Page 44 of Abyss

The soft glide of Hudson’s feet over the wooden floor steals my attention from the bags. My gaze fixates on his bare feet peeking out from under—and there goes my heart kicking into high gear—gray sweatpants.

They hug his thighs—the very thighs my eyes can’t seem to unclasp from—resting snugly around his waist.

But that’s not what I’m currently gawking at.

What I’m currently hyperventilating about internally is the rather plentiful bulge that’s visible through the thick material. Is he packing a gun in there? A garden hose, perhaps?

Realizing I’ve gone completely brain dead, I quickly trail up his form-fitting white shirt, noting his large pecs and massive biceps, before finding his eyes.

He tries to hide a smirk, moving past me to grab something from the fridge. “You went shopping?”

I busy myself with the groceries, taking out the box of ground cornmeal. I frown when I find a few eggs broken inside the carton.

Hoping not to draw any attention to my eventful outing, I answer Hudson’s question, “Yeah, just needed a few things.”

After taking a sip of the protein shake in his hand, he scans the items on his counter. “You could have asked . . .” He steps forward, eyebrows pinched. “Why is that dish broken?”

I remove the whisk and large metal bowls from the same bag as the broken casserole dish, hastily gathering the fragments in my hands. I should have thrown it out in the trash as soon as I got home.

I was really looking forward to making cornbread tonight. I’m sure Hudson has a casserole dish, but I don’t want to ask—nor do I want to take his stuff to class tomorrow. I don’t want to borrow someone else’s things and be responsible for them. What if I break it or accidentally forget it, or—

“Ouch!” I yelp when a sliver of glass slices my palm and blood pools over my cut.

Jesus. Today is just not my day.

Hudson quickly sets his drink on the counter and rushes toward me, pulling the bag out of my hands and discarding it in the trash can.

His gentle yet callused hand grabs mine, bringing it to him. “What—” He scans it closer while I try to pull it back. “Kavi, why is your entire hand scraped up?”

I try to wiggle my hand free, closing my fist as pain shoots up my forearm. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s notnothing.” Hudson counters, refusing to let me go as he guides me toward the sink. With me in his determined grip, he turns on the faucet and gently tugs my hand under the cool water.

I let out a soft hiss, thanking the Lord that it’s not a deepcut. I really can’t afford any more emergency room bills at the moment, given I still have to pay for Neil’s appendectomy.

Hudson brings over a towel when my hand seems sufficiently clean and pats it down. In the process, however, his gaze falls to my other hand, currently at my side in a fist. With a puzzled expression on his face, he gently pulls it toward him before meeting my gaze. “Open it.”

I shake my head, like a kid intent on not getting caught with candy in her fist. “It’s nothing, Hudson. Just a scrape.”

His jaw ticks. Oh, here we go with the jaw ticking. “Kavi,openit.”

I take in a long breath, unfolding my fingers.

His frown deepens. “Jesus. Did you decide to put your hands inside a blender today?”

Again, I try to drag it away from his grasp, but he doesn’t let me budge. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? Even your sunny personality couldn’t make me do that. Though, I won’t lie, I have thought about it after meeting you.”

His frown softens, the tiniest smile playing at the corners of his lips as he examines both sides of my hands. “Let’s get you cleaned up and bandaged.”

I successfully unlock my wrists from his hold. “I can do it. Just tell me where the first aid kit is.”

“Kavi.”

Before he can stop me, I rush—okay, stumble—out of the kitchen, without a clue as to which direction I’m headed.

But his outraged voice behind me has me coming to a quick stop. “Kavi,what the fuck?”

I turn to find his eyes locked on my leg.

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