Page 240 of Beautiful Collide

“He-he got hurt. The auger jammed, and he—” Dad finally says.

“I tried to fix it.” Not that I think anyone will care right now. But for some reason, I feel defensive.

“You what?” Her eyes narrow as she stares me down.

“It isn’t a big deal.” I try to shrug but end up wincing.Real smooth, Wilde.

Goddamn, that hurts.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” she repeats, her voice rising, “yet you’re sitting here bleeding like you’re the star ofThe Texas Chain Saw Massacre?”

“Hex, please,” I say softly, trying to calm her down. “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine.” Her green eyes blaze. “You need a doctor.”

“I can’t,” I say firmly, meeting her gaze.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

I glance at Dad, then back at her. “It’s against my contract,” I admit, my voice low. “If the team finds out I was doing farm work, I could lose my job.”

Her eyes widen, and she blinks at me, trying to process what I’ve just said. “Your contract forbids you from . . . what? Doing anything useful?”

“Anything dangerous,” I correct, glaring at her like it’s a perfectly reasonable clause.

“And this qualifies,” Dad mutters.

Molly lets out a frustrated breath. She’s quiet for a moment before running her hands through her hair. “Okay, so what’s the plan, then? Because you can’t just sit here bleeding out.”

“We’ll clean it up and wrap it properly,” Mom says. “Then we’ll figure out the rest.”

I clench my jaw, looking away. She doesn’t need to know how bad it is.

“It’s deep,” Mom admits quietly. “He needs stitches.”

“And we’re just . . . not going to do that?” Molly sounds pissed.

“We can’t.” My tone leaves no room for argument. “If I go to a hospital, they’ll ask questions.”

“Hudson, this isn’t just about you. If this gets infected—”

“It won’t,” I say, cutting her off. “We’ll take care of it.”

She glares at me. “This is ridiculous.”

“And risk my contract?” I say through gritted teeth as my mom cleans the wound with antiseptic. “No way.”

“You’re risking your life instead,” she snaps. “Great. Just great.”

“I’m not risking anything,” I grit out through the pain. “I need this job, Molly.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

“This is not okay,” Molly says.

“No, it’s not,” I admit, my voice softening.

She doesn’t say anything to that; she just focuses on holding my arm steady while Mom works.

---