Page 17 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

WREN

My mind spins with the events of the evening. This is the worst time to have one of my weird breathing attacks. Lately they seem to come on at the most inopportune moments, throwing me off my game right when it counts.

My chest heaves again, my breathing picking up its pace, shallow and rapid.

Focus, Wren. Focus on what you have to do . I try to bring my mind back to centre, back to what I need to accomplish. Which is more challenging than I anticipate given the thoughts swirling around in my consciousness, distracting me at every turn.

They keep going back to Hudson. The way he stood in front of the crowd and commanded attention, the presentation he had meticulously curated and delivered, maybe even better than I could have.

The fact that he now has Emma helping him with his design.

The way he looked at her tonight, how his face lit up when he saw her .

I can tell myself all day that I don’t care if Hudson has moved on, that it doesn’t bother me that he’s found someone new after all these years, but that sentiment wars with the feeling I had when Poppy let it slip that he’s been single all this time.

The glimmer of hope that rose in my chest, that he might still care about me.

It’s all overwhelming. Hudson, the forum, all of it. I tuck my knees up on the bench and rest my elbows on them, running my fingers through my hair.

“Wren?” A woman’s soft and soothing voice cuts through the ringing in my ears. “Wren, are you okay?”

Emma’s face comes into my field of vision, and I try to focus on her as I nod. She sits next to me on the bench and places a gentle hand on my back.

“I’m fine,” I say, but in my head, I’m wondering if I need to stop by the clinic sooner rather than later. Whatever this shortness of breath issue is, it’s not getting better, it’s getting worse.

“Are you sure? You look like you’re suffocating,” Emma says. “I can call someone for help if you want.”

I shake my head, no.

“It happened the other night when my mom had cheap candles burning, and I think Doris’s perfume got to me in there. It was choking,” I explain. My words come out slightly stilted.

I have the sudden urge to get up and run away from here, run until I get home and can hide. But talking to her is making my breathing slow, and I finally manage to take in a full breath. Her face is laced with concern, a wrinkle in her brow above her deep blue eyes .

Goddammit. I really, really wanted to hate Emma.

It would have made things so much easier.

But here she is, being nice to me, and although I’ve been telling myself she’s doing me a favour by dating Hudson, now the thought of them together stings.

Because she’s lovely. She’s kind. She’s warm, and she’s everything I’m not.

Hudson jogs over to us.

“There you are,” he says as he approaches. I assume he’s more concerned about where Emma disappeared to, but when he stops next to us, he stands beside me. “Is everything okay?” His blue eyes peer into mine when I look up at him.

I nod.

“Of course,” I say. I straighten my shoulders, fighting my desire to curl up in a ball, or flee, or some combination of the two.

I need to get the fuck out of here and go home. The emotions bubbling to the surface are too much to deal with, too much to process. I need a quiet space to lie down and rest.

“Everything is fine, but Wren might need a ride home,” Emma says, and before she’s finished her sentence, I’m shaking my head. No.

“I can walk, it’s fine. It will be good for me,” I protest, standing up from the bench and brushing some invisible dirt off my pants. I’m lightheaded when I rise, but I shake it off.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure you had an asthma attack or something. It’s probably best if you get a ride,” Emma says, her tone sterner now. Hudson is glancing between us, assessing what transpired. Pretty soon, he’s nodding in agreement with Emma and ushering me over to where his truck is parked.

I’m too tired to fight it. The breathing issue also saps me of my energy, my motivation, my drive.

So, I climb up into the passenger side of Hudson’s truck and wait for him to make his way around and get in.

I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes.

Emma’s voice floats through the parking lot calling for Hudson to wait up.

I’m sure she’s running over to give him a goodbye kiss or something, so I don’t look.

I don’t want to see it. It’s none of my business anyways.

They talk for a minute or two behind the truck, and then Hudson gets in and turns the key in the ignition.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I can take you to see Mason at the clinic if you want.” His eyes roam over my face. His expression is worried, but he doesn’t need to be. I’m not his concern anymore. Haven’t been for a long time.

“I just want to go home,” I say, my voice weary.

Hudson reaches across the seat, turning his body to look out the back window as he reverses out of the parking spot.

As he does, his smell wafts towards me. It’s citrus and spice, and it hits a primal part of my brain.

The one that remembers him in every fibre of my being.

What it was like to be with him, what it was like to have his scent envelop me, make me feel safe.

What it was like to have his hands, his lips, on every inch of my skin.

I squeeze my thighs together and look out the window, trying to get the image out of my mind. But it’s too late. The attraction I felt is now a sharp pang in my chest, because the memory is just that. A memory. It’s in the past, and Hudson is no longer mine.

We make the rest of the drive in silence until he pulls into the driveway of my childhood home. It takes several minutes of reassuring him that I’m not going to die in my sleep tonight, and saying ‘Really, I’m okay’ before he finally accepts I’m not going to let him help me anyways.

The house is quiet and dark when I close the front door behind me, and I sag with relief for finally being alone.

But I also sag under the weight of something else—all the feelings I’ve pushed down trying to get through the public forum tonight.

Seeing Hudson with Emma. The memories of Hudson and I together that came up on the drive home.

There were things I hadn’t thought about in years coming back to me in vivid detail.

I suddenly realize I’m fucking starving, so I go into the kitchen and make myself something quick and easy.

Nothing that could potentially start a fire.

And because I can’t use the oven right now anyways, I throw together a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich, adding a cut-up apple on the side, and sit at the kitchen island in the dark while I eat.

My phone lights up from where it’s sitting on the counter next to me, and I glance at it, crunching off a piece of apple.

An e-mail.

Miller,

Maybe this is getting annoying, and you can rightfully tell me to fuck off if you want to. Please know you can message me if you need to tonight. I haven’t changed my phone number, but I’ve put it below just in case. I’ll keep my phone on tonight.

Hudson

This time, there’s no tally.