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)
“Fun name,” I manage to groan out.
“I think so.” The corner of his mouth tips up into a smirk, and I swear it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
That’s one way to calm a panic attack.
As if on cue, my gaze darts around the room, and it all comes rushing back. I’m locked in the storage closet. No way out. And I doubt anyone will come for us for some time. Not with the game starting soon. I don’t even have my phone with me. Even if I did, it’s pointless. Huge chunks of the stadium have no signal.
My heart thumps in my chest again.
“Hey, you’re okay.” It’s shocking how fast he catches on to my changes. “What’s going on?”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
My fingers start to tremble.
“Please, keep breathing for me.” Hudson leans closer, his voice soft. “Forget the world. Pay attention to me. And only me. You can do it.”
I focus on him. On the steady cadence of his voice, as he prompts me again.
“In . . . out . . .”
I release another breath, feeling some of the weight lift from my chest. “What if we don’t get out?”
“Impossible.” He shakes his head with such certainty I almost believe him. “Someone will eventually need something. That wrench, maybe?”
A tiny laugh tries to claw its way past my throat and fails. I’m too choked up. Too antsy and amped up, and the only reason I haven’t completely lost it is this total stranger.
A warm feeling spreads across my back when I realize he’s touching me.
“Is this okay?” The concern in his voice nearly makes me sob.
I can’t remember the last time anyone cared for me like this.
Sure, Dane loves me. But he’s never been affectionate.
Not like this.
It’s not in his DNA. The man’s idea of love is patting my head like I’m a Labrador and telling me to suck it up.
I nod, welcoming Hudson’s comfort.
It takes me a few minutes of breathing before I can see again, and when I open my eyes, his bright blue gaze is staring into mine.
To say Hudson Wilde is very good-looking is an understatement.
He’s the kind of good-looking that makes you forget how to form sentences. All broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and a smile that screams trouble. I would bet that the second he makes his NHL debut, he’ll have advertisers lining up, begging for his face on a billboard. I would know. I have several on speed dial.
From a marketing standpoint, the team landed an ace. He’ll have the fans screaming from their seats each time he zips past. I can see the viral videos already.
I knew the Saints were bringing on a new player, but I never cared to research him.
I work exclusively with my brother, and while I often interact with the team, the other players aren’t my concern.
Making sure my brother is okay is.
Dane gave up his life for me.
He’d say he’s not struggling, but I see it differently. He’s hollow inside. A shell of a person.
I know the feeling.
Losing our parents, mainly Mom, changed us both to the marrow of our bones.
And here I am, trying to keep myself together, but instead, I’m losing my shit in a storage closet with one of his teammates.
A wave of nausea hits me.
Dane can never find out this happened.
How would I ever explain it?
He would want to know how and when this started.
I can’t tell him that.
I’ll have to think of an excuse for where I’ve been. Not trapped in a closet. And certainly not with his new teammate. Nope. The second he finds out about this is the second ten years of lies unravel. The darkness. The panic attacks. Him.
That can never happen.
Dane can never know.
Even if I have to lie through my teeth to make sure of it.
Lifting my hands, I bury my head in them.
“What’s going on?” Hudson rubs small circles on my back. “Is it being locked in, or is it more?”
“I hardly think that’s any of your business,” I can’t help but snap.
This is my own personal sin bin. I don’t talk about this stuff with anyone. Ever.
“Good.” He brushes off my tone, unbothered. “There’s the fire you need.”
“What?”
“You were about to lose it again, and I needed to stop you. Having you think I’m a nosy asshole is better than the alternative.”
“You’re diabolical.”
“I like to believe I am.”
Despite the fact we’re virtual strangers, I do feel the need to tell him something. Anything. He’s been so kind. But I can’t spill too much. Even I don’t want to admit to myself why I’m like this.
“I have issues with closed spaces . . .”
“You’re claustrophobic?”
“Not really. It’s a bit more than that, but I don’t want to get into that right now. If I think about it, I tend to spiral.”
“Tell me something else . . . Molly.”