4. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Finnley
Six Months Ago
It’s dark in the room when I open my eyes to the sound of a muffled voice. When I roll over and look at the clock, I realize it’s just after two a.m.
After bringing Paige home from the hospital this afternoon, Hudson was exhausted. He’s been a nervous wreck the last two days. Not that I can blame him. Having your six-year-old daughter collapse at school and be rushed to the hospital, only to be diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes would be scary for any parent.
It had taken some major convincing on my part to get him to lay down and take a nap when we’d finally arrived back at his condo. And after he’d settled Paige into her bed to rest, he’d ended up falling asleep on the couch watching a soccer match. Chances are, that nap is the reason he’s up now.
Settling back on my pillows, I try to fall back asleep, but the longer I lay there, the louder Hudson’s voice gets. He’s not yelling, but he’s normally so levelheaded that it has me sitting up in the dark, straining to hear who he could be talking to. I have a pretty good idea, and it has me gritting my teeth .
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and shove them into the sweatpants I discarded when I climbed into bed hours ago. Crossing the room and cracking open the door, I step out and pad past Paige’s room. There’s a small lamp in the corner, illuminating the room with dim light, and I see she’s still tucked in tight, her face relaxed in sleep.
Continuing down the hallway, it’s quiet, but I can see the glow of Christmas lights from the living room spilling across the end of the hall. It’s then that I hear Hudson sigh. When he comes into view, I see he's sitting on the couch, with knees wide and elbows propped against them, and his phone pressed to his ear.
He must have gone to bed at some point because he’s changed out of the clothes he had on all day and swapped them for a pair of sweatpants. His chest and feet are bare. The Christmas tree is still lit in the corner, casting a glow over the room and bathing him in a golden light. It’s a strange contrast to the tension I can feel in the room.
“It’s the middle of the night, Tristen,” he says, raking a hand through his hair and settling back against the couch. Nothing gets under Hudson’s skin quite like his ex-wife. He’s quiet while she speaks on the other end of the phone.
“She’s sleeping .” He pauses and lets out another sigh. “Maybe if you made more of an effort to remember what time zone your daughter resides in, you’d know that.” His tone is snippy, but I can’t blame him. He's been trying to reach Tristen for two days with no luck. “No. I’m not waking her up. You can call back in the morning.”
As he explains Paige’s diagnosis to her, I stay in the shadow of the hallway. Not because I’m hiding, or because Hudson would be at all upset that I’m listening—he’ll likely tell me about the conversation in the morning, anyway—but because I suddenly can't seem to swallow over the lump in my throat as tears prick my eyes.
He sounds so tired, so worn down. I hate that for him. And I hate that Tristen is once again making something about her. He’s been holding it together pretty well so far, but I can tell the careful facade he’s constructed to keep Paige calm is starting to crumble.
I know the kind of man my best friend is. He’s funny, kind, and warm; he would literally give anyone the shirt off his back. He’s a hard worker, a fantastic dad, and despite his ex-wife leaving him, he was a great husband. I should know, he is a stark contrast to my own jerk of an ex-husband. Plus, I’ve known him half my life. If anyone is a good judge of his character, it’s me.
Hudson would have done anything for Tristen. And I do mean anything . Even selling his bar, uprooting their daughter, and moving to France for her so that she could pursue her dream to dance.
I’m the only one he told that he was willing to follow her. I’m the only one in his life that knows she turned him down. In the end, she said she wasn't in love with him and had maybe never been. The way I see it, he was a convenience to her, and after she got pregnant, their life together had become a burden. So, she left. The bitch.
That was almost three years ago. The fact that he hasn’t been able to reach her to tell her about Paige isn’t an isolated event. She’s bailed on Paige multiple times since their divorce, between promising to call and never following through, and planning trips to see her, but canceling last minute. Her disregard for time or her daughter’s personal needs is just the tip of the iceberg where Tristen Moorehouse is concerned.
“It’s always something though, isn’t it?” His voice rises a little with his words. “I’ve been trying to reach you for almost three days. She was really sick, Tris. Like scary fucking sick.” His voice cracks a little on the last sentence, and I can tell he’s close to losing it. He’ll never let her see it, though. She’s already done too much damage .
She says something, and I can see his jaw clench. He rubs his forehead like he might have a headache.
“Really, Tristen? Of course, I was paying attention,” he says, his tone turning defensive. “I couldn’t have known. It just happened.”
I can just hear her now, blaming Hudson for something he has no control over. I’d love to get this woman alone in a dark alley.
What he’s saying is true. Her symptoms were nonexistent, until they weren’t. It was nothing like mine when I was younger; I didn’t see any signs with her. I would have said something otherwise. We’d already spent a week together and everything seemed normal. Until it wasn’t. That is the thing with diabetes: if you’ve seen one person with it, you’ve seen one person with it. It doesn’t always manifest in the same way twice.
“That’s great coming from you, Tristen. You haven’t seen her in two years.”
He lets out a huff as she says something else.
“Your parents are more than welcome to see her. I’ve never kept her from them, you know that.”
More silence as Tristen speaks.
“Yes, I’ll be working, but Jameson is here. It’s not like they can't stop by. If your parents want to see her, all they have to do is contact me.”
Another long sigh. “Just because our daughter is sick doesn’t mean shit stops needing my attention. I have a business I’m trying to run, in case you forgot about that, too. And yes, she’s here for the week, and then we’re flying back home for Christmas.”
Another pause, and then, “Tristen, I’m not doing this with you.”
Suddenly, he pulls the phone away from his ear and I can see that she’s hung up on him. He sighs and tosses the phone onto the coffee table, before scrubbing a hand over his face and flopping back against the couch.
“Goddamn,” he says, angrily.
“Are you all right?” I ask .
He starts and looks up at me as I come into the living area. “Hey,” he says and nods. “Just Tristen being Tristen. You know, the usual.”
I nod and step over his feet to sit next to him on the other side of the couch. Pulling a blanket off the back, I drape it over our legs and turn my head to look at him.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask, setting my hand on his knee and giving him a reassuring squeeze.
He shakes his head as he stares at the lights of the Christmas tree. Just beyond that, I can see that it’s started snowing through the glass door to the balcony.
He takes my hand and drops his head back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s always been so fucking easy for her to blame me. For everything.”
I squeeze his hand and then rest my cheek against his bare shoulder. “I know.”
“Everything is always about her. I never wanted her to give up dancing. I never once told her she couldn’t see Paige. But every time I talk to that woman, she somehow makes me feel like shit; like it’s my fault she isn't with her daughter.”
“I know that, too.” How can someone just walk away from their kid? It’s not like she’s mentally unstable, or physically incapable of caring for her daughter. She’s just selfish. It’s completely fucked.
“And now, she’s pissed at me because I won’t wake her? She just spent two days in the hospital, and all Tristen can think about is how inconvenient it is to call back tomorrow.”
I watch as his chest rises and falls. I hate that he’s hurting, but all I can do is listen. I don’t know how to make things easier for him. I wish I did.
“Do you want me to whack her?” I ask and he chuckles, a little smile tipping up one corner of his mouth .
“Nah. You’d be a shit assassin, babe. You’d probably trip and shoot yourself in the foot or something.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “That’s fair.”
His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks again. “How do I do this? How do I be everything she needs? Especially now.” He lifts his head and turns it to look at me. His eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with red. The sadness there crushes me, and I can't imagine who in their right mind could ever leave this man. I’ll never understand it.
“You already are everything she needs,” I tell him. “You’ve been doing it her whole life.”
“I’m not, though. She needs a mother.”
“Listen, I know you loved Tristen. I do. And forgive me if this hurts you, but she’s never been much of a mother to that little girl.”
He sighs and nods. “Nope. And logically, I know Paige’s better off without the disappointment of that, but I just don’t know how to be everything for her.”
“Hey,” I say, and I tilt my head up to look at him. “That little girl adores you.”
“I know.” He swallows like the words cause him physical pain, and he goes back to looking up into the darkness. “I know she does. I just wish her mom could see how amazing she is.”
I nudge him with my body lightly. “I know I don’t have the best role model, but you’re an amazing dad, Huddy. The best I know. And Paige has other people in her life that know how amazing she is. Me, your parents, and her aunts and uncles. She’s going to be fine.”
“Thanks, Jameson.” He lifts his arm and pulls me to his side, planting a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
Butterflies take flight in my stomach when my hand finds the bare skin of his torso, and it’s such a strange feeling. It’s been happening a lot lately. More than I care to admit. I can’t be having feelings for my best friend. I’d chalk it up to the emotional couple of days we’ve had, but that would be a lie.
Lately, whenever I see his name light up my phone, or when he cracks a joke laced with just the slightest bit of innuendo, it feels different. I could seriously hurt Wrenley for putting the idea of us being together in my mind. I’m kidding. Sort of.
When she found out Hudson and I were thinking of opening a B I know he’s over Tristen. But he’s hurting for Paige, and that’s something I can’t fully understand, having never been a parent.
I’ve been trying to tell myself that being this close to him, being all domestic and shit, is just a side effect of the emotional turmoil of the last few days. It has to be. Sure, post-divorce, things are different. We talk on the phone every day and text throughout. All we’ve ever been is friends, but I can't deny that it feels really good being in his arms. And that worries me. He’s all I have. So, we can never be more.
“We should probably try to get some sleep,” I say, but neither of us makes a move to stand up. When he doesn’t answer, I lift my head from his shoulder to look at him.
His eyes take a slow path over my body, his gaze heavy on me like a physical presence. It’s not sexual. It just… is.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Am I failing her?” he asks, looking at me. “Paige, I mean. I feel like such a failure,” he whispers.
“You’re not a failure. This all would have happened either way. You can’t blame yourself.” I reach up to brush a piece of hair from his forehead. “You’re doing the best you can.”
“Maybe my best isn’t good enough,” he murmurs. “What if something happens again, and I can’t fix it?”
I give his side a little squeeze. This isn’t like Hudson. He’s normally so confident, so self-assured. He must really be worried.
“She’s ok. You’re both going to be fine.”
“It’s just that she has struggled so much since we came back from Timber Forge. I just got her sleeping through the night again, and now this happens. It feels like I’m drowning.”
“You’re not,” I say, resolutely. Shifting, I reach up to take both of his cheeks in my hands and add, “I won’t let you. Ok?”
His eyes search mine and I feel his hand fist the back of my shirt before he nods. “Ok.”
His gaze is so intent on mine, it makes me feel dizzy, exposed. I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him to me, still sitting next to him. “You’re exhausted,” I say, pressing my cheek against his shoulder. “You should try to get some sleep.”
I feel him nod, but he doesn’t move. So, I pull back to look at him. He lifts a hand and tucks my hair behind my ear. His eyes dance between mine before dropping to my mouth. Seconds tick by. Then, he’s pulling me across his body to straddle his lap.
I should stop him. I should stop this before we both do something we’ll regret, but I can’t. I want to be close to him. I shouldn’t, but I do.
The thin cotton of my raggedy old sweatpants does nothing to create a barrier between me and the warmth of his lap. His hand on the small of my back feels so right, but it’s when I feel him hardening underneath me that my breath catches, and my gaze snaps to his.
He cups my head in both hands and brings our foreheads together, so we’re breathing each other in. And that’s when I start to panic.
“Huddy—”
My words are cut off by the feel of his thumb running across my bottom lip, his eyes following the movement. My fingers flex on his chest, wanting to run my hands all over him.
Kiss me. No, don’t. Please, kiss me.
My mind stutters to a stop—like a record scratch—and my heart pounds, then picks back up, making me dizzy. It’s like a dream in slow motion when he lifts his head and presses his lips to mine.
My stomach explodes in a riot of butterflies, while his lips are warm and soft against mine. His lips part and stubble scratches against my chin, sending a delicious shiver through me. I think I moan, or maybe it’s him; I really can’t be sure. And then, he’s pressing me against his chest, nipping my lips lightly between his teeth. My head spins with the sensation, and the ground drops away. If his arms weren’t around me, I swear I would slide right off this couch and into nothing.
My hands find the hair at the nape of his neck and dig in, loving the way he feels against me. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, and it only lasts all of about ten seconds, but it’s enough to have me questioning everything . And wanting more.
When he pulls away, his lips are slightly parted, and his tongue slides over his bottom lip.
“Shit,” he mutters, and his hands drop away from me, with shoulders slumped. I immediately hate the distance he’s put between us. “Sorry. Fuck. I didn’t— I shouldn’t have done that,” he says, raking his fingers through his hair .
The wave of disappointment that hits me is shocking. “It’s ok,” I stammer out.
He nods, but it’s awkward. This time, the tension in the room fills my gut, too.
“I think I’ll head to bed,” I say, shifting back on his lap and then standing.
“Yeah, me too,” he says and lifts his chin to the hallway leading to the door. “I’ll just double-check that I locked the door.”
Standing between his knees, I take him in. God, he’s sexy. The thought hits me like a ton of bricks. When did I start thinking about my best friend that way? It would be so easy to stay, to lose ourselves in each other, if just for one night. I can clearly see just how much that kiss physically affected him. It did me, too. I’ve never wanted to give into lust so much in this moment.
But this is Hudson. And I know without a doubt that it can never happen again. It would ruin everything. So, as much as my body longs to chase his warmth, I step back and nod once.
“Goodnight.” I say and leave without waiting for a response.