Page 146 of What About Us
“How’s Paige?” I ask instead. I miss her so much. Her laughter, her silliness. Her skinny-armed hugs.
A fresh wave of tears threatens to pour out of my eyes when he smiles slightly, some of the light coming back to his eyes.
“She’s good.” He nods, then looks down at the porch briefly, maybe not sure what else to say. “Adjusting.”
Adjusting to what, exactly? Is she adjusting to no longer being at my place and being at the ranch? Maybe their family being back together? I can’t help the words that come out next. “And Tristen?”
His head snaps up, his eyebrows coming together over his green-gray irises, and he nods once. “She got what she came for.”
His words knock the wind out of me, and my bottom lip quivers before I clamp it between my teeth to stop it. “Ok.”
My mind screams at me to ask him what that means—to ask him to clarify, to give mesomething—but deep down, I’m terrified to know. I can’t imagine a world where he would ever take her back, and maybe it’s my abandonment issues talking, but it’s better if I don’t know. At least for right now. If there isanyhope of us remaining friends, I’ll know soon enough. But I don’t think my heart can take one more blow.
Hudson clears his throat, drawing my attention back to his eyes. “I should go. Tristen’s flight is leaving soon.”
My eyes snap to his and hope sparks to life in my belly. “She’s leaving?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I pull in a lungful of air, wishing her departure changed everything. I’m relieved, but Tristen was never the reason we couldn’t be together.
Hudson looks torn between leaving and saying more. “I know you said you wanted space, and I respect that. I just…wanted to see you.” He seems to remember something and reaches into his pocket, pulling out an envelope. “I wanted to give you this.”
I reach out to take the envelope. When his fingers brush mine, I almost cry out at the contact. God, this is painful. He must feel it, too, because when he looks up at me, his eyes are wet.
“Can I—” he stutters, pain etched on his beautiful face. “Can I hug you?”
My face crumbles and a tear slips out, tracking down my cheek. I nod frantically.
He crushes me to him, letting out a ragged breath. His hands dig into the hair hanging loosely down my back, and my hands fist the shirt covering his. He breathes me in, nose buried in my hair, while I bathe his shirt with tears.
“I miss you,” he murmurs into my hair. “And I’m so sorry, Finnley. For all of it.”
I can’t speak, too overwhelmed with how good he feels. His scent wraps around all of my senses, making me dizzy. I let him hold me, silent tears soaking his shirt front. In his arms, everything falls away. I’m caught in a moment of in between—where my heart wants one thing, and my brain tells me it will kill me to take it. One choice leaves me with my best friend, and the other…
It feels like minutes that we stand locked in a desperate embrace, me crying into his chest, and him keeping me pressed into his warmth. When he finally pulls away and I lift my head, the physical loss is almost too much to bear.
“I really have to go.” He tips his head in the direction of the truck, which I just now realized is idling in the driveway. Then, he tilts my face up to his with a finger under my chin. “Promise me you’ll open that envelope. When you’re ready, ok?”
I swallow, then look up at him and nod. “Ok.”
“We’re gonna get through this,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to my forehead.
And as we say our goodbyes, I’m sure he’s right. I just hope my heart is still intact when we do.
The townhouse is deathly quiet when I step inside hours later. Hudson’s envelope has felt like a brick weighing me down all day, but I haven’tbeen able to bring myself to open it. After changing my clothes, I head downstairs and pour myself a glass of wine.
Sitting in my usual spot in the corner of the sectional, I stare at the letter for thirty minutes before finally getting the courage to open it.
My fingers find a single sheet of paper, which has been pulled from the notebook I keep on the kitchen counter for groceries and to-do lists. Dropping the envelope into my lap, I unfold the paper and immediately recognize Hudson’s scrawl in blue ink.
My eyes swim with tears before I’ve even read a single word because the date at the top of the letter is the day we were married. My fingers instinctively reach up to clutch the necklace I never take off, and my heart feels like it’s being ripped in two.
July 12
Finnley,
I don’t know if I’ll ever give you this letter, but if I never muster up the courage, I hope that you find it someday because I want you to know the truth.
