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THIRTY

MADELINE

Hudson kissed me the other night, and it was the best kiss of my life.

It was a full-body experience. Toe-curling. Heart-stopping.

Goddamn magical .

It was like he wanted to consume me. Like he wanted to possess me.

And I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

I close my eyes, and I see him.

I take a shower, and I feel his hands on my body.

I’ve replayed every intimate moment of that night over and over again in my head, in excruciating detail—the glide of his tongue, his fingers wrapped in my hair, and how I wish he would’ve pulled on the strands.

Those few minutes with him were the most I’ve been turned on in years, and I hate that I had to be the one who stopped us from going any further.

I know what would’ve come next if I kept kissing him, and as much as my body wanted that— wants that—my brain is yelling at me to slow down. To consider the long-term impact of what could happen if we fell in bed together, and I can’t let it happen again.

It’s been weird in the few days that have passed. We’ve avoided each other, but it hasn’t been intentional.

Not totally.

He was out in Salt Lake City for a game the Stars ended up losing. I went to bed early last night, and something is off. There’s tension in the air. An awkwardness, almost, that didn’t exist before, and I need to get my head out of my ass. I can’t go the rest of my life without seeing him, and confronting him for the first time since he made me moan his name while we have the condo to ourselves seems like the best way to solve this odd dynamic between us.

He's been walking around the living room for the last thirty minutes, playing with the dogs. I hear his heavy footsteps, the murmur of his voice before he whistles for Gus and Millie to come over to him, and I take a deep breath. I open my door and march down the hall with my head held high like the badass woman I am.

“Hey,” I say when I get to the living room. He jerks his neck up and drops the squeaky ball he’s holding. When our eyes lock, I realize how much I’ve missed him. How I’ve come to love the time we spend together, and I bite my lip to hold back a wide smile at the sight of him. “Ready for lunch?”

“Yeah.” He coughs. Clears his throat then clears it again. “Do you want some help?”

“Sure. You can be on tomato duty.”

He laughs at that, and so do I.

It’s silly to be making one kiss a big deal.

I know he doesn’t do one-night stands. He’s looking for is a relationship—which is something I’m not interested in—and there’s only one way this ends.

Us as friends, and I hope that’s good enough for him.

I lead the way to the kitchen and grab my apron off the back of the pantry door. Hudson sets up a cutting board and slides a knife my way.

“Haven’t seen you do your trick in a while,” he says.

“Say please, hockey guy.”

Hudson’s mouth curls into a wicked smirk. “Would you please show me your knife trick, Mads?” he asks, and it feels like he’s flirting with me. It feels like I like it.

“With pleasure.” I grab the base of the knife and spin it between my fingers. The movement is perfected after years of handling the equipment, and I smile when I stab the board with the tip of the blade. “How’d I do?”

“A goddamn ten out of ten. Nothing new there. What are we making today?”

“Sandwiches. Boring, I know, but I thought I could do fresh pasta and meatballs for dinner tonight before you head out on your two-game road trip tomorrow.”

“Feels like I’ve been away from home a hell of a lot lately, and it’s only going to ramp up as we get into the second half of the season. What are you and Lucy going to do while I’m gone?”

“We’ve done all the museums and landmarks. Given it’s January and freezing outside, curling up in front of the fireplace with the dogs sounds like a hell of a good time.”

“They love going to daycare, but I know they’re glad to have company around here.”

I unwrap the sourdough loaf I made the other day and cut off a few slices. “Hey, I was thinking… Can we talk about what happened on New Year’s?”

“What happened on New Year’s?”

“You already forgot?”

He blushes. “Like I could forget that. I just wanted you to speak it into existence. We kissed, then you ran away from me. Did I do something wrong? Was it not good for you?”

“It’s not that,” I say. “I told you it was?—”

“Nice.” Hudson spins his hat backward and carefully cuts the tomato into thin slices with a smaller knife. I’m momentarily distracted by both movements. “I remember. I was there.”

“I don’t want to say it was a mistake, because I don’t regret it, but I don’t think we should do it again. We have a good thing going right now, and adding a physical component to it could mess things up. Is it okay if we acknowledge the kiss happened but agree to move forward as friends?”

“Is that what you want? To be friends?”

Ten minutes ago, when I marched in here, I was certain it was.

Now when I look at him, I’m not so sure. It would be so easy to pull him to me again. To press my mouth to his and spend longer learning what he likes, learning what it would take to get him to say my name again, but I can’t .

It’s not about me. It’s about my job and the stability it’s bringing to Lucy’s life.

I get to tuck her in every night. I get to help with homework and see her in the school’s talent show. I’m around for the big moments I missed when I was working around the clock in Vegas, and that’s more important than a second kiss or something more.

“Yes,” I finally say.

There’s a flash of disappointment across his face before it melts into a smile with a dimple and some eye wrinkles. Marvelously beautiful and marvelously not mine.

“Then that’s what we’ll be. Friends,” he says. “And there are no hard feelings, Madeline. I’m a big boy. I can handle a kiss without it breaking my heart.” His hip bumps mine. “Don’t hide from me anymore, okay? I want to see you.”

He is big , I think, and I blush a furious shade of red at the memory of how hard he was—thick and long, too—under me. The strain of his cock against my ass and how I desperately wished he slipped his fingers up my shirt.

“I promise I won’t hide,” I say.

“Good. I was starting to think I’m a terrible kisser.” Hudson laughs, and the noise fills the room. It fills a part of my soul, too. “Thanks for not damaging my ego.”

“You’re definitely not terrible. You… you took my breath away.”

“Huh. Sounds a lot better than nice,” he teases, and I blush again.

“Don’t make me regret this conversation.”

“I’m sorry. Last thing, and we’ll never talk about it again,” he says, and his voice drops to something soft and sweet. “I was worried I made you uncomfortable, and that was never my intention.”

“You could never make me uncomfortable,” I say, meaning it. “Plus, I kissed you first.”

“You did.” There’s pride behind his words. Smugness I haven’t heard from him before, and it makes me warm all over. “I wasn’t going to stop you. If you wanted to keep going, I would’ve been okay with it.”

I haven’t let myself imagine what would’ve happened if we kept going, but now I am.

Clothes off.

Hands on each other’s bodies.

His mouth, everywhere.

“I’ll remember that.” I whack a head of lettuce with the knife a little too aggressively to help kick my thoughts to the curb. “Now that that’s out of the way, what should we talk about?”

“Wow. Not a subtle segue there at all, Galloway. I’ll help you out.” Hudson drapes a dish towel over his shoulder. “If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Chili.”

He looks up, surprised. “Really?”

“It’s my comfort food. I had plans to make it while you were gone.”

“That was my mom’s favorite food,” he says, and my heart aches.

“Did she like to cook?”

“She spent every day in the kitchen. It was her happy place. She tried to teach me, but nothing stuck, clearly. She used to tell me to be grateful for my pretty face, my smart brain, and my athletic ability, because I couldn’t cook for shit.” He sets the knife down, and his shoulders shake. I think he might be crying, but then I hear the laughter race out of him. “She would have a fucking field day with the social media comments.”

“What was she like?” I ask, eager to hear more.

“If I tried to describe her, you’d think she wasn’t real. That’s how special she was. Mom cared about other people more than she cared about herself. She was always laughing, except when it came time for my hockey games. Then she was yelling from the stands. Some of the guys on my team teased me when I was younger, but I’d rather have a mom who was loud than a mom who wasn’t proud of her son. She was kind and patient, even when she didn’t have to be. Her heart was so big.” He pauses and takes the slices of bread. “You two would’ve gotten along.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. You remind me of her. She was the world’s best mom. And so are you.”

“I’m not sure I?—”

“You are. I see your selflessness and adoration for Lucy. It’s tangible, Madeline. I feel it when I’m around y’all, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”

It’s the highest compliment anyone has ever given me, and I lock it inside my heart to keep it safe. To come back to when I’m having a rough day.

“I try my best,” I whisper. “But it’s hard sometimes.”

“I bet it is. I’ll never pretend to know what it’s like to be in your shoes and take on all the roles you do, but you make love look effortless. So did my mama. That’s exactly why she would’ve liked you.”

“Thank you.” I wipe under my eye, fully intending to blame the tears on the onion I’m about to chop, not my emotions. Not him complimenting me in a way I’m not sure I’m worthy of. “For saying those things and sharing her with me.”

“Worth finally coming out of your room?” Hudson asks, and I huff out an exasperated laugh.

I grab the dish towel from his shoulder, roll it up, and flick it at him. He yelps and reaches for my arm. His fingers wrap around my wrist, and he takes the towel from me.

“Take it back,” I say.

“You’re fast, but not as fast as me, Maddie.”

The nickname sends a shiver down my spine. We’re staring at each other, and his eyes bounce to my mouth.

“Maybe I’m just trying to play fair,” I say. “I’m stooping to your level and holding back.”

“Why? I can take it. I can take anything you give me.” His thumb moves up the inside of my wrist. It’s a slow drag, skin on skin contact, and I almost moan when he pulls away. “Friends, right?”

“Friends,” I repeat, hating the damn word.