Saint Jude: Los Angeles Bad Boys (10 page)

T
he man
who had pinned Catalina to her bed, ripped her clothes, caused her to scream for help—he holds his face and runs from the house. I follow him, pushing his body into the grass. I grab the collar of his shirt, screaming in his face to never come back.

The way he touched Cat—the way he spoke to her—if I see him again, I swear to god he’ll never speak again.

He raises his arms in surrender, and I forget restraint as I land a final blow to his cheek.

When he attempts to move, I push him off Holden’s property.

Good fucking riddance.

“Should I call the cops?” Cat asks, frantically looking around the place. “Jude, should we?”

She’s wildly upset, and desperate for answers. For help.

“You know who that guy is?”

I’m reeling, and a little shocked to see Cat’s mom here—with Etta, no less.

“Yeah, I know who he is,” Cat says, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I told him not to come here. I came to LA to get away from him.”

“What are you talking about, Catalina, what’s going on here?” Catalina’s mom, Tricia, asks. Tricia is a wonderful woman, and has babysat Etta lots of times when Rachel has flaked out. I try to help her out in return; when she moved to town, I got a crew of guys that were working on-set to come unload her U-Haul. But there’s little I can do to thank her for helping me out. She says it’s her pleasure considering she’s my best friend’s mom.

I reach for Etta’s car seat, needing to bring her close.

Tricia isn’t having any of it. She keeps a tight grip on the handle of Etta’s car seat.

“Jude, you’re bleeding.” Trisha shakes her head, scolding me. “You need to get cleaned up before you get your baby back.”

“I left her in the car because I heard screaming and shouting from Cat’s guesthouse, and the last thing I wanted to do was bring my daughter into the fray.”

“Well, that was smart, but we need to clean you up.” Tricia sets Etta down, runs a rag under the kitchen faucet, and hands it to me. I press it to my face then turn to Cat, who’s shaking on the couch.

“Holden called me to come check on my daughter,” Tricia explained. “Said she seemed really depressed this afternoon.”

We turn and look at Catalina, who’s sobbing into her hands now. She’s in a sports bra and sweatpants. Red marks still claw at her shoulders, where that man had pinned her down.

“Cat, what’s going on? Who was that?” Trisha asks again, her tone softer this time. Clearly, Catalina doesn’t need a guilt trip at the moment. She’s shaken up, with reason.

“Mom, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to see me like that. I know it’s a mess. But he—but I… That’s why I’m here. Why I moved to LA. To get away from Yuri.”

“Sweetie, what are you talking about? You were running from that monster? And never told anyone?”

I shake my head as her story clicks into place. Of course she’d run without a plan, needing to get out of an abusive relationship. Of course she’s exhausted. Depressed. Lost.

“What was I supposed to say, Mom? Holden has his life completely figured out, you’re trying to get your life together after just moving out here from Tolling. The last thing you need is a daughter who’s a mess, a daughter who can’t do anything right. I’m a fuck-up, Mom, plain and simple.”

“No, Cat, you’re not,” I say moving toward the couch where she’s sitting. I rest my arm over her shoulder, going with my gut instinct to comfort her and make sure she’s okay.

Trish doesn’t seem so interested in my comforting tactics. She’s eyeing us, trying to figure out what the heck is going on between Catalina and me.

“Jude, where’s Rachel?” Trish asks, knowing the backstory here.

“Rachel’s gone.”

“As of when?” Trish presses.

“As of a few weeks ago.”

“Mom, let’s not do this right now. Jude is here for me, and thank God he was. Thank God he came over tonight. I don’t even want to know what would’ve just happened. Yuri is a monster.”

“Calling the cops isn’t going to do anything, unless you’re prepared to give a statement and apply for a restraining order,” I tell her.

“If I do that, I’m only asking for more trouble. His guys will come after me, and I don’t want to know what they would do.”

What do you mean
his guys
?” Trish asks.

“He runs a whole crime ring out of Oakland. I don’t know, Mom; it’s a mess. I was one of his girls. Or his
only
girl. All I know is, when Yuri wants something he doesn’t let go easily. And I don’t want to call the cops, because I don’t want any more drama. I just want this all to disappear.”

“Guys like Yuri don’t just disappear,” I tell her.

“I know,” she says. “Why do you think I left? I was the one who ran.”

“Regardless of Yuri, I want to understand what Jude is doing here with his arm around you, Cat.” Trish gives me a hard look and I feel that motherly gaze that I know my own mother would offer if she were in this room.

Hell, my own mother has no clue what’s going on with Rachel right now. I wanted to keep the drama of Rachel leaving at bay, until I had a better clue of what was going to happen next.

After the conversation with Rachel this afternoon, I know it’s pointless to try to pretend that she’s coming back. I know that girl, and commitment isn’t something she’s ready for. And no, I’m not looking for a commitment to me; I need a commitment as a mother to her daughter.

“Etta stayed, Rachel split. And Catalina’s been helping me out. Nothing shady is going on here, Tricia,” I say. I want her to believe me—need her to—and I don’t know why, because Catalina and I are nothing besides this extended hook-up. But if we were …
more
, I’d want her mother to know I’m an honest man, a good man. Nothing like Yuri.

“So Etta’s mom left, and you and Jude got together?” Trish shakes her head. “Cat, this isn’t going to end well.”

“Mom, Jude saved me. He doesn’t need your flack tonight.”

“I know,” Tricia says, opening the freezer and filling a baggie with cubes of ice. She hands it to me and I press it to my jaw. “But, Cat, after everything I saw tonight, it looks like you have some things you should work through before you and Jude—”

Cat looks up at her mom, incredulous. “Mom, you have no idea. I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m just … trying to figure things out. Jude is helping me do that.”

“Figuring things out with a man who has a baby is not exactly going to make things crystal clear. It’s just going to complicate things, complicate whatever’s going on in your head right now.”

“Mom, the last year has been really hard. Can you give me a break right now? You saw Yuri, what he was like.”

“You should have told someone about whatever was happening up in Oakland. You should have told someone why you really left Berkley. For six months straight, your brother and I have been worried sick about you.” Tricia holds us with the concerned gaze of a mother. “I just wonder about the timing of this….”

I’m not some cocky ass that believes I know better than everyone else in the world. I know that sometimes mothers
do
know best. Not that Etta’s mother knows best … but, damn it, maybe she does. Maybe Rachel left because she knows
exactly
what she should be doing: leaving her daughter alone.

Still, that’s not a reality I’m prepared to deal with. Not now. Not yet.

“You know what, kids?” Trish says firmly. “I think you could both use a night off. I’m going to take Etta, and you two are going to figure out what you’re doing.”

“What we’re doing?” I can’t help but ask, getting a little ticked off at Tricia’s tone. I’m trying to respect Catalina’s mom and all, but seriously—I’m not a child. “I know plenty. I know that Catalina and I have something, something real. That’s why I came over here tonight—to tell your daughter that.”

My eyes dart over to Catalina, who’s listening closely. Her tears have dried up, and she seems to be hanging on every last word I say.

“Believe me when I say this,” I tell Tricia. “I don’t take your daughter’s heart lightly. Just like I don’t take my own daughter’s heart lightly.”

That shuts Tricia up—because what is she going to say when a man steps up, when a man says the motherfucking truth?

“So, yeah,” I tell her. “I think it’s a good idea that I have a night off, that Catalina has a night off. I’m okay with you taking Etta; you’ve helped with her plenty of times before, and I appreciate the offer. The last few weeks have been rough. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in God knows how long. So if you’re able and willing to take Etta for the night, that means a lot.”

Tricia’s eyes are filled with tears, and I don’t know if it’s because of my speech, or what she saw her daughter going through tonight, or the fact that Etta is starting to stir and she sees a little girl who doesn’t have a mom.

It’s a lot to take in.

“Jude,” she says. “I’ll bring Etta back here tomorrow, around noon. That sound all right?”

“Thank you. Let’s go out to the car so I can help you get her stuff—her diaper bag, bottles and formula.” I pause, wondering if this is really okay. Looking over at Catalina, who still seems in shock from this evening, I know this time is going to mean a lot for her and me.

“She’s easy,” I tell Trisha, “the easiest baby I’ve ever known. But she still requires a lot of attention. You’re okay with waking up a few times tonight?”

“I’ve been to this rodeo, and I’m itching to be grandmother.” Then, as if realizing how her words could be taken, she shakes her head fast at Catalina. “Not necessarily anytime soon, but you know what I mean. And I don’t have anything else going on tonight. I was just coming by to check on you anyway.”

Catalina hugs her mom good-bye, but it’s tense, like their relationship has changed before they were ready for it to.

I walk Trisha out to the car, help her get all of Etta’s things and load them up into her Subaru. After I buckle Etta’s car seat in securely, she squeezes my arm. “You’re a good father, Jude,” Trish says. “And I’ll take good care of your little girl.”

“And I’ll do the same with yours,” I tell her, meaning it. Because, damn—I have one night to spend with Catalina, and I’m going to cherish every second of it.

W
hen Jude walks back
into the house, all I want to do is hide my face in shame.

I don’t know if that makes me the sort of girl other girls hate, the fact that I immediately feel small when someone tears me down.

I know there are other women who can respond to men like Yuri by being brave and whole and capable. But I’ve never been that great at taking care of myself.

I wish I were stronger, all on my own. That I didn’t need a man to help make my life make sense. But right now, as Jude walks towards me, all I can think is that if Jude were to pick me up and hold me in his arms and carry me to my bed and cover me in blankets and kiss my cheeks and tell me good night, everything would be okay.

The thing that’s so startling, the thing I don’t expect, the thing that brings tears to my eyes and causes my heart to beat fast and my shoulders to shake, is the fact that Jude nearly does just that.

He takes my hand, and I stand from the couch. He steps toward me and pulls me into the warmest hug I may have ever received in my whole damn life. He holds me like I’m breaking; he holds me like I’m something precious.

Then he lifts me up, cradling me in his arms. Arms that are fucking strong, hands that are so fucking capable. He holds me, and I’m clinging to him. Holding on for dear life.

He carries me—not to bed, that’s where my fantasy and his reality diverge. Instead, he carries me into my bathroom and flips on the light, casting a bright glow across the room.

Setting me down, he walks to the shower and turns it on, letting his fingers run under the water until it warms, then drying them on hand towel next to the sink.

It feels as if he’s been in a small space like this with me a hundred times before, but he hasn’t. This is the first time he and I have truly been alone, with Etta gone. It’s just us. But I’m not nervous to be alone with him.

I blink my eyes rapidly, and I might look a little maniacal but that doesn’t really matter right now—because what matters right now is the fact that Jude’s fingers are running up my spine, until his hands are cradling my neck and he lifts my chin ever so slightly and my eyes meet his.

“Catalina,” he says, his voice gravelly, low, his tone reflecting the seriousness that is him at his core. His effortless ability to help other people and take care of other people and rescue other people is born out of something deeper.

I see that intensity, that fire. Something is burning and driving him—his motivation.

“Yes,” I whisper, licking my lips, my eyes still locked on his.

“Tonight,” he tells me, “I’m going to take care of you.”

“Jude,” I say, shaking my head. My shoulders are shaking, too—my knees are probably shaking as well, but that doesn’t really matter. No one’s looking at my knees right now.

Jude sure as hell isn’t. Jude is only looking in my eyes.

“You can’t take care of me. That’s all you do, is take care of other people. What about you? Who takes care of you?”

“Right now, girl, I’m taking care of you. Nothing you say is going to change that.”

He kisses me then, hard on my lips, lips that I was so scared were going to be kissed by Yuri tonight. Lips I thought would be pressed against his skin tonight … and I am so glad Jude save me, that he came when he did, that he punched the man who hurt my heart. I am so glad Jude was here for me.

As he kisses me, his lips part and my lips part, and my tongue finds his, inhaling all of him, wanting more of him, giving everything I’ve got.

He’s pressed against me, and I feel his hard, growing cock. I whimper in his hold, letting my mouth sink deeper into this unholy kiss. This kiss is raw, with rough edges. This kiss pushes all my memories of Yuri out of my mind.

Jude pulls away from me, a slight smile crossing his lips, and I’m hanging onto every word he might say.

“Like I said,” he tells me, “right now I’m going to take care of you. But later, baby, you can take care of me.” He takes my hand, pressing it against his bulging cock, and that’s when I know I am completely and utterly his for the taking.

He reaches for the elastic band of my bra and pulls it over my head. My breasts fall, but he palms them quickly and pulls the nipple into his mouth, sucking it greedily, hungrily, like he’s never tasted something so sweet in his life. My nipples harden, and I suck in a deep breath. My eyes flutter as I remember to breathe.

The past six months, shut up in my brother’s house—that was not living. The year before, under Yuri’s gaze—that was not living.

But now? This? This is life. This is deep breaths and soft hands and honest kisses and a hard cock that knows what to do with my body.

I tug off Jude’s shirt. His pecs and abs are rigid, his body covered in ink, his jeans slung low on his hips. I unbutton them quickly, my hands no longer shaking. Right now, they know exactly what they want. They know exactly how to get there.

I slip my fingers under the waistband of his boxers and jeans, and all at once I pull them down, because all I want is to see his hard length—and, damn, it looks so good.

Jude pulls down my sweats and panties; I step out of them, and the two of us are before one another, under the bright lights, the shower only steps away. His hands run over my ass and I shiver from head to toe at his touch, because his touch feels like magic.

I don’t need a magic lamp, or three wishes; I don’t need a fairy godmother. Because right now I have Jude, and maybe that is a fucking ton of pressure to put on one man. But Jude is more than one thing. He is a father. A man. A lover.

And, in this moment, he is mine. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow or next week, but right now? Right now I have this.

And I know I have this crazy adrenaline pumping through my body because Yuri was here. Yuri, the man I hate. The man I ran from. The man I never wanted to see again.

But, adrenaline or not, Jude is here next to me and our bodies are touching and our skin is on fire and his hands are running through my hair.

We step into the shower. The water is hot, the steam surrounds us, and our mouths collide.

Like I said, this feels like magic. Like a fucking magic carpet ride.