Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
HUDSON
Five Months Later
I never should’ve married Candace Harris.
I knew she was vain, self-centered, and egotistical from the moment I met her.
I think what I liked about it was that she didn’t try to hide.
I thought, if she could be exactly who she is out in the open, then there must not be any part of her she’d keep from me.
I thought if I could accept her as she was, I’d never be hit with surprise or betrayal.
I may not have necessarily liked my wife as a person, but at the very least, the marriage felt safe.
I didn’t think it was possible for her to hurt me.
Maybe because I didn’t really love her to begin with, and at first, she worshiped the ground I walked on, so if nothing else, I was comfortable.
Then, I found out she was fucking one of my players.
Candace is beautiful, and I leaned way too heavily on my attraction to her and what I thought was a blunt personality and ambitious mindset, when in reality, she’s arguably the most miserable human being I’ve ever met.
I married her way too quickly—on our third date, in fact.
I met her a few months before Ellie graduated high school, when she was invited for an open skate with the Westgate Women’s Team.
Candace had attended the practice to observe and tour the facility with Ellie, and we quite literally ran into each other in the hallway.
It was after Ellie committed to Westgate that I ran into Candace again at the rink and asked her on a date.
A few weeks later, both the Westgate teams had an exhibition tournament in Vegas, so Candace tagged along to watch Ellie play, and on the final night, while all the kids went out together, she and I found ourselves shit-faced and in a Little White Chapel.
After it was all said and done, we figured we’d just stay married.
We seemed to be hitting it off anyway. Our marriage was fine, but the chemistry fizzled out quickly, and living together wasn’t at all what I thought it’d be.
I suppose she must’ve felt the same, and that’s how she ended up inviting my goalie into our bed.
There was nothing—not her marriage and not her daughter—that could stop her from chasing validation, from feeling the slightest momentary relief from her insecurities.
I don’t even want to think about the psychological triggers that drive one to have an affair with their daughter’s boyfriend—in fact, I don’t want to think about Candace fucking Harris ever again.
Except, as I carry another box of Ellie’s things up the narrow staircase of my townhouse, Candace feels like the ghost I’ll never escape.
It’s not that I don’t want Ellie here. She’s soft and kind—easy to talk to.
Nothing at all like her mother. It’s just that…
she deserves better. Better than my house, better than my dingy spare bedroom.
She deserves better than her circumstances—her terrible mother and her awful ex-boyfriend and the father who had never been around to begin with.
She deserves better than the reality that brought her to my doorstep, and so while I don’t mind having her live here—I don’t mind it at all, honestly—I wish it wasn’t the case.
When I enter her bedroom at the top of the stairs, the afternoon sun is sitting outside the one window in the center of the room, casting all of it in golden light.
Somehow, the bland and dreary space where I housed a treadmill and a futon has been transformed into something that can only be described as cozy and tranquil.
Pastel pink bedding and matching curtains adorn the bed and the window.
The room smells like vanilla and warmth, with a desk set up and immaculately organized in the corner, nestled between ceiling-high bookshelves on either side, though they both remain bare.
I now wonder if the exceptionally heavy box in my hands might contain some of her books.
Natalia stands on a step-stool next to the closet, stringing tiny lights over it, and I make a mental note to avoid staring too harshly at her ass.
She has all the grace of the collegiate figure skater she is, and an athletic body type that would cause anyone to salivate—though I know it’s so fucking wrong of me to do so.
Then, there is Ellie. She’s delectable in a different way.
For all her timid shyness off the ice, when she’s skating, she’s a fucking menace, easily the top women’s goalie in our conference.
She’s strong and powerful—her body luscious and full.
While Natalia is sharp, striking lines of beauty—the kind that gives you goosebumps and makes it difficult to look away—Ellie is soft and radiant.
When she smiles at you, you feel it in your bones.
I feel it now as she lifts her head from where she sits on the floor unpacking boxes and flashes her teeth at me. “Thank you for bringing that up.”
“No problem, darlin’,” I say. “Is there anything else?”
“Nope.” She beams. “I really appreciate everything, Hudson.”
“Actually, you wanna grab us two Diet Cokes from the fridge?” Natalia peeks at me from over her shoulder, grinning.
“Didn’t realize I signed up to be your server,” I scoff playfully.
“Oh? But you’re such a good boy,” she croons, winking. “I’m sure you don’t mind.”
I don’t like the way my cock springs to life at the sultry tone in her voice or the suggestive look on her face, and by the mousey noise Ellie lets out, it makes her uncomfortable.
I huff, putting on a show of annoyance, but I know Nat has caught the heat in my stare, because the smile on her cheeks is utterly triumphant. I scowl before turning, leaving the room and heading straight toward the kitchen to grab the drinks like I was asked.
Natalia Ford has been a thorn in my side since I met her two years ago. She’s always around. Whether it be tagging along with Ellie on outings with her mother or constantly causing a ruckus around the rink, she’s never far outside of my periphery. Beautiful and deadly—a ruthless fucking temptation.
She’s a distraction to my players—primarily because she wants to be.
She’s a phenomenal skater and a fierce competitor. I know much of the extra ice time she attempts to steal from my guys is because of her own dedication to her sport, but she sure as fuck has no problem flirting them off the ice with the sway of her hips and the batting of her massive brown eyes.
The same fucking look she gave me just now, and here I am, doing whatever she wants like the rest of them.
I know Natalia is into me—she makes no notion to hide it. I can’t pretend I’m not attracted to her as well. She’s beautiful. I’m sure most people she encounters are attracted to her. The issue is the urge to act on that attraction, especially now that my proximity to her will increase tenfold.
She won’t be living here, but she might as well be. She and Ellie are all but attached at the hip, and the idea of both going to bed together right on the other side of my wall is a bit of a debilitating realization.
The blatant lust Natalia tosses in my direction is impossible to ignore—as is the way my chest flutters when I make Ellie smile, or the way I can feel her laugh vibrate in my bones each time I hear it.
I can’t make sense of this budding desire; it’s an unease I’ve never felt before, made only stronger by having them under my roof. Call me a fucking masochist, because despite them both being entirely off-limits, I have a feeling I won’t mind the proximity at all.