Beautiful Collide (Saints Of Redville #3)

Chapter 59

59

Molly

Did that just happen?

We’re back on the plane, and I can’t believe how different things are now.

It’s funny how much has changed since the beginning of the playoffs.

Back then, I didn’t want to sit next to Hudson. Now, I’m praying he’ll take the seat next to me.

The roar of jet engines fills the cabin as I settle into my seat on the chartered plane. I stare at every single person who walks on the plane and wonder . . . do they know?

They can’t know. Right? Hudson and I have been ridiculously careful. Or at least, as careful as two impulsive idiots who got drunk and married in Vegas can be.

I’m overthinking. It’s obvious I am, but I can’t stop myself from doing it despite knowing I’m allowing my intrusive thoughts to have a field day.

No one here knows what happened in Vegas.

No one knows I’m married to Hudson Wilde.

Married.

The word still makes me queasy.

I married my brother’s best friend.

Jeez, this sounds like a plotline for one of the romance novels Josie is always trying to convince me to read. I don’t need to read them now. I’m living it, Elvis ceremony and all.

How is this my life?

It’s fine. Totally fine.

Nothing to see here.

We’ll get an annulment, and no one will ever have to know that Hudson and I managed to go from enemies to not to . . . whatever this is in the span of one drunken, Elvis-fueled night.

“Wilde.” Mason’s voice booms across the cabin, interrupting my mental spiral. I glance up to see his trademark smirk as he gestures toward the seat beside mine. “Don’t look so glum. There’s an empty seat next to Molly. I was going to sit in it . . . You’re welcome.”

Oh, come on, Mason. I’m going to kill that man. He has a way of making everything worse without even realizing he’s doing it.

Making a mess of things might be his sixth sense.

Mason is too much to handle on a good day, but I’m still hungover and cranky from all that transpired in Vegas.

I blink, then glance at Hudson, who’s strolling down the aisle behind Mason, looking about as relaxed as someone who was just told he won the lottery. His lips twitch into a grin when he sees me glaring at Mason.

“Really, Mason?” I ask, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “Can’t you just do everyone a favor and keep some thoughts to yourself?”

Mason shrugs as if he didn’t just say something that annoyed me. “You guys are good now, so why shouldn’t he sit next to you . . . unless.”

“We’re fine,” I grumble back. While I love Mason since he is one of my brother’s best friends, I also loathe him right now.

He claps a hand on Hudson’s shoulder and all but shoves him into the seat next to me. “Have fun, Hudson.” The smug bastard smirks before looking at me. “It’s on the bet contract,” he jokes. “You learn how to read the fine print.”

I’ll show him where he can shove his “bet contract.”

It’s somewhere where the sun won’t shine.

“I didn’t sign anything,” I deadpan, crossing my arms as Hudson drops into the seat.

“You didn’t have to.” Mason drops into the row across from us. “It’s a verbal contract. Binding by law.”

“Is that so?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yup,” Mason says, popping the p . “And just for fun, we’ve decided that anyone who loses the bet has to wear a crochet creation to the next charity event.”

“What is this, summer camp? I must have missed the memo that you were a teen girl separated at birth from your sister.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re funny, Moll?”

“Not often, Mason. Now, please tell me you’re making this up. If not, I’m seriously worried about you.”

“What do you think?” He raises an eyebrow.

Hudson leans back in his seat, placing his arm on the armrest beside mine. “I’d look hot in crochet.”

“You would look like an idiot.” I brush his arm off, pretending not to notice how warm it is.

“Careful,” Hudson says in a low voice, just for me. “People might think you actually care about what I do.”

“Meaning?”

“You care about my clothing choices? They might think you care.”

“I do care,” I whisper. The way he looks back at me makes my pulse quicken.

The way he makes me feel is unnerving. The way he makes my pulse race.

The problem isn’t that I don’t like him. It’s how much I like him. And that’s the scariest part. I don’t trust myself with feeling like this. Don’t trust myself not to fall for him.

I can’t be with him. It would never work out. Just the thought of giving myself fully to someone like that has my mind unraveling.

I’d have to tell him everything . . .

I’m not ready for that.

He continues to smile down at me. How is he not completely unraveling like I am?

Maybe he’s not as affected by you as you are by him.

Bullshit.

He is.

He’s just stronger.

A few minutes later, the plane takes off, and I try to focus on anything other than the heat radiating off Hudson or the fact that Mason is watching us like a hawk. Of course, Mason is watching. The man lives for drama. He’s practically a card-carrying member of BravoCon.

I pull out my phone, scrolling aimlessly through old pictures. I can feel Hudson’s gaze on me.

“You’re fidgeting,” he says after a few minutes.

“I’m not fidgeting.” My fingers stop moving, and I hold perfectly still to make a point.

“You’re absolutely fidgeting.” He leans closer. “I forgot you don’t like flying. Is there anything I can do?”

I turn to face him, scrunching my nose. “No. It’s not that. It’s just after yesterday, I’m not sure I want to be trapped next to you for so many hours.”

He grins. “Afraid you’re going to want to join the mile-high club? Sorry, I’m so irresistible.”

“Out of curiosity . . . is there a law against murdering someone at thirty thousand feet? Or is it like maritime law, where anything goes? Asking for a friend.” I give him a sugary-sweet smile.

Before he can reply, Mason cuts in. “Hey, Wilde, wonder if you can help us out.”

“What’s up?”

And just like that, the focus is no longer on me, and I can breathe again.

“We were just talking about all your worst habits. Got anything you’d like to add?”

Hudson groans, tipping his head back against the seat. “Just how I wanted to spend the flight. Public humiliation courtesy of people I once considered friends.”

“Oh, come on,” Mason says, clearly enjoying himself. “This is all for Molly’s benefit.”

“I’m not following,” Hudson says. “And truly, I’m not sure I even want to.”

“You know, in case she ever has to do damage control for one of your PR disasters.”

I freeze, my stomach flipping. Does Mason know? He couldn’t possibly. No, he can’t. He’s just messing around. Stirring the pot. That’s kind of his thing. Still, the way Hudson’s eyes flick to mine for a split second makes me want to sink into my seat and vanish.

“All right.” I can see Mason rubbing his hands together from the corner of my eye. “Let’s start with the fact that Wilde cannot, for the life of him, remember to turn off lights. You could walk into his house at any hour, and I guarantee every single light is on.”

“I like it when things are bright,” Hudson says with a shrug.

“Electricity isn’t cheap.” I scoff.

“Especially if you care about the planet,” Mason retorts, but I don’t know who he’s trying to kid. The irony is so thick, I could choke on it. I’ve been around Mason for years, and I have never in all the time I’ve worked for the team seen him do anything that would allude to the fact that he gives a lick about the environment.

Hell, the man doesn’t even recycle. I saw him throw a Coke can right in with the regular garbage, despite the bright blue bin begging for his trash. Who is he to tell Hudson how to save the planet? I don’t respond with that, though, because I don’t want Mason to think I’m defending Hudson.

I move closer to Hudson, leaning in for only him to hear. “Do you leave lights on?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he admits, a faint grin tugging at his lips. It’s the kind of grin that screams, “Guilty, and what of it?”

“Maybe?” Mason says. “What about the time you left the lights on in the team bus and drained the battery?”

I turn toward Mason and narrow my eyes. “Why are you listening?”

“You were whispering, so I thought it might be important.”

“So you decided to eavesdrop?”

“Obviously.”

“Mind your own business, Mason,” I fire back while rolling my eyes.

“That was one time,” Hudson answers super late to the conversation.

I twist in my seat to face him. He looks exhausted but hot at the same time. This man is dangerous to my health.

“It was twice,” Aiden chimes in from a row behind us.

Seriously? Is this a whole team convo? What’s next, an intervention? Maybe someone will bust out a sign containing a chart of Hudson’s shortcomings.

It’s not such a bad idea now that I think about it. Maybe it will help me not fall into bed with him every time he looks at me.

Hudson groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, fine. Twice. But in my defense, someone should’ve reminded me.”

“That’s not how responsibility works,” I say, unable to hide my grin.

“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.