Chapter 6
Liv
Hudson was gawking at me, his brows pinched together. I knew that look, remembered it from the day we broke up. Distrustful, angry, defensive.
He crossed his arms, his thick forearms pressing against the tight fit of his shirt, and my eyes strayed to them, fascinated by how muscular he was now.
He’d always been fit, but in a tall, lanky way I’d adored.
But now…now he was sexy, especially with that damn cowboy hat he wore.
It hurt to look at him, ached in my chest where the ache had nestled for years, letting me grow accustomed to it and only rearing its ugly head in certain moments. Like this one.
I turned from him, hating the judgment in his eyes.
“What happened to you, Olivia?” he asked, causing my step to falter.
I left you, and it still hurts. “Nothing. I’m the same as I’ve always been.”
A snort proceeded, “Like hell. You’ve turned into your father.”
I inhaled. The words were like a slap with more force than I imagined he knew since he only knew of my father on a surface level—the greed, the absence, the coldness.
I’d never told him the full truth. Nothing of the physical abuse to Gabe or the verbal to me.
The disparaging comments, the blatant favoritism, the sexism.
Hudson had been my island. A safe place where none of that existed, and even after my mother’s death, I had continued to leave the chaos from that peace. Returning to him every semester and leaving everything else behind until I no longer could.
“I suppose I am,” I said, heading toward the horse. I mounted her and settled myself in the saddle. “Let’s go back so we can review the numbers.”
This weekend can end, and I can return to burying my feelings for you in wine and meaningless hook-ups.
“Not until we eat and get you some clothes. And did you just get on that horse yourself?”
“I…” I looked down, only then realizing I had without even thinking.
It had been so natural that I hadn’t noticed.
My dress had bunched up at my thighs, and Hudson’s sight flicked to them, his jaw tensing as something akin to hunger flashed in his eyes.
I did a double-take, thinking I must have read him wrong, but his expression shifted to that grimace he’d worn since he’d first seen me.
“Just like riding a bike,” he muttered. “You get your own horse the next time we go out.”
He climbed behind me, and I looked over my shoulder at him, almost struck mute by how his irises were like rich milk chocolate.
“What are you doing? I asked, scooting forward.
“Move any further and you’ll be sitting on that saddle horn, and I can’t imagine that’s comfortable. Although with as icy as you are, it might be the only pleasure you get.”
I tried to twist around, but he planted his hand on my waist and reached around me with the other to grab the reins.
“That’s gross, and I get plenty of pleasure, asshole.”
He froze, the hand on my waist tightening. After a gravely clearing of his throat, he asked, “Boyfriend?”
He signaled for the horse to move, and my body swayed, moving with his too comfortably.
“No, I don’t do attachments.” Not that I’d been able to. Not after Hudson. Of course, I’d never found anyone who did what Hudson did to me, so none of them were worth keeping or giving up on my revenge. I had sacrificed the only love I’d had for that revenge. “Unlike you,” I added with a sneer.
A rumble like a growl came from him, and he lowered his hand to my hip. The contact was killing me.
“Was I supposed to remain faithful to a woman who told me to get lost after giving her four years of my life?” His words held a bitterness that scraped at my skin.
“Well, of course not, but—”
“But what, Olivia? I shouldn’t have tried to find happiness. To find another you?” My pulse thundered, and I held onto the saddle for fear of falling. “As impossible as that was,” he mumbled.
I peered back at him, but he wouldn’t look at me.
“Do you know why I wanted to take you to the mountains that day?” he asked.
The wind blew a strand of hair into my mouth, and I picked it out, keeping my eyes on the pasture ahead of us. It really was beautiful land. If only he’d realized he’d bought next to a den of vipers.
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” I said, wishing we could talk about anything but the day that had left me empty and had destroyed him.
“I bought a ring.” The air clawed through my lungs with a wheezing sound. “Had it all planned. I’d take you to the lookout point and propose. Follow through on what we’d talked about for years. But you picked a fight, a stupid fight, by the way, and ruined it all.”
Pressure sat behind my eyes. I heard my father’s voice chastising me when I fell and scraped my knee as a child.
Telling me I was a weak little girl and that a boy would never cry.
So I’d sucked my tears back, wiping the free ones until they’d never fallen again, even when my mother had died.
Even when I’d walked away from Hudson. Because if men didn’t cry, then neither did I.
“I didn’t know that,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. Knowing compounded the pain. Maybe it was for the best. If I’d known, it would have made it harder.
“So don’t scold me for dating other women.”
“Nine months isn’t just dating.” God, what was wrong with me?
“Should I have kept it to countless one-night stands like you?” he snapped.
Was that jealousy I heard in his voice? The same that had coated my words?
“I haven’t slept with countless men,” I argued. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“No? Maybe it is my business—certainly more than it’s yours to judge me. I wasn’t the one who left. It took me six years to convince myself that you weren’t coming back. That I needed to move on. So don’t you dare judge me for doing that.”
I winced, his words like a strike of electricity against my skin.
I didn’t tell him it had taken me seven before I’d even considered another man.
Even then it had been nothing more than a night of pleasure, never anything that had meaning.
Maybe it should have made me feel better that he had waited almost as long, but it didn’t.
Instead, it hurt to hear that he had suffered for that long, holding out for me to come back when I had only ever imagined that he would never take me back.
“What are we doing?” I asked, wishing this would end and I could return to New York, pretending he no longer thought of me and picturing him with a beautiful wife and kids.
“Venting,” he replied. “I’ve got over a decade of it bottled up.”
“Great. Add this weekend to my list of worst experiences.”
“Gladly. You’re at the top of mine.”
The energy depleted from my body, and I sagged against him.
“It wasn’t all bad,” I whispered.
His body tensed, his hand sliding from my thigh where I hadn’t noticed it falling and encasing my hip again. I closed my eyes, remembering what his touch felt like.
“No, it wasn’t. Not until that day.”
I didn’t dare look back, too stunned by his words to move.
He shifted his hands, our bodies swaying in rhythm just as they had always fit perfectly together. Silence encompassed the rest of the ride until the barn came into sight, standing tall against the backdrop of mountains and clouds that loomed in the distance.
“Go inside and wash up while I take Honey in and get her settled.”
Another command. They’d been nonstop since he set eyes on me, his voice rougher and deeper than it had been when we were young. More authoritative.
I scooted down, his rough hand reaching to help me. It didn’t stop my dress from riding up, but he didn’t make a single remark. As he rode into the stall, the name of the horse hit me. Honey.
I took a step back, remembering the first time that word took on meaning.
You taste sweet as honey, so that’s what I’m going to call you, Olivia. Honey. And every time you hear me say it, you’re gonna know I’m thinking of sinking my tongue into this sweetness.
A shiver slithered up my body, reminiscent of his touch as I remembered his words. Had he named the horse with intent, or had he forgotten how that nickname had made my pulse race? How the only time he ever called me that was when he was ready to devour me.
I watched as he rode away, his back muscles straining against his shirt, his hat tipped against the sun.
Warmth gathered in my core, and I turned quickly, rushing to the house.
Once inside, I steadied myself on the door, hating my brother for forcing this on me and wanting desperately to be home, to drown the memories and emotions in a glass of wine like I always had. Like Gabe had for years in his scotch.
I wondered if it had really worked for him or if the memories had continued to push behind the numbness, too strong to subdue.
After removing Hudson’s coat and trying to ignore how his scent clung to it, I pulled the boots off, throwing them in the corner and hating that they belonged to another woman.
A woman Hudson had touched and loved like he once had me.
Pressure built in my chest, and I squeezed my eyes tight. I would not let this break me.
I shoved my heels on and tromped to the back of the kitchen, finding a half bath with no sign of a female’s touch. Like the kitchen, it was understated in neutral tones but stylish. Very Hudson. No flowers and fluff.
I washed my hands, then smoothed them over my hair, appalled that I looked as if I’d walked from my suite to the office on a windy day.
Letting out an irritated huff, I left the bathroom just as Hudson came into the house, knocking his boots against the door.
He hung his hat on the hook next to the door and ran his hand through his thick hair, mussing it more.
“Let’s go,” he said, stomping to the sink and washing up.
“I need to grab my coat.”
He peered over at me, frowning. “What’s wrong with mine?” Grabbing a towel, he looked around the island at my feet. “And where are the damn boots?”
“I’m not wearing that thing out, and I’m not wearing those things in public.”
“You’re a pain in the ass,” he grumbled.