Ch.43: A Ray of Sunshine

It was nearly midnight when Jude finally stumbled through the door. His curls were a mess, and the sleeve of his T-shirt was ripped, and for a horrible moment I was sure he'd got into a fight, but then he straightened and there were no bruises, no blood.

"Hey," I said softly. "You okay?"

Jude swayed and squinted at me.

I slid off my stool. He didn't move as I approached him, but his expression was like a wounded animal. "Come on," I said, taking his arm. "I think you need to sit down."

He let me lead him into the kitchen, but he leaned more heavily on me with every step. He smelled like he'd been swimming in whisky, and his pupils were blown wide – booze wasn't the only thing he'd taken.

He stumbled again, the edge of the counter catching his hip, and Elle hurried to help me catch him before he fell. Holding an arm each, we guided him onto one of the stools.

"Where have you been?" I asked, stroking his curls.

Jude stared blearily at me, then he suddenly caught my hand and clung to it, like he'd drown without me.

"Darrell's dead," he whispered.

"I know," I said, still stroking his hair. "I'm so sorry."

Elle patted my shoulder. "I'll leave you two alone. Unless you need me for anything?"

"I'll be okay, thanks," I said.

She gave me a quick hug, then headed for the door. When she was almost there, she paused and looked back. "Is it okay if I borrow a coat?"

"Sure. That grey one you gave me is on a hook by the door."

The tabloids would love seeing her back in that, but to hell with them.

"I'll bring it back," Elle promised.

I waited until the door closed behind her, before taking a seat next to Jude.

"We got anything to drink?" he mumbled, looking around the kitchen.

He started to get up, but I put a hand on his knee. "I think you've had enough."

Jude sat down heavily, blinking like a confused owl.

"Where have you been?" I asked.

I called and texted several times throughout the day, and he'd never responded. Thank God I'd had Elle to lean on.

"Why wouldn't he let me help him?" Jude said. His voice was ragged with grief.

All the bad blood that had formed between him and Darrell was gone now, leaving Jude stripped bare and raw, desperately hurting over the man who'd once been his friend, and who'd slipped through his fingers for good.

"Because some people don't want to be helped," I said.

"I should've tried harder," Jude mumbled.

I cupped his face with both hands and forced him to look at me. "You did try. You tried so hard to keep him afloat, but he was determined to drown, and that is not your fault."

Jude leaned his head on my right palm. "I thought we'd all play again together one day. Me and Darrell and Steve and Tom."

The names of his original bassist and drummer made something dawn on me at last. "That's why you won't have a permanent line-up, isn't it? You wanted to keep the spaces open for your old friends to come back."

Jude looked up at me with drugged, wounded eyes. "I thought that if I fixed Darrell, I could fix everything."

I didn't point out to him that Steve and Tom hadn't left because of Darrell's addiction. Maybe it was naïve, but part of Jude had really thought that he could put the original Angels & Demons band back together, and he'd clung to that dream for years. Darrell's death had ended that.

"You did the best you could," I told him, but I doubted he was listening.

He swayed in his seat, his eyes roving listlessly over the kitchen – probably still looking for something to drink.

"Do I need to worry about what you've taken?" I said, brushing his hair back so I get a better look at his eyes.

"It's fine," he muttered, his words starting to slur.

"Okay, I think we need to get you to bed, otherwise you're going to fall off your chair and pass out on the floor," I said.

He shook his head, then overbalanced and slumped against my shoulder. I managed to push him upright again.

"Do you think you can walk?" I asked.

If he couldn't then I wouldn't be able to get him to the bedroom. He was six feet of tatted muscle – no way could I lift him. Maybe I should have asked Elle to stay.

Jude nodded – or at least, his head lolled forward in what I interpreted as a nod.

"Right, come on." I slung his arm over my shoulder. "One, two, three."

He groaned as I hauled him to his feet, and I thought he'd keel over and take me with him, but he managed to right himself just in time.

Once we were inside the bedroom, Jude shrugged me away. "I need a shower," he mumbled.

"I don't know if that's a good idea right now," I cautioned, and tried to take his arm again.

Jude backed off, so fast he almost tripped over. I hesitated, trying to decide what to do.

"I just want to take a shower. I stink of whisky and I feel like shit," Jude said.

"Then let me help you."

Jude shook his head. "I won't be long."

He staggered into the bathroom, and I held my breath, half-expecting to hear the thud of him collapsing. But he didn't. At the sound of rushing water, I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe a shower would sober him up.

I climbed onto the bed, and a wave of emotional exhaustion crashed into me, making me feel like I'd run a marathon, even though I'd done nothing but sit around the loft all day.

I didn't realise I'd fallen asleep until I opened my eyes again and glanced at the clock.

"Oh shit," I said, sitting up.

I'd been asleep for almost two hours, the bed next to me was empty, and the shower was still running.

Jude.

I scrambled off the bed and ran to the bathroom.

Jude hadn't even undressed. He'd passed out, fully clothed, on the floor of the shower, and the water pouring down on him had gone icy cold.

I wanted to punch myself. I'd waited all day only to fall asleep when Jude actually needed me.

Carefully stepping over him, I turned off the shower. The sudden silence was deafening.

Jude was curled on his side, his hair dark and plastered to his head, water glittering like diamonds on his face, bright against the bristles where he hadn't shaved the last couple of days. His sodden clothes clung to him, and even though I could see every line of muscle in his body, something about the way he lay there reminded me of a little boy.

I crouched down and gently shook him. "Jude? You need to wake up."

He didn't respond, and alarm gnawed at me. I didn't know how much he'd had to drink or what drugs he'd taken, or how the two substances might interact with each other.

"Jude," I said, more urgently this time, and started patting his face. "Come on, open your eyes. Please open your eyes."

He let out a faint moan and tried to bat my hands away.

"That's it, come on, wake up," I said. I slid my arm under his head and propped him up, and his eyelids flickered open.

His skin was freezing, and as he slowly came back to consciousness, he started shivering.

"Okay, let's get you on your feet and out of these wet clothes," I said.

I tried to haul him to his feet, bracing my back against the wall, but he was a dead weight.

"You need to work with me, Jude. I'm not strong enough to lift you on my own and you can't stay here all night," I said.

"Don't need your help," he muttered, his eyes fluttering closed again.

"Well, I need yours," I said, a sob catching in my throat. "Please, Jude, let me help you. I'm your wife."

Jude's eyes flared open.

The word seemed to hang in the air between us, the weight of it almost physical. It was the first time I'd said it like it really meant something.

Jude still looked like someone had cracked him open and hollowed him out, but his eyes softened as he gazed up at me, and he lifted one hand. I grabbed it, and together we hauled him back on his feet. He was still shivering, his teeth chattering from the cold, and I propelled him out of the shower.

"Lift your arms, let's get this T-shirt off," I said.

Jude raised both hands, grabbed the shirt's neckline, then tore it apart like he was Clark Kent rushing to save the day. In a different situation, I'd have found it very hot.

"What happened here?" I asked, noticing a raw scrape on his bicep.

"Fell over," he mumbled.

That explained the ripped sleeve.

I grabbed a towel and arranged it around Jude's shoulders, before lowering my hands to his belt buckle. Normal Jude would have grinned or made a dirty joke or whispered something that would make my panties drop. This bleak, broken Jude just stared over my head as I undid his belt and pulled his jeans down his thighs.

I wrapped the towel around him as much as I could, and then guided him into the bedroom. I'd planned on dressing him in something dry and warm, but Jude made a beeline for the bed, and flopped onto it, face first.

I pulled some sweatpants from a drawer. "Can you put these on?"

"No." Jude's voice was muffled.

I weighed up my options. I could dress him without his help – manoeuvring his arms and legs was much easier than trying to lift his entire weight, but maybe it was better to leave him naked. Skin on skin contact might warm him up faster.

Stripping off my own clothes, I climbed onto the other side of the bed and tugged at Jude's towel. He grumbled but shifted just enough for me to pull it free. His skin was mostly dry now, but his hair was soaking into the pillow. I placed the towel over the back of his head and carefully dried his messy curls, moving my hands in small, soothing circles. I felt him relaxing, his body softening against the mattress, until the cadence of his breath told me he'd fallen asleep again.

I didn't stop.

When Jude's hair was dry, I gently eased the wet pillow out from under his head, and replaced it with my own dry one. I could have fetched another one from the spare room, but I didn't want to leave Jude, even for a second. I'd go without a pillow tonight.

I pulled the covers around Jude, and snuggled up beside him, my arm draped across his back. He'd stopped shivering and his skin was slowly warming up. He was as solid and muscled as ever, but he felt strangely fragile at the same time, like he'd shatter if I wasn't holding him together.

I laced my fingers with his, and his hand twitched slightly in his sleep. If he was dreaming, I hoped it was something nice.

Darrell's death had pushed Jude toward a dark place, but I wouldn't let him slip any further. I would pull him back into the light.

Lying there, curled against him, listening to the soft sound of him breathing, I realised something.

It wasn't a thunderclap or a moment of shock or breathlessness.

It was a slow, warm realisation, like a ray of sunshine breaking through a cloud.

I was in love with him.