Page 71 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

Lola: Can I see you?

I hit send before I lose my nerve.

He replies in under a minute.

Jude: My place or yours?

Lola: I’ll be home in 10.

I grab my bag and lock the office behind me. By the time I get home, the sky’s completely dark. I pull into my spot and turn off the engine, but I don’t reach for the door right away. My fingers stay wrapped around the steering wheel. I’m relieved to see neither of my roommates' cars are here. Thank god, because I don’t have the energy to deal with them tonight.

Jude is already waiting by the front steps. He crosses the asphalt and opens the door before I can even reach for the handle. And then he’s reaching in, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me out of the car and straight into him.

I sink into his chest and let my bag fall to the ground. For the first time all day, I let myself stop pretending to be okay.

He strokes my back slowly, not saying anything. Not asking anything either, which I appreciate. The silence is the only thing that keeps me from falling apart.

After a while, he kisses my temple. “Let’s go inside.”

I nod.

He picks up my bag and follows me through the front door. We don’t speak as I disarm the security system. I leave the lights off, not wanting the brightness right now.

We move through the front hall and up the stairs toward my room like it’s a routine we’ve done a hundred times before.

I let myself wonder what it would be like if I just chose him. What would happen if I stopped running in circles and let myself lean on just one person. Jude always shows up when I need him. And right now, he feels safer than anything else in my life.

He would take care of me if I let him. I know it.

There’s a version of this story where I stop fighting it. Where I fall into him and let that be enough. I let the guilt go and stop carrying everything on my own. That version sounds so easy I almost convince myself it’s real.

There’s another version, too. One where I don’t have to choose. Where all three of them hold me up, because I’m so goddamn tired of pretending I can do it alone.

It’s a fantasy, and I know it. But damn, it would be nice. I wonder what it would be like to be taken care of for once. Why am I always the one holding everything together? It’s exhausting to always be the strong one. I don’t feel strong, I feel broken.

I can almost see it—three pairs of hands holding me, each of them giving me something different, something I need.

I let the thought linger longer than I should. Then I shut it down before it becomes something I can’t ignore.

I step into my room and sit on the edge of the bed. Jude follows close behind. He caresses my chin, thumb brushing lightly against my jaw.

“You want a shower?”

I nod. He looks at my face for a moment, and gently rubs my shoulder.

“You want company?”

I give a faint smile and nod again.

In the bathroom, he starts the water while I peel off my clothes. He grabs towels then checks the temperature. When we step under the hot water, it feels so damn good.

His fingers move through my hair with gentle pressure, massaging my scalp as he shampoos my hair. I tilt my head forward into his chest. He rinses the suds from my hair and keeps one hand on my waist.

Then he soaps up every inch of my body with my delicious rose shower gel and uses the detached showerhead to rinse me off.

He doesn’t try to kiss me or fool around.

He just takes care of me.