33. Faith
Rough bark bit into my palms as I secured a firm foothold in the branching trunk of a tree and hoisted myself higher.
“Come on, slowpoke,” I called gleefully over my shoulder. “Last one up’s a rotten egg.”
Below me, a vaguely familiar voice retorted, “I was wondering what that reek was coming off you.”
“Hardy, har-har,” I shot back, glancing down briefly to see Hudson’s floppy dark hair gaining ground and catching up to me. Hurrying my tail into action, I scraped the side of my arm but kept going. No way was I losing this time.
I always lost to him. He could beat me in a foot race, in video games, even on tests at school. He was taller than me, smarter than me, three months older than me, and I swear my mom even liked him more than me. She smiled and gave him special attention—offering him cookies and shit—whenever he was over.
I had to beg and grovel and whine to get her to make me some damn cookies.
Determined to beat him at something, I reached the long, steady branch we always sat on a microsecond before he did and shouted out my victory, fisting my hands triumphantly.
“And Brett wins the battle,” I called, making sure all the neighbors could hear.
“Yeah, good job, man,” Hudson told me as he plopped onto the limb and closed his eyes, slumping back against the tree trunk and massaging his shoulder. He winced in pain and didn’t mention the fact that I’d cheated and distracted him to get a head start or that he’d been too lame to give me some honest competition.
The worn head hole of his thin, ratted shirt slipped enough to reveal the start of a deep purple bruise on his shoulder. Probably from his old man, again. I’d told him he needed to learn to duck faster.
If I were him, I’d start training at boxing right now. That way, I’d start to hit my dad back as soon as I turned, like, fourteen or fifteen. But my dad never struck out at me in a drunken rage. Never threw things for me to dodge. Never called me worthless or anything. Not like Hudson’s dad. My dad was boring.
But he had let me and Hud borrow the lawn mower again this year.
“So I’ve been asking around,” I started. “And I think we can get the Mercers and Bowmans to let us cut their grass.”
Hudson dropped his hand from his shoulder and opened his eyes. “Sweet. I talked to Old Lady Whitaker about her hedges, and she said she’d give us twenty to trim them.”
Excitement built inside me. “That’s great. If we can get maybe two or three more jobs, I bet we can actually afford the game by the time it comes out.”
Hudson nodded. “Yeah.” Except he didn’t sound as enthusiastic as he should have. We’d been dreaming about getting Grand Theft Auto V since we’d learned it was coming out. He should be ecstatic right now. But as he turned all thoughtful and started playing with a leaf hanging near his face, flicking at it idly with his finger, I noticed the dark splotches under his eyes.
His parents had probably been having more drug parties over at their place, keeping him awake all night again. I’d told him to just sneak over and climb in through my window when that happened, but I don’t think he liked to bother me.
Determined to distract him, I shimmied myself out to the farthest reaches of the limb and lifted my hands up to either side of me to keep my balance as I stood up.
“Hey, what the hell, man?” Hudson called out to me. “Watch it. You’re gonna fall.”
I glanced over my shoulder at him and grinned, feeling invincible because I’d finally beaten him up the tree. “Do you dare me?”
Hudson merely rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered sarcastically. “Break your neck. Please.”
I shrugged as if this would be nothing. But I’d show him. I’d make it to the other tree, and he’d know I wasn’t second to him, not even close.
Positive I’d make it, I jumped.
But my shoelaces snagged on a stupid tiny branch, taking away my momentum, and instead of flying, I started falling.
Falling, falling…
Until I jerked awake with a gasp.
Eyes flying open, I slammed a hand to my chest and breathed erratically as I stared up at the ceiling of my bedroom. My skin prickled, and nausea overwhelmed me. Trying to swallow it down, I twisted my head to the side to look over at the face resting on the pillow next to mine.
Hudson was still steeped deep in sleep, completely unaffected by any dreams. I blinked at him, almost shocked to see the twenty-one-year-old version of him. After dreaming about him as a gangly-legged ten-year-old with a baby face, the morning scruff on his jaw was bizarre.
I started to reach for it, unable to help myself and simply amazed that I was actually able to after wanting him for so long from afar. But dizziness swamped me, and my stomach turned. So I threw off the sheets, instead, and hurried from my bed to dart straight into the bathroom.
There, I fell onto my knees before the toilet and closed my eyes, equal parts willing the sensation to go away and hoping it would just come up already so I could get past this nausea.
As the seconds passed, where I neither puked nor started to feel better, Salem appeared at my side. Her fur brushed against my thigh, and I reached out blindly to stroke her, welcoming the company.
After I hovered there long enough for my knees to ache, I blew out a breath and opened my eyes. But whew. That had been nasty.
I wondered if Oaklynn had felt this shitty when she’d dreamed about Brett’s death. If she and I were opposites, probably not. The lucky bitch.
Still not feeling a hundred percent, I peered back into the bedroom where Hudson didn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects at all…if we even had shared the dream. I hoped not. I didn’t want him to relive that day ever again. I’d gladly take on all the nasty ramifications to keep him from that.
Feeling pretty sure I actually had, I blew out a relieved breath.
Except my knees shook uncontrollably while my nightshirt remained soaked with sweat.
Not wanting him to see me in this state, I peeled off my clothes and hurried into the shower. And as soon as the water turned hot, I stepped under the spray to lift my face to the pounding, wet pellets.
Okay, that helped. I sighed in relief, glad the urge to vomit had passed.
But the release opened my mind to memories of that dream, like the bruises I’d seen on Hudson, and Brett’s thoughts about them.
Hudson had told me that his dad had left, but he’d never mentioned getting hit. It made me wonder what else he’d gone through that he’d never mentioned—probably because he didn’t want to think about it.
He’d seen his best friend die. That had to have been traumatic enough, but I’m sure he felt some responsibility for it too. If I’d sarcastically told someone to do something, and then they’d died doing it, it’d haunt me until my dying day. But Hudson had shouldered that burden without complaint.
Tears streamed down my face. I hated knowing how much he’d suffered, what he’d had to live through. And yet it made me admire the person he’d become even more. He could’ve turned out so differently. But he’d straightened his life around, he’d put in the work, and he’d turned out so spectacularly amazing in my eyes.
The man was a freaking miracle.
When the shower curtain opened behind me, I closed my eyes and kept my back to him so he wouldn’t be able to see the tears.
Stepping close, right under the water with me, he murmured, “Morning,” just before wildly capable, wonderful hands swept around me, one arm banding my waist and the palm of his other landing on one of my breasts.
I groaned in sweet agony and sank back against his chest, letting him support most of my weight as my head fell back on his shoulder.
“Good morning,” I rasped, biting my lip and rolling my hips as his lower hand slipped down between my legs.
“I didn’t get to wake up beside you,” he rumbled in my ear.
Arching against him and pressing back to find him fully aroused, I groaned in need. “I guess I owe you one, then.”
A husky chuckle later, he said, “I’ll take it now,” and he nipped lightly at my ear lobe with his teeth just as a thick digit pushed inside me.
My knees turned to jelly, and I moaned, writhing against his hand with helpless abandon. Meanwhile, his other hand tortured my breasts, rolling a hardened nipple between its index finger and thumb as the insistent erection against my ass had me grinding back for more.
I reached up behind me and clutched his hair as my body tightened, already gearing up for an orgasm.
“Oh fuck,” I sobbed. “Oh fuck.”
“Yeah?” Hudson asked, sounding pleased with himself. He added another finger and found a new spot to hit that made me gasp and go taut. “Right there?”
“Yes…yes…Hudson.”
“Give it to me, darlin’,” he coaxed. “Show me that pretty climax of yours.”
I couldn’t have denied him if I wanted to. My body took over, and heated pressure rippled through me, then poured from my pussy and out the ends of my breasts, rippling down my thighs, and if I’d been wearing toenail polish, it would’ve blasted the color right off them.
I came long and hard, letting Hudson drain me dry until I finally collapsed against him, going slack and weak.
“Holy damn,” I panted, exhausted and empty in the best way.
Water continued to pour down on us, and it was starting to lose its warmth, so I turned it off and whirled to face Hudson for a kiss.
He looked all too ready to comply, even lifted his hands to cup my face, but the moment he looked into my eyes, he faltered and jerked his head back.
“What is this?” he asked in immediate concern. The hands cupping my cheeks worriedly tilted my face toward the light so he could see me better. “Your eyes are bloodshot. Were you crying when I came in?”
Ah, crap. I’d forgotten about that.
Being around Hudson could make me forget my own dang name, I swear.
Instead of answering him, I cupped his face right back and begged beseechingly, “Can you promise me something? Can you swear to me this isn’t a dream right now?”
His expression loosened and eyes softened, seeing all my vulnerability and uncertainty. Sympathy and understanding filled his gaze.
“Faith,” he whispered and then leaned in to merge his lips with mine.
I kissed him back desperately, smashing my wet, naked breasts up against his chest and gripping his hair. His tongue slid against mine and he looped an arm around my waist and picked me up, carrying me with him as he stepped from the tub.
Snagging a towel off the rack as he passed, he tossed it onto the vanity before sitting me down on top of the terrycloth, having the foresight and gallantry to cushion my tush from the cold, hard marble surface.
As he slotted himself between my thighs, I spread them wider, giving him more access. He took himself in hand and lined the swollen shaft up to my opening. Then he glanced up at my face. “Does this feel like a dream?” he asked as he slowly pushed into me.
The heavy pressure made me groan and tip my head back as I held onto the edge of the bathroom vanity for dear life. Hudson reached the hilt, then pulled out almost all the way, fast enough to make me gasp. And from there, he sank back in with slow, measured torture.
“Yes,” I groaned, relishing every creeping inch he gave me. “It really does. Feels like a goddamn dream come true.”
Hudson glanced at my face in surprise, clearly not expecting that answer. Then he shook his head slightly as if unsure what he was going to do with a charmer like me. “Jesus, Stalker,” he admitted, “you slay me.”
Done playing around, he gripped my ass, tucked his face into my shoulder, and commenced fucking me into oblivion.
* * *
“So I’m wafflingbetween chicken sausage frittatas or veggie breakfast tacos this morning,” Hudson announced as he hiked the Vans he’d just pulled on his foot up into a chair so he could tie the shoelaces. “What sounds better to you?”
On the opposite side of the room, I finished buttoning the blouse I’d decided to wear and smoothed my hands down the hips of my slacks to iron out any possible wrinkles. “You know, you really don’t have to cook for me every time you come over.”
Straightening to his full height, Hudson blinked at me as if I’d just insulted him. “Do you not like my food?”
My jaw came unhinged, and my mouth gaped as I blinked back at him. “Of course, I love your food,” I was finally able to muster. “But I’m starting to feel as if I’m only using you for your cooking abilities. I was just saying that so you wouldn’t feel obligated to…” As he stalked across the room toward me, looking very hot and predatory, I swallowed weakly, hoping to soon become his helpless prey. “Cook,” I finished breathlessly.
“Let me tell you something about my cooking,” he admitted as he slid an arm around my waist and pulled me snugly against him. “I only cook for the people I want to cook for.” Then he paused and lifted a finger. “And work.” But as soon as he said that, he winced, closing one eye. “And for classes. Okay…” He dropped the finger. “The point is I want to cook for you.”
I nodded. “Then I want to eat your food.”
“Sweet.” Pressing his forehead to mine, he kept his arms wrapped loosely around my waist and smiled into my eyes as he swayed us gently back and forth. Using a single finger to trace my hairline around my ear, he asked, “You have any finals today?”
“Nope.” Closing my eyes, I kept resting my brow against his and set a fisted hand on his chest, right over his heart. “I have one tomorrow and one on Friday and that’s it.”
“And I don’t have another until Friday.” Drawing in a deep breath, he lifted his gaze to mine and arched his eyebrows in question. “So, sex here all day?”
“Darlin’, you have yourself a deal.” Smiling up at him, I tore my brow from his so I could seek his mouth for a kiss.
He obliged readily, and we spent a few moments just pressing our mouths together, breathing each other in, and savoring the moment.
“God, I love you,” I sighed as soon as our lips parted for air, the words simply tumbling out of me.
When he looked at me in surprise, I froze before waving a dismissive hand to excuse my words. “Sorry. I’m sure that’s just my post-coital brain talking.”
He started to nod slowly. “O…kay. No worries.”
But then I blurted, “No, you know what? I don’t care if it’s just the after-sex glow. At this moment, that’s what I feel, so I had to say it.” Seeking his eyes hesitantly, I asked, “Is that okay?”
His gaze skimmed my face as if he might be a little overwhelmed, but then he nodded and gifted me with a soft smile. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s perfectly okay.” He lifted a couple of fingers to trace my face. “Do you…need me to say it back?”
I immediately shook my head. “No. No, this is perfect. Just like this.”
“Good.” His gaze fell to my lips, and he tilted my face to receive another kiss. But the moment he started to shift closer, he froze, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
As he pulled back, straightening, his gaze still attached to my mouth, I shook my head. “What?”
“What the fuck, Stalker?” he asked me, his voice quivering with terror as he swiped his thumb across my upper lip, directly under my nostrils.
I felt the wetness then and was initially flabbergasted that he’d wipe my nose for me with his bare hand. But then he pulled his arm away and looked down at his finger as if he’d never seen it before.
When I dropped my gaze as well, a cold, numb dread coated my entire body.
Because he hadn’t wiped snot from my nose. He’d wiped away blood.