Page 100 of Beautiful Collide

Mason:?? Cry harder, Shakespeare.

36

Hudson

I’m alone.

Mom, Dad, and Anna took off this morning while I slept in, a little hungover. Mason dragged me to get drinks last night after Molly and I parted, and I regret it now.

My head pounds like someone brought a drumline into the arena. The headache reverberates in my skull.

The overhead lights in the practice arena are way too bright, like they’re punishing me for my poor life choices.

I can feel every inch of yesterday’s beers sloshing around as I skate, my legs heavier than usual. Even the sound of skates slicing the ice feels sharper today.

Mason, of course, skates circles around me like he didn’t put back just as much tequila.

Asshole.

I usually like time at home in Redville. Especially since my family came to visit. But not today. Not after last night.

After Molly.

The conversation keeps replaying in my head like a highlight reel.

Her voice, so calm but raw, when she admitted her past. How hard it was to grow up without a family.

And then, the way she looked at me—not with her usual sharpness, but with something softer, something that made me feel like she was showing me a piece of herself she doesn’t share with anyone.

It rattled me more than I care to admit.

I didn’t know what to say then, and I still don’t now.

I like being on the road when I feel this way. It helps.

I should pay attention to everyone on the ice around me, but I can’t. Instead, I’m paying attention to her. Molly.

A part of me wants to hold on to my animosity toward her, but a bigger part knows I got rid of it years ago.

Now, it’s just a habit.

When Coach blows his whistle, I’m off the ice faster than ever before.

“What’s the rush, Wilde?” Mason calls out, skating past me with a smirk. “Hot date with your mom?”

I forgot to tell him my parents left this morning. Fucker.

“Probably late for his nap,” Aiden chimes in.

Dane snorts from across the rink. “Or maybe he’s just trying to keep up his streak of Coach’s most hated player. You’re not supposed to make it so obvious you want to leave, doofus.”

“Shut up,” I call over my shoulder, ignoring the chorus of laughter that follows me. “At least I’m not last, Mason.”

“Touché,” Mason fires back. “Don’t pull anything while sprinting off the ice, Grandpa.”

I ignore the rest of their hollers and catcalls.

I want to find Molly.

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