Jude only just managed to stop himself from choking on his own tongue. “You have a child?”
Emilio’s eye narrowed. “You got a problem with that?”
Jude took a step back at the sound of the man’s tone. “No,” he said slowly, “but I wish you would have said. I’m not sure it’s a good idea—me being here—when you have your child over.”
After a beat, Emilio scoffed and turned his gaze back to the widow. “She ain’t my kid. She’s my…niece or whatever. And I didn’t plan to bend over and have you fuck me at the damn dinner table.”
Jude realized he’d crossed some line he hadn’t known was there, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Moving next to the man, he pulled a mug from the cabinet and filled it from the coffee pot. The tension between them was almost thick enough to touch, and he had to physically stop himself from chewing a hole in his cheek as he stirred in cream and sugar.
“She’s a good kid,” Emilio said gruffly into the silence.
Jude startled, then turned to him. “What’s her name?”
“Madeline. Maddie,” Emilio said, and there was a fondness in his voice that made Jude’s heart soften. “She’s Gunner’s kid sister. They were in a bad situation, and he got her out—got custody of her.”
Jude had no idea what it would be like for a child to grow up in a place like this—in a life like this. But he’d also seen waves of love and protection from these men like no other. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said after a beat. “I’m not…I like children, but I haven’t spent a lot of time around them apart from holiday events at temple.”
Emilio turned and leaned his hip against the counter. “I bet they were cute though.”
Jude couldn’t stop his laugh or stop the little pang in his gut because he would miss that. He would miss that feeling of closeness and family—and the sheer innocence and faith of children that came so bloody easy. “They were. I think that’s one of the things I’ll regret leaving behind.”
He watched Emilio’s eye flicker toward his kippah, then to his mouth, and it lingered there a long while. “You know you don’t have to, right? When this shit’s over…”
“I was already out the door,” Jude said from behind a small sigh. He took a long sip of his coffee, then turned and faced Emilio properly. “If you’re carrying around some misguided sense of guilt, please don’t. What we did last night was amazing, but I had already decided it was time to move on. Us being together had no part in me leaving.”
Emilio snorted, his mouth lifted in a half-smile, and he shook his head. “Don’t worry, rabbi. I don’t let that shit eat at me.”
Jude wasn’t entirely sure he believed him, but he let it go for the moment. He had no idea how long he’d be allowed any of this, and he wanted to take his time with however long they had left. Setting his coffee on the counter, he rested his cane against the cabinets, then took a shuffling step closer. Then another. Emilio stiffened, but instead of pulling away, he set his own mug down, then laid a hand at Jude’s waist.
“I wasn’t sure you wanted…” Emilio trailed off, licking his lips. “You know I ain’t any good at all this.”
Jude’s brows lifted. “I’d say you were quite good. Impressive, even. I’m still sore from last night.”
Emilio’s eye lifted toward the ceiling, and there was a faintly pink, embarrassed flush high on his cheeks. “Fuck you.”
“We can do that,” Jude said, going for the easy joke. He traced a touch along the collar of Emilio’s shirt, but the mood sobered. “I know you said my being here wasn’t an imposition, but if this is making you uncomfortable, I can stop.”
Emilio’s hand tightened on him, his fingers spasming a little like he wanted to let go and cling on at the same time. After a second, he let out a breath and tugged Jude until their bodies were flush together. His cock was half-hard, pressed against Jude’s hip, and he rubbed himself a little there before speaking again. “I like this too fuckin’ much, you know that?”
“I do,” Jude answered—because it was the raw truth.
“I knew jack-shit about you at that cabin, but I wanted more back then too.” He dragged his free hand down the front of his face. “Fuck. I was fine when it was Gunner falling for some guy—and it was even fuckin’ better when it was Smokey. But this shit wasn’t supposed to happen to me.”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Jude said, the words bitter against the back of his throat.
Emilio let out a bitter laugh and grabbed Jude by the chin, tilting his head up slightly. “I don’t know about you, but it already does.”
Jude felt something warm in his stomach, spreading out to his limbs. Something like contentment and want and need—things he hadn’t felt in years, if ever. His breath felt stuck in his chest, but he still tugged Emilio closer, still turned his face up, still parted his lips for a kiss.
Emilio took this time—demanding, controlling. He held Jude with bruising fingers, his tongue fucking into his mouth, his cock now painfully hard against his hip. Jude gave himself to it—to every single sensation of need and want and burning fire Emilio dragged out of him, and he was breathless when the man finally pulled away.
“There’s a lot of shit comin’ at us,” he said, his voice rough and ragged. “I’m scared if I’m thinking about you, I’m gonna fuck it up with everyone else.”
Jude felt the crack in his chest, even as he nodded. “I understand. I…”
“It wouldn’t be worth fighting for if I knew it was a losing battle,” Emilio went on, his voice even lower now. He dug his fingers into the back of Jude’s hair, careful of his kippah, but the touch impossibly possessive. “If I didn’t know first-hand that you were capable of saving my ass when I needed you most, I’d have second thoughts.”
Jude swallowed thickly and looked up. “But?”
Emilio’s lips gently lifted—not quite a smile, but an almost, which was enough. “But, I do know all those things. I know you’re worth it. I know you’re strong and brave as hell. I know I could put my life in your hands, and I’d come out the other side.”
“That’s a lot of pressure,” he couldn’t help but admit. Instead of pulling back, Emilio’s mouth stretched into a full grin.
“You sayin’ no, rabbi?”
He shook his head, because he wasn’t, and he couldn’t make himself lie. He didn’t want to. “What happens now?”
Gently pulling his hands away, Emilio headed into the living room, and Jude followed at a slow pace, keeping as much weight off his knee as he could without the brace or cane. It was only a few feet, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that his therapist had been right—he was healing faster than he had feared he would.
Settling on the sofa, he lifted his leg up, and Emilio grabbed a pillow to elevate it. He wanted to laugh—or maybe cry. He wanted to tell the man he wasn’t really worthy of these small courtesies and comforts, but he also wanted to hold each one close. They were precious—he was precious—and Jude didn’t know what the bloody hell to do with something so fragile.