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“She lied and told you she came in a different day, but she knew. She knew you were gay, and she didn’t love you any less, and she didn’t hate you, and you just…” Jude paused and let out a tired sigh. “You just need to know.”

I glanced away, my throat working hard as I swallowed the rise of emotion.

“Why did she tell you?” I replied quietly. That part made no sense to me. I definitely wasn’t comfortable with what she might’ve seen, but I was equally uncomfortable knowing that, instead of talking to me, she’d told my brother.

“She told me when I told her that I’m bisexual,” he said. My gaze snapped back to him, my brows furrowing in confusion. Of all the things I’d expected him to say, that wasn’t it. Jude’s expression barely changed as he waited for me to process it. “She wanted me to know that I wasn’t alone, and she wanted me to make sure we’d stick together after she was gone because Dad’s a fucking asshole.”

Despite everything, something almost resembling a laugh escaped me.

“Did she actually say that?

“She used nicer words than fucking asshole, but the gist was there,” he muttered.

Mom knew. She knew about me. She knew about Jude. And sometime after learning both of those things, she’d apparently looked far enough into our future without her to worry about what would happen to us once our father was the only parent we had left.

My throat tightened because what she worried about most was making sure he and I stuck together, no matter what happened. That realization had me studying my brother’s beat-up face.

“Did he do that to you?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “But it’s whatever. I’ll be fine.

It was absolutely not whatever. A dozen follow-up questions fought their way out. What happened? When did it happen? Exactly how many times had Dad hit him? Had Jude fought back? Was he hurt anywhere else I couldn’t see?

But underneath every one of them was the much simpler reality sitting at Jude’s feet: a duffel bag. I hadn’t fully registered it when I opened the door, but now I couldn’t see anything else. He hadn’t come here just to tell me about Mom. He’d left. Or maybe Dad had thrown him out.

Either way, I didn’t care which one it was.

I opened the door wider and reached down, grabbing the bag for him. It was heavier than expected, as if he’d tried to shove his entire life in a single duffel bag. He probably had. After Mom had gotten sick, he’d moved out of the dorms to be closer to her. That meant he had nowhere to go.

“Come on,” I said. “Do you want breakfast?”

He mumbled something about coffee as he shut the door. I adjusted my grip on the duffel bag as I carried it to the living room, listening to his footsteps as he made himself comfortable in my home.

There was something strange about it—about how after years of distance, we’d somehow ended up here: exhausted, grieving, and living under the same roof again.

CHAPTER 80

Rhodes

WOLF: Everything okay?

It’s fine. Jude and I are out getting coffee.

WOLF: Is Jude okay?

I think it’s best if Jude tells you that.

WOLF: Okay. Be safe. I love you.

I love you too.

Jude suggested getting coffee at Mom’s favorite café instead of making it at the house. Mom had dragged us there more times than I could count, always ordered the same thing, and always complained that ours looked better. We ended up ordering her favorite coffee and a few of her favorite pastries, but it all remained untouched in the middle console as I drove down the street.

Jude stared out the passenger window, giving me quiet directions every so often. It wasn’t until he told me to slow down that I realized where we were. The cemetery. My hands tightened around the steering wheel. A strange heaviness settled in my chest as I slowed to a stop at the gate. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this. However, Jude didn’t seem to care as he unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out.

I quickly parked by the curb and got out. The black iron gates were locked, which was no surprise. It was still early. Somehow, that didn’t deter Jude as he pulled something small out of his sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.