Beautiful Collide (Saints Of Redville #3)

Chapter 20

20

Molly

“Are you kidding me?” The words were meant to be only for me, but of course, my damn mouth opened and said them out loud, and now everyone on the chartered plane might have heard me. Despite my high-pitched tone, it doesn’t appear that anyone heard me. Well, anyone other than the idiot sitting beside the only empty seat on the plane.

I can’t complain, though, because family is not allowed to travel with the team, but since I work for my brother Dane—and when need be, the team—they make an exception for me, so complaining about my seat most likely won’t be well received.

I continue to peer around the small plane. It’s not exactly spacious in here. It feels more like an oversized minivan than a luxury flight. Sometimes, the chartered planes are nice, but this one is lacking. Especially the passenger sitting next to the seat where I’m supposed to sit.

My life is a cosmic joke .

Of course, this would happen. Of all the open seats on the plane, the universe has chosen this one for me. Well played. I obviously sinned in a past life.

No way am I riding five minutes next to this man, let alone two hours.

“You planning on standing there all day? I’m pretty sure the pilots won’t take off unless you’re strapped in.”

I ignore him as I continue to search for another seat. There must be another option. Maybe someone who doesn’t make my blood boil every time he breathes.

“There’s none.” Hudson’s voice cuts through my inner rambling.

“How do you know?” I practically snarl at him. Easy there, killer.

“’Cause I looked.”

Of course, he did.

I roll my eyes. “Maybe someone will switch with me.”

“Am I that bad, Hex?” He drops his chin, giving me his best wounded-puppy-dog face. A lesser woman might crumple. I am not that woman.

“Stop calling me that,” I hiss.

“Nope.”

The nickname. Always. Years later, and it still feels like nails on a chalkboard. All because of one mistake years ago.

And well, maybe a few times after too.

I’ll never live any of it down.

I thought that he’d be too busy being the team playboy to even give a fuck about me, but I was wrong.

That coupled with what happened the following year, and well, the next . . .

Every season starts the same way. I think it’s going to be different, yet here we are.

Rinse, wash, repeat.

Instead, one small lie has grown fucking tentacles. The truth is, none of the shit I did even hurt him.

The man has sponsors and a new woman every day.

The man is the biggest player I have ever met.

He might hate me, but really, we’re all better off.

Letting out a sigh, I admit defeat. Guess this seat will have to do. Lucky me.

It won’t be that bad. I’m sure Hudson will be busy, and I’ll listen to my earphones. I plop down in the seat and pull open my bag that’s now on my lap.

My fingers start to riffle through all the crap I have in there.

Receipts I don’t need, gum wrappers, a notebook I forgot I owned, and oh my God, what is this. . . a candy bar? Who knows how old it is. This bag really is a black hole.

“Damn, maybe I should call you Mary Poppins.”

I turn to look at Hudson, my brow lifting in question.

“You know, because your bag has all sorts of crazy shit in there. Do you have a lamp?”

Now, it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “No, I don’t have a lamp.”

“You sure? Have you checked? I bet you do.” He grins. That grin—dangerous and disarming. It’s no wonder half the women in this city fall at his feet. However, I’m not one of them. But if I’m being honest, if he wasn’t such a pain in the ass, I might fall for it. But unfortunately for him, I’m not interested. Not that I think he is.

With my free hand, I pull the opening wider and bend my head farther down to peer inside.

“Find whatever you’re looking for yet?” he asks from beside me, his gaze practically burning a hole in my side. I wish he’d just mind his own business and leave me alone. Or is that asking too much? Maybe this is my karma—having to put up with his sarcastic quips as my penance.

“Do you ever stop?” I snap, frustration bubbling over.

“No. Not really. Especially when it does what I hope it will,” he replies, a smirk playing on his lips.

“And that is?” I counter, raising an eyebrow.

“Drive you crazy,” he says, leaning back with a triumphant grin.

“Hasn’t it been long enough? I get it, you hate me, but seriously. Grow up,” I shoot back, crossing my arms defiantly.

“What fun would that be?” he retorts, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Why does he always look like he’s having the time of his life, even when he’s being the worst? It’s infuriating.

“A lot,” I deadpan, my expression unyielding.

I pivot my body away from him, trying my best to tune him out. The man is like a gnat . . . persistent, annoying, and impossible to ignore.

I can’t find my earphones, which doesn’t bode well for this flight.

If this were a normal flight, we would have the little free headphones the flight attendant passes out, but since this isn’t a far trip, the team chartered an older, smaller plane that apparently doesn’t have entertainment.

Of course. Because when it rains, it pours.

“Can’t find whatever you’re looking for?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”

“That sucks. What to do? What to do?” he asks himself.

As if I don’t know his plan is to drive me up the wall. Hudson leans forward, and I brace for verbal impact.

By coincidence, the plane’s wheels start to move.

As the plane bounces down the runway, the sound is loud enough that maybe I won’t need the headphones.

Just as the wheels lift and the plane takes flight, he finds what he’s looking for, pivoting to me, headphones in his hand.

“Don’t say I didn’t do anything for you . . . twice.”

His words carry a mix of smugness and truth, and I hate him for it.

Once up in the air, I’m hopeful the flight will go by fast. If I remember correctly, it’s only two hours, so that’s not too bad.

Two hours. Just one hundred and twenty minutes of pure torture. Totally survivable. Yeah, probably not.

Not much is worse than being stuck next to Hudson for the flight. A flight with turbulence would make it worse.

The seats aren’t too cramped, so at least I have that going for me, but the thing is, Hudson is larger than life.

His presence suffocates in the worst and most distracting way possible.

Cramped seats? Annoying. But even a few hours squeezed into a tiny airplane seat, elbow to elbow with my archnemesis? Still too much. This has to be my personal hell.

Now that the plane is at a cruising altitude, I settle into my seat.

From the corner of my eye, I see Hudson recline his. He doesn’t go all the way, which surprises me. He goes just far enough back to be comfortable but not far enough to bother whichever of his teammates sits behind him.

It’s a small thing, barely worth noticing, but it feels intentional. Thoughtful, even. It throws me off.

It’s oddly sweet. Although I don’t want to admit that.

I move my body again. I’m not one to lean back, but I’m not comfortable.

My back is on fire. It feels stiff, and my nerves are frayed.

And why won’t the tension in my shoulders go away?

I’m really a mess. Maybe I’ll do what he did. Recline my seat just a little bit.

I reach my hand out and press the button, the back of my seat moving a few inches before I stop.

“Are you inspired by me?”

“Um, no,” I murmur.

The words come out clipped and way too defensive. Why do I always feel like I’ve walked right into a trap whenever I talk to him?

“Then why did you move your seat like mine?” he says, trying to bite back a smirk.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, sorry, are you the only person allowed to recline?”

“No, but I’m the only one to do the half recline.” He points around the plane. “Most are full recline or no recline.” I want to knock the smug look off his face. He’s impossible. He’s acting like he invented the concept of reclining.

I try to tune him out, distracting myself by looking at pictures on my phone. My lips spread as I see a picture of Josie and Dane.

“They’re cute.” I hear from beside me.

I nod. “They are.”

“Do you think you’ll keep working for him?”

I turn to face Hudson, my brows furrowing. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just figured—”

“That Josie would handle it? Hardly.”

“No. I just thought—”

“And herein lies the problem, Wilde, you thought.”

His jaw stiffens, and my stomach tightens. Why do I always do this? Speak first, think later.

It’s like I have no control over myself. A reflex.

Maybe I went too far. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so mean to him.

An uncomfortable silence stretches between us.

Reaching into my bag, I pull out my Kindle and try to focus on the book I’ve been reading, but the harder I try to read, the more hyperaware I am of the fact that he’s placed his arm on the armrest between us.

Despite trying not to think about it, I can’t stop.

A part of me wonders if he’ll touch me.

The thought shouldn’t even cross my mind. It’s a ridiculous thought.

Yet . . .

My heart pounds heavily in my chest.

Do I want him to?

No.

I don’t.

I should move my arm, right? From the corner of my eye, I peek over at him. While I might be freaking out, he seems calm and collected.

Serene.

Bastard.

How am I so affected by him, yet he isn’t bothered?

As if he can hear my thoughts, he opens his eyes and catches me staring. Of course, he does.

Again, cosmic joke. I’m the hex, after all.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, you’re staring.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m not. I’m reading.” I lift my Kindle in the air as if to say “see.”

His eyes narrow as he looks from my Kindle to my eyes.

“And what are you reading?”

I blink, snapping my gaze back to my book. Shit. What am I reading again? My brain goes blank. Probably because of him. No, it can’t be that. It’s probably because it’s been weeks since I opened this thing. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time. Yeah, that’s the reason. Not his proximity. “Oh. Um, it’s a mystery novel.”

Hudson raises an eyebrow. “Really? For some reason, I don’t believe you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I see you with something lighter. You seem like a hopeless romantic.”

My mouth drops open, and he laughs. “Really?”

“Nah, Hex. You probably don’t have a romantic bone in your body.” His words hurt. They shouldn’t. I know they shouldn’t, but they do. I don’t let on, though.

Instead, I try to think about a witty rebuttal when an announcement begins to crackle overhead.

Something about turbulence.

I instinctively tighten my grip on the armrest. Flying is on my list of things I don’t love. Which, I guess, in the grand scheme of things that I’m scared of, would be considered a good thing, but still, when I’m up in the air and the plane starts to bump, I forget this isn’t one of my fears.

Just as I’m about to put my Kindle away, the plane gives a harsh jolt, and my device falls to the floor.

I’m about to reach for it when the turbulence becomes more violent, and my heart pounds furiously in my chest.

It’s fine. I’m fine. This is normal.

Turbulence is normal.

I inhale deeply. Fuck. I hate this.

Deep down, I know flying is safe. Statistically safer than driving. But when the plane bumps and shakes, all my rational thoughts leave the building, and I can’t stop the intrusive ones that wage war inside me.

What if something is wrong?

What if the pilots aren’t telling us?

What if this is it? What if I die sitting next to Hudson? No. Stop. This is ridiculous.

You aren’t dying.

My pulse accelerates. Blood pounds through my veins at a rate that probably could cause a heart attack.

I’m lost in my thoughts of what-if when Hudson shifts.

Hudson.

Goddammit.

Why does it always have to be him? He is the one person in the world I don’t want to see me unraveling. Yet this man is always around when I’m having a panic attack.

I need to rein it in, but even as I think these words, I know it’s impossible. When I go down the path, it’s hard to push away my thoughts.

Then I feel it. His fingers brush against mine on the armrest.

Despite my efforts to be unaffected, my skin tingles at the contact. Traitor.

I freeze, glancing down at where our hands now touch.

His hand now fully covers mine.

I tilt my head up until my gaze meets his.

Locked in a stare, neither of us speaks.

The plane continues to shake uncontrollably.

His hand tightens around me. His fingers softly caress my skin.

“We’re okay,” he finally says. “Just breathe.”

His voice is calm and steady—a lifeline in the chaos.

I try to inhale, my head dropping to look at the floor. I’m trying desperately to calm down, but as the plane drops, I’m not sure I can.

His fingers continue to circle, but this time, his free hand reaches out and touches my chin. “Don’t look away from me.”

I obey.

When I meet his stare, I feel anchored to the world. It makes no sense, but his blue eyes seem to hold me hostage, and as he looks at me, I regulate my breathing.

“I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And like in the closet and the gas station . . . for some reason, I believe him.