Page 48 of Beautiful Collide

Dirty sock.

Chest hair.

A mullet.

Much better.

When I’m standing in front of the door, I push it open and head outside. I start to walk a few feet when I see a crowd of people. They look like they’re having fun, all laughing and milling about.

One day, maybe I’ll have that.

But for real, not just hanging with the team and pretending.

I pass the group, and as soon as I do, I spot him.

Hudson is pacing, his head tilted down, typing on his phone.

No one else notices him, which makes sense since his hoodie is pulled up. He doesn’t look like a star hockey player.

He looks more like a sulky teen.

One who’s been grounded and can’t go to the party of the century. I’m about to get him when a group of people crosses my path.

The man in the group makes my stomach flip. At first, I think my mind is playing tricks on me. It has to be, right? There’s no way he’s here. But as I blink and stare harder, the figure becomes unmistakable.

It can’t behim.

I tilt my head down. Don’t see me. Please don’t see me.

My chest tightens, and the air seems to grow heavier around me. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and I instinctively back up into the corner of the lobby. He’s here. He’s really here.

My first instinct is to run, but my legs won’t move. My second is to hide, but he’s already walking this way, his eyes scanning the crowd.

Oh my God.

A group of teenage girls near the entrance are chatting loudly, and suddenly, I have an idea. A terrible, wonderful, reckless idea.

“It’s Hudson Wilde!” I yell, my voice cutting through the noise.

Every head in the area snaps in my direction, and before I can think twice, I point toward the doors where Hudson stands, blissfully unaware of what’s about to happen.

“It’s Hudson Wilde!” I yell again, louder this time, and the crowd of girls erupts like I’ve thrown gasoline on a fire.

They don’t hesitate.

In seconds, they’re stampeding toward him, squealing his name and waving their phones in the air.

Hudson’s head jerks up, his expression going from relaxed to panicked in a heartbeat. “What the—”

“Hudson! Hudson, over here!” one of the girls yells, and the rest of the group surges forward, their excitement turning into a full-blown mob.

I press myself further into the corner, watching the crowd swallow Hudson. A wave of guilt flickers through me, but it’s quickly smothered by relief becauseheis nowhere to be seen.

Five minutes later, the entrance doors fly open, and Coach Robert storms outside with two members of the team’s security staff in tow.

“Wilde!” he bellows, his voice loud enough to make everyone freeze.

The mob parts just enough for me to see Hudson, who looks thoroughly disheveled and more than a little pissed.

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