Page 28 of Beautiful Collide

The truth is, I don’t hate him. Not really. I hate that he saw me at my weakest moment. He’s a daily reminder that the scared girl I thought I left behind is still very much a part of me.

I’m better now. The panic attacks don’t occur regularly like they did right after my parents died when I was a girl.

They stopped soon after Dane stepped in and signed me up for therapy. He never knew I got them, let alone why I would. Before that day in the closet, I thought I was doing better, but every now and then, they do come back.

And every time I look at Hudson Wilde, he reminds me of that pesky fact.

The silence in the car is thick and uncomfortable as we pull out of the lot. I keep my eyes firmly on the road, my grip on the wheel tight.

“This wasn’t my first choice, you know,” Hudson says after a few minutes.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t mine either,” I snap, my tone icy.

He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. “You always this pleasant, or is it just me?”

“Oh, it’s just you,” I reply sweetly. “You bring out the best in me.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “Well, that’s mutual.”

“How about we just don’t talk?” I suggest, my voice tight.

“Sounds like a plan,” Hudson responds, reaching forward to adjust the volume. “I’m going to nap. Wake me if you need me.”

Good.

Great.

The tension simmers just beneath the surface. But when he goes quiet, and the only sound is the pitter-patter of the raindrops, I miss the company.

Any company.

Because now I’m just alone in my thoughts.

And that’s a scary place to be.

I had another panic attack last week. At Dane’s place. The wind slammed the door shut behind me as I raided his pantry, and I almost outed myself in front of my brother. I’ve been diligently avoiding him since, which hasn’t been easy, given that I’m his assistant.

At the next light, Hudson clears his throat. “Thanks for doing this. Even if it’s under duress.”

“Don’t thank me,” I mutter. “Thank Dane. He’s the one who insisted. If it were up to me, you’d be on a bus.”

“I will. Right after I thank him for all the other wonderful things he’s done for me this week, like letting me get railed in the hip during practice.”

Despite myself, a small laugh escapes me, and I bite my lip to stifle it.

“Was that a laugh?”

“No,” I say quickly, glaring at the road.

Hudson relaxes against the leather with a smug grin. “Sounded like a laugh.”

“You’re delusional.”

“And you’re bad at hiding when you think I’m funny.”

I shake my head, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

We’ve barely made it to the freeway, and I’m ready to toss him and his duffel bag to the curb.

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