Chapter 42
Hudson woke to the sound of running water. For one disorienting second, he didn’t know where he was.
A navy dress was folded over the back of the chair. Memory returned all at once.
Sarah.
He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t want to leave this room and turn any of it into memory. He’d done that once. He wouldn’t do it again.
He threw back the sheets and pulled on his boxers.
The room had a small machine on the counter by the window—one of those single-serve things with foil pods and a tray that didn’t quite sit level. He switched it on and watched the snow fall while the machine hissed and spat its way through two cups of something that was almost coffee.
He added three sugars to hers.
The bathroom door opened, and he forgot about coffee entirely.
Sarah stood barefoot wearing his shirt. The hem reached halfway down her thighs, the collar loose around her shoulders. She’d pushed the sleeves up to her elbows, and her hair was damp, darker at the ends where it touched her skin.
The bruises were still there, visible where his shirt was unbuttoned. So was his shirt. Somehow his brain couldn’t reconcile the two—the evidence of how close he’d come to losing her and the impossible fact that she was here.
He set his cup down.
Sarah smiled. “Morning.”
He crossed the room and kissed her. One hand found her jaw, the other sliding into her damp hair. She tasted of mint this morning, and the rest of him woke up fast.
Sarah smiled against his mouth, her hand sliding lower. “Well, good morning.”
“Coffee,” he said.
She kissed him back. “Probably wise. We have Cord to deal with today.”
He stayed there for another reluctant second, his mouth close to hers. With a sigh, he handed her the cup, their fingers brushing.
They sat against the headboard with their coffee, Sarah’s bare knee resting against his thigh beneath the sheet. Outside, snow had erased the edges of Aurora Cove.
Sarah took a sip and closed her eyes. “You remembered the sugar.”
“Yes.”
“Mm.” She looked at him over the rim of the cup. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Your breathing.”
His eyes snapped to hers.
“Sometimes it sounds like it’s harder than it should be.”
“That obvious?”
One shoulder lifted in a tiny shrug. “I’m a details girl.”
He thought he’d hidden it. Sarah had heard it regardless.
Fuck.
“That’s why I’m not in the Teams anymore,” he said at last.
Sarah waited.
Hudson stared into his coffee. “The operation where we lost Ben Taggart.” He exhaled a slow breath. “The charges went off during extraction. The blast wave collapsed part of the channel wall. I went under with half a ton of rock and silt.”
For an instant, the words dragged him back. The pressure. The absolute dark. Silt packed behind his teeth. His lungs screaming for air when there was none. And then the moment his body stopped listening to him and tried to breathe anyway.
He sipped his coffee, needing something to do.
“I aspirated enough water to do permanent damage. It left me with scarring on my lungs. Reduced capacity. Cold sensitivity.” He rubbed his knuckles against his chest. The clinical language came easily.
He’d had years to learn that part. “Most days you’d never know.
But if I push too hard or the temperature changes too fast, they remind me. ”
Sarah was very still.
“That’s what ended it. It wasn’t the firefight or Cord.” His throat worked around a sandy swallow. “It was my lungs. Medical discharge.”
“And you’ve been dealing with that ever since?”
“Yeah.”
Her expression softened. She set her cup on the nightstand. Then she took his from his hands and placed it beside hers.
She climbed onto his lap. Her knees settled on either side of his thighs, and her arms came around his shoulders. She didn’t tell him she was sorry. She just held him.
Hudson closed his eyes.
He’d told the story to exactly three people in his life. His commanding officer. A military psychiatrist. Owen.
And now Sarah.
For a long moment his hands stayed useless at his sides. Then one found the middle of her back. The other followed, and he stopped waiting for the moment she’d let go.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Neither of them moved. It buzzed again.
Sarah lifted her head from his shoulder. For one selfish second, Hudson wanted her to ignore it. The thought caught him off guard. He’d never been a man who asked anyone to choose him over the job. He’d spent most of his adult life making sure nobody had to.
Sarah slid off his lap. Her hand lingered against his chest before she reached for the phone. She looked at the screen and the softness of the last twelve hours bled away. Her spine straightened.
She lifted the phone to her ear. “Speak to me, Walter.”
Hudson was already out of bed.
Sarah listened, one hand pushing damp hair back from her face, while he pulled on his cargo pants. “When?” A pause. “Okay. Keep me updated. We’re on our way.”
She ended the call but stared at the screen for a moment, a faint line appearing between her brows. “Cord had a cardiac event overnight. He’s stable, but the hospital can’t manage the level of care he needs. They’re transferring him to Providence.”
Hudson’s mind shifted gears. “By air?”
“Ground. The weather’s ruled out an air transfer.”
He reached for a clean shirt. “Who’s riding with him?”
Sarah shot him a sideways look. “I’m guessing you have dibs.”
He nodded. “The Anchorage office can take custody at Providence.”
“Assuming cardiology gives him back.” Her mouth flattened into a tense line.
“How soon?”
“I don’t know yet.” She set the phone down and shrugged out of his shirt. She pulled on her underwear and bra, then reached for the navy dress. She stepped into it, drew it up, then turned her back to him.
The zipper waited at the base of her spine.
Hudson crossed the room. Last night he’d drawn it down with shaking hands. This morning he pulled it up and tried not to think about goodbye. His fingers paused at the nape of her neck where damp wisps curled against her skin.
Sarah pulled on her boots then turned and cupped his face. “I need to go home and change. I can’t walk into the hospital wearing last night’s clothes.”
Hudson glanced down at the dress. “You look fine.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I’m wearing last night’s clothes.”
“I noticed.”
Her mouth twitched and her smile hit him somewhere dangerously soft.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
Hudson covered one of her hands with his. “Okay.”
She kissed him, then reached for the door, her coat over her arm.
“Hudson?”
He looked up.
“Hospital.”
“I heard.”
She smiled. “Just making sure.”
Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
Hudson stood in the sudden quiet. His shirt lay on the bed where Sarah had left it. Her coffee sat half-finished on the nightstand. For one night, he’d had nothing to fix.
He’d only had Sarah.
And that had been everything.
He laced his boots and reached for his holster, the familiar weight settling against his body. His phone was already in his hand when he opened the door.