Saint Jude: Los Angeles Bad Boys (12 page)

L
eaving Catalina’s is hard
. So much was said over the course of the morning, and I don’t know what to think of Holden after he spoke his mind. I want to be pissed at him, want to call him out for being an asshole. For treating Catalina like crap, for treating me like shit.

But I don’t operate that way, don’t assume I know anything about anyone. Because usually the truth is a lot more complicated than that.

Maybe I should’ve explained my whole backstory to Holden a long time ago, let him in so he understood why I act the way I do. Why I give, give, give until there is nothing left.

I don’t think I’m a hero; I know I’m no saint. I’m just a man trying to make my wrongs right.

As I bring Etta into the house, I decide that right now I just need to focus on our life. If Catalina needs time to figure out what she wants, fine. I’ll let her. I’m not going to push someone to be with me. And she doesn’t want my help, even though I’m willing to give her all I’ve got.

Etta looks happy, well fed, rested. Cat’s mom did a good job with her, and I’m grateful for that. Still, it’s been a long morning, and after I feed her a bottle I bring her into bed with me, nestle her in the crook of my arm, and let her sleep.

Clearly I fucked things up with Holden—and hell, I feel awful that all that shit went down with Yuri this morning. And maybe I fucked things up with Catalina, I may have scared her away by assuming we could be more than what we were. And apparently I can’t keep Rachel here, can’t get her the help she needs.

But there’s a lot I
can
do.

I can be here for Etta. I can let her nap on a lazy afternoon. I can put her to sleep at night, and pull up my laptop, and work on the script. I can do the best damn job on this film. Maybe I fucked things up with my friends but I’m not going to mess things up with my family.

Speaking of family … I know I need to talk to mine.

With Etta asleep in my arms, I reach for my phone and call my mom. “Hey, Mom,” I say, my voice quiet. “You have time to talk?”

“Jude, I’ve been worried about you. I want to see my granddaughter. I think you’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”

My mom’s right; I have been avoiding her. I’ve been avoiding anything that would call out whatever is happening with my life. I need to talk to her. Maybe she can help me find a way to forgive myself for the things I did that made me into the man I am.

“Want to come over for dinner? I’ve got a lot on my mind and could really use the company.”

She’s happy I called, happier that I asked. She comes over, and I tell her everything about Rachel leaving, about the way Evie and Holden called me out and told me I have some hero complex.

She says it’s not my fault, that none of it is my fault. The stuff that happened when I was a kid, or the stuff that’s happening now.

But shouldn’t I own some of it? Any of it? At what point do you become the hero of your own story, and at what point do you admit to self-sabotage?

Mom holds Etta in her arms, wiping away tears. “Jude, you have to forgive yourself. You were just a little boy.”

“But he was just a little boy too, Mom. Your little boy.”

“Accidents happen, and that’s what happened. An accident.”

“I don’t know why you forgave me. If something ever happened to Etta, I’d never be able to accept someone’s apology.”

“But Jude, I may have lost a son, but I still had you. Still
have
you.”

“I want Rachel to get help, but I don’t want her back in my life. That makes me feel like a monster, Mom. Because she’s Etta’s mother.”

“What is a mother? What is a father?” Mom asks. “You never had a dad, but you became a man. Etta is lucky to have a father like you. If you’re the only parent she has, that will be enough.” She pats Etta’s back, pacing my living room.

“Evangeline’s pissed off at me.”

“Evangeline loves you, she loves Etta, she hasn’t walked in your shoes. You know what Evangeline’s life has been. She’s been sheltered, coddled—”

“Until she hooked up with Cassius. She’s not sheltered anymore. Her life changed, her eyes opened. Yet she still doesn’t understand that I’m not the enemy, that I’m not trying to do anything wrong here. I’m trying to make sure everyone is okay.”

“I know you are, sweetie, but sometimes trying to prove yourself is just going to leave you exhausted.”

“I’m already tired, Mom,” I tell her, taking Etta from her arms. “I’m going to go put her to bed and pass out myself.”

She leaves, kissing my cheek and Etta’s forehead. “I love you, Jude. Try to find a way to forgive yourself. You need to in order to move on.”

I know she’s right—but fuck, just add it to the list of things easier said than done.

* * *

D
ays pass
, and I keep busy with the things I can control. Taking care of my daughter, taking care of my house, figuring out my script, and making to-do lists for when filming starts a few months from now.

Besides that, I try to keep my mind off things that give me so much trouble.

Rachel. Catalina. Holden. Evangeline.

I try not to get upset at the fact that Catalina hasn’t called. She sends a few one line texts, stuff like,
Thinking of you
.

I respond just as noncommittally: I send back a thumbs-up emoji like a fucking asshole. But what am I supposed to say?

She texts asking if Etta is doing okay. If she’s sleeping well. If I’m sleeping well.

Those ones are easier to respond to. I tell her,
Yeah, she’s sleeping well
. Or
Just took a three-hour nap.
Or
just got back from a long walk
. Etta is some safe middle ground, and I’m willing to take what I can get. Because if I don’t take that, I’ll be left with nothing.

Catalina is, without a doubt, in the forefront of my mind. I call Holden, but our conversation is short. There isn’t much to say, really. Sometimes guys just have to get over their shit before they can get back to normal.

I’m sure my mom has talked to Evangeline, because my cousin calls, emotional and flustered. Apologizing again for being a bitch when were at the beach, for being rude to Catalina. She says she tried to call Cat and fix things.

“I even offered to take her out to dinner,” Evie says.

“Oh yeah? What did she say?”

“She said she wasn’t interested.”

I smile to myself at that, liking that Catalina plays hard to get. Liking that she’s not going to take shit from anyone and doesn’t need apology dinners. Still, I appreciate Evangeline’s gesture, even if it isn’t one Catalina wanted to take her up on.

But when a few weeks pass, and Rachel shows up at my door, it’s the last thing I fucking expect.

Part of me thought, maybe in some twisted fucked-up way, that Rachel would never return. Not that it would exactly solve my problems, but it would at least give me space to move on.

Still, she’s knocking on my door. Time stops as I see who it is. All my energy drains the moment I see her familiar face.

When I pull open the door, Etta’s in my arms.

Rachel’s been gone a month, and even one month in the life of an infant is fucking huge. I know that, because I watch the way Etta changes every day.

I see her eyes deepen in color, her lashes lengthen, her toes unfurl a little bit more each day as she crawls across my hardwood floor.

Rachel doesn’t know these things. Because Rachel chose to leave.

And now, here she is.

“Hey, Jude,” she says. There’s a car parked in the driveway and I crane my neck to see if anyone else is with her. She’s alone. I don’t know if that makes me more nervous, or less. I guess it depends on if she’s sober or not.

Her eyes are clear and her hair is washed, and that gives me a little bit of hope for her.

“So, you back in town for a while?” I ask.

“I don’t know yet. But I’m here right now. Can I come in?”

I open the door, and Rachel walks back into the house she used to call her home.

“Where did you go?” I ask her.

“God, it’s always that line with you. Where did I go? Am I drunk? Am I high? Always so many damn questions, Jude.” She sighs dramatically, sauntering over to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of white wine. She pours herself a glass without even looking at Etta, and takes a long drink.

“I’m not going to let you drink at my house if you’re planning on driving.” I take the glass from her hand, not caring if it pisses her off. Her behavior is pissing me off plenty.

“You’re such a fucking buzzkill, Jude. Just let me have a drink, and then let me hang out with my daughter. That’s what I came here for.”

“No, you can’t come here and act like this,” I say, knowing my tone is tight. I pour her wine down the sink. “But I’m glad you came here for Etta.”

“Great.” Rachel smiles insincerely, rolling her eyes at me. “Because that’s exactly who I came here for. God knows it’s not you, Jude.”

“What the fuck is your problem with me?” I ask her.

“Can I just hold my daughter?” Rachel walks toward us.

I feel myself pulling Etta closer to me, not quite knowing how this is all going to play out. Wanting to keep Etta close, but wanting Rachel to stay, because her staying is the only chance I can actually get this woman some help.

“Of course, come sit down on the floor,” I tell her. “Let Etta show you how she can crawl.”

“You can crawl?” Rachel asks in a high-pitched voice, reaching her arms out for her daughter.

Etta immediately starts crying—like, full-on bawling. She never acts this way around people. Hell, Catalina’s mom took her for the night and she didn’t so much as fuss one single second. Five minutes in her mother’s presence and she’s already sobbing.

“Why don’t we just sit?” I say, not wanting Rachel to reach for Etta if Etta doesn’t want her to.

The three of us settle on the carpet and I place Etta between us. She immediately starts maneuvering around the coffee table, pumping her legs as quickly as she can go.

“She’s so fast.” Rachel looks at her for a moment before pulling out her phone, which is apparently more important. “Damn.” She starts typing on her screen with her thumbs. “I’m not going to be able to stay long.”

I give her a terse nod, wishing she never came. If she was just going to come for ten minutes and then leave, what’s the fucking point?

“This isn’t cool,” I say, “coming here like this. You disappear for a month, and then just think you can stop by for a few minutes?”

“Jude, I don’t have time for a lecture from you. Mr. holier than thou, always got his shit together, St. Jude. I’m so glad to have you in my life. You know, there’s nothing like hanging out with someone who makes you feel like shit within five minutes of seeing them.”

“That’s not fair, Rachel. Making sure that you’re okay, wanting to help you, does not make me the bad guy.”

“Of course it doesn’t. I’m the bad parent in this family unit,” Rachel says, waving her finger in a circle between her, Etta and I.

We stand.

Her words are so heated. “It’s such bullshit, anyways. You know as well as I do that none of this is real. Why are you even doing this? Why didn’t you force me take Etta when I left a month ago? You’re just so damn weak, Jude.”

I don’t want to talk about this, not right now, because I already feel my chest tighten and my fists clench. I don’t want to hear the words I know she’s so close to saying. Words she’s been waiting to spew for months. The one sentence she’s been holding hostage, knowing it’s the one sentence that’s going to cut me to the motherfucking core.

“Just say it—I know you want to. But it doesn’t change a thing,” I say, even though I’m scared it changes everything.

Etta has found a basket of blocks and is gnawing on the corner of one. I stand face-to-face with Etta’s mother, knowing she’s ready to drive away, but first she plans to drive her point home.

“You know you’re not Etta’s father,” Rachel says throwing her purse over her shoulder and reaching for a pack of cigarettes in her bag.

“Who
is
her father?” I say calmly.

“I don’t know.” Rachel shrugs, her eyes hollow and blank, and in that moment I know I will never see this woman’s eyes again. There’s no way she can look at me straight on after this. “I must’ve slept with a different guy every other night the month I got pregnant with Etta. I know for a fact I never slept with you. You weren’t even in town then; you were shooting in New Mexico.”

This isn’t news to me. I’ve done the math.

“But what the fuck do the numbers mean?” I ask. “None of it adds up to something that matters. Because all that matters is Etta having a family. A parent, maybe two, who care about her. Choose her. Love her. Forever. And right now? She has that in me.”

“Sounds like you’re kicking me out of this goddamn family.” Rachel’s mouth is tightly drawn, her head shaking. And I see her fingers shaking, too.

“You know I’m not kicking you out of anything. I would do anything for you, Rachel. And it’s not because I’m weak. It’s because I hate to see you hurt if I know that I can help. I want more for you, and more for Etta.”

“And you, Jude? What exactly do you want for yourself? Because it takes a real fucking piece of work of a man to choose to have a daughter that isn’t even his.”