Beautiful Collide (Saints Of Redville #3)

Chapter 83

83

Hudson

The sun’s almost down by the time I finish up the last of the chores for the day.

My dad always says farming is honest work—it humbles you, grounds you, and doesn’t give a damn how tired you are.

Today, I believe it.

My muscles ache in a way that even training camp can’t replicate, and all I want is a long shower and maybe a beer if I can wrestle one out of Dad’s fridge.

But before I head inside, I catch a faint sound drifting from the barn—soft laughter, followed by the familiar voice of my mom.

Curiosity gets the better of me.

Mom’s laughter is different than usual, and I swear I hear another voice.

Molly.

I head toward where they are, my boots crunching against the gravel path.

The door is cracked open. I move quietly, not because I’m trying to sneak up on them, exactly, but because I’m . . . curious. Yeah. Just curious.

I’m spying.

As I peek inside, I spot them near the back corner of the barn.

My mom’s carrying a basket of eggs while Molly crouches down beside one of the hens, murmuring something.

“You’re good at this,” Mom says with a smile. “Most people are too jumpy to collect eggs.”

Molly looks up and grins. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

“Guess I’m good under pressure. And I had a good teacher.” Molly lays it on thick, and my mom loves it.

“Sweet talk will get you everywhere, dear,” Mom jokes. “It will also get you seconds of dessert.” She winks.

I lean against the doorway, folding my arms as I watch them.

Molly looks so at ease here.

She looks like she’s done this a thousand times.

Her pants are streaked with dirt, and one of my mom’s old flannel shirts hangs loosely around her shoulders.

She’s got hay in her hair, too, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.

She’s . . . beautiful.

It’s stupid to think that, standing here watching her with chickens and eggs, but there it is.

She’s fucking gorgeous.

The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

I’m about to step in when Molly’s voice stops me.

“Growing up, I used to dream of doing stuff like this.” Her voice is practically a whisper, and I have to strain to hear it. “Not a farm, necessarily, but . . . stability.”

Mom doesn’t respond right away.

I want to jump in and rescue my girl from the pain that’s in her voice.

But I don’t. I let her continue with this moment with my mom.

“You didn’t have that growing up?” Mom finally asks.

Molly shakes her head. “Not really. After my parents died, it was . . .” She trails off. “It was rough. I worried about everything. Money, mostly. I didn’t care about being rich—I just wanted us to be okay, you know? I wanted to know that Dane would have food on the table and a roof over his head.”

Her words shock me. I never knew this about her. My chest tightens at her words.

Mom sets down her basket, turning to give Molly her full attention. “That must’ve been hard for a little girl to carry all that.”

“It was,” Molly admits. “But Dane did his best. He worked so hard to take care of me. And when he went pro, everything changed. For the first time, I wasn’t worried anymore. I wasn’t anxious about where the next meal would come from or whether the person I loved most in the world was okay.” She pauses. “That’s all I ever wanted. To know that the people I care about are safe and stable.”

I swallow hard.

God, my throat feels dry.

Molly isn’t just telling her story— she’s telling their story .

My parents’ story.

The one they never say out loud, but regardless, I know it.

And now here’s Molly, sitting in our barn, subtly trying to convince my mom that sometimes it’s okay to let someone help.

To let me help.

My chest feels tight. Maybe my mom will finally understand.

“That’s a beautiful way to look at it, Molly. But . . .” She hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “Sometimes pride gets in the way.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“That feels like admitting defeat.” My mom sighs.

Molly looks up at her. “It’s not defeat, though. It’s love.”

My mom stays quiet, listening. I want to walk in there and ask her what she’s thinking. Tell her I love her, and like Dane and Molly, I just want to help them, but I don’t.

“It was hard to let Dane help me,” Molly continues. “But I did because it meant something to him, too. It made him happy to take care of me. To give me the stability I didn’t have before.”

Mom nods slowly as if considering her words. “I suppose I never thought of it that way.”

Molly smiles again—small, hopeful. “You gave Hudson everything. A home, love and stability, and a family. You worked so hard to make sure he didn’t have to carry those same worries.” She pauses, her tone careful, like she’s testing the waters. “And now he has a chance to give that back. Not because he has to, but because he loves you. Because it means something to him.”

My breath catches.

Holy crap, Molly.

It’s like she knows exactly how to get through to my mom without pushing too hard or making her feel uncomfortable. She’s walking the fine line between honesty and persuasion, and I’ve never seen anything like it.

She’s remarkable.

Mom doesn’t respond right away.

Instead, she picks up the basket of eggs, her hands moving slowly, thoughtfully. “You’re wise for someone so young, Molly,” she says finally.

Molly shrugs, her smile turning wry. “I had to grow up fast. You learn a lot when you don’t have a safety net.”

Mom nods, and there’s a long moment of quiet between them.

I take that as my cue to step in before I start feeling like even more of an intruder. I push the barn door open a little wider, letting it creak loudly against the metal tracks. Both of them look up, startled.

“Well, isn’t this cozy.” I try to keep my voice light as I stroll in.

Molly rolls her eyes immediately, her guard snapping back into place. “Were you eavesdropping?”

“Me?” I feign innocence, grabbing a stray piece of hay and twirling it between my fingers. “Nah. I was just looking for you two. Thought you might’ve run off with the chickens.”

Mom gives me one of her disapproving looks. “Hudson, don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing,” I protest, flashing a grin. “I’m just saying, I didn’t expect to find you in here getting life lessons with the hens.”

Molly shoots me a look, her lips twitching like she’s fighting back a smile. “I’m sure you were just worried I’d make a better farmer than you.”

“Highly unlikely,” I retort. “But you keep telling yourself that, Hex.”

Mom gives us both a look that screams behave, but there’s a softness in her expression.

“I’ll take this inside,” Mom says, holding up the basket. “Dinner is in an hour, so don’t stay out here too long.”

“Got it, Mom.”

As soon as she leaves, the barn feels quieter, the air humming with something unspoken. Molly stands and dusts off her pants, avoiding my gaze.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say finally, my voice low.

She glances up at me, her expression unreadable. “Do what?”

I step closer, watching her carefully. “Whatever that was. With my mom. You didn’t have to say all that.”

Molly shrugs. “I wasn’t saying it for you.”

“Maybe not,” I admit, tilting my head. “But you meant it, didn’t you?”

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t have to.

Because I realize that Molly Sinclair—my little Hex, the woman who has spent years driving me insane—might just be the best damn thing to ever happen to me.