Page 225 of Beautiful Collide

“I’m not sure I’ve had that either.”

Hudson doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t fidget. He just stays there, solid and present, until finally, he speaks.

“You do now,” he says, his voice calm but so certain it feels like a promise.

My breath catches, the air hitching painfully in my chest.

I tighten my grip on the Mason jar, holding it like it’s the only thing keeping me steady. Slowly, I turn back to him, my eyes locking on his.

The weight in my chest that I’ve carried for so long—the feeling of not belonging . . . it feels like it might crack open.

That I might crack open.

80

Molly

Tonight isthe perfect night to sit outside.

It’s breezy out, but the stars are in full effect.

I sit on the blanket in the middle of the field with Hudson, my knees tucked into my chest.

It’s peaceful. So peaceful that I can’t believe a place like this exists in this world.

This must be what heaven is like.

Then why does my mind refuse to settle?

Maybe it’s the company? And what being with him means.

Hudson is beside me, leaning back on his elbows, his face tilted up to the night sky.

Normally, being near him calms me.

But not tonight.

Tonight is different.

It’s time.

I feel his attention even when he’s not looking at me, and the weight of what I need to say presses harder with each passing second.

“Hey,” he says softly, breaking the silence. “You okay? What’s going on?”

I stare out at the horizon, tightening my grip on the edge of the blanket. “I’ve been thinking.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “About . . . everything.”

He turns his head, and even though I can’t see him, I feel his eyes on me. “That sounds heavy.”

“It is.” I force a small, weak smile. “But it’s not bad heavy. It’s just . . . time.”

Hudson shifts to sit upright, his arms resting on his knees, his focus fully on me now. “Time for what?”

“To tell you.” The words catch in my throat, and I take a moment to steady myself. “About my childhood. About why I . . . struggle with certain things.”

He nods. “You don’t have to, Hex.”

“I know.” I tilt my head up to the sky and inhale deeply. “But I want to.” Hudson stays quiet, so I continue. “When I was thirteen, my parents died in a car accident. I was in the car—me, my mom, my dad. My dad was driving to pick up Dane . . . and he was drunk.”

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