I lose control as soon as I start riding him, giving him my all, and he grabs my hips, slamming me into him with more power.
The sound of our heavy breathing and skin slapping takes over the silent cab. The aroma of our sex fills up the small space.
And I’ve made up my mind by the time my orgasm shakes through me.
I’m willing to take the risk.
I’m ready to make Hudson Barnes mine.
I just have to figure out how.
And make sure it’s not only my orgasm talking.
I stretch my arms out against the crisp sheets and feel the emptiness in the spot next to me.
I decided to stay behind for Lucy’s funeral today. It’s too intimate for an outsider and would make people curious. They’d start digging and watching until they found something. I’ve been followed for the past decade and had friends sell stories on me to make a quick buck, so I’m not the most trusting person. Trust isn’t just given. It has to be earned.
I stretch my arm out to grab my phone from the nightstand, and there’s a Post-it note stuck to the screen.
Coffee maker is on.
All the necessary ingredients to make it your own are in the kitchen.
Call or text if you need anything.
Later, you’re mine.
Hudson
He must’ve gone to the grocery store early this morning while I was sleeping and got coconut milk because I don’t recall seeing any yesterday. He has to be exhausted. We went for round two when we got back last night, and I couldn’t feel my legs by the time he rolled off of me, took me in his arms, and my eyes shut from exhaustion.
I get out of my bed to brush my teeth and head upstairs to the kitchen in search of the coffee maker.
It’s on – just like he said.
Thank God.
It’s embarrassing, but I have no idea how to make coffee. I give myself a mental reminder to watch a YouTube video on it. You can learn how to do anything on the internet – cook, clean, steal cars, make coffee. Ah, modern technology.
I’m about to start my coffee-making research when a close-up of Willow’s face pops up on my phone screen. My stomach tenses for some reason. I’m scared it’s bad news, and bad news before your first cup of coffee is the worst way to start a morning. I’m not ready to adult or have conversations until at least my second.
Please be a checkup call or an update on a new audition. Not something that’s going to turn my life upside down or Tillie’s reaction to my mini-vacation with another man.
I put the call on speaker and set the phone down on the table. “Hello?”
“What in the utter hell is wrong with you?” she yells on the other line. “Are you wanting to commit career suicide, you lunatic?”
“Huh?” is the only response I can muster out while I run through the possible scenarios of what could’ve happened in my mind.
“Everyone and their mama is calling you a cheater right now. It’s everywhere. Someone sold a video of you dry humping or possibly fucking Hudson, you can’t really tell from the angle, in the front seat of some pickup truck. The internet is blowing up!”
Fuck me. Fuck me. This is the end of my career.
My throat tightens, my stomach revolts, and fear snakes through me. I never thought news would travel like that here, or that someone would follow us in order to sell a story. Hell, I thought we were in the boondocks of fucking nowhere. Someone has been watching us, and I need to find the asshole that’s responsible.
“Tell me you’re kidding,” I stutter out, my throat tightening as tears build. “That this is some prank you’re playing on me.”
“Tough shit, Stella. It’s not a joke. It’s code red. Code fucking red.”
“Who … who could’ve done this?”
“I’m assuming paparazzi got word that you took a flight there and decided to meander to good ol’ Iowa to see if they could stalk you and find a story.”
Tears start to fall. I’d been too careless – felt too free – and wasn’t thinking about the damage that getting caught kissing Hudson could do.
“What do I do, Willow?” I cringe when I see a call beeping in from Tillie. I hit ignore. The witch is going to have to wait to rip my head off.
“You need to come clean. Tell the truth about Eli,” she answers impatiently.
“The fuck I do! Do you know the damage that’ll do to my reputation?”
“Uh, probably nothing near as bad as looking like an unfaithful tramp.”
“I have to talk to Eli … to Hudson … before I do anything.”
“Do that and then get back with me ASAP. I need to put out a statement before this snowballs. In the meantime, quit being damn dumb.”
“You’re the one who told me to start banging Hudson!”
“Really? I also told you to bang Justin Timberlake when he was single, but did you try to jump on that shit? I’m all for you being happy, girlfriend, and this little selling your soul deal isn’t making you happy. The problem now is saving your ass. They can sue you. It’s breach of contract.” She pauses. “There’s more.”
As if this day couldn’t get any fucking worse. “What now?” I groan.
“Spencer Marcum is also making headlines.”
“Okay,” I drawl out. “And I should care why?”
“Not only are the headlines blazing with pictures of you and Hudson, but they’re also talking about you and Spencer. He did an interview with Howard Stern and told them about you cheating on Knox with him.”
My head starts to spin. My heart drops to my stomach. I’m losing the two most important things in my life in one day – my career and Hudson. I run to the bathroom and start to dry heave, but nothing comes out.
“I’m going to lose him,” I whisper when I gain control of myself, tears blinding me.
She’s stayed silent on the phone while waiting for me to come to grips with what I’d just been told. “What?” she finally asks.
“Hudson,” I yell. “I’m going to lose him. He’s going to hate me when he finds out I cheated on Knox.”
“Why? It was before him.”
“He hates cheaters, despises them, and thinks once a cheater, always a cheater.”
“Explain the situation. He’ll understand.” Her voice is tight. She’s pissed at me, but still has my back.
“He won’t,” I sob. “He won’t understand.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hudson
Funerals.
I hate them.
And I fucking hate the fact that I’ve gone to my fair share of them. They never get easier. What makes them even worse is when they’re for someone who was taken too soon. When someone dies at ninety-five, people go on about their victory of making it so far. She almost made it a century. She was badass. What was her secret? When someone dies at thirty, it’s a tragedy. The only question is why. Why were they taken away so soon? Why couldn’t we have them longer?
The world isn’t fucking fair. Death isn’t fucking fair. The grim reaper always seems to come for the good ones – the ones with hearts made of gold that are supposed to stay with us until their skin wrinkles, they get dentures, and they get the chance to spoil their grandchildren.
Sadness gnaws at me stronger with every passing tear. I peek over at Dallas sitting a few seats down from me with Maven settled on his lap. His arms are enveloped around her like a shield, and they stare at the purple casket topped with flowers and lined with gold trim, both of their eyes swollen. He’s still fighting to hold it together for her and be that strong dad. I think back to what Lauren said and agree. It’s all an act.
This is a reminder for me that I need to grab life by the balls and take every moment I’m given for granted – every single fucking second of my life matters because I don’t know how many more I’m going to be able to live out. I can’t keep burying a part of me away from Stella in fear of the future, because hell, who knows how long mine is going to be.
Dallas takes Maven up with him when
it’s time to give the eulogy. He squeezes her hand, and the words slip from his mouth slowly. He’s trying to compose himself the best he can while he reminds us what a good woman Lucy was – even though none of us need reminding.
My mother is next to me sobbing with her hand in mine. She’s losing a daughter. Her son is losing his wife. Her granddaughter is now without a mother. Every person in this room is losing a sliver of their heart today.
I wish Stella could be here with me, but I understand her reasoning. I tip my head down, and tears fall down my face as I silently pray to God and beg him not to take anyone else away from me.
I throw my arm around Dallas’ shoulder when people start to clear out of the funeral home. “I’m here for you, brother,” I whisper. “You and Maven, whatever you need, you let me know.”
He wipes his dark eyes. “Lucy’s death has forced me to give up on having any certainty in this life except for one – that I can rely on my family every minute of every day, no matter what. All of you are the only reason I’m standing today and not breaking down in front of my daughter. I’ll never be able to thank you guys enough. And what you did, taking that job for me to let me spend Lucy’s last few weeks by her side, I’ll never be able to repay you for that.”
I squeeze his shoulder. “Family doesn’t ever need to repay family for helping them. We’ll always be here – come hell or high water … or Hollywood.” I get a small chuckle from him. “I’ll be at your side every step of the way. You can count on that.”
I don’t know where we’re going to go from here or what I’m going to do. I can’t be hanging out with Stella in clubs and going to yoga when my family is broken states away.
I have a decision to make.
And it’s not an easy one.
I’m the sugar-runner.
Not only does my mother love to bake, she loves to bake when she’s emotional. You’ll always find her in the kitchen making something when she’s had a bad day. It’s her happy place.
She’s holding the reception at her house, and I can guarantee the place will smell like the Pillsbury Dough Boy’s asscrack when I get there. The kitchen was already loaded with pies, cakes, and cookies this morning. And there will be more.
She left the funeral as soon as it ended instead of hanging around making small talk and thanking everyone for coming. She wanted everything in order for when people came over so Dallas wouldn’t stress about it. She told me she was going to stop by Dallas’ on her way home and ask Stella if she wanted to help.
I smile thinking back to the conversation I had with Stella last night. She’s going to end that bullshit agreement with Eli, and we’ll be able to figure out a way for us to make this work.
I toss everything on her list into the shopping cart and head to the only open checkout lane. People stop me on my way to give me condolences. Everyone loved Lucy. The woman didn’t have a bad bone in her body. She was a pharmacy tech at our local pharmacy and always went out of her way to help people. She’d even drop prescriptions off at people’s houses if they were too sick to pick them up. Our town is going to miss her.
Mrs. Pipes shoots me a friendly wave while the cashier finishes helping her, and I begin loading my groceries on the belt. I grab my phone to check for missed calls when I’m finished but something catches my eye before I turn the screen on.
The air grows thin. My vision grows blurry, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach with a hockey stick.
Stella has been gracing tabloid covers for as long as I can remember. I never paid attention before – only noticing her name briefly because she was my brother’s boss.
Until now.
My muscles tick underneath my skin painfully as I read the headline again – just in case my mind is fucking with me. I blink, giving myself one more opportunity to act like I didn’t read it correctly. I lose again and clench my jaw while taking in the words written above a photo of Stella kissing me while straddling my lap in my pickup.
Stella Mendes busted cheating on Eli with bodyguard! It’s not the first time it’s happened! See her many scandals with other men, including actor Spencer Marcum!
What fucking creep spied on us to take this picture?
This headline has to be bullshit, right?
They need catchy yet false headlines to make sales.
My fingers twitch with desperation to pick it up and buy it, but word will be all over town if someone catches me. I snatch it from the holder and flip through the pages until I find the story about Stella … and me. I take pictures of each page with my phone and put it back as soon as Mrs. Pipes wheels away her cart.
“I take it your mother is on a baking spree?” Jojo asks when she starts ringing me up. I graduated with her, and her dad owns the grocery store. She’s also one of Cameron’s best friends.
“How could you tell?” I ask, forcing a smile.
“Poor Dallas. If you guys need anything else, call me and I’ll drop it off after my shift, okay? It’s no hassle.”
I tip my head forward and give her a nod. “I’ll let her know. Thanks.”
I pay, grab the bags, and am about to walk out when Jojo stops me. “Hudson, I want you to know I had no idea what was going on with Cameron and Grady.”
I shake my head. “It happened. I’m over it.” I could give two shits about Cameron right now. All that’s on my mind is Stella.
I throw the groceries in the passenger seat and pull my phone from my picket as soon as I slam the door shut. I can’t believe I’m reading tabloid stories about my girlfriend … or the girl I’m screwing … because I’m not sure what she is to me. I really can’t believe they have pictures of me in there, too.
Damn, how my life has changed.
And I don’t like it one fucking bit.
I don’t want my business out there like this.
I sit in my truck for a good fifteen minutes reading the articles about us having some sordid affair behind Eli’s back. That’s not the worst part. There’s also claims that our affair isn’t the first one she’s had. Spencer Marcum, another actor, let it slipped that he’d slept with her when she was with Knox. He has the texts to prove it, and they’re posted on the next page. She asked him not to say anything to Knox or anyone else and said it could never happen again. She texted him again a week later with a heads-up that she’d told Knox out of guilt and Knox said he better not see him around.
Who is this woman? It’s not my Stella.
I shake my head, gritting my teeth. I’ve fallen for another liar. Another fraud. Another cheater.
I close out of the pictures and open my browser to search for other stories about her and Spencer online. There’s pages of them dating back over a year ago. It’s been awhile since their supposed hookup happened, but I still hate the fact that she never told me about this after knowing how I despise cheaters.
The worst part is that she’s just like Cameron.
I can’t have my heart broken again by someone who can’t cherish commitment.
Me: What do you know about Stella and Spencer Marcum?
I’m an asshole for even bringing this up to him today.
Dallas: Not my story to tell, man.
I want to tell him it is because I’m his brother, but the last thing he needs to worry about is my relationship problems. He would’ve told me if it wasn’t true, and he didn’t. Not my story to tell means it happened, but he doesn’t know all the details or doesn’t care to share what he knows.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Stella
“If you’ll set the timer on the oven for fifteen minutes, we can start on the next batch,” Rory instructs, handing me the pan of unbaked sugar cookies that we made from scratch. She’s also showed me how to make a cherry pie and chocolate chip cookies.
All in a two-hour span.
I haven’t baked this much in my entire life.
Hell, I’ve never even baked, to be honest.
She left the funeral early and stopped by Dallas’ place to a
sk if I’d like to help her get everything prepared for the reception. Even though I’m a nervous wreck who’s on the verge of losing everything I love and have been dodging every phone call coming through for the past few hours, I couldn’t say no to her. So here I am, baking cookies while on the edge of falling into a full panic attack at the thought of losing Hudson. I’m playing Betty Crocker while my career is going up in flames.
Just wonderful.
Hudson doesn’t read the tabloids, so maybe he won’t find out that not only is my career going down the drain, but his name is also being dragged in the sewer along with it. It’s wrong for me to even consider hiding this from him, but I’m not sure what else to do.
Rory is helping take my mind off my problems as she tells me story after story of how her and John fell in love in high school and raised their children in this house. They’ve been married over thirty years yet it seems like they’re still in the honeymoon phase. I can only hope I have a love like that someday.
I slide the tray into the oven, shut the door, and turn back around at the sound of the backdoor that leads into the kitchen opening. I can’t help but smile at the sight of Hudson walking in with an armful of overflowing grocery bags. My smile drops when I see the look on his face.
He knows.
“Let me help you with those,” I rush out, a pain in the back of my throat.
“I’ve got it,” he mutters, setting them down on the counter. He kisses his mom on the cheek and then looks over at me. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
I scrape my hands together, nodding. “Sure.”
“Don’t take too long now,” Rory says. “Your father called and said people are about to head over. I need all the help I can get.”
He tilts his head towards the basement stairs, and I lead the way, gulping with every step.
“What’s up?” I ask, looking at him.
“What’s this?” He pulls his phone out to show me the screen. I draw in a nervous breath as I read the headline in the first photo. I’m terrified. I’m nervous. I don’t want this to be real life.
Make Me Yours Page 18