I immediately text Dallas.
Me: Did you get him to watch it?
I fan myself with my hand. My heart is in the grips of a man I’m not sure even wants anything to do with me.
I took the risk.
I hope he does the same.
“Calm down before you have a heart attack,” Willow orders. “Dallas has your back and wants his brother to be happy. Let’s hope he hog-tied him, or whatever those country people do, to a chair and made him watch.”
“Even if he did, that doesn’t mean it’ll change Hudson’s mind about me.”
I almost drop my phone when it vibrates.
Dallas: I did. His reaction wasn’t pretty. I’m sorry, Stella.
No. No!
Why did I wait so long?
Why did I hold back on something that made me feel whole?
Hudson isn’t one for grand gestures. He’s simple. All he asked for was honesty and commitment. He gave me so many chances to give it to him, but I was too stubborn. I walked away and tore down everything we built.
My hands are shaking as I type out my response.
Me: It’s fine. Thank you for trying.
“Tell me it’s good news,” Willow says.
I can tell she already knows from the crestfallen look on her face.
“It’s over,” is all I can whimper. My hands are still shaking. My legs are shaking. I’m shattering everywhere. “I need to accept that.”
She scoots in closer to pull me in for a hug. “He’ll come around.”
I shake my head. “No. He’s too headstrong. You should’ve seen his face when I chose to leave. It was a mixture of disgust and regret. He lost all feelings for me when I told him I wasn’t going to tell the truth.”
I start to scrape away at my fresh manicure in an attempt to calm myself. She squeezes me one last time and pulls away when her phone goes off. Her eyes grow wide as she reads a text and then frantically starts smashing her fingers against the screen.
“Who are you talking to?” I ask. “In case you forgot, I’m over here having a crisis.”
“You’re having a pity-party before you’ve even given him time,” she argues, still concentrating on her phone.
“Fine.” I cross my arms and pout. “Tell me who you’re talking to.”
“Damn, nosy.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s Brett’s cheating ass. He wants to get back together.”
“Vomit. Please tell me you’re not considering it?”
“Hell no.” She’s still typing like she’s writing a farewell letter before dying.
“Stop entertaining him then.”
She laughs. “I enjoy watching him squirm.”
“Like he squirmed his pint-size wiener into vaginas that weren’t yours?”
“Pretty much.”
“How about I help you out with that and stop you from doing something stupid.” I attempt to snatch her phone, but she’s faster than I am.
“Nice try. Let me have my fun. Don’t blame a girl for enjoying break-up revenge. They seem to always come back sniffing around when they realize you’re done playing their games and have moved on.”
“If only Hudson were a douchebag like Brett.”
She darkens her screen and slips her phone into her bag. “If that were the case, you wouldn’t be sacrificing your career for him. That was a big step, and I’m proud of you.”
“Glad I have your support for being unemployed and single the rest of my life.” I moan out in irritation. “I need carbs. I need alcohol. I need carbs mixed with alcohol.”
I turned my phone off after reading the text from Dallas, handed it to Willow, and made her promise not to give it back under no circumstances until tomorrow—even if I threatened to cut her hair off while she’s sleeping.
I’m avoiding all forms of communication in petrification of what people are saying about my speech.
“When I declared I was going off the grid, I assumed you’d do the same,” I whine.
We’re back in the hotel and lounging in bed wearing our pajamas. It’s been three hours since I humiliated myself in front of millions of people. It’s felt like three hundred days. Willow has been on her phone non-stop since we got back to the room and refuses to let me read the texts from Brett.
She looks over at me, raising a brow, while sitting Indian style across from me. “You know what they say when you assume.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. You officially suck at being a heartbroken wing-woman.”
Her face turns serious. “I’m your assistant. I have to make sure people aren’t talking too much shit about you. My mother is also texting me about your drama. I swear, that woman is more interested in your relationships than my own.” She holds her phone out to me. “If you’re so bent out of shape about it, you can text them back.”
I wave my hand through the air when her phone beeps again. “Forget it. Go right ahead. Make that thing useful and order some food while you’re at it. I’d like alcohol and ice cream to be our guests of honor.”
“Don’t you think you have enough here?” She jerks her head toward the bottle of vodka sitting on the nightstand.
I opened it about an hour ago after throwing my shoes across the room and declaring I was swearing off men for the rest of my life. What’s better than being a heartbroken hot mess? Being a drunken and heartbroken hot mess.
I jump up on my knees. “Oh my god! Speaking of ice cream, don’t they make some with alcohol in it now?” That’s my kind of dessert. “If you find it and get it delivered, I’ll give you a raise.”
“If I do, you’ll stop bitching about me being on the phone?”
“Stay on your phone all you want, and I’ll enjoy my alcohol and sugar.”
“Challenge accepted.”
“Are you dead?” I stutter to Willow’s voicemail. I searched the place for my phone and found it hidden in a bathroom cabinet. “It’s been twenty-five minutes since you said you were meeting the delivery guy in the lobby. Where did you find it? Craigslist?” I slap my hand against my mouth and hiccup. “I’m a terrible person. I got my best friend murdered over ice cream desperation.”
I continue to ramble how I’ll make sure she has a good funeral but stop when I hear the front door open. I end the call, and the phone bounces on the mattress when I drop it. I slide off the bed and nearly face plant in the process of rushing into the living room.
“Fuck Willow, why aren’t you answering your phone? I thought I was going to have to identify your body,” I screech. I’m throwing my arms in the air and dramatically stomping my feet.
I skid to a sudden stop.
My breathing restricts like all the air has been sucked out of the room.
Hudson stands only a few feet away from me in a wide stance. His hands are pushed into the front pockets of his ripped jeans, and his whiskey-colored eyes stare into mine with uncertainty. I rub my eyes—certain the alcohol is toying with my mind.
“Your new bodyguard needs fired,” is his icebreaker.
I relax at the sound of his gentle voice. He’s not angry or here to yell at me for wronging him. He’s here to be the Hudson I fell in love with—the rough on the outside man who opened up his softer side to me.
“It’s hard finding someone as skilled as you,” I whisper, stumbling over my words.
What does this mean?
Is he here to ask me not to talk about him in public … or did my speech change something?
I run my hands through my tangled hair. It’s not how I’d planned on seeing him in our moment of reconciliation, but it’s how he prefers me, so no need to stress about it. He appreciates the real me, not my money, my fame, or how I look after an hour with my glam squad.
I don’t move when he takes a step closer.
“I had a guys’ night tonight,” he tells me.
I look around in confusion. “Okay?”
“We ended up watching some award show.”
I cover my face in humiliation. “Please tell me you turned t
he channel before they announced best couple?”
He grins wildly. “But that was my favorite part, Hollywood.”
I move my hand to reveal a timid smile. “So, it worked?”
He takes another step. We’re only arms-length away from each other. “It brought me here.”
“Is that a yes?”
He takes that last stride, stopping in front of me, and grabs my hand. I stagger a bit when he leads me over to the sofa and sits us down so we’re facing each other.
“I know you’re probably pissed at me, and you have every right to be,” he says.
I flinch. Me pissed at him?
I was the one who chose my career over us.
“It was killing me watching you pretend to be with another man. Fucking killing me,” he stresses, his face turning grim. “Even though it was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make, there was no choice for me but to let you go.”
I clutch at my chest. “But I was yours. I told you that. I wanted nothing more than to be yours! I didn’t want Eli. I wanted you!” My eyes start watering, and I can feel the tears ready to unveil.
“Actions speak louder than words, and your actions were playing the fake girlfriend of another man. I couldn’t even touch the woman I loved in public. When those pictures of us leaked, even though I never wanted it to happen, I thought that maybe it was a good thing—maybe you’d be honest and choose us. But you didn’t. Instead, you fled and left me hanging out to rot like the bad guy treading on some other dude’s woman when in actuality it was my heart getting stomped on.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry! I had too many people wanting too many things from me.” My buzz is beginning to wear off.
“All I wanted from you was to choose me. You can have your career. You can have the life you want. I want you to be happy and to be part of what’s making you happy. I wanted to hear you say those words, Stella! I wanted to hear, to feel, that you were falling in love with me as much as I was you.”
Whoa. My heart starts racing.
“I do fucking love you!” I tell him. “I realized I couldn’t lose you, and in case you missed it, I did in front of millions of people. If you don’t believe what I said was true, turn on the TV, log onto the internet, and watch it again. You can hear you’re the only one I want.”
“I saw it. It’s not that I don’t believe you. What I’m trying to say is that even though I appreciate the gesture, that’s not what I needed.”
“What do you need then?”
“For you to choose me and not make me share.” He shakes his head. “Maybe I should’ve given you more time. I don’t know where we went wrong or what could’ve changed the outcome. All I know is I’m here to say I’m sorry.”
I take his hand in mine. “I’m sorry for everything. I’ve been doing some soul-searching.”
He chuckles. “With the help of alcohol, I see.”
I narrow my eyes his way. “Hey! I’m not perfect.”
He squeezes my hand and brushes his thumb along the edge. “I’m not expecting you to be. I mean, technically, you’re perfect in my eyes. But in reality and relationships, perfection is unrealistic. All I’m asking from you is honesty and loyalty. I can deal with any other bullshit thrown our way. I promise to give you the same.” His other hand reaches out, and he uses his thumb to wipe my tears away. “And I sure as fuck don’t want to make you cry.”
I point to my face. “Tears of joy. I promise.”
He brushes a tangled strand of hair away from my face. “And drunkenness, which is why I think we need to stop any other serious conversations for tonight. I want you sober when we figure things out.”
I perk up. “You’re going to stay?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I grin.
He grins.
I’m drunk and love struck. Nothing else matters at this moment but the two of us. Not what other people think. Not the consequences of my speech.
Nothing.
He pulls me closer, and I turn, making myself comfortable with my back against his hard chest and relax.
He feathers his fingers down my arm. “You want to know one of the biggest things I’ve missed about us?”
“The blowjobs?”
He chuckles. “Yes, I’ve definitely missed those, but what I miss the most is sharing a bed with you. I loved waking up next to you in the morning. I don’t know how, but you shine a light on my flashbacks and nightmares. I don’t feel anything but happiness when you’re in my arms.”
I tilt my head back, and he moves in to press his lips against mine. Our mouths linger before we separate. I’ve missed this so much. Nothing compares to being in his arms.
“I feel nothing but happiness when I’m there. You make me feel like I’m enough, like no matter what mistakes or decisions I make, I won’t lose you,” I tell him before something hits me, and sweep my eyes over the room. “Uh, have you seen Willow?”
“Her and Dallas are grabbing a bite to eat,” he answers. “I booked her a room so we could talk.”
Thank God.
I raise my brow. “Talk, eh?”
“Trust me, there will be much more than talking in the morning. I’ll be giving you speeches with my tongue between your legs as breakfast.”
I shiver. “I have something to look forward to. Hopefully, it cures hangovers.”
He chuckles. “If not, we can try ways.”
“I like the sound of that, and before I forget to ask, you said Willow and Dallas are grabbing a bite to eat. He’s here?”
“He decided to come with me. It’ll be good for him to get out of town. I know people mean well, but they’re still dropping off condolence pies and flowers. It’s tearing him apart.”
“I agree. Willow is probably giving him a tour and forcing him to visit every food truck. She loves this city. I take it this was planned, and everyone was in on it but me?”
“After I saw your speech, I texted Willow telling her I needed to see you. I asked her not to ruin the surprise.”
Hell, this was a set-up. She wasn’t texting douchebag Brett. Her sneaky-ass was texting Hudson. I can’t believe she didn’t hide the alcohol if she knew he was coming. I’m sure it would’ve looked very suspect had she taken the liquor. Her sneakiness has made me goddamn happy, so I guess she’ll get a raise and new puppy or something.
“Tillie, Tillie, Tillie, my mom, my sister.” I’m reading off the list of voicemails on my phone.
It’s morning, but the sun isn’t blessing me with its presence thanks to the thick curtains. My brain is playing ping-pong with my skull.
“Reporter,” I go on. “TMZ. Reporter. Buzzfeed. Tillie. My manager.” I sigh, tossing my phone on the floor. “It might be time to change my number.”
“Or block Tillie,” Hudson says, lifting himself up with his elbow and resting his chin in his palm, smiling down at me.
I love waking up next to him. His hair is a tousled mess, and his gaze on me is gentle. Tilting his head forward, he brushes his lips along the tip of my nose.
“That crazy ass woman is most likely searching the streets for you and punching people in the face when they tell her they have no idea where you are,” he adds. “We need to come up with a plan on handling her.”
Kill her?
“Willow emailed my attorney in case she tries to sue me and take my first born.”
My perfect assistant not only has my back personally but professionally as well. She jumped with glee when I told her my speech idea. She pulled out her phone and immediately began drafting an email to my attorney and publicist, waiting to hit send until it actually happened. Willow might be little, but the chick gets shit done.
“Don’t you mean our first born?” he corrects.
That sentence shoots a spark right through my veins, waking my ass up. Bring on the sunshine. I suddenly feel rejuvenated, at the top of the world, and am on the verge of getting up to perform a happy dance. I no longer think I’d be a bad mom with Hudson at
my side. I’ll be fine, and there’s not a doubt in my mind he will be an amazing father. He’s great with Maven.
I can already imagine it.
I stare up at him, our gazes meeting, and I can feel my smile growing. “Let me correct myself. Our first born.”
“Just wanted to clarify,” he says, his grin matching mine. I shudder when his fingers dance over my arm. “Now, that we’ve had the children talk, how about we rewind and have the pre-baby talk?”
He stayed true to his word last night. We didn’t have a big relationship conversation. He made me drink plenty of water, told me to make myself comfortable in his arms on the couch, and we watched TV until I dosed off. He then carried me to bed and tucked me in.
Yesterday started out in hell and ended up in heaven.
Heaven is about to cloud when we bring up plans, compromises … and the miles that separate us.
Why can’t we skip the serious relationship questions?
Love … that’s why.
It always seems to make everything so damn complicated.
He laughs when I groan. “We held off until you were sober, so where should we start?”
I sit up. “I can change that. I didn’t get a chance to finish the vodka last night.”
He stops me from sliding out of bed. “Nice try.”
I frown, and his tone turns serious. Not stern-like, but more like a straight to business voice. “What’s the next step?”
“I want to take some time off,” I answer, timidly looking at him. “I thought I could maybe stay in Iowa with you?”
My idea catches him off guard, and his response does the same to me.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want you to change and completely uproot your life for me. You love acting. It’s in your heart. I can’t ask you to give it all up and move to Blue Beech. You wouldn’t be happy.”
I hold my hand out to stop him. “I’m not saying I want to retire or start raising cattle. I’ve been thinking about taking a break for a while now because I haven’t found a role I’ve liked. I’ll have my manager keep an eye out for anything that might catch my interest.” I snuggle in closer to him. “Meanwhile, I’d like to get out of the spotlight until everything dies down.”
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