Page 51 of Jude

One morning, without a word, he turned the radio on to a local station playing a selection of country, contemporary rock, and hip-hop.

Three songs in, one of his own tracks started playing.

The opening chords of ‘Redemption’s Call’ filled the cabin.

I recognized the track at once because I’d started listening to Six Sinners at work. Misty blasted their discography through The Sanctuary’s speakers on a daily loop.

I began humming the melody, leaning back into the passenger seat.

Jude sliced his eyes toward me, a brow arched in surprise.

With a smirking grin, I sang the final line right back at him.

‘No more in shackles, now I walk free!’

My voice blended with his recorded vocals ringing through the speakers.

‘Nice alto,’ he rasped, a rare, breathtaking smile transforming his hard features. ‘If we ever need a backup singer, I’ll keep you in mind.’

Seconds later, his expression flattened back to its usual brooding mask, but inside, my spirit danced at his compliment.

He dropped me off with a terse nod, and I tracked his car as he pulled into the street traffic.

A sullen, introspective Jude was dangerous enough, but a smiling, relaxed Jude was lethal to my sanity and alluring as fuck.

Over the following few weeks, The Sanctuary became my second home in Nashville.

I spent my days translating complex medical forms, scheduling pro bono legal consultations with law firms on our registry, and listening to clients who were desperate for their stories to be heard.

Every evening, Jude pulled his truck up to the loading dock of the warehouse to pick me up. He always stepped out of the driver’s seat to hold the passenger door open for me.

His demeanor remained detached, save for those flawless gentlemanly manners.

Maggie raised him right, even if he made it clear he preferred to keep me at arm’s length.

One dusk over dinner, as we sat at the marble island, cutting into a platter of grilled flank steak.

Jude set his fork down and leaned back, sipping his beer.

His deep emerald eyes locked onto mine, studying my face over the rim of his bottle with a quiet intensity.

‘Misty tells me you’re working through all your lunches and logged forty hours this week, Sofia,’ he rumbled, sending a sudden spike through my pulse. ‘She loves your work ethic, but tell me what you do so I get the hang of it?’

I got hit with a pang of shyness and ducked my head for a beat.

When I glanced up, his eyes were still on me, smoldering, intense, waiting.

The growing yearning to share my world with him and to have a genuine conversation overcame any reticence I still had.

‘Well, today I spent four hours drafting a declaration for a young guitarist from Guatemala. He arrived with nothing but a broken wrist and a guitar. He can’t read the English eviction warnings his landlord pasted to his door, so I navigated the municipal housing codes in Spanish to file an emergency stay.’

‘I see.’

‘After that, I translated a pharmacy prescription for a Mexican woman who sings in a local mariachi band. She needed urgent meds, Jude, but the English terms terrified her. We get people with asylum and residency paperwork they don’t understand, so I sit with them and help them fill out forms. I also make sure the state lawyers don’t discard their files because a surname is spelled incorrectly. I’m making certain they’re actually seen.’

Jude processed my words, his gaze dropping to the diamond ring on my left hand before rising back to meet my eyes.

‘You’re doing quite a bit of lifting, babe,’ he muttered, his mouth tightening as he slid his eyes toward the window, then back to me, contemplative and intense. ‘The Sanctuary is lucky to have you.’