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)
And then, she looks away.
Of course, she does.
I shake my head, my voice low. “Doesn’t matter if I’m not. People love their lies.”
Molly doesn’t argue this time. She just stays quiet, watching the stars, and for some reason, that silence hurts more than if she’d disagreed.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Hudson.”
Her words catch me off guard.
I tear my eyes away from the stars, peering down at her. “For what?”
“I did this to you. I gave you this reputation. And back then, when I tried to apologize, I never did it sincerely.”
I move to speak, but she holds up a hand.
“Let me get this out. Please. It’s long overdue.” She straightens, her eyes locked on mine. “I know that I ruined your reputation the first day we met. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter, but it obviously did, and I’m so fucking sorry that I did it, that I can’t tell you why I did it, and that I haven’t given you the genuine apology you deserve until now.”
“You did,” I point out, trying to make her feel better. I can’t help but want to stop the tears welling in her eyes. “You apologized a few days later. I didn’t let you.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t try hard enough. And to be honest, I didn’t mean it like I do now. Now that I know you better. Now that . . .” She sucks in a breath, closing her eyes. “Now that I’m willing to admit I want to know you better. So tell me. Please. What’s going on with you?”
When she looks at me like that—so fucking sincere that I want to bottle up that gaze and keep it with me when life gets dark—I can’t help but spill.
I sigh, leaning back on my hands. “It’s just been . . . a lot lately. Between hockey and everything else, sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up.”
“Everything else?” Her tone drops.
For a second, I hesitate to speak. No one’s asked me anything like this before. Not even Mom.
Not how I’m feeling, nor what’s going on in my life.
It’s been so long since someone has genuinely asked. Sure, I’ve had bullshit interviews with the media, but that was all superficial. Vultures hunting for a soundbite.
Molly is genuine and real, and fuck, it’s addictive.
A part of me doesn’t want to talk. Just wants to keep my walls up. To be the fun, carefree Hudson everyone expects me to be.
But then I feel her hand on mine, and it spurs me to talk.
“My family, they own a farm.” I sigh, feeling lighter as the words finally escape me. “It’s a small operation, but it’s been in the family for generations. My dad’s getting older, and the farm’s not doing great. They’re close to losing it.”
Molly turns to me, surprise flickering across her face. “I didn’t know that.”
“Why would you?” I shrug before looking down to stare at the gravel under my boot. “I don’t talk about it much. But it’s why I’m late to things sometimes—helping out on the farm. Especially during harvest.”
“You help them?”
“I do.” I shrug. “Sometimes it’s small things, other times bigger. I do whatever needs doing.”
“Shouldn’t your parents have hired help for that?”
“They should.” I nod. My throat feels tight. “And they could, if they’d just let me help them out financially. But they won’t. They’re stubborn and refuse to take my money.”
“Why?”
“They say they don’t want me solving their problems just because I’m making good money now.” I shake my head, frustration welling in my chest. “It’s pride. It’s stupid fucking pride.”
“Or maybe it’s guilt.”
I freeze, more than a little surprised I never considered that. “What do you mean?”
“When Dane got custody of me, I felt weird asking for things. Stupid things. A toothbrush, shampoo, socks.” She laughs, but it’s a bitter laugh, full of regret. “I didn’t even let him buy me pads. I just felt like . . . he worked so hard for the money, he put in so many hours, and I didn’t want to be his burden.”
“He would never see you as a burden,” I promise her.
“I know that. Well, sometimes I do. Other times . . . not so much.” She shakes her head. “Anyway. It wasn’t pride. It was guilt. Pride is standing tall and saying you don’t need help. Guilt is curling in on yourself because you know you do, but you’re too afraid to accept it.”
It strikes me that it means something that she’s sharing this.
Molly has walls taller than Mount Everest. She doesn’t let anyone in. But to make me feel better, she’s sharing a piece of herself she never does.
A realization hits me in the chest.
Molly is the calm I need.
She’s quiet.
I keep my eyes trained on her until she meets my gaze. Her eyes search mine.
“Just food for thought,” she says, sheepish. She rubs the back of her neck. “From what I know of your parents. So, since they don’t let you pay for help, you help them yourself, right?”