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)
Her laugh is soft and bitter. “Not everyone’s parents got that memo.”
The words are quiet, but they pack a punch.
I fumble for something to say, anything to fill the silence stretching between us. “Molly, I—”
“Don’t.” She finally lifts her gaze to mine. Her eyes are hard, guarded. “Don’t say something you think I want to hear. I’m not looking for pity.”
“It’s not pity,” I say quickly. Too quickly.
I don’t know much about how she or Dane grew up, but it’s obvious now that something happened. Sure, I knew she didn’t have parents, and her brother raised her, but something about her words suggests there’s more to it.
She raises an eyebrow, her mouth pulling into a humorless smile. “Of course it isn’t.”
The air between us feels heavy. Suffocating. My chest tightens at her words, the casual cruelty she’s wielding against herself.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” I say softly, stepping closer.
“No, I don’t,” she agrees, her voice sharper now. “But maybe I wanted to, just this once, sit at a table with people who don’t look at me like I’m broken. Who don’t expect me to be the strong one all the damn time.”
I blink, the vulnerability in her words cutting deeper than any insult she’s ever thrown my way. “Molly . . .”
“Forget it.” She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She moves to step around me, but I reach out, my hand lightly brushing her arm.
“Hey.” My voice is firm but gentle. “You don’t have to forget it. You don’t have to do any of this alone.”
Just talk to me, I want to scream. Tell me.
It’s a stupid thought. One I have no business thinking. We don’t even like each other. Not really . . . right?
Her eyes flick to my hand and back to my face.
Something soft crosses her expression, but then it’s gone, replaced by the familiar steel I know so well. “I’ve been doing it alone for years. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you are. But that doesn’t mean you have to be.”
She pulls away, taking a step back and crossing her arms over her chest. “Why do you even care, Hudson?”
The question catches me off guard. I don’t have an answer.
Finally, I say, “Because you’re not as unbreakable as you think you are.”
Her jaw tightens, and I think she’s going to throw another verbal dagger at me. Instead, she just shakes her head, muttering something under her breath before walking away.
I let her go, my hands clenching at my sides as I watch her retreating form.
She stops just shy of the parking lot, twisting to face me. “Hudson?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s beautiful, Hudson. How much your parents love you. How proud they are of you.” Molly closes her eyes, sucking in a breath. “I could see it on their faces every time they talked about you.”
Stop talking.
Keep talking.
But the more she talks, the more the guilt needles into me. My parents deserve so much more than they accept. And Molly. She deserves all the love I’ve ever felt, too.
“Your parents are everything I ever wished for growing up.” Molly glances down. She looks up at me then, her expression unreadable. “I couldn’t take that away from you.”
There are people around us close enough to hear and a big enough gap that we have to raise our voices to be heard. Anyone could eavesdrop. But neither of us cares. We’re too caught up in each other. This moment when, somehow, we became the only people who understand each other.
I close my eyes, unsure what to say, and settle for a simple, “They’re the best.”
It’s the truth.
The beautiful, tragic truth.
Silence stretches between us, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It’s . . . different. Like we’re standing on the precipice of something big. Something neither of us fully understands but doesn’t want to walk away from.
“I mean it. I’ve always wanted parents like yours.” A wistful smile graces her lips. “I just wanted to be part of a family for a minute.”
Her words hang in the air, raw and unguarded.
She’s breaking my fucking heart.
A sudden laugh bubbles out of her, and she shakes her head. “I have no idea how this got so serious. Thank you for the dinner, Hudson. I enjoyed it.”
“Thanks for tonight.” I clear my throat. “It means a lot.”
For all the tension in that conversation, I know one thing for certain: Molly Sinclair is a storm, and I’m already caught in her path.
And that truce?
It feels real.
35
Hudson
Mason: Guys. I figured out our retirement plan.
Aiden: I don’t wanna know.
Dane: Is it illegal?
Mason: I’m serious. It’s a game. I call it: Where’s Hudson?
Mason: It’s like Where’s Waldo, except instead of tracking down a hipster with no fashion sense, we’re tracking down a train wreck with no fashion sense. I’m trademarking it as we speak.
Aiden: For real. Dude is Houdini. Where did he even go after the game last night?