Page 69 of Beautiful Collide

We’re back home after a two-game loss, and the guys are practicing for the next game tomorrow. They need to win this next one.

Even Dane gave him a fist bump after some crazy play I have never seen before, which is saying something.

It’s annoying, really. No one should be that good at hockey, and that’s infuriating.

I sigh and tuck my phone into my pocket, shifting my focus to the clipboard in my hand.

Dane asked me to update some sponsor scheduling for the week, which is why I’m here in the first place.

Definitely not because I want to see Hudson Wilde in action.

“Hex.”

Speak of the devil.

I glance up to find Hudson skating toward me, his helmet pushed back enough to reveal that stupidly perfect smirk of his. He pulls to a stop at the boards, resting his gloved hands on the top rail.

“What do you want, Wilde?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. Contrary to my words, my tone is light. I can’t help but be thankful for his help yesterday.

Instead of answering, he removes his glove and reaches into his skate—pulling out a small white card. He slips it through the gap in the boards, holding it out to me.

“What’s this?” I ask, reluctantly taking the card.

“Just read it,” he says surprisingly serious.

I glance down at the card, half expecting some sort of dumb prank or an invitation to another tequila-fueled disaster. Instead, my heart stumbles as I take in the text.

Dr. Karen Aldridge

Licensed Therapist

Specializing in Anxiety, PTSD, and Trauma Therapy

I stare at the card,my chest tightening.

“Is this a joke?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Nope,” Hudson says casually, leaning a little closer. “She’s good. Helped a couple of my teammates when they were going through stuff.”

I glance up at him, still holding the card between my fingers like it might burn me. “And you thought you’d just . . . slip this to me?”

His expression softens, and I see something in his eyes that makes my throat tighten even more.Concern.

“You don’t have to call her,” he says, his voice low enough that no one else can hear. “I just thought . . .” He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “You might want someone to talk to.”

The memory of the flight from last week rushes back—Hudson quietly guiding me through a panic attack on the plane, keeping everyone else oblivious while he talked me down.

It was . . . kind. Too kind. And now, this card feels like it’s carrying more weight than I can handle.

“You’re unbelievable,” I say, my voice shaking. “What, you think you’re my savior now? That you get to fix me?”

Hudson frowns. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it, Hudson?” I snap, waving the card in front of him. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you butting into my business.”

“It’s not about butting in,” he says, his tone calm but firm. “It’s about helping. You don’t have to do everything alone, Molly.”

“I’ve been fine alone,” I shove the card back through the gap in the boards and watch as it falls onto the ice. “For years.”

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