Page 7 of Engaging with Her Enemy

Becky set her hands on her hips. “I didn't want to see your face after Prom. You tricked me.”

“I never—”

“Don’t even deny it, Hudson. You knew I got my hopes up that someone else was going to be my Prom date. But all those notes and flowers that I received were from you. And then, you told the entire high school about the tutoring.” Her voice had dropped down low, knowing Mrs. Roberts eavesdropped a few yards away. “I trusted you.” Pain coursed through her, like it’d been yesterday and notyearsearlier.

Hudson pulled down the back of his tailgate. In a strange move, he hitched himself up onto the back. The leg he'd rubbed hung at an odd angle.

He watched her, calm and collected.

She tapped her foot. How was this so easy for him? How could he sit there and not feel the same fire of emotions as she did? Easy. Because this entire thing was still a joke to him. He’d never cared about how embarrassed she was by her disability.

“I would have told you at Prom that I was sorry, but you didn't give me a chance. And I never meant to tell the school. That entire speech embarrassed me. I didn't know the PA system was on.”

“What's wrong with your leg, Hudson?” She couldn't focus on giving him hell one last time, letting him have it for all the insecurities she'd lived with over the past years. All the trust issues she had with everyone. Including her best friend, Juliana.

He picked up the bottom of his pants leg, revealing a metal pole.

She took long steps to reach the back of the truck, her eyes trained on where his leg used to be. All her anger dissipated like it never existed. Her heart broke.

“Oh, my God!” Her stomach gripped tight. She clasped her hands together, feeling the dampness of her palms and keeping herself from reaching out to him. “How did that happen?”

Dropping his pants back down, he shook his head. “Oh, no, you don't. You aren't getting all soft on me because of this. I'm not here for sympathy. I want you to yell at me. You got out the part about Prom at school the next day, but,” he paused, glanced at the landlady, and dropped his voice a little. “But the other things, the emotions that hurt worse than just thinking some dumb jock stood you up, those you need to say. Maybe, if you finally yell about it and be honest with yourself, we can move on.”

Her gaze lingered on his blue jeans. “Maybe I don't want to yell at you now,” she mumbled. He'd lost his leg. Her stomach cramped. Hudson. She touched his hand, the friendship she'd buried trying to emerge. “Are you alright?”

Hudson jumped down from the truck, snatching away from the contact. “I'm not going to tell you again. I don't want this from you. Anyone else in the world can be concerned, treat me differently, pat my hand, thank me for my service, but not you, Becky.” He held up his hands. “Now, yell. You get your side out so I can tell you mine. Finally. I want to get past this.”

“I said I don't want to yell.” Why was he so damn stubborn?

“Then come and find me when you do.” He turned and walked away.

What? She stood there a moment longer until he disappeared inside. Mrs. Roberts continued to rake the leaves, pretending to ignore what she'd seen. Damn. That woman would be on the phone to half the town before Becky even cranked her car.

That didn't go at all like she planned. She still needed to scream and rail at Hudson, but now she wanted to make sure he was okay. She blew out a long, shaky breath, running her hand through her hair. And find out how he'd lost his leg.

* * *

From his window,Hudson watched Becky saunter back to her car, glancing over her shoulder at the bed and breakfast. Looking for him. And now she knew.

After the IED explosion, he'd found himself in a military hospital, hooked up to machines, with doctors and nurses whispering around him. He'd recovered physically, and then faced the long road of rehab. Make it or break it. Find something to focus on and not on the pain or how all his life's ambitions were shot to hell.

For him, that'd been Becky. His sole focus. The person who made him fight to get back to his old self.

In his head, Becky's voice had been the one to tell him to get his sorry ass in gear and push through the pain. Stop wimping out and walk. The same way she'd done in middle school when he'd broken his arm. Or when he'd confessed to her during a tutoring session that he had a crush on someone.

She'd told him not to be a pansy and to let the girl know how he felt.

So, he did.

And here they were.

Hudson had to get back to the job site. He grabbed his over-the-counter pain relievers and headed back to the edge of town.

“Boss is back,” John announced as Hudson climbed down from his truck. “Time to take a break.”

The men laughed. Hudson smiled in a friendly way before going over to the make-shift trailer office and tracking the progress of the project. The project managers who sat in their comfortable offices back in Atlanta waited to hear how the budget held up. They cared about the money. He cared about the quality.

A loud knock at the door to his eight-by-eight metal office made Hudson pause in his budget analysis.

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