Page 133 of Sardonic Burn

A loud laugh reverberates through the tiny room. Hudson throws his head back as he laughs, but it’s not humorous. It’s dark, bone-chilling, and threatening. His eyes settle back on me, and he raises a brow.

“Oh, Noelle.” His husky voice makes me freeze. “How fucking audacious of you. Tell me, why are you here?”

I swallow. “I’m here to apologize.”

Hudson drinks the rest of his whiskey in one go, slamming the glass down. He stands up and walks over to me. He’s like a predator, and the intense gaze makes me take a step back until I reach the glass.

“Apologize? And you think a mere apology is enough to fix what you’ve done?”

My eyes close.

No.

It’s not enough.

No matter what I do or say, it still won’t be enough to erase or change the fact that I fucked up.

“No,” I whisper. “I know that it can’t be fixed.”

“Good,” he grits out. “Now get the hell out of my sight. I’m done with you.”

That’s when my eyes snap open. I fist my hands next to my body and raise my head. He’s towering over me, but I don’t allow him to intimidate me into leaving. That’s not happening tonight.

“You’ll have to throw me out yourself. I’m not leaving.”

He tilts his head to the side and cages me between the glass and his body. He’s so dangerously close to me, and I can feel his hot breath tickling my face. Oh, God. He’s beyond angry. He’s fucking fuming, and his cheeks turn red in annoyance.

“How persistent,” he spits out. “I’m not going to tell you again. Leave, Noelle.”

I take a deep breath. “I will not go away. I know that I fucked up, I know that I crossed the line—”

His deep laughter, filled with venom, cuts me off.

“Fucked up? Fucked up?” he repeats, disbelief on his tongue. “Noelle, I had to physically hold your head attached to your shoulders so you wouldn't die. You were bleeding out in my fucking arms for twenty minutes before the paramedics got there. I even thought you were dead because you were so fucking pale, and you were barely breathing. You slit your own throat in front of me. You fucking stared at me while the blade cut your skin. You fucking wanted to die in front of me. So, no, fucked up doesn’t cut it.”

My lips part, but he isn’t done yet.

“Do you know what was going through my head at the time? I had a gun fucking prepared to shoot myself if you died because life without you was a life I didn’t want. I blamed myself for not getting to you faster, for not noticing it was Dylan faster,for not fucking protecting you on time. I fucking slept by your side for weeks, only to be pushed away like a dirty after thought.”

“Hudson—”

A laugh like I’ve never heard fills my ears, and tears start to slip out. It’s so full of pain, venom, and pure regret. His voice cracks, and his eyes well with tears. It terrifies me that I broke this man into pieces.

“No, Noelle.” He lowers his voice. “I’m not done yet. That night, you were given a fifteen-percent chance of survival. When they brought you out of the surgery, I was sitting next to your bed with the gun pressed against my temple. I was waiting for you to die so I could die too.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. My hand reaches to touch his face, and his fist slams behind me, cracking the first layer of glass. He’s staring at me with so much pain, ache, and fragility that I can’t help but fucking hate myself. “I’m so sorry, Hudson. I’m sorry.”

He laughs bitterly. “That’s all you have, Noelle?”

Hudson doesn’t push my hand away, but he doesn’t lean into my touch, either. It hurts more than rejection, and I feel my throat close up. I swallow and I can hear the rapid sound of my heartbeat thumping in my chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it.”

Without thinking, I lower myself to my knees, my head hanging low. He takes a step back, and I squeeze my hands. I’m not above begging if it’s for him. I’m not above letting go of my pride if it’s for him. I’m not above doing anything if it means he’ll forgive me.

“What are you doing? Get up.”

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