Chapter 18 MATTY
MATTY
Ablood-curdling scream tore me out of sleep like a gunshot through glass.
“What the fuck—?” I was halfway up, already reaching for Hudson, heart jackhammering.
But Hudson was faster. He was throwing the sheets back before my brain caught up.
“Ivy,” he said.
The second scream hit, sharper this time, terrified and raw.
I felt it down to my bones. I’d never heard anything like it before.
Had someone gotten into the house? I took off toward the door, but still disoriented from sleep, I stumbled. Hudson caught my arm and righted me.
“It’s okay. She’s fine.”
Fine? Was he still asleep? There was nothing fine about those screams that had now quietened only marginally to sobs.
“What the hell, Hudson? She sounds like she’s in pain.”
“Just nightmares. She gets them sometimes.”
That was a nightmare?
Sounded like her world was ending.
“I’ll go to her,” he said, voice softer now but still tight. “Not supposed to wake her up, but I’ll sit with her. I’m so sorry, Matt, that the noise woke you up.”
Before he could slip away, I caught him by the wrist and tugged him down for a quick kiss. His skin was warm. His hair a little mussed. His eyes still full of sleep and worry.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I whispered against his lips. “Go to her.”
He nodded, giving me the smallest smile, and padded out of the room in sweat pants and bare feet, disappearing down the hall.
I sat there, chest still heaving, the scream echoing faintly in my ears. Jesus. My heart. I rubbed my chest and groaned. I’d thought I would have to fight off an intruder to protect them.
I dropped back against the bed, my eyes burning from a lack of sleep.
We couldn’t have been asleep for long. After sex, we’d changed the sheets, showered together, then crashed into bed, tangled in each other, whispering about the past four years, trying to roll back the time and fill in the dots in each other’s lives.
Luckily, we’d dressed before bed, something we never had to do before.
Hell, sometimes we hadn’t even showered.
Just fucked and fell asleep, then woke up in the middle of the night to fuck some more.
But we had Ivy now. We had to be more careful, more thoughtful, more respectful of the space where she was being raised.
I didn’t hate the new rules.
It would just take some getting used to this new rhythm, this softer version of us, where Hudson wasn’t all mine anymore.
He was hers too.
And maybe, if I let myself believe it… they were both mine now.
I lay back against the pillows and listened to the distant sound of Hudson’s voice murmuring down the hall. Low. Gentle. Loving. I couldn’t stay in bed while he comforted Ivy. I felt useless.
I pushed off the mattress and walked out into the hallway, wearing Hudson’s clothes. Ivy’s door was ajar, a sliver of light from the nightlight glowing against the wood floor.
Hudson sat on the edge of her bed, his back curved protectively over her small frame. He wasn’t touching her, just sitting close, watching, waiting. She flailed her arms, tossed her head side to side. Sweat-darkened curls clung to her forehead.
“She’s okay,” he whispered without looking at me. “Just gotta let it pass and make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”
I hovered in the doorway, afraid to breathe too loudly. I’d never seen anything like it. Ivy’s cries weren’t like the usual kid fussing or even bad dreams. They were guttural. Shattering. Like something deep in her soul was tearing loose.
“Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head. “Keep the bed warm for me.”
“If you get tired and want me to take over, I’ll sit with her.”
“It usually doesn’t last more than fifteen minutes. I just hate seeing her like this.”
“I’ll be here when you need me.”
“Thanks, Matt. I appreciate you being here tonight more than you know.”
I lingered for a minute more, listening to Hudson murmuring low under his breath, a familiar song I recognized from earlier that day—one she’d made him sing to her during bath time.
Slowly, her flailing quieted. The sobs turned to sniffles.
Her tiny body curled inward, inching toward the safety of his presence without ever opening her eyes.
I stepped back, swallowing hard.
He was a better father than I gave him credit for.
The living room was a mess. The aftermath of a bomb that looked suspiciously like our past had exploded all over it. Clothes from the day, the box of papers, my shoes kicked off under the coffee table. It felt like a strange metaphor for how my heart looked inside.
I might not know how to take care of Ivy, but I could help out so he would have it easier in the morning. I cleaned up quietly, slowly. Piece by piece, I picked up Ivy’s toys, stacked books, and shoved the box lid aside from earlier.
Bitterness turned my stomach hard. My mother. She’d interfered in my relationship with Hudson. If she hadn’t threatened him…put doubts in his mind about us, how different could our lives have been?
Or maybe Hudson would still have chosen Heather because of Ivy, but I would never know.
She couldn’t get away with this. She had no right to interfere with my love life. Did Dad know what she’d done?
In the crease between the couch cushions, I found a long paper roll circled by a rubber band. It must have fallen out.
My stomach twisted. Hudson hadn’t shown that one to me earlier.
I plucked it out and straightened it, smoothing out the old, creased edges.
A marriage certificate.
I tugged off the band, frowning as I unrolled it fully. The names on it were familiar. Too familiar.
Hudson Philip Granger.
Heather Rosalie Martin.
I stared at the document, my heart thudding. The wedding date was a month after I returned to college. The urge to crush the reminder of how we’d ended into my fist was strong, but I didn’t because it was Hudson’s property, not mine.
I blinked. Once. Twice. Leaned in closer.
Hudson’s signature was there, dark and certain. But the line beneath it, the one meant for her, was empty.
No ink. Just a smooth, unbroken line.
Heather had never signed.
I tightened my fingers around the edge of the paper. She never signed the marriage license. How could she not have signed the marriage license?
What the fuck was going on?
I read it again as if the answer would change.
Hudson had signed.
She hadn’t.
The license in my hand was never certified by the county clerk’s office.
They were never married.
And yet, he let me believe they were.
My pulse kicked up again. My mind raced through every version of the story Hudson had ever told. Heather. The baby. The wedding. All of it.
Why did he refer to Heather as his wife?
I had the urge to confront, but I didn’t.
My phone lay on the coffee table where I’d left it before we tumbled into bed.
I had a text message from Dad asking if I was okay.
I swiped the message away, opened the camera, and snapped a photo of the marriage license.
Then I rolled it back up and placed it carefully in the box with the sham of a wedding ring, the bills of betrayal, and the clippings of a past that I would never have associated with Hudson.
Why hadn’t I spent time to learn more about him that summer? I’d been so caught up in my dick and how good it felt to come inside him to find out the things that mattered. How had I never asked about his family, but just lived in the moment?
No wonder he hadn’t taken me seriously. No wonder he’d thought all I wanted was to fuck him that summer. No wonder we’d fractured.
I’d built a summer of lust that was too fragile to withstand any pressure. One seed of doubt planted by my mother, and we’d cracked.
I inhaled deeply, and my chest felt tight.
If that marriage license was genuine, then Hudson wasn’t married at all. Why was he pretending that he was? Did he have more secrets he hadn’t told me?
I stared at the shadowy hallway, the only light coming from the cracked door to Ivy’s room. Hudson was still in there, still rocking her world steady again while mine was tipping sideways.
Didn’t he know?
I kept circling back to that question. Had he spent the last four years thinking he was married? Had she lied to him, made him believe she’d signed when she hadn’t? Or had he known all along and just… withheld the information?
I didn’t want to believe the second one. That marriage license was what had stood in our way for four years. If he knew he wasn’t married, would we have stayed away from each other for so long?
I pushed off the couch, walked in a daze, bare feet silent on the hardwood floor, and returned to Ivy’s room.
The door creaked slightly when I eased it open, and I paused, letting my eyes adjust to the low light.
Ivy was lying still now, tucked into her little pink blanket, her breathing steady and soft.
Her hand clutched the ear of her stuffed bear like she was afraid of losing it. But her face was peaceful, calm.
Hudson had slid to the floor, his back resting against the bed frame, long legs stretched out in front of him. His head tipped back, mouth slightly parted, fast asleep. There was something so defenseless about him like that. No bravado. No teasing. Just the man beneath it all. Tired. Tender. Human.
I crossed the room slowly and crouched beside him. “Hud,” I whispered, brushing my fingers lightly over his shoulder. “Baby, come on. She’s okay now. Let’s get you into bed.”
He blinked awake groggily, pupils dilated with sleep. “She’s okay?”
“Sleeping.”
His exhale was soft and full of relief. “Good… good.”
I helped him to his feet. He leaned on me heavily, warm and solid, and when we reached the door, he stopped, turned into me, and wrapped both arms around my waist.
“I’m so tired, Matt,” he mumbled against my neck. “Just hold me, okay? Don’t let me go. Please.”
My heart cracked at the sound of him like that, like a big kid who’d been brave all day and now needed to fall apart in someone’s arms. “I’ve got you,” I murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He nuzzled into my neck and kissed the skin there. “You feel safe,” he whispered.
“Good. You’re always safe here.”
We made it back to the bedroom, and I guided him down onto the bed. He curled toward me immediately, head on my chest, hand fisting the hem of my shirt like he needed something to anchor him.
He was asleep again within seconds.
But I wasn’t.
I lay there, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the unsigned line pressing on my chest like a lead blanket.
That single, smooth stretch of paper said everything and nothing at all.
He wasn’t married.
But he hadn’t told me.
He couldn’t know. I had to believe that because if I didn’t trust him, this thing between us—whatever it was trying to become again—would never survive.
Tomorrow. I’d get answers tomorrow.
But tonight… I held him. Because he needed it. And maybe I did too.