Beautiful Collide (Saints Of Redville #3)

Chapter 85

85

Hudson

Bad idea.

Fuck, that was a bad idea.

All I did was tug at the straps of my gear . . . No big deal, right?

Except it is a big deal because now, my wrist I’ve been trying to rest screams in protest.

It’s been a week, but I guess I’m still not healed.

If that weren’t bad enough, the cold air in this damn rink is brutal. It feels like I’m being stabbed.

“You okay?” Molly asks.

“Fine,” I lie.

While I know I should tell her the truth—that my wrist feels like someone poured acid on it—I don’t. I pretend I’m okay. Healing beautifully.

I’m full of shit.

Molly sits on the bench a few feet away, bundled in one of my hoodies.

She looks adorable as always, drinking a steaming hot cup of coffee.

As cute as she is, she’s a drill sergeant. She’s watching me like a hawk, her brows furrowed. She’s trying to pretend she’s not worried.

She’s a bad liar. I’m not.

“You sure about this?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with concern.

“Yeah,” I lie, pulling on my gloves. The motion sends a fresh wave of pain up my arm, but I grit my teeth and keep going. “Just need to see where I’m at.”

Molly doesn’t look convinced. “Hudson—”

“I’m fine. I need to do this.”

Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t argue.

She knows better than to try.

The moment I step onto the ice, I feel better.

This is my sanctuary.

When I’m here, everything fades away.

But today, even the ice can’t quiet my brain.

I grip my stick and push off.

The first few strides feel good. But when I try to stickhandle, my left arm refuses to cooperate.

The puck slips away, skittering toward the boards, and I curse under my breath.

“Fuck.”

“Take it easy,” Molly calls from the bench.

I ignore her, skating after the puck and gripping my stick tighter.

The motion sends a searing pain through my arm.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My grip falters, the stick slipping in my hands.

This isn’t just bad. This is fucked.

I keep going, though.

I refuse to admit defeat.

So instead, like the genius I am, I push through the pain.

Passes, shots, drills—I can’t do shit.

Everything hurts.

Everything sucks.

I can’t play.

My body is betraying me.

By the time I’ve circled the rink for the third time, my arm is throbbing, and sweat is dripping down my face despite the cold.

I glance toward where Molly stands now, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes meet mine. Wow! Even at our worst, she’s never looked at me like this.

I’m screwed.

Molly is about to rip me a new one for pushing my body too hard.

I skate toward her slowly.

Each move feels harder than the last.

My breath comes out in short, painful gasps.

When I reach the bench, I lean on my stick, trying to mask how my legs shake.

“Hudson,” she says softly, stepping closer. “You’re done.”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, even though we both know it’s a lie.

She shakes her head, her expression fierce. “No, you’re not. You’re hurt, and you’re pushing yourself too hard. Get off the ice.”

I want to argue and tell her I’m fine and need more time, but the words die on my tongue. She’s right. I know she’s right.

With a heavy sigh, I skate to the bench and sit down, pulling off my gloves and cradling my injured wrist.

Molly sits beside me, her eyes scanning my face like she’s trying to read my thoughts.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she says quietly. “You’re only going to make it worse.”

“I don’t have a choice,” I mutter, my voice bitter. “Practice starts in a week. If I can’t perform, I’m done.”

“Why are you pushing so hard? What’s going on? This is more than just about the team.”

My head dips down.

“Talk to me, Hudson.”

I let out a sigh. “It’s the farm.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m afraid they’re going to lose it. I need the money to help them.”

Her hand brushes against mine, tentative but steady. “We’ll figure it out,” she says. “Together.”

I glance at her, the sincerity in her eyes cutting through the fog of my frustration. I let myself believe her.

The next couple of days are hell.

Molly doesn’t let me push myself the way I want to, forcing me to slow down and focus on healing.

She sets up a makeshift rehab schedule, using every resource she can find online to help me work through the pain.

Molly is incredible. I don’t deserve her.

“You need to let the muscle rest,” she says, her tone firm as she wraps my arm in an ice pack for the third time today.

“I don’t have time to rest,” I snap, the frustration bubbling over.

She doesn’t flinch, her hands steady as she secures the ice pack in place. “You don’t have time not to. If you go back too soon and make it worse, you’ll be out for the whole season. Is that what you want?”

I grit my teeth, hating that she’s right. “No.”

“Then trust me,” she says, her voice softening. “We’ll get through this. You just have to let me help you.”

I don’t say anything, but I nod, the weight of her words settling over me.

Mornings start early with gentle stretches and mobility exercises that make me feel like an old man. Molly stays by my side through all of it, her patience endless even when I snap at her out of frustration.

“You’re doing great,” she says one morning, her voice calm as I struggle to lift a light dumbbell with my injured arm.

“Yeah, right,” I mutter, the pain sharp and unrelenting.

She kneels beside me, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think, Hudson. You just have to give yourself time.”

I glance at her, the softness in her eyes making my chest ache. She believes in me, even when I don’t.

By the third day, there’s a small glimmer of hope. My grip is steadier, the pain more manageable, and I can handle basic movements without feeling like my arm is being stabbed with a knife dipped in acid.

“You’re getting there,” Molly says as I practice stickhandling with a ball in the living room.

“Barely,” I mutter, but the words feel less bitter now.

She smiles, leaning against the wall. “You’re stubborn, but it’s working in your favor for once.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Don’t get used to it.”

Her laugh is soft, and for a moment, the tension between us fades.

That night, as we sit outside watching the stars, I find myself thinking about how much she’s done for me.

She didn’t have to stay or put up with my temper or my endless frustration.

But she’s here, fighting for me when I can’t fight for myself.

“I don’t deserve you,” I say quietly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

She glances at me, her brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

“All of this,” I say, gesturing vaguely. “I’m a mess, Molly. And you’re still here.”

She sighs, her gaze softening. “You’re not a mess, Hudson. You’re human. And I’m here because I want to be.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I can’t speak.

“Thank you,” I finally say, my voice sounding rougher than normal.

She smiles, her hand brushing against mine. “We’re a team, remember?”

I nod, my chest tightening with a feeling I’ve never felt before, something I’m not ready to name.