Page 22

Twenty-Two

Willow

My head is a mess—memories swirling, their barbed edges slicing at me, panic gripping so tightly that my vision goes splotchy and I find that my legs can’t hold me up.

I sink to the floor, but don’t have the strength to slow my descent, my knees cracking hard against the tile.

Hard enough that Hudson’s concerned voice cuts through the closed door.

“Princess!”

The handle rattles, but apparently in my panic I locked it behind me.

And I don’t have the strength to get up and unlock it.

Nor do I want to.

Because the memories are swirling and panic is stealing my breath, making me light-headed and my vision narrow to tiny points of light.

Because…shame is washing over me.

I messed up. Again .

Only this wasn’t a flinch.

This was me ruining a beautiful moment between us.

My eyes burn, and I wrap an arm around my aching knees, settling my forehead on top of them.

Why am I like this?

Why do I always ruin everything?

“Willow,” Hudson says through the closed door. “Baby, please talk to me.”

And say what? That I’m weak and pathetic and stupid and?—

No!

I don’t even know where that thought comes from.

But it’s sharp enough to snap me out of my panic, out of the self-loathing.

I’m not that woman anymore.

I’m not weak. I’m not pathetic. I’m not stupid.

“Willow!”

I’m too busy having a breakthrough.

Instead of a damned break down.

Apparently, though, Hudson is out of patience.

With a thunk and a crack , the door pops open, and I look up in time to see a big hand catching it before it can slam into the opposite wall.

He moves slower then, carefully stepping into the opening.

His hazel eyes are unreadable as he takes in the sight of me on the floor, but he doesn’t say anything, and when he slips out of the opening, disappearing from view, my heart leaps, terror slicing my insides to ribbons.

But he’s not gone for long.

Almost as soon as that worry builds, it wanes again.

Because he’s back, pants on, something clenched in his hand as he slowly moves into the bathroom, crouching near me.

His T-shirt, I realize a heartbeat later as he passes it over to me.

“Put it on, princess,” he murmurs. “You’re shivering.”

I am, I realize, taking the material and tugging it over my head. It helps a little, but I’m not cold, not exactly.

It’s cool in here and the tile isn’t comfortable and warm beneath me.

But the shivering is because of the adrenaline.

“Here, baby,” he says, still soft, still quiet, and I look up to see him holding up a blanket.

My heart spasms, eyes burning again, and I can’t move.

Thankfully, he does it for me, slowly—oh so slowly—wrapping the blanket around me.

The warmth settles over me and eventually the shaking begins to calm. But after we’ve sat in silence for long minutes, the voices begin rising again, reminding me what I did, how I acted, why we’re sitting here?—

“Can I hold you?” he whispers.

My throat is tight, so I just nod, those sharp edges inside of me filed down when he draws me close.

“I’m sorry.” I drop my head to his shoulder. “I ruined it.”

He’s quiet for several heartbeats then his big chest inflates and deflates. “I was kind of coming in here to apologize for doing just that.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t your fault. I…” I take a deep breath. “I was the one who freaked out.”

He cups my jaw, turns my face up so our gazes meet. “I pushed too far, too fast, princess. That’s on me.” A flicker of steel in his eyes. “And I won’t make that same mistake again.”

My heart skips a beat as I remember my conversation with Briar earlier.

His thumb smooths lightly over my cheek. “In the kitchen I was thinking about how strong you are and how much you’ve been through and how far you’ve come in such little time.”

Another pulse through my middle.

I want to look away, want to tell him he’s wrong, that the evidence of my weakness is written right here in the fact that we’re sitting on the bathroom floor after an aborted love making session.

But his hand is on my jaw and I find I can’t tear my eyes from his.

“You’re strong, baby, and you’ve been through hell. We need to remember that it’s not just going to be easy moving forward.”

I sigh.

His voice lightens, humor creeping into his eyes. “And I need to remember myself when you’re being so fucking sexy that I stop thinking.”

My stomach clenches again. “But I want you to be able to stop thinking. I want you to be able to forget yourself and do the things in bed”—my cheeks heat—“that you want without me limiting?—”

“Stop, baby,” he orders roughly. “You’re not limiting me.”

I nod.

“You’re not .”

I nod again. “Except for the fact that I freaked out and ran into the bathroom.”

“So we need to take things slow,” he says, dropping his hand from my jaw. “There’s fun in taking things slow.”

“Except if you want to take them fast and your partner can’t keep up.” And I don’t honestly know if I can keep up with all that Hudson wants and needs in a relationship. I flinch at his touch, freak out in bed.

I’m messed up.

I’m traumatized.

I—

I stare into his hazel eyes but I can’t read the emotions in the unfathomable depths.

And then he slowly lets me go and stands up, moves away from me.

Damn.

A pang through my middle, my heart convulsing, my eyes burning. My lids slide closed and I drop my chin to my chest.

“Princess.”

They fly open, see that Hudson is there—right there—and his hand is extended toward me.

“Will you come with me?”

I can’t deny him that.

I can’t deny him anything—not when he’s looking at me with those soft eyes, talking to me with that gentle voice.

I nod, allow him to draw me to my feet.

He slips the blanket from my shoulders, but passes me a pair of my pajama pants, tugs a sweatshirt over my head.

It’s so big, it practically engulfs me, but being wrapped in his scent settles me enough that I don’t protest when he tugs on a pair of socks, my shoes, and draws me downstairs to the garage.

Minutes later, we’re driving through the dark, the quiet roads all but deserted.

It’s not until he’s pulling to a stop on a moonlit overlook that I understand.

Heart pounding, I turn to him.

“You came here after Colt died.”