Page 35 of Critical Mass
“Standing like that. Like you’re my bodyguard. Like you’re ready to throw yourself in front of a bullet for me.”
Hudson’s gaze met hers. “I am ready to do that. Whether you believe anything else I’ve told you or not, believe that.”
Before Natalie could respond—before she could process the intensity in his voice, the absolute certainty—the door burst open.
Colton and Ty rushed back inside, their expressions grim but controlled. Both men had that same look Hudson got when he was compartmentalizing, pushing emotion aside to focus on the tactical situation.
Natalie’s stomach clenched as she waited to hear what was going on.
She and Hudson turned toward them in unison, waiting. The silence stretched for three seconds that felt like an eternity.
Hudson held his breath, every muscle in his body coiled tight as he waited for Colton and Ty to speak.
The alarm. The urgency. The way his teammates had rushed out of the room like they were heading into combat.
This had to be connected to Natalie. To Ravenscroft. To the operation that was spiraling further out of control with each passing hour.
Colton’s expression shifted—the grim mask cracking just slightly.
“False alarm,” he said, and Hudson could hear the relief bleeding through his carefully controlled tone. “A squirrel got into the junction box on the east side of the compound. Triggered the perimeter sensors.”
Hudson’s shoulders dropped, tension releasing in a rush that left him almost lightheaded. “A squirrel.”
“A very determined squirrel, according to Dez,” Ty added, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “Apparently it’s been tryingto build a nest in there for the past week. Finally managed to short out the right combination of wires.”
Beside him, Natalie let out a shaky laugh—the sound caught between relief and hysteria. “A squirrel. I thought—I was sure someone was attacking. That they’d found me here.”
“We all thought the same thing,” Colton admitted. “Which is why we responded the way we did. Better to treat every alarm as legitimate until proven otherwise.”
Hudson nodded, but his mind was already drifting, pulled back by the flood of adrenaline and fear that had just crashed through his system.
Claire.
The memory hit him with unexpected force. Her face. Her voice on the phone, strained and tired and so far away it might as well have been from another planet.
“I can’t do this anymore, Hudson. I can’t sit here not knowing if you’re alive or dead. I can’t put my life on hold while you’re off saving the world.”
They’d met his sophomore year at the University of Michigan, back when he’d played hockey and his biggest concerns were championships and maintaining his GPA. She’d come to every game, bundled in maize and blue, screaming herself hoarse when he scored.
“I’ll come watch you play,”she’d always say, that bright smile that made everything else fade away.“I’ll be your good luck charm.”
He’d believed her. Believed in them. Even when he’d signed up for the military after graduation, even when deployment meant months apart, even when phone calls became rare and letters took weeks to arrive.
They’d vowed to make it work. Had promised each other that distance didn’t matter, that what they had was strong enough to survive anything.
But she hadn’t been cut out for that lifestyle. The long stretches of silence. The cancelled plans. The terror every time the news reported casualties. The knowledge that he couldn’t talk about what he was doing, where he was going, when he’d be home.
“You’re never really here,”she’d said during their last conversation, her voice breaking.“Even when you’re physically next to me, part of you is always somewhere else. Always thinking about the next mission, the next threat, the next person you need to save.”
She’d been right. He knew that now. Knew it then, if he were honest with himself.
The single life had been better after that. Easier. No one to worry about. No one to disappoint. No one to become a distraction when he needed to focus on the mission, on keeping his team alive, on doing the job he’d been trained to do.
He’d learned his lesson. Had promised himself he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
And yet here he was, standing in a conference room with a woman who made him feel things he’d sworn off years ago. A woman whose safety had become more important to him than the mission itself. A woman who was looking at him right now with those expressive brown eyes, seeing too much, making him want things he couldn’t have.
He should have learned his lesson.
