Page 186 of Beautiful Collide

“Or would you prefer if I call you Mrs. Wilde?”

Holy crap.

He’s serious.

The severity of how my life is about to change hits me at once, and my knees buckle. I fall onto my couch, winded.

“Molly is fine.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “I’ll text you the security code to my apartment.”

What I want to say is this is my problem, and I’ll deal with it. That I need to learn to be strong, but I don’t. Obviously, Dane and Hudson sent him my way.

God. Dane.

What is he thinking right now?

He must hate me.

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line as I hear another car honk.

“Works for me. Molly.” I hear his turn signal flick on. “Call me if you need anything. And don’t talk to the press.”

“I won’t.”

I end the call before he can say anything else.

I just stare blankly at the wall as the weight of everything sinks in. My mind races.Married. Hudson. Reporters. How did my life become this?

The questions they’re going to ask, the judgment that’s bound to follow—it’s too much. Typically, reporters don’t care too much about professional hockey players’ private lives, but this isn’t any hockey player.It’s Hudson Wilde.

The press loves him and all the crazy antics he gets into, and now I’m one of them. Leave it to me to find the one hockey player with twenty-four-hour media coverage.

My phone buzzes again, and this time, it’s a text from Hudson.

This day just keeps getting better.

Hudson:By the looks of things, I’ll assume you heard the news.

Molly:Yep.

Hudson:I’m coming over.

Molly:No.

Hudson:Too bad.

I groan, throwing my phone onto the couch. Of course, Hudson is coming over. He also probably thinks he can fix it with his signature charm and a well-placed smirk.

I barely have time to process what just happened before there’s a knock on the door. Jeez, how fast did he drive? Or was he already on the way here? Unless it’s not him and it’s a reporter instead.

My heart leaps, and I scramble off the couch, peering through the peephole.

It’s him. Duh. I knew this already.

Real smooth, Molly.

I fling the door open, and my heart starts to race.

There he is—Hudson Wilde in all his tall, obnoxiously sexy glory. He’s trying to blend in—like he could ever do that—wearing a ball cap pulled low over his eyes and a leather jacket.

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