Hudson (The Billionaires of Whispers #2)

1. Lacy Jones

1

LACY JONES

M y back aches. Is that normal for a twenty-three-year-old woman?

“What’s wrong?” My mother’s voice is terse as she assesses me from where she sits in the living room. Perched up in her large, worn-out armchair, I’ve already fluffed her pillow, refreshed her water, and made sure she has her book and phone nearby.

“Nothing,” I tell her, my smile small and a little forced as I continue wiping down the kitchen counters and cleaning up from breakfast. I feel like I’m forgetting something as I run through the mental checklist in my mind over and over again. I need to triple-check Mom’s medication for today and make sure her phone is charged. The washing machine beeps, indicating the end of the cycle, so I also need to hang the laundry before I go. No time to stop, no time to slow down.

“You’ re tired, Lacy,” Mom says and I catch her still looking at me. She’s right. I’m exhausted. But I have a lot on my plate, and being exhausted during the day is my only antidote to trying to stave off the nightmares that come for me in the darkness. Sometimes it works, but most of the time, it doesn’t.

“Don’t worry about me,” I tell her, trying to placate her worry as I make my way over to where she sits in the living room. I grab the small blanket nearby and place it over her knee. As I do, I notice it getting a little threadbare, and I add another mental note to go to the cute homewares store in town and see if I can find another one for her.

“Stop your fussing. I’m doing well. I can walk around and get my own things,” she snaps at me, and I jolt upright at her bark.

“I just want to make sure you’re settled before I go to work,” I explain, for what feels like the hundredth time, while my eyes flick to her dwindling library book stash next to her. I frown, trying to remember what the opening hours are at the library, knowing I need to get there before she runs out of books this week.

“Honey, you need to relax. I’m more than capable.” Her voice changes to that low, caring octave she sometimes gives me. The one that makes me pause and swallow hard. She’s right. She is good. And while we are not out of the woods yet, this is the healthiest she’s been in years.

“I know.” I continue to fluff her blanket some more, needing to do something with my hands. Mom is capable. At the moment. Signs are good, but her health ebbs and flows. Sure, some days are better than others. Some weeks are great, others abysmal, but I’m all she has, and I need to take care of her. That’s why I can’t stop, I can’t slow down. I need to be on top of things, I can’t let anything slip.

“You work too hard looking after me. You work too hard at the distillery. You should be young and free and dating, meeting men, and living life,” she says whimsically, obviously reminiscing on her own past. I snort. Dating, what is that?

“I’m fine right where I am, Mom.” Most young people itch to leave the small towns they grew up in, but I feel content being home. Happier still because I landed the job of my dreams right here in Whispers, and I get to care for her in her times of need.

“Sure you are, but if you are not careful, honey, life will completely pass you by. You need to slow down, smell the roses.”

I look at her and sigh. She’s right, of course. Always is. But there is no one else here to manage things, and if I slow down, then I might forget something or make a mistake and with Mom’s health, I can’t afford to make that kind of mistake.

“How is work going at the distillery?” she asks, watching me carefully.

“It’s busy, but I love it.” My answer obviously appeases her because she smiles.

“You do, don’t you?” she asks, her tone one of relief. She looks good today. Lots of color in her cheeks and her eyes sparkle.

“I do. I mean, it’s everything I could ever want and everything that I’ve been aiming for,” I admit. “None of my friends from college have had the opportunities I have.” Never in my dreams did I think this job was remotely possible, especially here in our small town. But here I am, the marketing manager for Whiteman’s Whiskey, working on bringing the whiskey brand to life. I’m new to the role, so while the salary is good, it’s still a little bit tight some weeks. I have the two of us to look after. I have medical bills, home expenses, not to mention the basic living expenses like food and medicine. There is always something to be paid.

“I feel bad for bringing you back here. I still don’t know why you left college early to come home. That was your ticket out of here, and now I’ve pulled you away from that dream,” she says, a little melancholy. A shiver runs through me. College is almost a distant memory, which is where I want to keep it.

“It was easy to just do my final six months remotely from here. That way, I could be here with you and finish my degree at the same time.” I tell her the same story I always have. She doesn’t need to know anything different. “Besides, it’s turning out alright, Mom. You and me always, right?” I say our little slogan, and I see it eases her concerns. “We’re a team. Nothing but blue skies for us.” Feeling the need to instill some positivity into this conversation, I leave everything else buried, if for no other reason than to see her smile. There’s too much to unpack, and now isn’t the time. She needs to focus on healing, not on me.

“Speaking of jobs, I need to get going. I’m working with Connor on the next new release today. Bottle samples are supposed to arrive.” I find it hard to contain my excitement as I triple-check all her pills and vitamins to make sure they are in order for her to take today.

“Don’t forget, I have an appointment at the hospital this afternoon,” Mom says, and I pause midway between her and the laundry to sort it out before I go. I had forgotten about her appointment. My brow crumples, wondering how I forgot something like that. I’m usually on top of all her appointments. “Susan’s taking me,” she adds quickly.

“Susan?” I question. It makes sense. Susan Hamilton is one of Mom’s oldest friends and is always popping over to help, which has been a godsend for me, really. But I usually take Mom to all her medical appointments. I feel bad that I didn’t have today’s appointment written in my schedule, and even worse about the fact that it wasn’t on my radar at all. The familiar feeling of failure creeps up my spine, making my stomach curl.

“You need to stop trying to look after me all on your own. We have a good community here, and lots of friends. It’s just a checkup, and I’ll be saying goodbye to the doctor. I didn’t tell you because I thought it might give you a break,” she says, fixing her blanket with a proud smile on her face.

“Goodbye?” My brow furrows deeper as I wonder what else I have missed. Hell, where has my brain been at that I seem to be missing so much lately? I think briefly to my nightmare last night, knowing exactly where my mind now lives. The smell of gasoline is still one I can’t stomach.

“He is finally retiring. Going traveling before settling down in Florida, where his grandchildren are.” Mom saying the information only adds to my confusion. The washing machine beeps again, reminding me that I need to tend to it.

“What? When did that happen? Why didn’t I know…” I start to say, my chest feeling tight. Sure, he’s at retirement age, but I didn’t know he was leaving so soon. “What will happen with your care?” I ask, concerned, my body starting to tingle with panic. I need to speak to the doctor. I need to sort out Mom’s medical care moving forward. If we need to travel farther to appointments, then I’ll need to pencil that in, move things around in my work schedule.

“Lacy. With everything that’s going on at work for you, not to mention, you are working through your own things, I just didn’t need you to worry about me too.”

There goes my stomach. Feeling heavy like it’s weighing me down, yet simultaneously wanting to empty. I quickly look at the bathroom, like I might need to dash.

“I’m fine, Mom.” I feel like my words are on repeat as my shoulders tighten, and I try to tamp down my insides.

“I know. You’re doing so well with your therapy, and I’m so proud of you. But I’m okay too. Susan will take good care of me today. Besides, she was keen to see the hospital one last time before Hudson comes back. Apparently, he wants to make lots of changes once he is here,” Mom says, and just at the sound of his name, I’m on high alert, my heart back to racing.

“Hudson?” I ask cautiously. I feel like the dots are starting to connect in my brain. Hudson Hamilton is Susan’s son and a billionaire doctor from the city, a man who screams wealth, who grew up here, and is best friends with my boss. He is also the man who rescued me from certain death six months ago. Held me close and promised to keep me safe, and I believed him. Pity my panic attacks prove otherwise.

“Hudson is coming home. He’s going to run the hospital. Susan is so glad to have him and her grandson coming to live in Whispers, she is beside herself. It’s all she has been talking about for weeks.” Mom huffs with a small smile dancing on her lips, filling me in on the local gossip.

I swallow harshly. I knew my boss, Tanner Whiteman, was trying to get Hudson to come back to manage the hospital, and even though Tanner runs this town and is good friends with Hudson, I never thought he would accept the offer. Hudson lives in LA and is one of the country's best doctors. Having invented some unique medical testing equipment while he was in med school, he earned his billions from selling his prototype to the country’s larger medical company, and even though he could retire young and live a life floating around the Mediterranean, he doesn’t.

If Hudson is, in fact, coming back, our billionaire count in Whispers will rise again. Our little quiet patch of the country already has many, Hudson’s brother Huxley also living here part-time. I’m quiet for a beat. Shocked, really. I first met Hudson months ago when he came to Whispers to spend a few weeks at the hospital to try it out. I remember his eyes following me around the bar in town when I worked the night shift and whenever he would come past the distillery to see Tanner. We shared smiles, a few harmless flirtatious moments. They were brief, yet butterflies swirled every time he was near. But after the incident, he left pretty quickly. He sent me text messages almost every week for a month before they stopped—probably because I never responded. I was healing, both physically and mentally, and he’s a billionaire dad, who lives in LA, so far removed from my day-to-day that my dreams of being swept off my feet are well and truly just that. Dreams. I never thought I would ever see him again. I guess I was wrong.

“Lacy. Lacy?” Mom says, grabbing my attention, and I shake my head.

“Yes, Mom?” I ask, just as the washing machine beeps for a third time, making my shoulders inch upward to my ears.

“You need to get to work. You will be late, honey.”

With that, I shove Hudson to the back of my mind and run to the laundry, pulling out the wet clothes and throwing them into the dryer, the outside breeze not one I have time to utilize today before I quickly gather my things.

Mom is right. I’m busy. Busy with my new role, busy being her primary caretaker, busy trying to sort myself out, manage the house, manage our finances. It leaves little time for anything else.

Men and dating included.