Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
HUDSON
We’ve been back home for over three hours now.
Physically, I’ve been running around, cleaning after the girls, entertaining them, breaking up arguments, navigating Silvie’s mood, and prepping spaghetti.
Mentally? I have to force myself to be attentive and push away all thoughts about that wildflower angel whose scent won’t leave me.
I love my youngest, but damn it, she is relentless and doesn’t even know how much she’s contributing to her father’s torture. When Violet drove away last night, I determined to avoid her existence until her sunflower demeanor erases from my mind and body.
Sanford wasn’t even phased by my bad mood last night when I called to curse him out. The fucker was elated.
“Don’t you see? This is so much better,” he enthused. “Only you, Hudson, would ignore a pot of gold in front of you as you piss on the rainbow it’s attached to.”
“She’s young, Sanford. Really fucking young,” I growled.
“Like, underage, child-bride young?”
I hate this guy sometimes. “No. But twenty-two is still much younger than me,” I tried to reason. In truth, I wanted to drill that into my own head last night to justify my need not to give in to those thoughtful blue eyes that saw too much.
The rest of the conversation was a useless back and forth, where Sanford thinks bypassing Ever After Mountain Match could be a better option for the case. Not having time to keep arguing, I rushed him off and got back to my girls.
Now, I’m here, replaying every look, every smile, the small touches I couldn’t avoid, and the rush of static electricity that turned my body into live-wire buzzing.
The thing I can’t avoid is the memory of how she spoke to the girls.
How she smiled and engaged with them. She even handled Silvie like a pro.
My phone buzzes from the kitchen counter. It’s a quarter to seven. Why is Kristy calling? She never checks in on the girls when they’re with me.
“Yeah,” I answer, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear while I drain the fat from the cooked ground beef.
“Hello to you too,” Krista sasses.
She never gives a shit about how I answer. “What do you want?”
“For fuck’s sake, Viper, don’t I deserve some respect for popping out–”
“Don’t call me that again.” My voice is low and vibrates, my skin crawling with her having the audacity to use my old road name. “You know that’s not who I am anymore.”
Her heavy sigh is dramatic. “You’re so sensitive today. Are you on your period? Is this how you're acting with the girls?”
“Kristy, I’m in the middle of cooking for our daughters. What is this call about? You never call during my visits.”
She scoffs. “And this shit is why I fucking hate you sometimes. Is this the kind of shit you’re telling your bigwig lawyer to tell the judge? You’re not going to take them away from me, Hudson. Stop draining whatever money you hid from me all these years and give it up.”
Yeah. The first time she drove up to the finished house I built for my family, she lost her shit in the front yard.
Thankfully, I’m far from any neighbors. She demanded more money for child support.
My lawyer shut that request down real quick.
I used to send the girls separately an allowance, until Angie let slip that her mother was taking that too.
Now, I keep the money for them in piggy banks, each with their name on it, and they can spend it when they’re with me.
“Again, the purpose of this call was for?” I steer us away from the usual fight. Glancing at the oven time, I have ten minutes before Violet shows.
“Listen, I need you to keep the girls until Monday night,” Kristy says, with attitude, mind you.
I pause, equally happy to have them longer but also suspicious.
“Everything okay?” I ask. My gut tells me this might be some bullshit she’s pulling, but I try to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Kristy stays quiet for some time.
“I have something I have to do,” she finally says. “I’ll come by Monday after work.”
“I’m happy to have them longer. Not a problem,” I tell her, adding sauce to the meat and seasoning it more.
“I’ll call you when I’m on my way. Don’t call me earlier or harass my phone if I run late,” she warns.
My hand freezes from stirring. “And I repeat, is everything okay? If you’re not here by early evening, of course, I’m going to call. The girls will be worried too.”
Again, a heavy, dramatic sigh. “We’re not together anymore, Hud, so don’t go busting my balls. I’ll be out. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way. Leave it at that.”
“Fucking hell, Kristy,” I rasp low so the girls don’t hear.
“Are you involved in some shit? Because listen to me very carefully, if you come here to pick up the girls and I see the faintest hint of red in your eyes, or so much as a twitch, I will have you turn the fuck around and go home.
I‘ll end up driving the girls back home myself.”
“You know what, Hud? I’m sick and tired of you painting me as the incompetent villain! Who did the judge rule as their primary guardian? Me! That’s right. Your ass was deemed unfit and dangerous.”
“And whose fucking fault was that, Kristy? Huh?”
“Oh, don’t give me this shit again. You made your bed, and now you have to lie in it. You always pretended to be better than me. Well, guess what? You’re not, Viper,” she spits my old road name again in spite. “I’m thriving without you, and those girls are better off being far away from you.”
My jaw hurts from clenching it. My hand grips the wooden spoon so hard I hear the whine of the handle cracking. I know everything out of her mouth is utter bullshit, but my past mistakes still haunt me. I wish I were strong enough to have walked away way sooner than I did.
I won’t regret getting together with Kristy. I never will. Because that experience got me my three beautiful girls. If walking through that fire gets me them in the end, I’d burn over and over again.
“Be here Monday night. Bye.” I hang up, over her shit and needing to calm the hell down for the girls.
Knock knock.
For fuck’s sake. And for her. Violet Huxley.
“Shit.” I turn off the stove and move the meat sauce aside.
The pounding of tiny feet comes racing downstairs.
“Careful,” I call out as Lucy slides across the wood floor in her socks.
“She’s here, she’s here, she’s here!” she chants, skipping to the door. Thankfully, she has the good sense to hold the doorknob and look over her shoulder for me to give her permission.
“Confirm who’s at the door first. Always,” I remind her.
“Who is it?” she yells since she’s too little to reach the peephole. I should come up with some way she can see who’s outside.
“It’s Violet Huxley,” that sweet voice chimes through the paneled wood door.
“Now, Daddy?” Lucy asks.
I shake my head at my precocious little spitfire. “Go ahead, Baby Girl.”
Her smile is huge as she turns, gets up on her tiptoes to unlock the door, then pulls it open.
“You’re here!” Lucy gasps loudly. “Is that cookies?” she screams. The only decibel she knows right now.
A soft giggle escapes Violet. “These are classic chocolate chips with a hint of cinnamon.” She lowers the plate to show Lucy.
Angie squeezes between my body and the wall and smiles softly at them. “And that?” she points at the other thing.
Violet’s blue eyes meet mine and hold a second, though it could have been an eternity. With this woman, time seems to stop when she stares at me.
“I know you said not to bring anything. But, since Lucy mentioned you’d be making spaghetti, I made my famous garlic butter breads you can pull apart. And a salad.”
I exhale heavily, already getting to know something about this woman.
She lives to nurture, which means she’ll feed us and keep us all happy and full through the winters if she has her way.
I help her bring in the casserole dish that balances a big bowl of salad on top.
The weather is typical Pacific Northwest in winter, hazy, cold, and wet.
Any day now, we should get the first snow.
Silvie hovers at the edge of the stairway, assessing.
“Sweetheart, help set the table for dinner, please?” I ask.
She nods and gets straight to her task, giving my heart a slight ache.
So responsible. Almost as if she’s afraid to let the ball drop.
I hate that for my little girl. I want her to be carefree and a little reckless.
Adopt some of Lucy’s wild. Not all of it because dear God, I couldn’t handle two of Lucy.
I smile, just thinking about it.
Violet sets down the cookie tray but pauses, staring.
“What?” I ask, pulling back the foil from the casserole dish.
“You were smiling,” she breathes out.
“Pardon?” I ask, confused. “When?”
Her full peach lips quirk up in one corner. “Just now. You were thinking of something that had you smiling in a way I haven’t seen yet. It was stunning to see.”
I clear my throat, feeling heat flush my cheeks. “I was just thinking about a world where there are two Lucys in one household.” I look over my shoulder as Silvie sets down utensils over a napkin on one side, and Lucy’s right behind her, switching the order of everything.
Violet laughs, watching what I see. “I think a house would physically combust from that much energy.”
I chuckle, nodding. “Understatement.” The smell from the garlic bread hits me, and I groan. “Damn. Those look sinfully good.”
“Thank you. They are. Wait till you taste them. Perfect compliment to spaghetti, which smells incredible.” Violet leans over to smell the meat sauce. “Need help?” She points to the pasta that still needs to be poured into the sauce and stirred.
“I got it,” I tell her, coming around the counter and doing just that.
She doesn’t move, putting our bodies in close proximity. Her body heat is a physical wave that laps over my left side.
“Can I have a cookie?” Lucy runs in, asking.
“You’re about to eat, Luce. You know better,” I tell her.