by Frankie Love
“That’s not why it’s bad Of course he has stuff with Rachel to work out, but it’s a bad idea because I can see it all play out. You’ll just move in there and be his … what? His nanny? His glorified girlfriend? Jude doesn’t say no to people. You’re totally floundering and that’s Jude’s bread and butter.”
I raise my eyebrows, shocked at his critique. “You’re kind of a crappy friend, Holden, to be throwing Jude under the bus like this.”
“It’s the truth. Look, I love the guy. But I also love you,” Holden says. “I just think hooking up with him before you know yourself is a terrible idea.”
I look at Mom for her input, but her eyes are on her lap, her lips tight.
“Say something, Mom. What are you thinking?”
“I think you always do exactly what you want.”
“I called this meeting because I wanted to hear from the people I love most.”
“I don’t want to say my piece and shut you out, Catalina,” Mom says.
“Well, that answers that.” I stand from my chair, frustrated that they aren’t even giving me a chance.
“Catalina, could you sit back down for a second?” Mom surprises me, and I do as she asks. “Have you thought about what you want out of all of this? Of, say, being with Jude?”
I swallow, determined to be honest. “I want to be happy.”
“Anything else?” she asks. “Do you have any other ambition?”
“No.” And I don’t. I never really have. And it isn’t because I’m a loser or suck at everything. It’s just that fighting to be my own person is hard enough. “What I really want is a partner, so that life isn’t so hard anymore. A person who wants to share in the simple parts of life with me. Be by my side.”
I want to love and be loved and I don’t want some fancy career or some lucrative position.
I want to smile.
I want to walk across Ireland and learn to drink whiskey well.
I don’t want the whole wide world. I just want to enjoy my slice of it.
But the people I’m around right now—like Bexley and Holden—they’re world class. Even Cassius and Evangeline and Jude. They’re bigger than life.
They came to LA and owned this city, and I’ve been here six months and haven’t left the guesthouse.
“Mom, does that make sense?” I ask, reaching for her hand, thinking maybe she’s the one person sitting here who might understand. Understand me.
“I understand what you’re saying … but it’s a risky choice.” There are tears in her eyes, and she wipes them away so fast it’s like she’s ashamed of them. “I thought, when I had you and Holden, that I had that kind of love … and I thought it would be enough. But you know how that ended. Your father left and never returned. And it left me broken for a really long time.”
Now I’m crying, too, and my tears streak my cheeks because the truth of it hits me so hard.
“Oh, Mom,” I say, pulling her into a hug. Holden stands and reaches around our mom, too.
After we hug it out for a second, we wipe our faces and sit down, slightly dazed by the intimacy of her words.
“I don’t want to watch my little girl get wrecked.”
“Were you wrecked, Mom? Are you ruined? Would you do it differently if you could?”
A tiny laugh escapes Mom’s mouth. She shakes her head, her eyes bright with fresh tears.
“No. I wouldn’t have changed it. Because that mess gave me you two. And you’ve both been my life.”
I nod, hearing her. Seeing her. Knowing that in my heart, I need to see if there’s still a chance with the only man I’ve been able to think about for the last few weeks.
“Then, Mom,” I say, “let me make my own mess with Jude. Our own lovely mess.”
Chapter 23
After Rachel leaves, I’m wrecked and ruined. Raw.
I need to get fucking lit.
But I know I need to be a responsible adult. A father.
I call Evangeline, because over the course of a month she’s offered a thousand times to help.
“Can you watch Etta tonight?” I ask.
“Everything okay, Jude?”
I laugh under my breath. “I sound that bad?”
“No,” she says softly. “You just never, ever ask for help.”
“I’m a mess, Evie,” I admit.
“It’s okay Jude.”
“It’s not. Rachel came by. It was bad,” I tell her, knowing if I stay on the line for another minute my voice will crack.
“Cash and I will be there in half an hour. And let us keep her for the night.”
I think they must have understood my intentions for the night—mostly because Cassius hands me a bottle of forty-year aged bourbon when he walks in the door.
I’m grateful they don’t stay to ask details. Instead I help them get all of Etta’s gear loaded up, give them instructions, walk them through her sleep schedule.
“We got this,” Cassius tells me, clapping my back. “It’s going to be okay.”
I tighten my jaw, nodding my head. Not believing his words, but also not believing in much of anything.
After they leave, I pour myself a solid three inches of the bourbon, and head out to my back porch. The night is still early—it’s just after seven PM—and I look up at the sky, wishing it were dark, wishing I could see the stars. They would remind me that my existence in the universe is so small, give me perspective on what really matters … and what doesn’t.
I take another sip of the bourbon, the burn of it rolling down my throat, and close my eyes, fighting back the emotions rising to the surface.
I’ve feared that I wasn’t Etta’s father. I can add up dates and weeks as well as a doctor. But I also knew that if I confronted Rachel about my apprehension, she would have left. And the last thing I wanted was for a pregnant Rachel to be roaming Los Angeles without a home, without a job, without anyone.
I know some people don’t understand a woman like Rachel. They think she’s selfish, a cheat, a liar. They see her and believe that’s the sum of her. But I know that isn’t Rachel in her entirety.
Yes, she is those things. But she’s also broken. Part of me can relate to that. I understand those parts of Rachel because I’m broken, too.
I pour more bourbon, drink it. Pour another. My eyes are red, and the sky is a faded blue. My future? It feels so damn dark.
Rachel’s threats cut me.
I don’t know what I’ll do without Etta.
I finish another tumbler of the bourbon and set the glass on table. I run my hands over my face, trying to get a grip on myself, on reality, on the situation.
I hear someone walking around the side of my house, and my first thought is that it’s Rachel, back for Etta.
Thank God it’s the exact person I want to see: Catalina.
“You didn’t answer your door,” she says. “But I saw your car out front, and after knocking for a while I figured you either fell asleep or … didn’t want to see me.”
“Yet you still came around to find me,” I say, standing. I want to wrap my arms around her, pull her into a hug, not let go. She’s the one who said she wanted space, not me. I wouldn’t have left her if she’d told me I could stay.
“Yeah, I guess I’m not very good with boundaries.” She laughs lightly. Once again I’m reminded of how damn beautiful this woman is. Her lean legs, long and bare in her tiny cut-off shorts, her tits so perky in her flimsy tank. Her hair long around her shoulders, and her eyes so bright. So alive. So hopeful.
“So did you come back to tell me you’re leaving for good or that you want to stay?” I ask.
For a moment, I wonder if my words are slurred. Too strong. My eyes roam to the half-empty bottle and the empty glass on the table. Catalina’s eyes seem to follow mine.
“Had enough to drink?” she asks.
“Not for the kind of day I’ve had.” I shake my head, worn out.
“Want to tell me about it?” She walks over to me and laces her
fingers through mine effortlessly, pulling me back to the loveseat on the patio as if this is the way we spend every night. Together.
“Rachel came back.”
Cat’s eyes look around the patio, narrowing in. “Did she take Etta?” Her voice is ragged, as if the idea of Rachel really coming back for her daughter scares her.
“No, but she said she’s coming back for her. I’m going to lose my girl.”
“She can’t just take your daughter. You can get a lawyer, make a case. Even if she does want Etta part-time, you can make a custody agreement. You’re not losing Etta. You’re not losing anything.”
I shake my head. My chest is tight, thinking about Rachel taking Etta from me.
“I’m not her father. I always wondered, but never wanted to believe it. You know that out of sight, out of mind mentality? It doesn’t work that well. Obviously there were a lot of reasons to doubt that I was really Etta’s dad—but, damn, Rachel knows how much I love that girl. How I’d do anything for her. She says that if I try to pull anything, she’ll have a paternity test, and then I’ll have no rights.”
“Oh, God,” Catalina says, raising her hand to her mouth, covering it in disbelief. “That’s so fucked up. Do you think Rachel would really have the balls to do that? Or the desire? Like, does she even really want to be a mother?” She blinks, biting her bottom lip. “Sorry if that was out of line to ask—but Jude, this can’t be happening.”
She reaches for my hand again, her face covered in worry.
“I don’t know what to do. Evangeline took Etta tonight, because I just wanted—needed—to get fucking smashed. I want to forget, because I can’t imagine waking up tomorrow with the threat of Rachel coming back for her.
I pour more bourbon and offer Cat the glass, but she waves it off. “One of us should stay sober tonight, in case something happens with Etta.”
“Does that make me a shitty dad? Getting drunk?”
“That means you care. Care so much you can’t face the facts.”
“I never thought about being a father.” I run a hand through my hair. “I mean, before Rachel showed up saying she was pregnant, I never really considered the next part of my life. You know … getting married, settling down, having a baby or two. I spent the last decade figuring out my career. But the moment she told me she was having a baby—our baby—everything made sense.
“I know people don’t understand Rachel’s and my relationship, and I know people assume the worst with Rachel. And yeah, she’s a train wreck, but I always saw something in her. And I think she saw something in me. Deep down, she knew I would be a good dad; that’s why she decided to stay. She knew I’d always be here for her little girl. Even if she wasn’t my little girl at all. And, damn it, Catalina, if I lose the one thing that gives life meaning, I don’t know how I’ll bear it.”
I’m in tears now, a motherfucking man sobbing on his back porch, with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen sitting beside me, watching me with tears in her own eyes because the reality is just too damn bleak.
The sky is dark now, the stars are out. The black sky I was hoping for earlier—when I was looking for a sense of wonder, awe, the reminder of how big and beautiful the world is—can fuck off.
Right now, the world doesn’t feel very beautiful.
Right now it’s a giant cluster fuck. And I’m in the middle of it.
And I’m going to lose it all.
I thought I had everything, but I’ve got nothing.
Etta is my everything.
“Jude, Rachel isn’t going to take her. You’re right; she does know that you’re a good dad. It’s going to be okay.”
“I wish I could believe that’s true, but Rachel isn’t thinking with her brains. Fuck, she’s not even thinking with her heart. I don’t think she’s thinking at all. And that’s what’s scary. That’s when people do stupid shit. Like Yuri the other night, not thinking when he came after you, came after Holden. He lost all sense of self. He went over the edge, and he was going to take anybody with him. Now that fucker’s in jail.”
“Rachel’s not going to jail,” Cat says.
“I know she’s not, but for some reason I feel like I’m the one who’s been put in a cell and someone tossed the key. I’m behind bars.”
“Let me find the key,” Catalina whispers. “Let me unlock the door.”
My head falls back, and I wipe the tears from my eyes. My vision is blurred, but somehow I see Catalina so clearly.
Chapter 24
My heart breaks for Jude. So much of him is shattered, but there’s more to him I don’t know, more broken glass.
I’m willing to pick through the shards to get to his heart.
“Oh, baby,” I say climbing into his lap, running my hands over his cheeks, wiping his tears away. I’ve seen a man cry before, but not like this. Not like him.
Jude is tender, a real man. “I’m a lost cause,” he whispers.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to read the lines on the face of the man who’s captured my heart in ways I barely comprehend. “Help me understand.”
“Evangeline and Holden were right,” Jude says, shaking his head. “I do have some complex where I feel compelled to save people. Be the hero. But you know why, Catalina? Do you know why I can’t let someone walk away when I know they need help?”
“Tell me.” I watch him watch me, not letting anything get in the way of this moment.
“Growing up, we lived by the water. The ocean. We played there every single day. One day when I was thirteen, my little brother Nolan was with me. He was eight.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I don’t anymore. I was with him at the ocean that day. I told my mom I’d watch him. He loved the sand. He could dig in it for hours.”
Jude shakes his head, his lips twisting at the memory. And I can see it, too. I can imagine Jude as a boy by the water with his little brother, kicking sand, their feet covered in foamy white waves.
“I left him there when I went to get buckets and shovels back at the house. I told him to stay far from the waves, and he always listened. He knew the ocean was dangerous … but something drew him to the waves that day.
“I was gone a few minutes, and then I heard him screaming—screaming for help. I ran to the water so fast, wanting so badly to get to him before it was too late. But he was gone. I went after him, but quickly realized I’d never make it and swam back to shore. The current was stronger than I could swim, and I didn’t want my mother losing two boys that day. My brother was pulled under. I let him die. Instead of saving him, I let him go.”
“Jude,” I say, my voice cracking, my heart cracking—which is impossible, since everything between Jude and me is already fractured. His eyes are full of tears again, and there’s nothing I can do to fix this pain he carries.
I see so clearly why Jude wants to fix everything, as a way to repay what happened when he was so young. He’s looking to save everyone, because he couldn’t rescue his brother.
“It’s ironic,” he says. “My name. The idea of me being the patron saint of lost causes. When I’m the lost cause. I always have been. Ever since that day when Nolan died—when I let him die. Ever since then, I’ve fought to forgive myself, but I don’t think it’s possible, Catalina. I don’t think I will ever get over what I didn’t do. And nothing I ever do will be enough.”
“That’s not true. You can’t try to repay a debt you don’t owe. Waste your life trying, but it will never work.”
“Catalina, he died because of me.”
“No. That’s not true. This is a tragic story, but it isn’t a story to be ashamed of. What happened on the beach that day is so sad, but it’s also the reason you’re the man you are today. Loving. Kind. Generous.”
“I would trade all those things if Nolan could be alive.”
“I’m sure you would,” I tell him. “And I’m so sorry you can’t.”
“Maybe this is why Rachel is taking Etta This is ano
ther way I can pay for what I did.”
“Jude, Rachel keeping Etta from you does not bring your brother back.”
“Catalina, I know that.” Jude swallows, looking at me dead on. “Nothing can bring Nolan back. But having Etta gives meaning to my life. She’s this precious, daily reminder of how beautiful it all is. Nolan didn’t survive when he went into the ocean, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t swim.”
“Do you forgive yourself for what happened to Nolan?”
“I thought I had. But then Rachel left, and it brought back all those memories. That’s why I have such a damn hard time watching people walk away. I walked away.”
Hearing his words, I realize how hard it must have been for him when I walked away, when I told him that I didn’t want his help, that I didn’t want to be in it with him.
Especially now.
Especially now, when I know exactly what I want.
Him.
“I’m sorry I left you,” I tell him.
“I know why you left me. This life of mine is pretty damn complicated,” Jude shakes his head. “Too messy for a girl like you. You’ve already had too much to deal with the last two years with that asshole; you don’t need someone new to walk into your life and make it a bigger shit show.”
“Too bad, Jude,” I tell him, gripping his face with my hands. My mouth is so close to his, our breath hot, our hearts beating hard.
Both of us desperate. Both of us needy. Both of us wanting what is right in front of us.
“Too bad what, Catalina?”
“Too bad that this is complicated. I like complicated. I love complicated. I love you.”
The sentence just falls from my mouth, but it’s exactly the truth.
“I love you, Jude. And you may be a complete mess right now—sort of drunk and sort of sobbing. But I’m sort of a mess too.”
“You’ll be my mess?” he asks me. His arms wrap around my waist as I move to straddle him on this chair.
“Your mess to clean up? No. Your lovely mess? Your completely delicious, fuck-you-until-we-fall-asleep mess? Your over-my-head and head-over-heels mess? Yes. That’s the kind of mess I am. That’s the kind of mess you’ve got.”
