Page 4 of Hudson

“Love you both. Safe travels,” she says, and I hang up and look at Harvey.

“Can we go now?” he asks, hopping in place, and I take a deep breath. I am ready. We are ready.

“I’ll get the box.” I grab the box of his books, and his wide grin is instant as he starts to dance around again. Together, we lock up, saying goodbye to the house Icalled home for almost the past decade, and we pile into our town car, our driver waiting patiently.

“Will we have a driver in Whispers, Dad?” Harvey asks as we pull away from the curb, and I chuckle.

“Yes. Two of them. They are called Grandma and Grandpa.” I laugh, knowing that there’s no way they are going to let Harvey out of their sight for a while.

As I look out the window, I know that as this chapter of my life closes, I’m hopeful for the next one.

God knows this one has been hard enough.

3

LACY

“Mom, I'm home,” I yell out as I walk into the house. I try not to notice the screen door frame starting to crumble at the bottom due to water damage or old age—which one, I can’t be sure anymore. Instead, my stress peaked the minute I pulled up and saw a strange truck out front. It’s new, one of the latest models, polished to a high shine, but it’s unfamiliar, so my body is already in fight-or-flight mode.

“In here,” she says, and I take a breath. She sounds okay, but I quickly look around the kitchen to ensure everything looks as it should. The house is clean, kitchen tidy. I drop my bag onto the kitchen counter and walk swiftly into the living room before I come to an abrupt stop as my heart stutters. Dr. Hudson Hamilton is in my living room, sharing a coffee with my mother.

“Hey,” I choke out, startled, my eyes widening as my throat immediately dries up at the unexpected sight.

“Hi, Lacy. Good to see you,” he says, jumping up fromthe sofa where he was sitting to greet me. It’s been months since I last saw him, and I wish I could say I almost forgot what he looked like, but that would be a lie. His face is one I remember vividly. Seeing him brings the memories back to me full force as I take a deep breath to try to calm my heart that is now thumping madly, reminding me that I am, in fact, a red-blooded woman.

He looks good. In a suit that matches his professionalism, the jacket filled out, covering his broad shoulders. His shoes are high shine and his watch glistens on his wrist. A Rolex, it’s hard to miss. He’s distinguished, expensive, and against our ratty old sofa, totally out of place. My stomach flip-flops, before I look down at myself. Sure, I have my work clothes on, but my hair is a mess, and I was running late this morning so my makeup is not at all on point.

Looking back at him, my eyes don’t move from his as memories flash through my mind so rapidly I can’t grasp them. A few months ago, he was my savior. I don’t remember a lot from that night, but I do remember him seeing me tied up in that shed, untying the ropes that held me, picking me up, and running us away from danger. I had never been more grateful to see someone before in my life, and my grip on him was tight. I never wanted him to let me go. I also remember him taking care of me in the hospital, until one morning, he wasn’t there anymore. Now as I stare at him standing in my living room, I clear my throat, trying to find words.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, looking at my mom with a frown. I have no idea why he is here, but he has hisdoctor's bag at his feet, so my eyes do a quick assessment of her to ensure she is okay.

“Everything is fine, honey. Hudson just came to do a house call and to tell us he is back,” Mom explains, her smile wide as she glances between Hudson and me almost expectantly.

“For good,” Hudson says quickly, and my gaze darts back to him to see he’s watching me. I feel my cheeks heat under his attention. A house call is unusual here in Whispers unless it’s an emergency. The only time a doctor has been here is when Mom is too sick to go to them, and clearly that’s not the case today.

“Great.” I mentally scold myself for my lack of vocabulary right now. My smile is forced from the surprise that filters around my body, because I wasn’t expecting to see him in my home, on my sofa, having a cup of coffee with my mom.

“Honey, we were just finishing up. Why don’t you walk Hudson out,” Mom says, and I spread my smile wider for her and push through these feelings of shock taking over me. Hudson looks too good. Better than good. Tall. Dark. Handsome. I shake my head because these thoughts suddenly resurfacing are ridiculous, and I have absolutely no time or reason to start entertaining them. But if I was a normal young woman, without all my worries and responsibilities, then maybe I could daydream.

“Sure, Mom.” I subtly wipe my palms on my pants because they are sweaty. The lethargy I felt only five minutes ago after a long day at work while mentally preparing for a long night at home has been replaced byanxious energy. I feel fidgety and need to do something with my hands. I lean over to grab his bag to carry it for him, at the same time he does, and our hands collide. My body jolts on impact, humming like I have been electrocuted.

“Sorry,” I rush out, pulling back immediately. As I do, I gasp in some air and smell his woodsy aroma. The familiarity of his cologne quickly encases me, making me almost stumble as it both soothes me and feels like a protective shield.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice almost like a tonic to my soul as he watches me closely. His gaze burns into me and he steps forward a little as if he is going to take my hand before pausing. I look to my mom who is in prime position, watching it all unravel, and I shake my head a little, like it will get my brain back into focus mode.

I’ve never had a man in this house before and neither has mom. A product of a one-night stand, I’ve never had a father figure, and it’s always been just Mom and me. My therapist says that’s why I take on so much. Because now that Mom is sick, I don’t feel that I have anyone else I can rely on, so I do everything myself. My trust issues have only amplified since the fire in the shed, one started by the very person I thought was a friend.

With that thought, I straighten my spine and turn on my heel to create some space and pace out the door toward his truck. I can handle this. It’s just the new town doctor. He isn’t here to see me. He isn’t anyone I need to concern myself with. He is a billionaire, a dad, albeit avery good-looking, panty-dropping dapper man, but one who isn’t for a small-town girl like me.

It’s only when I’m outside that I finally pull in a breath of fresh air. Seeing him again after all this time brings that night back to the surface. The night when I thought I was going to die, only to be saved by him. The way he grabbed me and held me tight. How I buried my head in his chest, the smell of his cologne. The way he spoke to me, promised me that he would always protect me. All that, coupled with the fact that he is just as good-looking as I remember, has me on edge. I try to remember the techniques my therapist taught me. The breathing that helps relax my mind when I feel panicked or flustered. Usually only reserved for when I have nightmares.Breathe in two, three, four and out two, three, four.

I hear him say goodbye to Mom inside, and I open my eyes as I hear the screen door of my house and his steps on the gravel behind me.

“So… how have you be—”

“Fine,” I cut him off, folding my arms across my chest as if they can protect me from getting too close with him, because falling into his embrace is feeling all too appetizing. I roll my head on my shoulders as the familiarity of his eyes makes me nervous, his gaze almost piercing. He saw me at my weakest that night, my most vulnerable, and his arms were a safe place for me. Now, as he stands right in front of me, I just want to dive back in and have him hold me tight and never let me go.

“You know, I’ve thought about you a lot.” His voice is a low rumble that sizzles on my skin as he takes a step towards me. He’s close, well within my reach, and I tensemy fingers on my arms, ensuring they remain there, to the point I almost bruise my skin. The need to hug him, touch him, feel him is more intense than what I could have prepared for. I seal my lips tight, keeping the wordsI think about you toofrom coming out. Instead, I take a small step, toward him or to the side, I’m not sure where, but as I do, I trip on the gravel underfoot.

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