Page 145 of What About Us
Wren’s called a couple of times, and by extension, Ginger. Even Nat, Norah, and Hales have checked on me. I haven’t told any of them much.After the initial shock of finding out we’re married, they probably have whiplash from hearing he’s moved out.
As far as I know, Tristen is still in town, and that makes my stomach sick. I don’t know what her game plan is, but if I know her, she’s trying to weasel her way back into Hudson’s life. I feel horrible because he's still my person, and I’d normally be the one he talks through this stuff with, but he’s so much more than that now. I don’t know how to navigate this new normal. So, I’m being super grown-up about it and avoiding him altogether.
It’s not fair to him. He doesn’t deserve to be shut out. Still, it takes a monumental effort to not pick up when he calls. At night, I read and reread all his texts, hanging on to them like a lifeline, while I sob into my pillow and try to think of ways to go back to how things were before I left myself fall in love with my best friend.
My eyes are unfocused, staring into the mug on the table in front of me, when Skye comes into the kitchen. “Finnley?” she asks from the doorway. Bringing my eyes to hers, I try to force a smile on my lips, but it doesn’t come.
“Hey, Skye. Did you need something?” I say, standing from the table in the small kitchen to dump my coffee into the sink. “
“Hudson is here,” she says softly, and I stiffen at her words. Instinctively, I reach for my necklace. “I wasn’t sure if…” she trails off.
Just like Hudson’s family, neither Skye nor Allie know anything about what happened between us. But me moping around here every day with red-rimmed eyes and sleeping in one of the guest rooms probably gives them some idea.
“Do you want me to tell him you’re busy?” Her voice is low, like she’s trying not to spook me, as she comes further into the kitchen.
I turn on the faucet and run water in my mug before stacking it in the dishwasher. “No, it’s ok. I’ll be right out. Thank you, Skye.”
“I’ll let him know. He’s on the porch, ok?”
Once she’s gone, I pull in a steadying breath and lean against the kitchen counter, letting my eyes slide closed. Just the fact that he’s standing outside, too nervous or hurt to come in makes my skin itchy. How did we get here?
The second I step into the entry, I can see him standing on the porch, just beyond the closed screen door. His hands are in the pockets of his basketball shorts and a dark blue T-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. My chest aches at just the sight of his back. It’s been literalyearssince I haven’t at least spoken daily to him on the phone, and over two months since we’ve spent more than a day or two apart. So, seeing him after so many days is like coming up for air.
My breath hitches in my chest and my eyes immediately fill with tears. It’s incredible how much I miss him and how just a glimpse of his back has my heart racing and my skin prickling in anticipation of his touch.
I don’t know if I can do this.
Still, I push open the screen door and step out on the porch. He turns when he hears me, and when our eyes connect, I almost lose my resolve. He looks exhausted, his hazel eyes haunted and mirroring mine. They’re rimmed with red, as well, and it’s clear he hasn’t been sleeping, if the dark circles under them are any indication. He’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. My heart squeezes in my chest and my hands ache to touch him.
“Hey,” I say, and it comes out as little more than a whisper.
“Hey, babe,” he says, his voice raw with emotion. He swallows hard. “Sorry for just showing up, but you’re not answering my messages.”
I nod and will my lungs to pull in and push out air.
In. Out.
In. Out.
I open my mouth to apologize for ghosting him, but I don’t trust my voice. It’s already a fight to keep my tears back. So, I close it and look downat my hands. He waits for me to say something, but when I don’t, he runs a hand through his hair with a sigh.
“I just needed to see you, to make sure you’re ok. You haven’t gone home,” he says.
I shake my head.
He searches my face. “We’re staying at the ranch. You should go home, Finn.”
I find my voice, and it sounds so sad. “You didn’t have to leave.”
“I didn’t want things to be awkward for you. This shit is…complicated enough.”
I wince at his word choice. With us, everything is complicated now.
“Anyway, I know it’s gonna take a while before...” he sucks in a deep breath, looking away. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.” His jaw ticks and his eyes find mine.
My breath hitches. What doesn’t matter? Us? It doesn’t matter that when I do go home, I’ll be all alone again? It doesn’t matter that I won’t come home to Paige at the counter making necklaces or coloring on the back patio? It doesn’t matter that he won’t be there to make me laugh or kick my ass at chess? It doesn’t matter that he won’t have me to come home to, to tell about his day, or laugh with me about something off-the-wall that Paige says? It does matter?
Itallmatters. But I don’t say any of those things.
