Within These Walls (The Walls Duet #1)(54)

Just like Jude.

Just like Jude. The line lingered, and I found myself smiling as I rubbed my thumb across my bottom lip. He was thrilling and scary, but he was also gentle, sweet, and really sexy. I laughed at myself and closed the notebook, deciding to come back to it later.

It was starting to get late, just past eleven, and Jude had left for home not too long ago, stating that I needed to rest.

“I’m fine,” I’d insisted.

“Then, why are you still in the hospital?” He’d placed a kiss on my lips and disappeared before I could argue.

Dr. Marcus and my mother had been conspiring to keep me here for a bit longer to observe me after my recent illness. I could understand Mom’s control and panic issues, but I didn’t get why Dr. Marcus had been acting so overly cautious. Yes, I’d gotten sick, and okay, I could admit that it was bad, but I was fine now—well, as fine as someone with congestive heart failure could be.

Whatever.

Until their over-protective antics ended, I was stuck here.

I thought back to my afternoon with Jude, and a smile snuck up my cheeks.

The hospital wasn’t so bad. My face suddenly flamed red with heat, and I laughed.

Jude had undressed me and I’d let him do wicked things to me, and not once had I showed one second of embarrassment. I was amazed by my boldness and downright wantonness.

But now, while I’m all alone, I turn pink.

A chirping noise took me abruptly out of my wayward thoughts, and I grabbed my new phone off the tray table beside me.

Jude: Are you blushing?

I looked around as if the phone had somehow made him privy to the going-ons in my room. But no, it was just a text. There was no magic. It was just straight-up technology and a nosy man.

Lailah: And why would you think that?

I sent back my first text, feeling proud of myself.

I was texting my boyfriend. Awesome.

I realized that I was about five years behind for that statement to be cool, but the teenager in me who had never gotten to text was rejoicing.

Jude: Because I know you’re thinking about me.

Lailah: You’re cocky.

Jude: That’s an interesting choice of words.

Lailah: OMG!

Jude: Hey, look at you. Three texts in, and you’re a pro.

Lailah: Well, I am a product of my generation even if I don’t get to participate. :-)

Jude: Okay, now, you’re just showing off.

Lailah: Someone clearly missed his lessons. ;-)

Jude: Blame the stuffy education. Typing in incomplete sentences makes me twitchy.

Lailah: Thank you for the phone.

Jude: You’re welcome. We’ll knock them all off that list, Lailah. I promise.

Lailah: You’re crazy.

Jude: Yeah, but you like me anyway. Night.

Lailah: Good night. <3

I couldn’t help the grin etching my face as I set down the phone. Turning around, I pulled out the notebook housing my long list of dreams. Flipping though the pages, I found number fifty-one. After picking up the pen beside me, I drew a long black line through the words, Have an entire conversation using only text messages.

Flipping through the pages, I noticed a few others to cross out, and then my eyes fell to number one.

Quickly, without a second thought, I took the same black pen and placed a permanent line through the one dream I never thought would come true.

1. Fall in love.





From nearly the first moment when I’d met Jude Cavanaugh, he had been in a mode of constant planning. He’d moved from pudding to cafeteria dinners to cell phones, but he was always planning something for me.

Over the last week, I could tell he was planning something big.

His nose was buried in his phone, and he seemed to disappear into these secret meetings with Grace, Dr. Marcus, and even my mother at the oddest times. After everything he’d done for me, I was a little scared to ask what might be next.

“You’ve been very secretive lately,” I stated one evening during his brief lunch break.

He was eating an egg salad sandwich from the cafeteria and sipping on coffee while I slowly dug at the cup of pudding he’d brought me.

“All in good time,” he answered with a wink. He pulled apart another chunk of bread and tossed it into his mouth. He was leaned back in the chair tonight with his feet propped up on the rails of my bed. His floppy blond hair was pushed back from his eyes, making him look younger and more carefree.

My gaze wandered over his long, lean body, admiring the way he’d cared for it. I knew he ran and spent a lot of time lifting weights when he wasn’t here. It showed in every move he made. When his body flexed and tightened, the tattoos scattered up his arms seemed to come alive with the slightest movement.

“Do your tattoos mean anything to you?” I asked, looking at the winding black scrollwork that moved across his forearm until it disappeared under his shirt.

“No, not really,” he replied. “I was in a dark place when I got them. I wanted to be someone else, anyone else but the person I had been when I came here.”

“Did it work?”

“No,” he answered. “Ink and a different hairstyle doesn’t change who you are. Life does.”

I reached forward, placing my fingers on the inked skin and traced the path it made.

“They might have helped me disappear, but I am still a Cavanaugh.”