Page 90 of Beautiful Collide

Hudson pulls his stick back, and the world stands still.

Everything in me clenches, caught between wanting to see him succeed and wanting him to miss just so I can wipe that smug grin off his face later.

My heart pounds frantically in my chest. Waiting. Watching. Wishing.

The puck rockets off his stick.

Time slows as it sails through the air, cutting toward the top corner of the net.

Go in.

In a flash of black, the puck darts in the air, zooming past the goalie’s glove.

Before I realize what’s happening, I’m on my feet, cheering with the crowd.

I forget everything—our bet, his smirk, the way he drives me insane. All I see is his skill, his brilliance. He might be a bastard, but he’s beautiful on the ice.

31

Hudson

Mom:Guess what, birthday boy! ????

Anna:Oh no. What now?

Dad:We’re coming to visit you for your birthday!

Mom:Flights are booked, bags are almost packed.

Anna:“Almost packed”?? Mom, we’re staying for, like, ten seconds.

Mom:It’s called being prepared, Anna. Not that your brother will read this.

Dad:He’s probably asleep. Needs his beauty rest.

Anna:Extrabeauty sleep. Lord knows he needs it.

Mom:Be nice, Anna.

Anna:Iambeing nice. I didn’t even mention his hair.

Mom:Leave his hair alone.

Anna:I can’t. It looks like a bird rolled around in it.

Dad:That’s a sign of character.

Anna:Sure, Dad. Character.

Mom:Has anyone heard from Hudson? He’s been suspiciously quiet.

Anna:He’s either napping or pretending not to see this so he can act surprised later.

Dad:Or he’s eating. That boy’s appetite is a sport of its own.

Mom:True. Hockey burns a lot of calories.

Anna:So does sleeping.

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