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)
“I’m not throwing anything at you,” he says quickly. “But you’re letting it control you. You’ve been through hell, Molly, and you came out stronger. But now you’re letting that same pain keep you stuck. You’re living in Dane’s shadow because it feels safe, but you deserve more than that.”
“Don’t,” I say sharply. “Don’t tell me what I deserve. You don’t know what it’s like to be me. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like everything you have could disappear in an instant.”
“You’re right.” His voice softens. “I don’t know what it’s like to be you. But I know what it’s like to watch you. To see you playing small when you’re capable of so much more. And it kills me, Molly. It kills me to see you hiding in Dane’s shadow when we both know he’d be the first one to tell you to step out of it.”
My chest aches at his words because it’s true.
How many times has Dane tried to fire me?
How many times have I refused?
“You don’t get to judge me, Hudson. You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.”
“I’m not trying to judge you,” he says. “I just want you to see yourself the way I see you.”
“Stop.” My voice trembles. “Just stop.”
He takes a step back. We stare at each other, the weight of everything we’re not saying hanging heavy in the air.
Finally, I turn and walk out of the kitchen, my footsteps echoing down the hall.
An hour later, I have no idea where he is.
Most likely with his family, but I don’t feel comfortable looking for him.
So, instead, I lie awake in bed alone.
I hate how I let him get under my skin. It’s not like he said something I haven’t thought about myself for years.
It’s just I’m not ready to acknowledge those thoughts out loud yet.
The door creaks open, and I freeze, my heart pounding as Hudson steps into the room. He’s quiet, his movements careful as he crosses to the bed and slides in beside me.
I stiffen, but he doesn’t say anything at first. He lies there, the warmth of his presence both comforting and infuriating.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice low and rough.
I don’t respond right away, the anger still simmering beneath the surface.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you like that,” he continues. “I just . . . I hate that you put everyone else first.”
I roll over to face him.
“I don’t know how to be any other way,” I whisper. “It’s all I know. Dane is everything to me. I owe him my life.”
Hudson shifts closer, his hand resting lightly on my arm. “You don’t owe him your entire life, Molly. He doesn’t want that. I mean, he tries to fire you once a week, right? Maybe it’s his way of telling you he wants more for you.”
“You think so?”
You think so too.
“I know so,” he says. “Dane loves you. He wants you to be happy.”
“But—”
“No. Buts,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re smart, strong, stubborn as hell . . . and you deserve the whole world.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I look away.
“Molly.” His hand brushes against mine. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I just care about you.”
I let out a shaky breath, my anger melting away in the face of his sincerity.
“I think I’m scared,” I admit, my voice barely audible. “If I’m not Dane’s assistant, then who am I?”
“You’re Hex, you’re Molly Sinclair. You’re the best person I know.” He closes his hand over mine. “But you don’t have to be scared. Because you don’t have to do this alone. You have Dane. You have me. Hell, you have the whole team. Mason and all.”
“Mason, that’s not a good endorsement.” I laugh.
“No, it’s not,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, his arms tightening around me. “You’re going to be okay, Hex,” he says softly.
“We’re going to be okay.”
“Yeah, we are.”
83
Hudson
The sun’s almost down by the time I finish up the last of the chores for the day.
My dad always says farming is honest work—it humbles you, grounds you, and doesn’t give a damn how tired you are.
Today, I believe it.
My muscles ache in a way that even training camp can’t replicate, and all I want is a long shower and maybe a beer if I can wrestle one out of Dad’s fridge.
But before I head inside, I catch a faint sound drifting from the barn—soft laughter, followed by the familiar voice of my mom.
Curiosity gets the better of me.
Mom’s laughter is different than usual, and I swear I hear another voice.
Molly.
I head toward where they are, my boots crunching against the gravel path.
The door is cracked open. I move quietly, not because I’m trying to sneak up on them, exactly, but because I’m . . . curious. Yeah. Just curious.