Page 29 of Romero and Juliette

Jude freezes, hand half-raised, his chest heaving. The weight of Cruz’s words hangs heavy in the air—no threat, just truth.

For a long second, they stare at each other. Then something in Jude’s expression falters. That’s when Emory approaches, puts herself between Jude and Cruz.

“Jude, baby, stop and think. Look at him.”

And he does, my brother looks at Cruz—really looks—and for the first time, he sees what I’ve known all along.

Cruz isn’t playing with me. He isn’t chasing something he can’t have. He’s standing here, taking punches he doesn’t deserve, because walking away would hurt me more.

Jude drops his hand. His voice comes out rough, low. “You really love her, don’t you?”

Cruz doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

My throat tightens.

Jude exhales, shoulders sagging as the fight drains out of him. He rubs at his jaw, shaking his head. “Christ, this town’s gonna have a hay day with that.”

“Let them,” I say.

He huffs a humorless laugh. “You just had to pick someone twice your age.”

I shake my head. “I picked the right one for me. The one who sees me and loves me for who I am. That’s all I ever wanted,” I reply.

Jude glances between us, and for a flicker of a moment, I see something almost like acceptance. Not approval. Not yet. But maybe the first hint of it.

He mutters, “Don’t make me regret not kicking your ass twice,” and stalks off toward his truck, gravel crunching under his boots. Emory is at his side, speaking low to him. She glances back at me, and I give her a wave and a smile.

I hear my sisters mumbling about missing all the good drama as they climb back in their car.

When the sound fades, Cruz lets out a slow breath and looks at me. The bruise is already blooming along his jaw, deep and angry.

“You okay?” I whisper.

He stretches his jaw. “I will be. Just need some ice.”

“You didn’t have to let him.”

“Yeah,” he says, lips curving just barely. “I did.”

I step closer, pressing my palm lightly against his chest, feeling his heart beat steadily beneath my hand. The tension that’s been stretching between us for weeks finally settles, quiet and certain.

“I love you too, you know.”

chapter

twelve

Juliette

Cruz’s place smells like cedar and clean laundry. It’s small. One of those tiny rental cabins near the river. It fits him, though.

He’s sitting at the edge of his couch when I come in, a melting ice pack pressed against the side of his jaw. The bruise has already started to darken, a wash of purple along his cheekbone.

“Looks bad,” I say, setting my bag down on the chair.

He doesn’t look up right away. “Feels worse.”

I cross the room and kneel in front of him, reaching for the ice pack. “Let me.”