Page 6

Six

Willow

My head is spinning, and it’s hard to focus with the fatigue creeping back in.

It would be so easy to sink back down, to disappear into the fog and darkness, to never emerge again.

But there’s a warm, gentle hand wrapped around mine.

Hudson Dash’s hand.

His name swims out of that fog, reminding me why it makes sense that he might want to help me.

He’s Hudson Dash.

Not a man who’s famous and in the public eye.

But one who’s known quietly within the circles of the rich and famous.

He runs a security company—or rather, the security company.

And he’s just looked into my eyes and told me that he believes me.

My mom doesn’t.

Neither does my agent.

The staff nod at me when I make requests, but don’t abide by them until Dylan approves it. That goes for anything from the food I eat for breakfast to what clothes I want to wear to whether or not I have permission to get a massage or go for a drive or see my doctor.

Wouldn’t want anyone seeing the bruises.

And any friends I might have once had have been lost to fame—jealousy that my career took back off when theirs didn’t, toxicity because they couldn’t kick the drugs we used to do until oblivion dragged us under, greed that my bank accounts were no longer accessible for them to drain.

They weren’t accessible to them.

They aren’t accessible to me.

“I don’t know how I’ll pay you,” I whisper, staring down at his hand that’s wrapped around mine. So much bigger than mine and marred with a myriad of scars. It’s tan compared to the pale white of my skin, probably because he’s allowed to spend as much time outside as he wants.

“I’m not worried about the money, Sleeping Beauty,” he says quietly, and I lift my head, meeting the swirling gold and green and brown depths of his eyes. I love hazel eyes, love how every set is unique, love how they change depending on what their owner is wearing.

“I have money,” I murmur. “I just…don’t have access to it right now.”

His gaze locks with mine and the air grows taut. “We’ll get into why that is later. For now, let’s focus on the best way to help you, yeah?”

His tone is…

I can’t get a read on it—and that’s terrifying because I’ve spent so much time and mental energy over the last years honing my abilities to do just that. Being hyperaware, searching for any avenue that would trigger the rage, tiptoeing around his moods.

“Are you mad?” I can’t stop myself from asking.

His eyes flash and I shrink back into the mattress.

Definitely mad.

But his gentle hold on my hand doesn’t change, doesn’t tighten, doesn’t hurt as he says, “Fuck, yeah, I’m mad.

Real men don’t scare women, don’t isolate them, and they sure as fuck don’t make it so they flinch away just because someone is pissed.

” He bends slightly, leaning closer, the golden swirls in his irises molten, his words growing even more intense.

“And most importantly they don’t ever—fucking ever —lay their hands on a woman. ”

The impact of those words…

Well, the beeping increasing on the monitor gives away how deeply they hit.

“You with me?” he says much more gently.

I inhale, forcing myself to do it steadily, easily. The beeping slows and I nod. “I’m with you.”

“Good,” he murmurs, fingers squeezing lightly around mine. “So, fill me in on the rest of it.”

The memory of that night, the push, the pain, the fear that came when Dylan told me he wanted to have a baby.

No, that we were going to have a baby.

The beeping increases.

“Right.” Hudson slips his hand from mine. “We can talk about that later. Let me grab my cell and call my team. We’ll come up with a game plan and go from there, yeah?”

I nod. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“In the meantime, let’s get you checked out by the nurse and doctor?—”

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

His eyes flick to the monitor and I watch a muscle flicker in his cheek.

Crap, I really need to get that thing turned off.

“I’ll stay close while that happens,” he promises, “and I won’t let them do anything that you’re not comfortable with or don’t want.”

They’re just words, could easily be empty promises.

But…I believe him.

And maybe it’s because I have no other choice but to believe him. Maybe I’m an idiot jumping from one bad situation and straight into another. Maybe this will all blow up in my face like so many other parts of my life have.

Maybe all of those are true.

More importantly, though, I know with absolute certainty that I can’t stay here, can’t keep going as I have with Dylan, can’t go back to that gilded cage, that plush mansion that may as well be the world’s worst prison.

I won’t continue to be here on this planet if I do.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He nods. “Be right back once I grab the nurse.” Those hazel eyes lock with mine. “I will be right outside the entire time, okay?”

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

I push down the nerves that creep in at the thought of him leaving.

He needs to make some arrangements. I need to get the clearance to leave, and we need to get those pieces in motion before Dylan comes back.

I exhale, the beeping slows, and I nod. “Okay.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.

Then he grunts softly as he pushes to his feet, and I see for the first time what he meant when he said he needed specialized orthopedic care.

His limp is intense.

And he’s clearly in pain.

But there’s pure grit in his expression as he uses the walker to move to the door.

“Hudson,” I murmur, and he pauses, glances over his shoulder at me.

“Yeah, Sleeping Beauty?”

“I’m sorry you’re hurt.”

A flicker of emotion across his face, one I can’t quite decipher, mostly because I’m still talking.

“But thank you for being willing to help me.”

His mouth quirks up. “This is where I’d normally shrug and say, ‘It’s what I do.’ But hobbling my butt around with a walker isn’t exactly what I do.”

I giggle softly. “No, I don’t imagine it is.”

Another flicker of emotion across his face, and this time the beeping echoing across the room isn’t from fear.

It’s for something else altogether.

“Be right back, princess.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

But I don’t miss that he waits until my pulse on the heart monitor has completely stabilized before he slips into the hall.

The next half hour goes by at warp speed.

The nurse comes in and takes my vitals, and then I’m visited by a very nice female doctor who is not the woman that Dylan was speaking to during the worst of the conversations I remember, not the woman who was working with him to fuel my nightmares, who had me sinking deeper into the fog.

She’s shrewd and calm and when Hudson hobbles back in and says that we’re both getting discharged and “the fuck out of here tonight” she barely bats an eye.

Instead, she nods and tells us that she’ll put the paperwork in.

It’s all both fast and slow—the decision made, the moving parts in place. There’s activity in my room and in the hall, where Hudson has been making quiet phone call after phone call, and there are long periods of quiet, where I’m stuck in the bed, just waiting.

I’m unhooked from the monitors, my stuff is packed up, and by the time Hudson comes back into the room and announces that our ride is here, I’m itching to get out of here.

Fatigue is creeping in.

I want to sleep for a thousand years.

But I can’t let that happen.

Not yet.

Not until I’m safe.

So maybe that’s why when he announces that our destination is his house, I don’t freak out.

Maybe it’s because he also pairs it with, “Right now, the best place I can protect you is at home with me.”

Maybe I’ve lost my mind and I’m diving into the deep end.

Or maybe my instincts are telling me that for the first time in my life, I’ve found someone I can trust.

Either way, I just nod, climb into the wheelchair they’ve brought up for me, and say,

“Lead the way.”