to begin with. I got a nice Betsey Johnson dress that would fit you perfectly. Interested?"
"Sequins and that stuff?"
She nodded.
Jude winced. "Give it to Sadie."
"One day you will have to wear a dress again. If you don't do it on your own, I will have Darius force you. A ballgown," she threatened.
"I do wear dresses!"
"When?"
"To school dances?"
"One day, hear me? A sprawling, hooped-skirted ballgown. In pink!"
"Yeah, yeah," laughed Jude. Not in her lifetime!
#December
Her birthday had come and gone. It was almost four am by the time Jude snuck up the stairs to her bedroom. Barefoot, the thick black taffeta of her long gown clutched in her hands, she traipsed up. One eye on her dad as he slumbered on the couch, she was less worried about being grounded. At eighteen, her freedoms were boundless. Or so it felt. But her father was no longer eighteen and she didn't want to wake him.
"Jude?" Upstairs, Sadie was waving her hand, telling her to hurry. "Come. I have to show you something."
She rushed and followed her sister into her room. "What are you doing at home? I thought you left with Kwest."
"I did. Came here 'cause…" As soon as Jude was inside her room, Sadie went and closed the door. "Have a seat. I want to show you something. I'm not sure you want to see it. But it's not my decision to keep it from you. It's complicated."
Sadie continued to rant, and Jude took the time to sprawl out on her bed, glad to be off her feet at last. Those heels were a torture device! She'd left them by the door, and she wouldn't wear them again for a very long time. A minute later, Sadie was still yapping.
Jude turned her head, facing her. "Sades, just tell me!"
"You haven't been home since this morning. Erm…" Sadie took a deep breath, then bent down and reached underneath the bed to pull something out.
Jude sat up and looked at it. A letter and a single red rose.
Tommy.
It didn't need a genius to figure out who this was from. "What did he write?"
Sadie shrugged. "Don't know."
"You haven't read it?"
"It's not for me."
When had that ever stopped her? "Not even peeked?"
She shook her head.
Jude took the letter and ignored the rose. "Keep it, toss it, don't care. Let's see… Happy Birthday, girl." Always with the nicknames, she thought. "I contemplated writing this letter for a long time. I could tell you that I should have reached out sooner or that I regret the choices I've made but I stand by what I've done. I hope you can forgive me one day. I understand if you can't. I want you to know I have not and never will forget you. I hope you have a wonderful birthday and find every wish fulfilled. Love, T." She folded it back up and put it back into the envelope.
"Romantic," judged Sadie breathlessly, clutching the rose in her hand. "He signed off with Love."
"Self-serving," retorted Jude bitterly. How could her smart, college-educated sister be so naïve? "He wants my forgiveness, nothing more. Three quarters of what little he's written is about himself and he only tagged on happy birthday as an excuse to write me." Fueled by anger, by a need to move, she got up from Sadie's bed and headed for her own. "One rose?" It made her shake her head. "Eighteen wouldn't have killed him, don't you agree? Think about it, Sadie! One lame, little rose after he spent months punishing me for not confessing my love to him. He told me he loved me. Not the other way around. Nobody forced him to say it. Nobody forced him to get my hopes up. When I kiss him, he happily kisses back – but oh-bloody-big-surprise! – He panics at the finish line. Not only panics, he plain bolts. After months of radio silence, of not apologizing, of not giving a cold rat's ass about how I was doing with his leaving town, he figures, hey, I'll drop her a few lines and send a rose. She's a girl. She'll like it! Know what?" Jude snatched the rose from Sadie's hand and beheaded it. "Sent it back!"
"Jude!" Sadie's expression was one of shock. "You've never done that before."
"Done what? Take a stand for myself?" It was about bloody time she started!
"This." Sadie nodded toward the rose. "Mock him. He reached out. He made an effort."
"Effort?" What a ridiculous way to describe what he'd done. "Here's what's sad, Sadie. If roles were reversed, you'd have forgiven him." Funny enough, it was that idea that enraged her even more than the sight of the massacred red rose. She left without another word.
Back in her room, restless feed carried her across the limited space, back and forth, at the same speed her thoughts raced. She'd shed her dress, changed into sweats, put on socks, kicked socks off. Ire built up, layer after layer, supplying an energy she wasn't equipped to handle at this hour. Were it day, she could plug in the guitar and rock it out. She could scream her fury into a mic and make music out of it. But forced into silence, shackled into quietness, the middle of the night was a punishment.
Punished people did dumb things. They acted rash and with few considerations for fallout. Jude grabbed the phone and dialed.
Was she surprised or relieved that he answered? "Hey," husked Tommy.
That familiar, hoarse voice crawled through the phone like the soft hand of a lover running down one's spine. The immediate physical response of her body to his three-letter greeting sickened her. Three letters to ignite the bomb inside her.
"Hey my ass," she detonated. "I'm so fucking glad, so motherfucking glad, believe me, that you don't regret anything you've done. But let me tell you a few things. The shit you don't regret doing? You did it to me and I regret that! I regret that I let you do that shit to me. I regret that I let you play me like a violin and strum me like the strings of your guitar. I regret that I kissed you that night on the street. I regret that I let you walk away without telling you to your face what a damn coward you are. I regret that you think you've done right to me when you've done me more ill than any other person I know! You fucking used me, Tommy. And I wish you'd used me how you think you've used me. I wish you'd slept with me that night. That way, I'd have at least gotten something out of it. Instead, you used me as your personal groupie. You've used me as your notepad. As your devoted follower. As your spirited defender. You want to argue with age? You think sex is the issue? Wow, Quincy, are you stupid if you think that! Our problem is me letting you back in without ever bloodying your nose! You want to congratulate me to my eighteenth birthday? Earn the right, asshole!" With that, she hung up.
.
.
Spoiler Ch. 28:
#
"Why are you here?"
Jude shoved the rose into his hand. "Didn't you listen? I don't know!" With that, she marched past him, pulled a Tommy, and breezed into his apartment. "Does the 'why' really matter?"
#