Page 37 of When Death Whispers

A second later he knocks, soft but solid. I cross the room in seconds and fling open the door.

He’s standing there in the early afternoon sun, a duffel bag in hand, hoodie unzipped over a soft gray t-shirt I haven’t seen before. The sweatpants are gone too, replaced by jeans that actually fit.

Something about that hits harder than I expect.

He looks more like himself now. Less like someone crashing in borrowed clothes. Less like someone clinging to a night that unraveled us both.

His hair’s wind-mussed, the white streaks catching the sunlight like threads of frost. His eyes are tired, but his mouth curves into a familiar smile that knocks the wind out of me.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough. “Told you I’d be back.”

The tightness in my chest eases, air finally leaving my lungs in a soft, shaky breath.

“You okay?” I ask. “Anything happen?”

Hudson shrugs like it’s no big deal, but his eyes flick to the corners of the room before meeting mine again.

“Nothing chased me, if that’s what you mean,” he says lightly, but there’s a tension in his voice that didn’t used to be there. Something sharp hiding beneath the surface.

I step aside and let him in. “Well… good.”

He moves past me, dropping the duffel near the couch. “Didn’t really want to test my luck out there for too long. Daylight or not.”

I shut the door and lock it behind him again. Twice. Always twice. My fingers linger on the deadbolt.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come back,” I admit, quieter now. “Not after… everything.”

Hudson scoffs, already making his way toward the kitchen like he’s done it a hundred times. “And let you have all the fun?” He glances over his shoulder, one brow raised. “Not a chance in hell. Besides, we already established that my chances of survival are much higher if I keep you close. So…” he trails off, his throat bobbing with emotion, then shoots me a concerned look. “How you holding up?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and trail after him. “I’m fine.”

He gives me a look—one of thosereally?expressions that make me feel like he sees more than I want him to. Except there is no way he could know about the strange dream I had with a towering beast or the fact that I’m fucked up enough to have inappropriate reactions to my monster’s shadows. And there’s no way I’m telling him.

“You pulled me out of the way of a flying blade last night, Parker.”

Oh, that.

“It was a dough scraper,” I mumble.

“It wasweaponized cutlery,and it almost took my head off.”

I let out a breath that might be a laugh. Or a sob. “Yeah. Okay. Fair.”

He grabs a glass from the cabinet, like this is just a normal routine. “Anyway, I figured I’d crash here for a while. If that’s okay.”

My heart thuds against my ribs. He pauses, his ocean blue eyes boring into mine, like he’s daring me to say no just so he can verbally spar with me. I swear the guy enjoys a good argument. And he’s stupidly good at being convincing too.

“Yeah,” I say too fast. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

He turns to fill his glass with water, but when he glances back at me, something settles between us—relief, maybe. Or understanding. Something quiet and warm that doesn’t need words. It’s… nice. Having someone who gets it.

“Brought some of my own shirts this time,” he adds, nudging the duffel with his foot. “Not that I don’t love yours.”

I smile, tension easing in my shoulders. “You made it work.” More than work. It looked really good on him. I’ll never be able to wear it again without imagining how good his muscles looked in it. Damn him and his sexy pecs.

“I try.”

Silence falls, but it’s not awkward. The house feels... calmer with him in it. Not safe—never that—but less sharp around the edges.

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