Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 696(@200wpm)___ 557(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
“What’s that like?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Hudson turns toward me, his brows pulling together in a gentle crease. “What do you mean?”
“Having a place that feels like home,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on the horizon. My voice is steady, but it feels like I might break. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that.”
There it is.
I did it.
I said the one thing I never thought I’d say out loud.
Why did I say it now? Why does he make me feel like it’s safe to admit it?
The easy humor in Hudson’s expression fades.
He sets his jar down on the ground beside him, turning fully to face me. His eyes search mine, and I resist the urge to look away.
“You know”—his voice is quieter now—“home doesn’t always have to be a place.” He leans in slightly, just enough that I can feel the shift in his presence. “Sometimes it’s just . . . people. The ones who make you feel safe.”
My chest tightens, the weight of his words pressing against something fragile inside me.
A lump rises in my throat.
I try to swallow but can’t.
I break his gaze, not wanting him to see the tears filling my eyes. I won’t let them fall.
“I’m not sure I’ve had that either.”
Hudson doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t fidget. He just stays there, solid and present, until finally, he speaks.
“You do now,” he says, his voice calm but so certain it feels like a promise.
My breath catches, the air hitching painfully in my chest.
I tighten my grip on the Mason jar, holding it like it’s the only thing keeping me steady. Slowly, I turn back to him, my eyes locking on his.
The weight in my chest that I’ve carried for so long—the feeling of not belonging . . . it feels like it might crack open.
That I might crack open.
80
Molly
Tonight is the perfect night to sit outside.
It’s breezy out, but the stars are in full effect.
I sit on the blanket in the middle of the field with Hudson, my knees tucked into my chest.
It’s peaceful. So peaceful that I can’t believe a place like this exists in this world.
This must be what heaven is like.
Then why does my mind refuse to settle?
Maybe it’s the company? And what being with him means.
Hudson is beside me, leaning back on his elbows, his face tilted up to the night sky.
Normally, being near him calms me.
But not tonight.
Tonight is different.
It’s time.
I feel his attention even when he’s not looking at me, and the weight of what I need to say presses harder with each passing second.
“Hey,” he says softly, breaking the silence. “You okay? What’s going on?”
I stare out at the horizon, tightening my grip on the edge of the blanket. “I’ve been thinking.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “About . . . everything.”
He turns his head, and even though I can’t see him, I feel his eyes on me. “That sounds heavy.”
“It is.” I force a small, weak smile. “But it’s not bad heavy. It’s just . . . time.”
Hudson shifts to sit upright, his arms resting on his knees, his focus fully on me now. “Time for what?”
“To tell you.” The words catch in my throat, and I take a moment to steady myself. “About my childhood. About why I . . . struggle with certain things.”
He nods. “You don’t have to, Hex.”
“I know.” I tilt my head up to the sky and inhale deeply. “But I want to.” Hudson stays quiet, so I continue. “When I was thirteen, my parents died in a car accident. I was in the car—me, my mom, my dad. My dad was driving to pick up Dane . . . and he was drunk.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.
“I survived with just a few scrapes and bruises,” I continue, my voice cracking slightly, “but they didn’t make it. The worst part is that I remember it. The screaming, the sound of the car crashing . . . everything.”
Hudson’s hand finds mine, his warmth grounding me. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push—just holds on.
I swallow hard, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. “After the accident, my uncle became my legal guardian. He moved into our house with Dane and me, but . . . Dane didn’t stay long. Dane and him—” I pause, the words lodging in my throat. “They didn’t get along. Dane was eighteen but still in high school. He was barely old enough to take care of himself, let alone me. But when my uncle kicked him out . . .”
“Wait.” Hudson cuts in gently, his brow furrowing. “Kicked him out? What the hell? I never knew you lived with anyone but Dane.”
I nod, pressing my lips into a thin line. “Yeah. He didn’t like Dane challenging him or telling him how to take care of me. So he kicked him out, and I was left alone with him.”