Beautiful Collide (Saints Of Redville #3)

Chapter 5

5

Hudson

It’s not a good look for me that I’m running late. Again. It’s starting to be the story of my life, but this time, I had no choice.

Family shit.

And unfortunately, my family lives just far enough to cause problems if I ever have to jet off to see them.

The team is set to leave any minute now.

Shit.

Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up.

The light turns red. I pull to a stop and reach over the center console to grab my phone.

Dammit. It’s off.

I switched it off earlier when I was with my mother and never switched it back on.

The moment my phone powers to life, I know I’m in trouble.

It chimes a million times. Texts. Messages. Missed calls.

I mean, sure, I’m running late, but it’s not like we are leaving for another . . . I look at my phone. Well, fuck.

Now . We’re set to take off now. Shit. That doesn’t make sense.

The time change between Illinois and Ohio always messes me up.

I might have left at eleven, but the moment I crossed over the state line, I lost an hour.

Aiden: Where you at?

Then there’s Mason’s nonstop bombardment.

Mason: Bro, answer your phone.

Mason: Wilde. Fuck, dude. Where you at?

Mason: Seriously. Where the hell are you, Wilde?

And more texts from Aiden.

Aiden: Coach is about to freak out.

Aiden: You’ve got five minutes before Coach loses his mind.

And finally . . . Dane.

Dane: Call Coach. Now.

Dane isn’t one to message me, so I know shit is serious.

“Goddammit.”

I close the app and open my email instead.

Just as I suspected, there’s one from Coach. No question, he’s pissed.

While they haven’t technically left yet, I won’t be there before they take off. The light turns green. I flick on my turn signal, pull into a random parking lot, and park, dialing Coach’s number.

He answers on the first ring.

My back clenches in anticipation, bracing for impact.

“Where are you, Hudson?”

Shit. When he says my name like this, I feel like a schoolboy about to get scolded by my dad for coming home after curfew.

The only difference is the consequences are worse this time.

“Sorry, Coach.” I run a palm down my face. “I thought I’d be back in time.”

“Don’t give me that,” he barks, louder than anyone has a right to be on the phone. “You’re not on the plane, and we’re wheels up in two. This is a pattern with you, Wilde. Late for your first warm-up. Late for your first game. Hell, you were probably late being born.”

I was. Forty-three weeks. Mom harps about how difficult her post-term pregnancy was whenever she begs me to come back home for the holidays. Not that she needs much convincing. I love my family more than anything.

“I had a family emergency,” I try to explain, my voice tight.

“Yeah?” Coach snorts, clearly unimpressed. “What is it this time? A long-lost brother in need of a kidney? Your dog ate your skates?”

The man has never let me live down my first game.

It’s been one year. And still, he hasn’t let it go.

Will he ever take me seriously? Or am I always destined to be the class clown?

The big disappointment that he’d be happy to trade me if it weren’t for how good I am.

Since the owners are here to make money, trading me wouldn’t go easy for him. I bring in a crowd.

Which is most likely why he hates me.

“Coach, it’s not an excuse. I was needed at home. I’m on my way, but I won’t be there on time. Can you guys—”

“Absolutely not. This is the National Hockey League, Wilde. You don’t just show up when it’s convenient for you. Find your own way to the game, or don’t bother coming at all. You understand me?”

Boy, do I ever.

Before I can reply, the line goes dead.

Shit. That was rough.

Okay. Off to the rink. I need to grab something and head out.

By the time I make it to the arena, the parking lot is eerily quiet. Just as I suspected, no one is here. It’s empty. Actually, there is one car here, most likely owned by someone who works in security.

I park my Mustang in my usual spot and fling open the door, hopping on my hood. The morning light glints off the glossy paint as I pull out my phone and add all the guys who texted me to a group chat, one by one.

And then I name it: All Hail Hudson.

Hudson: Since my time is valuable, this was easier.

Aiden: What is this?

Hudson: It’s a group chat. Duh.

Mason: One called HUDSON IS AN ASS.

Mason changed the name of the chat to “Hudson is an ass.”

Hudson changed the name of the chat to “Saints of Redville.”

Hudson: I thought it was cute. Guess not.

Dane: Why do we have a group chat?

Hudson: It’s easier.

Aiden: For whom?

Dane: Not for me, that’s for sure.

Mason: I like it.

Hudson: I knew you were my favorite.

Dane: Why am I here?

Hudson: Cause we’re friends.

Dane: Are we?

Hudson: Ouch.

Aiden: It’s a legit statement.

Mason: Damn, guys.

Hudson: I’m on my way. There was a complication.

Dane: Again, why are you telling us this?

Hudson: Ouch again. I’m starting to get a complex and think you don’t like me.

Dane: . . .

I pocket my phone and jog into the locker room, my steps echoing in the empty arena. It’s darker than I’m used to. The place feels weird without the usual chaos. Just silence. A small light from the office is the only thing illuminating the space.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think no one is here.

I head straight to my locker, digging for my keys. I need to grab something. While I might not have as many pregame rituals as Aiden, I do always carry a picture of my family with me to every game I go to.

Opening my locker, I grab it from the shelf just as a voice cuts through the quiet.

“Hello?”

I freeze with my hand still in the locker.

I know that voice.

Correction: I hate that voice.

Molly.

Of course, it’s her. The bane of my existence.

Figures she’d be the one here.

Who knows what she’s doing, but she’s always around.

There are soft footsteps as she approaches, pausing just shy of my locker.

“Oh, it’s you.”

I pivot where I’m standing and face her. “Hex.”

“For crying out loud, can you stop calling me this? It’s been a year. Get over it. I know I did.”

Easy for her to say.

That day changed my whole trajectory on this team.

Now, all everyone sees is a player. An idiot. A reckless teammate who can’t be relied on, and then a night like tonight happens, and lo and behold, I prove them right, even though the truth is far from what they all think.

Not that anyone cares to find that shit out.

“Great,” I mutter, gently pocketing the photo. “Just what I needed. What are you even doing here, Hex ?”

“I left something here last night.” She shrugs, probably enjoying my misery.

We both stare at each other, silent for a moment.

“Well?” I make a shooing motion. “Don’t you have something better to do? Another life to ruin?”

To say we don’t get along after what happened would be an understatement. In the beginning, she tried to make nice, offering a water bottle after practice or an extra pack of grip tape. But I made it clear what I think of her backstabbing ass.

And from there, it spiraled out of control. We finally tore off the gloves. Now, there’s no conversation we can’t turn into a fight. No stone either of us will leave unturned.

She steps into my path, waiting for me to slam my locker shut before she speaks again. “What’s the excuse this time? Alarm didn’t go off? Stuck in traffic? Did you forget you’re a professional athlete?”

I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to snap back. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I had a family emergency.”

Her smirk fades, replaced by a look of mild surprise. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Is everything okay?”

I sigh because she’s being genuine, and it makes me hate her a little less. Emphasis on little. “Just peachy. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“You’re still late,” she points out, frowning.

I mock clap around her head, knowing it’ll piss her off. “Wow. A-plus observation, Captain Obvious.”

Our brief truce is gone.

In an instant, the fire returns to her eyes, and she’s back to her snarky self.

Molly leans a hip against a locker, her brows pulled together in mock concern. “I mean, I’m sure the team will totally understand. It’s not like you have a history of this or anything.”

I let out a sharp breath, running a hand through my hair. “You really live for this, don’t you?”

“What can I say?” She tilts her head, shrugging. “You’re easy to mess with.”

I shake my head and turn my back on her. I have no interest in dealing with her after the day I’ve had. Instead, I head out the door, determined to beeline straight to my car.

“Drive safe, Wilde,” she calls after me, her words echoing in the empty room.

With my luck, Hex just cursed me, and I’ll end up in the middle of a ten-car pileup by the end of the night.

Molly stays behind. She can lock up. Or maybe someone from the cleaning crew will.

Not my problem.

I storm into the parking lot, shoving my bag into the Mustang’s trunk with more force than necessary. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I place the key in the ignition and turn.

Nothing happens.

No big deal.

This happens.

It’s an older Mustang. A classic. My first purchase after I signed with the team.

The only problem with it? Sometimes the ignition is temperamental. Like most beautiful girls in my life, she came with a temper.

“Come on,” I mutter, love tapping the steering wheel.

I turn the key again, and the engine doesn’t so much as sputter this time. It’s obvious something is wrong, and my biggest fear comes true.

The battery is dead, and so am I.

I slam my hands against the steering wheel, leaning back against the headrest as my frustration boils over. Of course, the battery’s dead. Because why wouldn’t it be?

I’m fucked.

Unless . . .

Nope.

That’s off the table. Never in a million years.

I palm my phone, debating whether to call someone for help. But who? I don’t know anyone in Redville. Everyone I do know is on that flight, halfway to the next city, and I’d rather eat my stick shift than run back into the arena and beg Molly for a favor.

But I need to get to the game, and the flights are booked. I checked on my way here. Shit. Maybe I can rent a car in time. The hotel is not that far, only five and a half hours away. Close enough that Coach won’t even miss me. As long as I’m there tomorrow . . .

I check all the rentals in the area. Nothing is available. Fuck.

In my periphery, I spot Molly strolling to her car, her key swinging around her finger on a chain.

With a groan, I drop my head back against the seat.

This day can’t possibly get any worse.

But knowing my luck? It probably will.