Steadfast (True North #2)

by Sarina Bowen

  That’s when I knew I’d won.

  Shifting my weight, I spun around to straddle him. Lust-darkened eyes met mine, and there was a question in them.

  Leaning in, I pressed my lips against his, hoping to kiss that question away.

  Jude gave a groan against my mouth. He kissed me once. Twice. “Sophie,” he grunted. Kiss. “You shouldn’t be here.” Kiss.

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Kiss, kiss. Kiss. I rubbed my hands up and down his inked biceps. Jesus, he had bulked up.

  “Where’s your car?” he asked between kisses. But then he pushed me down on the bed, stretching out over my body.

  The weight of his hips on mine made me crazy. “Church parking lot,” I breathed.

  He flexed his body against me. “But what if somebody…?”

  “What if you just shut up?” I reached for his shoulders, but he did a pushup, levering himself up and off of me.

  Something like worry crossed his features. “You make me crazy, Sophie.”

  I ran a hand up and down his bare chest, and his eyes closed. “Yeah? Well back at you, babe. We both have first-class tickets on the crazy train. But it’s my birthday, and you’re the only one who remembered.” My logic was thin at best. But Jude shivered at my touch and lowered himself onto my body again. His mouth found mine, hot and determined. I opened for him right away.

  And then we were just gone. Deep kisses and hands everywhere. I couldn’t get enough of his beautiful chest. I traced every new ridge of muscle with my fingertips. Jude’s hand slid into the crease between my legs, and I squeezed my thighs together to show him how much I wanted him.

  We struggled out of our clothes in a ridiculous way due to our inability to stop kissing. My T-shirt got stuck because I wouldn’t let go of Jude’s mouth. So he turned his attention to the zipper on my jeans instead. He unzipped me, and I hiked up my hips to let him yank the fabric away from my body.

  The feel of his fingertips sliding into my panties made us gasp together. “So slick and sweet,” he growled. “You feel like mine.”

  I couldn’t answer him because I was too busy yanking him in for another kiss. An addiction is when you can’t keep away from something that’s bad for you. Maybe Jude was a drug addict, but I was a Jude addict.

  He got the rest of my clothes off finally. Then we were skin to skin, Jude lying on top of me. We were staring into each other’s eyes, and I wanted to die of happiness. I let my hands wander up his thickly muscled arms to his big shoulders. “You got so big in prison,” I gasped.

  His next kiss had him chuckling into my mouth. “That sounds really badass, Soph. But I got big lifting bushel crates of apples at the Shipleys’.”

  I tightened my legs around his waist. “Do me, farm boy.”

  “As you wish.” He reached back, his palm landing at my ankle. He skimmed my shin with his big hand, making me shiver. Then he claimed my mouth in a blistering kiss. I was practically quivering with anticipation when he gave a purposeful thrust and filled me.

  “Ah!” we both gasped, and the sexy grimace on his face was beautiful.

  We melted together in another kiss, and Jude began to rock. He set a slow, aching pace that would have been torture if I didn’t have his mouth on mine. I threaded my fingers through his thick, wavy hair and sighed.

  And then he smiled at me between kisses. I saw a flash of the old Jude—naughty but sweet. That smile affected me even more than the slide of hot skin against skin. My pulse kicked up a notch, and I tugged him closer. I crossed my ankles behind his ass and squeezed.

  Jude groaned as he picked up the pace. “Fuck, Sophie. I can’t go slow with you. Never could.”

  He wasn’t the only one. My breath came in short, happy puffs as he rode me hard. I felt my joy crest. Kicking my legs out to the side, I arched up to meet him.

  Crying out his name, I bucked one more time. Jude growled into my mouth and then planted himself deeply. We pulsed together, gripping one another as if certain something would try to tear us apart.

  Because something always did.

  I floated back down to earth slowly. Last time I’d entered Jude’s room, I’d told him, “It’s just sex.” What a crock of crap. He was everything to me. It’s just that I was only allowed to have everything for an hour before it disappeared again.

  But today was my birthday, and tonight I was a glass-half-full kind of girl.

  Jude shifted his weight off me and rolled to his side. But then he pulled me close, and I snuggled into his shoulder.

  Maybe he expected me to burst into tears again, but I wasn’t going to. There would almost surely be more tears over Jude. But I’d save them for later. Tonight was too sweet for tears.

  We lay there quietly for a few minutes, holding each other. Eventually my busy brain came back online, and I asked Jude a question that burned brightly in my mind. “How did you get hooked on drugs?”

  He gave a snort. “Really? You want to go there right now?”

  I gave his bulky chest a single kiss. “I want to understand.”

  He grumbled. “Remember when I sprained my ankle at the end of junior year?”

  “Sure.”

  “They gave me painkillers at the E.R.”

  I tried to rewind my memory that far. “But that healed up quickly. I thought you didn’t need those pills.”

  “I didn’t. But I had them on my desk. And Gibby and Dex were like, ‘Let me show you what those are really for.’” Jude sighed again. “They taught me how to crush and snort prescription painkillers.”

  Jesus. “That was it? Boom? Just like that?”

  His voice was low and quiet. “Yes and no. When you first start, it’s just fun. That shit made me feel invincible. And one pill lasted a couple of days. But pretty soon your body adjusts, so I needed more. I started buying them. I told myself that it was no big deal.”

  I gave him another little kiss to thank him for telling me. But he wasn’t done.

  “That’s how it always goes. I’ve sat through a lot of meetings by now, and everybody’s story is pretty much the same. You think you have it under control. You’re still showing up all the places you’re supposed to show up. And nobody’s really noticed that you have to duck into the bathroom periodically to blow a line. And it’s easier to get through the day, because the things you’re afraid of don’t seem so bad when you’re high.”

  “What were you afraid of?” I asked immediately.

  But Jude just shook his head.

  I’d already pressed my luck tonight, so I let it go. “And how about now? I know you’re going to that meeting in the church basement.”

  “Mmm,” he said, kissing my shoulder. “In a week they’ll give me a six-month tag. It’s a plastic keychain. Pretty anticlimactic, really.”

  “Six months is nothing to sneeze at.”

  “Thanks.” He sounded weary. “Feels like six years, though.”

  “Why?”

  He lifted my hair and kissed my neck. “You don’t want to hear this crap.”

  I pushed up on an elbow, giving up a kiss from Jude for the first time that I could remember. “Actually, I do.”

  Jude licked his lips. “My body won’t let me forget the shit I used to put in it.”

  “So you have cravings?” I knew the right terminology. You can’t work in a social work office without learning these things.

  “Every damn day.”

  “What does it feel like?”

  “Nagging. Like a twitch. Or an irritating tag in the back of your sweater. And you know just a little hit would make it go away. Some days I can’t remember why it’s so important not to. That’s why I sit in that church basement. It’s not for the shitty coffee. It’s so they can remind me why I stopped.”

  I curled up beside him again. “Did you ever try Suboxone? People say it’s a game-changer.”

  Jude poked me in the hip. “What do you know from Suboxone?”

  “I work in the hospital—the social work office.”

&nb
sp; “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Sounds like a depressing job.”

  “It’s not. Well, it can be. But mostly it’s great. The people who come in there are in crisis, and we get to sort ’em out. I never go home at night wondering why I bother.”

  “That makes one of us.”

  I rubbed his back. “I could find you someone who writes prescriptions for Suboxone.”

  He was really quiet for a second, which probably meant that I’d overstepped. “I don’t want it,” he said eventually. “I don’t want to treat a drug addiction with another drug.”

  “That’s fair,” I said quickly. I sure hadn’t come here to get all up in Jude’s business.

  “It’s not just the principle of the thing,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to have to think about dosing myself. Like—is it time to take my pill? What if I took it early just this once? I don’t want to tangle myself up like that.”

  I ran a hand up and down the ridges of his perfect chest. “That makes sense. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

  He laughed. “Not hardly. But it’s not all bad. I just had some really good… chocolate cake.”

  I pinched him again, and he rolled onto my body for a kiss.

  And we were both smiling.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jude

  Cravings Meter: 3

  When I opened my eyes the next morning, sunlight was streaming through the windows.

  That never happened. Somehow I’d slept the whole night through. While grinning at my ceiling, I had a private chuckle. Sex had thrown a switch and put me right to sleep.

  I sat up, rubbing my eyes. The Sophie Cure would be temporary, though. If there was anything I understood about my body it was that the cravings always returned. At least for now, I felt better than I had in a long time. If I’d learned one thing in recovery, it was to appreciate the easy minutes. Because you might not get more of them for a while.

  Even better—today was Thursday. I had an evening with the Shipleys to look forward to. Tonight I’d bring something from the bakery where I’d bought Sophie’s cake. I had to go there anyway to get my credit card back.

  After a quick shower I threw on my work clothes and headed downstairs. In the alley I paused, because that fucking wreck of a car was still there. I’d taught myself to walk past it without looking. But it was twice now that Sophie had come through this alley. She’d had to walk past the car that killed her brother. On the outside chance that she might come back some time, I knew I had to finally deal with the fucker.

  I circled the Porsche the way you circle an enemy. With one phone call I could have the whole car towed away as junk. But as a vintage car nut, I just couldn’t do that. What a waste. So I started at the back of the vehicle, because that section had not been damaged. Lifting the tarp, I saw two taillights, still perfect.

  After heading into the garage, I fired up my father’s ancient computer and looked at listings for vintage Porsche taillights on eBay. Looked like the lenses alone were worth fifty bucks each. I put up an auction listing for them, then shut down the computer.

  Baby steps.

  If they sold, I’d have to figure out what to do with the money. I no longer wanted anything to do with that car, but I could give the money to Sophie. She could dust off her music school fund.

  Meanwhile, I was confronted with another long day of being underemployed. My tire-changing business had all but dried up. After a couple of snowfalls, most of the people who were planning to suit up for winter had already done it. And the ones who still believed that “all season” tires were good enough hadn’t dented their fenders yet.

  My father had deigned to work yesterday, completing a dent repair. And since two days of work in a row would clearly be too much effort for him, I doubted that he would turn up this morning.

  That was just as well, because I didn’t want to hear his opinion on my next project.

  Yesterday I’d bought some exterior paint at Home Depot, along with a scraper, a decent brush and some rollers. The garage hadn’t seen a paint job in years. If I wanted people to bring us their bodywork, I knew I had to make the place look alive.

  First, I took our power sander outside and fired it up. Even with safety goggles and a face mask on, removing the old, peeling paint was nasty work. But I covered a lot of territory in an hour and a half. And then Mrs. Walters—the old lady who ran the clanking dishwashing machine at the church—pulled in with her set of snow tires to swap out.

  “This will take about forty-five minutes,” I said, burying my surprise.

  She waved a gnarled hand. “I’m going to lunch with my girls. We’ll be two hours at least. Longer if the gossip is any good.”

  “See you in a couple hours,” I said.

  Whistling to myself, I put her car on the lift and got to work. Sometimes I tried to guess what sort of car a person drove, and I never would have guessed this one. It amused me to know that Mrs. Walters drove a Subaru Baja, which was an odd miniature pickup that I’d always admired. Subaru didn’t make ’em anymore, and that was a shame.

  The Baja was the sort of car that teenagers buzzed through town with their snowboards in back.

  I was tightening a lug nut when someone walked into the garage. “You’re early, Mrs. Walters.”

  “Not early. Late.” The voice was male, and made of gravel.

  I forced myself to stand up very slowly. No point in showing fear when you don’t yet know if there’s a reason. “Can I help you?” I asked a dark-eyed stranger in a denim jacket and a beanie. The only thing distinguishing him from a thousand other guys in Vermont was the angry-looking scar across his cheek.

  “There’s something I’m missing, and I think you know where it is.”

  Turning my head, I made a show of checking the space behind me for someone else. “You can’t mean me. I don’t even know you. And I’ve been in prison for three years.”

  “Yeah? Well just before that your new dealer gave you some product. We’re looking for his stash.”

  Shit. I held my hands loosely as a show of indifference. But I was boiling inside. “In the first place, I didn’t have a new dealer.”

  The guy all but rolled his mean little eyes. “Gavin Haines, asshole. Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.”

  “I didn’t. Gavin wasn’t my dealer. He hated my guts. The night he died was the only time I ever hung out with him. He gave me a free sample, because he wanted me to introduce him to some of my junkie friends. And you must know how that ended. If I’d had his stash in my car, the cops would have found it. I would have been sent down for intent to distribute.”

  “He had more shit than they found,” my ugly visitor said. “Where is it?”

  I gave him an exaggerated shrug. “I wouldn’t know. Why would you even ask about this three years later? If it hasn’t turned up, I don’t think it’s turning up.”

  This creep lifted his ugly chin and stared at me. “Where did he hang?”

  Jesus Christ. This was not a conversation I wanted to have. “I’d be the last to know. He had a place in Burlington with his frat buddies, but I never got closer than the front yard. You want me to guess? He could have had a storage unit somewhere. Or maybe he put it in a gym locker—that’s where they always look on TV.”

  The asshole stared me down again, and I felt the seconds tick by. I’d done well so far at keeping my irritation to myself. But everyone had a breaking point, and I was reaching mine.

  “Maybe he kept it at home.”

  I laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “In the police chief’s house? No chance.”

  “Maybe the chief was in on it?”

  I shook my head. “You’ll never convince me of that. The man is an ass, but he’s not dirty. The stick up his butt is made of rebar.”

  My interrogator raised an eyebrow. “So the son was going off in his own direction, and he knows his daddy didn’t like you, so you’re a good pick to help him.”

  “Yo
u are full of theories, aren’t you? And maybe if his association with me lasted longer than two hours, you’d be onto something.” I would repeat this story until my dying day. And it was easy to do because I was telling the truth.

  But if he didn’t get the fuck out of my garage soon, I didn’t know what I would do.

  “Maybe the daughter knows something,” he said slowly.

  My blood stopped circulating. “No chance. They weren’t close.”

  “But you were.”

  My heart spasmed in my chest. “Sure I was. But I lied to her all damn day back then. That’s what an addict does.”

  The next fifteen seconds probably took fifteen years off my life. He watched me, his eyes burning with irritation. I measured the distance between myself and the lug wrench and waited to find out if I was going to need to lunge for it.

  “You find it, you call me,” he said finally. He took a card out of his pocket and set it on Mrs. Walters’ rear tire.

  My heart thumped with relief. Slowly, as if it didn’t matter to me at all, I turned back to my lug nut. “I’m not finding a thing. I don’t leave this place except to get food and go to meetings in a church basement.”

  “Yeah? Don’t let me find out that ain’t true. It would be really damn easy to plant some shit in your garage, and then tell the cops where to find it. I hear they want your ass gone from this town, anyway.”

  “Don’t waste your stash,” I grumbled. “I never bought from that guy. Like I said—he wanted me to introduce him to some friends, but we barely made it that far. Wish he hadn’t given me a sample. I’m never going near that shit again.”

  “That’s what they all say.” He laughed.

  I grasped the wrench, my grip tightening on the metal. I wanted to lash out, and the grip I had on my self-control was flimsy. Shit. If I were smart, I’d ask this asshole to come around every day to remind me why I stay sober. Bad decisions looked like this—like a dealer in your face over a stash of drugs from three years ago. I’d brought this on myself.

  I dropped my eyes, praying he’d just go already. His stare burned me a few moments longer. Finally he walked out without a word.