Chapter 39
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
HUDSON
T he thump against the side of the house comes later than usual, but I’m not about to complain. I only saw him this morning, so technically, he isn’t due tonight, but there was some kind of shift between us last night that I can’t deny feeling. Maybe this is a sign he felt it too.
I sit up and wait for him to climb through the window, cells prickling with the expectation of his touch. I’m not sure when exactly I stopped hating the sight of his face; all I know is that seeing it now sends quakes through my gut that I can’t control.
It’s an off-balanced type of feeling, the thrill of the high and sheer terror of toppling over the edge. I’m stuck on the terror side of things when he pushes the curtain out of his way and straightens, something chinking in my chest that catches me off guard.
Fucking is not supposed to make me feel like that .
Instead of immediately stripping off, Wilde crosses his arms and leans back into the wall.
Fuck, he’s so … fuck . Those thick arms. His broad chest. The way he holds storm clouds in his eyes.
I have this strong urge to walk over there and kiss him, maybe strip him down myself, but this incessant need to get off with him, to feel his skin against mine—no fighting, no low-lying anger—it’s not normal.
“Hey.” I lean back into my hands. “Forgot your way to my bed?”
One side of his mouth looks like he wants to smile, but he stops it. “What are we doing?”
Is that a trick question? “Talking.”
“No.” He waves a finger between us. “This. What is it?”
His gaze searches mine, even in the dark, and I look away.
Whatever is going on in my head isn’t something I want him to witness.
There are way too many gaps between what I think and feel and want.
Wilde is … he’s made to be alone. I know what I am to him—relief—and that was exactly what I wanted when this whole thing started, but something has shifted.
Something in the way he got uncomfortable when I mentioned how hot Foley is.
Something in the way he planned to go to Wayward, and I had to stop that from happening.
The thought of him fucking some other guy wasn’t a tease like it was the first time. It hit deeper, this familiar sickly feeling I’m so used to, the type of feeling I didn’t notice was missing until it came flooding back.
He’s still waiting for an answer I don’t have.
“What do you want me to say?”
It’s the shock of the damn century when he doesn’t answer.
Because while he expects me to let everything out, Wilde keeps it all inside.
He tears open this wound of a conversation and then leaves me to deal with it, while he watches me, unsettles me, for what?
His amusement? A way for him to feel superior to me?
I stand up, the irritation only he can bring spurring me into action. I cross the room until I rock back on my heels in front of him.
“Conversations go both ways,” I tell him.
“They do.”
“Well, if you’re so interested in this topic, maybe you should be the one to lead it.”
Wilde’s throat bobs under a swallow, something I’ve never been able to witness with his beard in the way. “I asked first.”
“And I’m asking back.”
“Kennedy came to see me. He’s worried about you.”
“He’s always worried.”
“He thinks I’m mistreating you.”
I study Wilde’s eyes. “And are you?”
“I don’t know.” His hand comes up to trail the bruises over my chest, left from his post last night.
“I have no complaints.”
“Yeah,” he huffs and pulls back a little. “That’s part of the problem.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean that you don’t know what it’s like to be treated well, and I’m the last person who can show you that.”
“I never asked you to.”
“No, but I think Kennedy’s right that it’s about time someone did.”
Anger trickles into my veins. “Why the fuck is he getting involved at all? It’s not his business.”
“He’s worried.”
“About what? We’re having sex, who fucking cares?”
“He does.”
That’s rich. The second Wilde leaves, Kennedy is going to know exactly what I think about his interference. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. ”
“Maybe he does.”
“Great. So you’re on his side?”
Wilde drives his palms into his eye sockets. “There are no sides. I’m lost, Hudson.”
Hudson. Not city boy.
We’re right back to that place where we started. On opposite sides of the same argument. It hits me, very fucking suddenly, that for the first time in my whole fucking life, I expected more. How stupid am I?
Wilde is fierce and passionate and driven …
just not when it comes to me. It’s no secret that whatever we had was going to end eventually, but eventually wasn’t supposed to be right now.
Is it so bad that I wanted a guy who was only interested in me for a change?
To live in some ridiculous fantasy that doesn’t exist in the real world?
Battle lines were drawn between us early on, and I thought we were well on our way to erasing them. I guess not.
“Do you want this?” I finally ask. Because it’s occurring to me, at the worst possible time, that I need him to.
If he wants me, the rest doesn’t matter.
But if Wilde can’t even give me a simple word about how he’s feeling, at something deeper than his grunts and this town and the vague hints at the man he is beneath his infuriating silence, then maybe I don’t want this either.
Wilde’s eyes lock on mine and drag me into infinity.
“When I moved here,” he says, “I learned to stop wanting anything.”
I’m caught off guard by how that simple sentence sucker punches me in the chest.
That’s it, then.
I take a purposeful step backward, determined not to let him see how much that’s thrown me. “Then I guess it won’t hurt you to leave. ”
Considering how easily he turns away from me and climbs out of the window, I’m right.
My hands roll over into fists as I turn and storm from the room. I thunder up the stairs, two at a time, like I’m trying to race my heartbeat, only slowing long enough to shove through Kennedy’s door.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He jolts awake, blinking into the dark. “Hudson?”
“What is wrong with you?” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “Why did you have to say anything?”
“What are you …” The sleep haze disappears as understanding kicks in. “Wilde?”
“Yes. It’s fucking over. And I hope you’re fucking happy.”
The way his gaze tracks the bruising on my chest gives him confidence. “Yeah, I am.”
His words ring in my ears. “Excuse me?”
“You deserve better.”
“It’s not your fucking choice!”
Kennedy climbs out of bed, not backing down.
“You promised me there would be no more Sutton and then went and replaced him with someone just as bad.” He jabs two fingers at my chest. “He’s hurting you!
He’s playing with your emotions and making you think this is a good thing, then sending you home covered in bruises. That’s not okay!”
I’m about to deny the bruises were him at all, but how do I explain the illegal fighting without mentioning the illegal fighting? “This isn’t what you think it is.”
“Oh, fuck off, Hudson. I’ve seen this same cycle so many times.
I’m sick of it. How am I the only goddamn one of us that gives a shit about you?
Or about Hart? We’re brothers, and you won’t talk to me about things.
You find some guy and make him your whole world and ignore every fucking warning sign in existence.
I’m worried you’re going to be murdered one day, and you’re pissed off that I told Wilde you deserve to be treated right?
If he can’t give you the actual basics of a good relationship, then I’m glad he broke it off. ”
Even with Kennedy’s words echoing a little of the thoughts I was having, I’m too pissed off to agree with him.
So much for ditching my short temper. “I’m sorry I don’t fall in love with every person I fuck.
I don’t want that kind of relationship. I don’t want the same things you do.
Dinner and flowers and love declarations by the third date are the worst fucking things I can think of.
You’re a loser, Kenny. That’s why no one sticks around! ”
Instead of getting mad, Kennedy’s expression fills with pity. “Wanting respect isn’t loser behavior. The fact you don’t know that makes me feel very, very sorry for you.”
I’m so close to punching those smug words from his smug mouth, but even as I fight that impulse, I’m fighting at the prickling behind my nose as well. Wilde can’t give me a single emotion, and Kennedy gives me too many.
Hartwell stumbles through the door. “What—and I mean this in the unkindest way possible—the fuck are you screaming about?”
Kennedy leaves it to me to answer.
“Our brother not minding his business.”
“And you couldn’t hold off being a dickhead until morning so I could get some sleep?”
Of course. Because it’s always my fault.
Fuck, maybe it is.
I’m the one who dragged us here.
I’m the one who wanted to make things better and somehow made everything so much worse.
I raise my hands in surrender, biting off all the curse words I want to throw their way as my chest feels like it’s been ripped in half. “You guys don’t need to worry about me anymore. I’m going home.”
“You’re what?” Hart asks flatly.
“ Home . I’m leaving. I’ll send someone to replace me and help you guys up here, and I’ll go back to running the business. Either finish this place or sell it, I don’t fucking care anymore. I’m done. I’m out.”
Hartwell’s laugh is full of disbelief. “That easily, huh? All those times I wanted to leave and was told no, and you’re just going to throw a tantrum and go?”
“No one has ever fucking forced you to be here. Ever. You’ve whined and complained and been a total goddamn brat, but you never tried to leave. Well, now’s your chance. Congratulations. We can all be out. All I know is I’m done.”
I can’t stand around looking at the torn-up expression on Kennedy’s face, so I storm toward the door.
“I’ll send someone back with the car,” I throw over my shoulder, and then, because shit can’t get any worse, I add purely for Kennedy’s benefit, “Sutton’s going to be so happy to see me.”