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)
Of course, I know I was in the wrong for the way we started off. So, no, I don’t hate Hudson for being mad at me for last year. It’s everything that’s come after that I have no tolerance for.
He doesn’t need to argue with me every chance he gets. We could make peace. Have a truce. Agree to ignore each other whenever possible.
But I suppose neither of us can help ourselves.
At least, that’s what it seems like.
This time, it’s Hudson who lifts his brow. The closet. It always circles back to the damn closet.
“This again.” I hop into the driver’s seat, sparing him a glance as he dumps his bag in the back seat and slams the door shut. “I told you I’m sorry. You don’t need to keep—”
“I didn’t say anything. It’s your guilt that did.”
I roll my eyes. “Just get in the car.”
He hops into the passenger seat beside me.
My lungs puff out, and then I exhale. This is going to be a long five hours.
We aren’t even out of the parking lot before my hand collides with his while reaching for the radio.
His fingers beat me to it, and he changes the station.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I snap, glancing at him.
He settles in his seat. “Everyone knows the passenger works the radio.”
“Really? Everyone?”
“It’s like Road Trip 101.”
“This isn’t a road trip. We aren’t friends, and you don’t get to pick the music.”
“Real question. Is it just me, or are you always this crabby?” he teases in a light tone.
I continue to look forward, not giving him the satisfaction of a glance in his direction. “It’s just you.”
From the corner of my eye, I see his hand playfully clutch his chest. “Ouch, I’m wounded.”
“You’ll live.”
My mouth opens, and I’m about to say more, but I stop myself. Five hours is a long time to be stuck in the car with this man.
“Go on, say it,” Hudson urges, his voice low.
“Say what?”
Now, I do glance in his direction as I slow the car down to a stop at the edge of the parking lot.
Damn, he’s got a smug grin on his face. Too bad he’s so hot. It would be much easier if he weren’t.
“Unfortunately.”
“I never said that.”
“You wanted to.”
I did.
The truth is, I don’t hate him. Not really. I hate that he saw me at my weakest moment. He’s a daily reminder that the scared girl I thought I left behind is still very much a part of me.
I’m better now. The panic attacks don’t occur regularly like they did right after my parents died when I was a girl.
They stopped soon after Dane stepped in and signed me up for therapy. He never knew I got them, let alone why I would. Before that day in the closet, I thought I was doing better, but every now and then, they do come back.
And every time I look at Hudson Wilde, he reminds me of that pesky fact.
The silence in the car is thick and uncomfortable as we pull out of the lot. I keep my eyes firmly on the road, my grip on the wheel tight.
“This wasn’t my first choice, you know,” Hudson says after a few minutes.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t mine either,” I snap, my tone icy.
He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. “You always this pleasant, or is it just me?”
“Oh, it’s just you,” I reply sweetly. “You bring out the best in me.”
He lets out a dry laugh. “Well, that’s mutual.”
“How about we just don’t talk?” I suggest, my voice tight.
“Sounds like a plan,” Hudson responds, reaching forward to adjust the volume. “I’m going to nap. Wake me if you need me.”
Good.
Great.
The tension simmers just beneath the surface. But when he goes quiet, and the only sound is the pitter-patter of the raindrops, I miss the company.
Any company.
Because now I’m just alone in my thoughts.
And that’s a scary place to be.
I had another panic attack last week. At Dane’s place. The wind slammed the door shut behind me as I raided his pantry, and I almost outed myself in front of my brother. I’ve been diligently avoiding him since, which hasn’t been easy, given that I’m his assistant.
At the next light, Hudson clears his throat. “Thanks for doing this. Even if it’s under duress.”
“Don’t thank me,” I mutter. “Thank Dane. He’s the one who insisted. If it were up to me, you’d be on a bus.”
“I will. Right after I thank him for all the other wonderful things he’s done for me this week, like letting me get railed in the hip during practice.”
Despite myself, a small laugh escapes me, and I bite my lip to stifle it.
“Was that a laugh?”
“No,” I say quickly, glaring at the road.
Hudson relaxes against the leather with a smug grin. “Sounded like a laugh.”