Steadfast (True North, #2)

by Sarina Bowen

I’d do anything for my girl.

“It’s just sex.” My heart broke again when she said that. There was no such thing as “just sex” with her. Not for me.

If she thought a good fuck was the best I had to offer her, it was hard to argue that point. And who said I didn’t know my place in the world?

It’s just sex. It’s just sex. Repeating that would be the only way to keep my eyes dry.

Sophie rolled onto what used to be her side of the bed,

Her next sob was not at all silent. It was a raw, primal sound. And it tore me right in half.

“I hadn’t signed for your letters yet, and I wasn’t sure if I should. I didn’t think I deserved anything from you. And when I finally got well enough to ask somebody about them, they said it was too late. And I figured it was just as well. I wasn’t any good for you, anyway.”

“If I’d been able to admit it, you would have been the one I’d told.” But the truth was exactly the opposite. Sophie was always going to be the last person in my life to know. I’d have let everyone else down first.

“I loved you so much,” she said. Loved. The word made my eyes sting. Her use of the past tense wasn’t a shock. But it hurt all the same.

Then she was gone. And I was left with a bed that smelled like her and no reason to hope that she’d ever be back.

“Would you like to say something?” she asked me. That’s what I got for raising my hand for the first time.

“I mean… they’re always bad. It’s just that this week I felt like I forgot why it matters so much. It was harder to remember why I fight them at all.”

Now I was scowling at a nice older lady. Nice. Note to self: do not engage. That way lies the abyss.

Hearing her cry wrecked me. It forced me to see for myself how badly I’d hurt her. I couldn’t fantasize about her happy life in the big city anymore. I’d always thought that one of us could end up getting what we wanted. But even that was too much to ask.

Whether it was a good idea or not, I was heading up to the kitchen after this. I told myself that I needed to see her face and to know that she was okay. But, fuck. I really just wanted to see her.

The first time I ever watched her blow out a candle she was turning seventeen. That was six years ago, but it felt like a lifetime. We’d just started seeing each other, and she’d made sure I knew it was her birthday. I’d brought a fancy bakery cupcake to school in a plastic box so it wouldn’t get crushed. At lunch we sat in my car so I could light a candle for her and taste the frosting on her lips after she ate it.

I lived for Wednesdays and Thursdays. Pathetic as that was, a weekly glimpse of Sophie (along with some quality time with the Shipleys) kept me sane.

“It’s Sophie’s birthday. During cleanup, would you mind…” I held out the box. “It should be, um, from all of us.”

Suddenly, a life onstage seemed possible. The next few months were so thrilling that it took me a while to notice that Jude wasn’t doing so well. He’d seemed to retreat into himself.

It killed me to know his criminal record was a permanent mark against his character, because there was a lot of good in Jude.

And here I was, making lasagna, thinking about Jude. Again. Gah. At least now I was thinking about his character. I’d spent much of the last four days thinking about his naked body.

He was beautiful.

“Good. How are you, anyway? You’ve been quiet this week.” “I’m fine. Just busy.” Busy thinking about the sex I had with the man I’m not supposed to want. And busy feeling grumpy that my family forgot my birthday.

My graduation would be another thing my parents would ignore. Since my brother never got his, it would be too painful for them to acknowledge mine.

“Evening,” Jude said, his voice low and steady. “Evening,” I repeated as casually as possible. Nope! I’m not thinking about you bending me over any furniture right now. No sir.

“Jude, I really just need another inch.” His response came in a voice so low that I almost couldn’t hear him. “That’s not what you said the other night, baby.”

I positively erupted with laughter. First, a gasp. Then a choked-out snort. Then? Unrestrained giggling. Jude kept on mincing garlic, but I saw the sides of his mouth twitch.

Trust Jude to make that joke in a church.

I felt lightheaded from all the laughter and more than a little crazy. But alive. That was the effect Jude had always had on me. He made the world a weirder, rowdier, more unpredictable place.

In a big baritone, Father Peters began to sing. “Happy birthday to you!” Well, crap. My eyes started watering immediately.

If you strung together all the things I’d ever wished for over a birthday cake, it would be a pretty funny list. Toys. A Pony. (Didn’t happen.) The starring role in the high school musical. (That one came true.) And Jude. (Also a win. And then a loss.)

“My dear, I would happily take credit. But I’m not the one who remembered your birthday, and I’m not the one who brought you a cake. But I do hope you have a happy birthday and a wonderful year.”

I wanted you to have something nice, but I didn’t need the credit.”

(The dresser. I was never going to look at that piece of furniture the same way again.)

“It was just a little thing, Sophie. If I got you a cake every day for the next thirty years, I still couldn’t make it right between us.” “I really liked it, though.”

his chin tilted upward and he smiled. I felt it like sunshine on my face. A full-on Jude smile, just for me.

Jude fed me the bite gently, and our eyes locked. I felt goosebumps break out on my arms. At the last second, Jude angled the fork to smear my lip with frosting on the dismount. “You ass,”

It used to be this easy between us. When Jude and I were alone together, the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“My girl is having a rough time,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Birthdays don’t really matter when you’re twenty-three. But it just wears on me sometimes—all the petty, dysfunctional bullshit.” And I don’t have anyone to talk to about it, because you left me all alone.

he did not make a move. I wanted him too, though. One more birthday present, please.

“You make me crazy, Sophie.”

We struggled out of our clothes in a ridiculous way due to our inability to stop kissing.

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.

We were staring into each other’s eyes, and I wanted to die of happiness.

“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’.”

“Do me, far...

he smiled at me between kisses. I saw a flash of the old Jude—naughty but sweet.

I’d told him, “It’s just sex.” What a crock of crap. He was everything to me.

“How did you get hooked on drugs?” He gave a snort. “Really? You want to go there right now?”