Page 134 of Still Bruised
Afew days later, Jude lay staring at the ceiling well past his bedtime, his mind churning over his latest appointment. He’d talked to his therapist about his attempt and the reasons behind it in their previous session. That had led them to his not-really-a-relationship with Foster and his feelings surrounding that in his session earlier that day. She’d suggested he had something called Avoidant Attachment Disorder, stemming from the bullying he’d suffered, along with PTSD.
Of course AAD had no cure. No magic pill to pop.
Medscouldhelp—but he was already on them. Behavioral therapy was another option, and it sounded like a lot of work. He’d much rather there be a magic wand they could shake and fix him.
“Why don’t you ask Foster to join us in a session in the near future?” she’d asked. “It doesn’t have to be our next few if you wanted to talk it out more first, but sometime soon might help you two move into a place of understanding before things go off the rails.”
Too late, lady. They’re already well off the rails.
He’d had to explain that they’d already ended things—and she’d then asked him to take a deeper dive and detail why he’d sabotaged their relationship. She’d actually used that word—sabotage—and he’d hated it. He’d used all the excuses he’d given Anton… it was doomed, his friends wouldn’t have approved, it hadn’t started from a place of honesty… but she’d not given him an inch, much like Anton. She’d said he was using those as a means to keep his walls high and avoid rejection.
Jude had been forced to face the fact he’d chosen to destroy a maybe with Foster because he refused to be vulnerable.
That had stung.
Hard.
For the hours since his appointment, he’d thought about all the various amounts of destruction he’d caused in his own life, pissed he’d not seen it sooner. Maybe there had been a chance for him and Foster, but he’d assumed the worst and walked away instead.
As he clearly loved to do.
Am I still making excuses?
Is there still a chance?
Ugh! Why is this so fucking hard?
Jude’s phone beeped with a notification. He eyed the clock on his nightstand—two-fifteen—and snagged his phone from beside it. Who was texting him that late? Anton’s number appeared on the screen and worry hit.
Until he read the text.
Anton
FYI - Mia’s in labor
A message bubble popped up, so Jude called Anton instead of passing notes back and forth at that hour.
Jude sat up on the edge of the bed when Anton answered. “Can you come pick me up on your way to the hospital?”
“They don’t want anyone hanging out in the waiting room,” Anton said.
“What? Why?”
Mia clearly didn’t want him there. Fuck.
“They have no idea how long it’ll be before the kiddo makes his way into the world—and Roan said they want to do a few hours of skin-to-skin after the baby’s born, so they’d rather it just be them for now.”
“What the fuck is skin-to-skin?” Jude asked.
“A couple of my sisters did it,” Anton said. “Docs want both parents to hold the baby against their skin for a couple of hours each. Something about it being bonding for them or some shit, I don’t know. Anyway, since we have no idea how long it’s going to be, just keep an ear out. Roan said he’d text when they were ready for visitors. I just wanted to let you know our nephew is coming and we might get the call at any point.”
“They know it’s a boy?”
“Ah… Nah, but I gotta feeling,” Anton said. “Go back to bed. Check your messages when you get up.”
“Like I can sleep now,” Jude muttered.
“Welp, do your best. Once we get the all-clear to come visit, I’ll come get you.”
