Page 244 of Beautiful Collide

The next coupleof days are hell.

Molly doesn’t let me push myself the way I want to, forcing me to slow down and focus on healing.

She sets up a makeshift rehab schedule, using every resource she can find online to help me work through the pain.

Molly is incredible. I don’t deserve her.

“You need to let the muscle rest,” she says, her tone firm as she wraps my arm in an ice pack for the third time today.

“I don’t have time to rest,” I snap, the frustration bubbling over.

She doesn’t flinch, her hands steady as she secures the ice pack in place. “You don’t have time not to. If you go back toosoon and make it worse, you’ll be out for the whole season. Is that what you want?”

I grit my teeth, hating that she’s right. “No.”

“Then trust me,” she says, her voice softening. “We’ll get through this. You just have to let me help you.”

I don’t say anything, but I nod, the weight of her words settling over me.

Mornings start early with gentle stretches and mobility exercises that make me feel like an old man. Molly stays by my side through all of it, her patience endless even when I snap at her out of frustration.

“You’re doing great,” she says one morning, her voice calm as I struggle to lift a light dumbbell with my injured arm.

“Yeah, right,” I mutter, the pain sharp and unrelenting.

She kneels beside me, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think, Hudson. You just have to give yourself time.”

I glance at her, the softness in her eyes making my chest ache. She believes in me, even when I don’t.

By the third day, there’s a small glimmer of hope. My grip is steadier, the pain more manageable, and I can handle basic movements without feeling like my arm is being stabbed with a knife dipped in acid.

“You’re getting there,” Molly says as I practice stickhandling with a ball in the living room.

“Barely,” I mutter, but the words feel less bitter now.

She smiles, leaning against the wall. “You’re stubborn, but it’s working in your favor for once.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Don’t get used to it.”

Her laugh is soft, and for a moment, the tension between us fades.

That night, as we sit outside watching the stars, I find myself thinking about how much she’s done for me.

She didn’t have to stay or put up with my temper or my endless frustration.

But she’s here, fighting for me when I can’t fight for myself.

“I don’t deserve you,” I say quietly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

She glances at me, her brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

“All of this,” I say, gesturing vaguely. “I’m a mess, Molly. And you’re still here.”

She sighs, her gaze softening. “You’re not a mess, Hudson. You’re human. And I’m here because I want to be.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I can’t speak.

“Thank you,” I finally say, my voice sounding rougher than normal.

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