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)
“See? Even Molly agrees.” Mason cackles.
Hudson’s eyes narrow at me. “Traitor. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Why would I ever be on your side?” I counter.
His grin returns as he mouths, “Because you secretly like me.”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Keep dreaming.”
The roast of Hudson continues, with Mason and now Aiden listing everything from Hudson’s tendency to steal food off other people’s plates to his questionable taste in music.
“I don’t care what you say,” Hudson says at one point. “Britney Spears’s ‘Toxic’ is the best thing that came out of the 2000s.”
“We’re still in the 2000s, idiot,” Aiden mutters.
Hudson crosses his arms in mock annoyance. “I stand by my answer.”
“That’s fine, as long as you don’t start singing.”
“Challenge accepted, Slate.”
“That wasn’t a challenge, Wilde. Shit, Goodie, if he starts singing, I’m holding you accountable.”
“How is this my fault?” Mason asks.
“You started this shit.” Aiden sighs.
By the time Hudson sings every song from Britney’s catalog, I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. It’s easy to forget the awkwardness of marrying my former archnemesis and let myself get swept up in the Redville Saints chaos and all their antics. These guys are like family, and when I’m with them, it’s easy to pretend that everything will be okay.
But then Mason says something that makes my stomach drop. “Remember that time Wilde got caught sneaking out of that girl’s apartment by her dad? What was her name again?”
I stiffen, my laughter dying instantly. Hudson’s grin fades too, and his gaze darts to mine.
“That didn’t happen,” Hudson says firmly.
“Oh, come on,” Mason says. “It totally did. You climbed out the window and landed in the rose bushes.”
“I did not,” Hudson insists, his voice tight now.
“Pretty sure you did,” Wolfe chimes in. Where did he come from? I didn’t even realize he could hear from where he’s sitting.
“Guys,” Hudson says sharply. “Drop it.”
His tone is enough to shut them up, but the damage is already done. My mind is spinning, and I can feel Hudson’s eyes on me like he’s waiting for me to say something.
“Hex,” he starts, his voice low, but I hold up a hand to stop him.
“Don’t,” I say quietly, staring straight ahead. “I don’t want to hear it.”
He sighs, leaning back in his seat. “It’s not true,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
I glance at him, my chest tightening. “I didn’t ask.”
“I know,” he says, his expression unreadable. “But you deserve to know anyway.”
Neither of us speaks, the noise of the plane filling the silence. I want to believe him. I do. But it’s hard to reconcile the guy sitting next to me with the reputation that seems to follow him everywhere.
Finally, I take a deep breath, forcing myself to push the thoughts away. “You’re lucky I don’t keep a list of your worst habits,” I mutter, trying to lighten the mood.
His grin returns, slow and easy. “You’d need a lot of paper.”
By the time the plane begins its descent, the tension has eased again, and Mason is too busy arguing with Aiden about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza to notice the awkwardness between Hudson and me.
As we taxi down the runway, Hudson leans closer, his voice low. “Hey.”
I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
“You okay?” he asks, his tone surprisingly gentle.
I swallow hard. “Yeah. Just . . . tired.”
He studies me, then nods. “Me too.”
For once, there’s no teasing in his voice, no smirk tugging at his lips. Just honesty.
Which I appreciate, and somehow, I think maybe everything will be okay.
60
Hudson
This is the last place I thought I would be after winning the Cup. But here I am, sitting in a lackluster office with horrible fluorescent lights that make my eyes twitch. Seriously, how do people work under these things? I feel like I’m in a bad crime movie.
The worst part? This is the third office I’ve been to in three days. Trying to find an attorney that is the right fit to “handle the situation” is much harder than I expected.
Also, I hate the word “situation.” It makes everything sound like I’m in high school and just got caught sneaking out after curfew. I can practically hear my dad’s stern voice telling me how much potential I have and how I will squander it.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t.
Molly is currently sitting beside me.
Her hands are clasped tightly in her lap like she’s afraid she might start gesturing wildly. That isn’t alarming on its own, but the way her knee bounces makes me nervous. It’s jerking so much that it causes the cheap and poorly made conference table to rattle.
Yeah, this place doesn’t bode well for me. If the lawyer can’t afford a sturdy table, how am I supposed to trust them with my divorce?
I press my foot against the leg of her chair to stop the shaking, but she shoots me a glare.