Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
DAISY
I blink away another hot tear. I walk back to the car after being turned away by yet another front desk associate who tells me I don’t have enough money to stay at their hotel.
The cold is settling into my bones now that the adrenaline’s wearing off, and all I have to show for it is a crumpled wad of cash in my pocket—forty-three stupid dollars.
Every room I find is at least a hundred. Some more. Some want deposits. Some don’t allow pets. Not that it matters. I can’t afford any of them. I can’t even afford a place to cry in private.
Pickles is curled up against my chest in his little carrier, whimpering like he knows I’m unraveling. I sit down on the curb in front of a 24-hour gas station, trying to steady my breathing, but everything’s closing in on me. The lights are too bright. The ground is too cold. And I’m too alone.
I stare at Hudson’s car parked a few feet away.
It still smells like him inside—like cedarwood and paint and clean laundry.
It feels like betrayal just thinking about curling up in the backseat, but what choice do I have?
I’ll sleep there tonight and figure everything else out tomorrow. Maybe I’ll call someone. Maybe I won’t.
I reach for the door handle—just about to climb in—when I freeze.
A familiar voice floats through the air, casual and too loud. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
No.
No, no, no, no.
I turn slowly, praying I’m wrong, praying it’s a hallucination born out of exhaustion and fear. But when I look up, it’s him. Mark.
He’s walking toward me like the mayor of this damn town. Same cocky smile. Same sharp eyes that always saw too much and understood too little.
I panic.
My heart launches itself into my throat. I stumble backward, but there’s nowhere to go. The gas station wall is behind me, and Hudson’s car is too far to make a run for it without being obvious.
Mark’s gaze narrows. “Daisy!”
I suck in a shaky breath and look around for an exit—any exit. A side alley. A crowd. A hole in the ground. But there’s nothing. Just concrete and bright lights and that feeling I thought I’d left behind for good—that bone-deep, paralyzing fear.
He’s still coming closer.
I press myself against the wall, trying to disappear. Pickles whimpers again, and I clamp my hand over the carrier.
Not here. Not now. Not him.
I feel like I’m underwater, my body frozen and my mind screaming at me to move. To fight. To run. But I’m stuck. Just like I always used to be with him—trapped in a moment where all the power was his.
Tears spring to my eyes, hot and humiliating. I don’t want to cry. Not in front of him. Not again.
But the tears come anyway. I don’t respond. I don’t breathe. I just stare, my heartbeat thudding like a war drum in my chest.
He stops a few feet away, hands in his pockets, casual, like we’re just two old friends bumping into each other. “Been looking for you,” he says, eyes flicking to Pickles, then back to me. “Didn’t think you’d be hiding out in the mountains.”
“How did you find me?” I ask, my voice coming out shaky but sharper than I mean.
He tilts his head like I’ve asked something silly. “Come on, Dais. You really think I wouldn’t keep tabs on you? I’ve had the tracker on your phone for months.”
My stomach turns. “What?”
He shrugs. “Don’t look at me like that. I needed to know you were safe.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You needed to control me.”
His jaw flexes, but his smile stays. “You always do this—turn everything into something it’s not. I just want to talk. I’ve changed.”
“No, Mark.” I take a step back, trying to breathe through the panic clawing at my chest. “We’re done. We’ve been done.”
He looks hurt, like I’ve just kicked a puppy, like he’s the one who’s been wronged. “I know I messed up. I know I wasn’t perfect. But that was the past. Let’s start over. Come home with me.”
I shake my head, the words bubbling out before I can stop them. “I had a black eye for two weeks the last time I went home with you.”
That stops him. The fake charm drops from his face, replaced by something darker. I don’t let it silence me this time.
“You told me it was my fault for ‘getting in the way.’ You said I made you angry, like that justified everything. You think I forgot that?” My voice cracks, but I don’t care. “You don’t get to act like none of it happened.”
His mouth opens, then closes. He glances around, as if someone might be watching.
“I said I’d be better,” he mutters, like it’s some kind of magic spell.
“You don’t get to decide that for me.” I’m trembling, but I don’t back down. “I don’t want better. I want gone. I want safe. I want nothing to do with you.”
He steps forward and I take another step to the side.
“Don’t,” I warn. “Don’t take another step.”
Pickles lets out a tiny growl from the carrier, and I swear that sound gives me the strength to stay standing.
“I’m not going with you,” I say. “Not now. Not ever.”
He takes a step closer. I can smell his cologne—same one as always. Too strong. Too familiar. “I know you, Daisy,” he says softly, like we’re sharing a secret. “You don’t have money. You don’t have a place to go. You’re not the type to sleep on a bench or live out of a car.”
I feel the words land one by one like bricks stacking on my chest.
“You’re scared,” he continues. “I get it. But you don’t have to be. Just come back. I’ve got the apartment, your stuff’s still there, I’ve got a job again. We can fix it.”
I swallow hard. My grip on Pickles’ carrier tightens until my knuckles burn.
He’s right. I am scared. I have nowhere to sleep tonight. I can already feel the cold pressing in as the sun sinks lower behind the mountains. The idea of being alone out here—of not knowing what comes next—is terrifying.
But the idea of going back with him ?
That’s a different kind of fear.
A deeper kind.
“I can see it in your face,” Mark says, his tone smug now, like he’s already won. “You’re thinking about it. You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
He’s not wrong. And that’s what terrifies me most—that there’s a part of me that is considering it. Because I’m tired. Because I’m desperate. Because I don’t know where else to go.
But another part of me—louder now than ever—is screaming don’t you dare.
I look at him, really look at him. The smirk. The arrogance. The way he’s so sure I’ll cave.
And maybe a week ago, I would’ve.
But I think of Hudson. Of his studio. Of the way he looked at me like I mattered. The way he listened . The way he never made me feel small.
“I’m not going with you,” I say, voice shaking but steady.
Mark’s face darkens. “Don’t be stupid, Daisy.”
“I’d rather sleep in a ditch than let you control me again.”
Silence stretches between us. The wind picks up, rustling the leaves, making my eyes water. Mark’s jaw ticks. I don’t know what he’ll do. I don’t know if he’ll yell or grab me or walk away. I just know I have to hold my ground.
Then I hear footsteps.
Boots, steady and sure, crunching across the gravel behind me.
I turn—and there he is.
Hudson .
His eyes go straight to me, scanning my face, reading the fear I’ve been trying so hard to swallow. Then he shifts to Mark, his body going rigid, his jaw tightening like stone.
“Is there a problem?” he asks, voice low and even, but it slices through the air like a blade.
Mark straightens, puffing up like he always does when he feels threatened. “Who the hell are you?”
Hudson doesn’t hesitate. “I’m her husband.”
The word crashes over me.
Husband.
My mouth opens slightly, and I look up at him. He doesn’t even glance at me. His gaze is locked on Mark, protective and unyielding.
Husband?
Does he mean it?
Mark scoffs. “Her what? Nah. No way. She’s my girlfriend. She’s just confused. Whatever she told you, she’s?—”
“She’s nothing to you,” Hudson snaps, cutting him off.
Mark takes a step forward, puffing his chest like he’s about to swing. “You think you can just show up and?—”
Hudson raises a hand, calmly, like he’s not even flustered. “You have until the count of three to turn around and get off this mountain.”
Mark laughs. “Or what?”
Hudson doesn’t flinch. “One.”
Mark’s eyes narrow.
“Two.”
I hold my breath.
Mark throws a punch.
It’s wild. Sloppy. Fueled by nothing but rage.
It misses.
And before I can blink, Hudson’s fist connects with Mark’s jaw.
The sound is sickening. Clean. Final.
Mark’s body is slumped in the dirt. Hudson standing over him like some avenging mountain god. And me—shaking, heart-sore, still trying to make sense of it all.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But… thank you. For showing up. But how did you find me?”
He nods, then hesitates. “The guy at the front desk—Caleb—he’s someone I’ve known for over a decade,” he says.
“We used to hunt elk together, back when I had more time. He recognized my car and called me when he saw it parked outside. Said a girl left it there, looked upset. Figured something was off.”
I glance down at my feet, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “So… he ratted me out.”
“Daisy, you stole my car.”
I wince. “Okay. Yeah. That’s fair.”
A silence stretches between us, but it’s not quite comfortable.
“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” he asks gently. “Mark. The ex.”
I look up. My chest tightens.
“Because it’s hard to talk about,” I say. “And I didn’t want you to see me as weak. I didn’t want to ruin anything by dragging that mess into your life.”
He takes a step closer. “You’re not weak. Not even close. But… if we’re going to build anything, Daisy, I need to know what’s real. All of it.”
I nod slowly. “Okay. Then why didn’t you tell me you weren’t the one who signed up for a mail order bride? Or even signed the contract? No wonder you had no idea what I was talking about with the rules.”
His face shifts, almost like he forgot for a second. Then he sighs, shoving a hand through his hair.
“I should’ve. I wanted to. But you showed up so bright and sweet and... I didn’t want to scare you off either. I figured it didn’t matter because once I saw you, I knew we were meant to be. But I was wrong about not being truthful with you from the start.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So we’re both full of secrets.”
“Seems like it.”
We stand there, looking at each other, stripped of the stories we’d been hiding. A breeze picks up and carries the scent of pine between us.
“Maybe we’re even now,” I say, offering him the tiniest of smiles.
He smiles back, a little crooked, a little cautious. “Even.”
I take a breath. “If we’re actually going to do this—this crazy, impulsive marriage—we can’t keep lying. We need to be transparent. Even when it’s messy. Even when it hurts.”
He nods. “Agreed.”
Another beat passes. Then, softer, he asks, “Do I need to worry about Mark coming back?”
“Not after that punch,” I murmur.
We both glance at Mark knocked out cold on the ground.
It truly feels like my new life starts now.