Page 142 of Still Bruised
“Don’t make me drag you to his door. Because I will.”
“Jerk,”Jude said, turning around to face the doors.
“You deserve to be happy, asshole.”
Jude shook his head. “Thanks,asshole.”
Anton grinned at him.
Jude turned his head to eye Anton. “Thanks.”
Anton’s smile faded. “For?”
“Giving a shit. Never letting me run away when we argued.” Jude fought back a wave of emotion. “I don’t know where I’d be right now without you. Actually, Idoknow where I’d be without you. Not here.”
Anton’s eyes shone a bit.
“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve a friend like you, but I’m glad you’re here and that you put up with my shit… I don’t tell you enough how much I love you, man.”
“I love you, too,” Anton said. He wrapped an arm over Jude’s shoulders and squeezed. “Also, please tell your therapist she’s doingoutstandingwork.”
Jude chuckled. “I will.”
“Can I join a session? I’ve got all kinds of things to tattle on you about.”
“Not on your life.”
“You’re no fun,” Anton said.
Later, after Jude had mulled it over, he reconsidered his response to that question. On the way back to the hospital with three massive bags full of food in the backseat, he turned to Anton at a red light.
“Maybe youshouldsit in on a session or two.”
Anton looked at Jude. “I was only joking.”
“Yeah, I know—but we never talked about the shit that went down. It couldn’t have been easy for you to… find me like that.” Jude pulled his gaze from Anton’s. “And pretending it didn’t happen isn’t healthy for either of us.”
Anton grew deathly quiet.
Jude worried he might have crossed a line into something Anton wasn’t comfortable with.
“Do you trust this one?”
“Yeah,” Jude said. “She’s nothing like the others.”
“Tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”
Jude smiled. “Okay.”
Anton smiled, too.
The light turned green and Anton hit the gas, taking them back for one of the best Thanksgiving dinners Jude could remember having.
26
The Friday before Thanksgiving, Foster walked into the kitchen to find his parents in full-scale planning mode. Each holiday, his mom cooked an enormous feast—no matter how many sat at her table. She delivered plates to the two local fire houses for the men and women who had to work the holiday. It had started when his uncle had worked there back in the early eighties. His uncle no longer worked there or for any fire department, and hadn’t for a solid decade before he’d passed, but it had become a tradition over the years. One his mother refused to let go of, even as she got older. He sensed it was becoming more than she needed to manage, especially with his dad at less than full-strength, but there was no way he was going to convince her to stop.
As long as hecouldconvince her to let him help.
