Page 88 of Beautiful Collide

One that tells of past secrets and future promises.

30

Molly

Damn,it’s cold in here.

Cold enough to make me regret not grabbing my coat.

My arms are wrapped around myself as I hustle down the aisle, scanning the rows for Josie.

The game is already underway, and the tension in the arena is palpable.

The cheers, the whistles, the booming voice of the announcer. Damn, this place is nuts.

I spot Josie waving at me with her signature sunny smile, an empty seat beside her.

“Took you long enough.” She rolls her eyes sarcastically as I slide into the chair.

“What happened to the sweet Josie I’ve come to love?” I shoot back, placing my hands on my legs and rubbing them, trying to stop the chill seeping through my leggings.

“Your brother happened. Now I’m the grump.”

“Doubtful.”

She giggles, the sound warm and light. “But seriously. It’s not like you to be late.”

“Had a few last-minute errands.”

That’s a lie. The truth? I spent too long trying to talk myself into coming. Too long trying to shake the mental image of Hudson Wilde out of my head. The man has taken up way too much real estate in my brain lately, and it’s starting to piss me off.

My upper body shivers.

Doesn’t matter that I’m used to freezing arenas; today, it feels worse. Maybe because my defenses are already frayed. Perhaps because I spent half the afternoon convincing myself that Hudson isn’t worth the mental energy I keep wasting on him.

The cause of my issues, the one and only Hudson.

Yep.

He’s cocky, infuriating, and way too good-looking for his own good. And I hate that my mind keeps replaying the sound of his voice, smooth and deep, like it was meant for late-night secrets.

Stop.

Nope.

I hate Hudson.

I hate everything he stands for because he’s a man-whore ass who is cocky.

Yet here I am, thinking about him instead of focusing on the game.

The blaring horn shakes me out of my thoughts. I pivot my body and focus back on the game.

The rink is a blur of motion, players darting back and forth, skates slicing the ice, the puck zipping like a black bullet between sticks. The buzz in the crowd is electric, pulling me into the moment whether I want it to or not.

Hockey is one of my only good memories as a kid—watching Dane play.

To this day, I can’t help but smile whenever I’m in the crowd.

---