by Abby Brooks
“Maya.” Chelsea barks my name and I freeze on my way to the door. “Sit down.”
“Since when do you get to tell me what to do?”
“Since I was born first and you’re being ridiculous.” Chelsea unfolds her arms as she walks to me, steers me back to the table. “Let me help you.”
“This is what you call help? Offending the hell out of me?” I try to sound indignant, but I just sound wounded as I sit right back down in the chair I just left.
“We’ll come back to all the painful stuff. I promise. But right now, wouldn’t it feel good to find a path and move forward on it?”
The coffee pot gurgles and hisses while I sigh. “There is no path. I’m stuck in the middle of quicksand.”
“There’s always a path. Sometimes you have to get a little dirt under your nails to find it.”
The bold smell of strong coffee fills the small kitchen. Chelsea always makes hers with an extra scoop or two. I like mine a little milder, but maybe I need a little of my sister’s oomph tonight. “I don’t know what to do.”
“When it comes to the baby, you have three options. Keep it. Adoption. Or…” Chelsea trails off and shrugs, swallowing hard.
“But I don’t. Because I don’t think I can choose the second option and I know I can’t choose the third.”
“I understand. I would have called you a fool a year ago, but now? After the twins? I understand.” Chelsea swings open a cabinet door and pulls out two mugs.
“But how can I even think about keeping it?” I ask as she pours our coffee.
“Because you don’t have a choice. You’re pregnant. You will have a baby.”
“But what about the hospital? How can I finish my residency while being a single mother?” I wrap my hands around the mug and lean over it, breathing in the familiar aroma.
“Because, if that’s the path you choose, you won’t have a choice.”
“It’s impossible.” The mug warms my hands when I pick it up.
“Nothing’s impossible. And you’re not alone. You’ve got me and Max. Mom and Dad.”
I close my eyes. “But not Hudson.”
Chelsea squints at me, studying me the way she watches her patients when they’re playing on TV. “Do you even want him after all this?”
“Yes.” I don’t even have to think about my answer. “Sure he’s being a total dickweasel right now, but yes, I want him to be part of this. I want him to love me and love this baby and I want to raise our child together.” My eyes mist over with tears and I sip at my coffee to help chase them away.
“Then call him. Right now. And don’t stop calling until he answers. And if he doesn’t answer, I’ll drive you to his house and you can bang on his door until he opens it up and lets you in. If you want this, fight for it.”
I blink at my sister and then pull out my phone. My heart stammers as I pull up his contact information and a jolt of adrenaline joins forces with the coffee and races through my bloodstream. I place the call and hold Chelsea’s gaze as I listen to the phone ring, preparing myself to hear his voice again when it clicks over to voicemail. Imagine my surprise when I hear him pick up, sound and energy and music throbbing in the background.
“Hello?” A female voice, high pitched and tipsy.
“Hello?” I respond, confused. I pull the phone away from my ear and double check that I called Hudson.
“You’ve reached Hudson Knox’s phone,” chirps the woman on the other end, giggling and slurring.
“I need to talk to Hudson.” Bile rises in my throat. There’s a strong chance I might throw up.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Hudson’s very much occupied at the moment.” More giggling.
Anger clamps down on my heart and it finally shatters wholly and completely. “Tell him Maya called and said he can go straight to hell.”
I hang up the phone with shaking hands and wait for the tears to start. They don’t. Rage is a much stronger companion than sorrow. This is something I can work with. This is something I can use to get on with my life and build something out of the wreckage.
I look at my sister and laugh at the pinched look of worry on her face. “You know what? Fuck Hudson Knox. I don’t need him and I sure as hell don’t want him.”
While Chelsea wrestles with what to say, I take my first full breath since I ran out of his apartment all those weeks ago.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Who the fuck was that?” I grab my phone from the giggling blonde sitting on Sloan’s lap.
The blonde laughs at me. There’s cruelty in her eyes. “Someone named Maya who said you could go straight to hell.”
“What?” I pull up the caller ID and there’s her contact picture smiling out at me. Of all the times I chose to leave my phone on the table to get another drink. “What did you say to her?”
Sloan squints at me. “Damn, Knox. Mad much?” He pulls the blonde in close, like he’s protecting her from me. “Why don’t you back off?”
I make a disgusted sound in the back of my throat. “Done,” I say as I stand up and gather my things. “You two enjoy each other.” And then I’m gone.
It was a mistake to come out with Sloan in the first place. I don’t want to flirt with a hundred nameless women anymore. Each time a new one came up to me, smiling and shoving her tits in my face, all I could think about was Maya. Curling up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a whole series to binge through on Netflix. Pulling her tight against me as we fall asleep all wrapped up in each other. The look on her face when I slide my dick inside her, like I was built just for her and she’s mine.
That’s what I want. Not this bullshit sitting at a club getting off because of the sheer number of women throwing themselves at me. I want something real. I want Maya.
Maya who’s pregnant with my child.
Maya who thinks I don’t want her.
Maya who thinks I’m out with another woman.
This situation is just fucked.
But I’m partly to blame for that. Okay, I’m very much to blame.
I burst through the front doors of the club without even bothering to put my coat on. My breath puffs in front of my face and snowflakes filter down through the streetlights. They sparkle and glitter and the first thought in my head is that I wish Maya was here to see it. She’d laugh, her face tilting up in that way of hers, and say something sarcastic about me being girly, but she’d be smiling the whole time.
The urge to punch my car is almost overpowering when I walk up to it in the parking lot. I need to hit something. Or go for a run. Or … something.
I can’t go on like this, living with her in each and every part of my day even when I’ve done everything I possibly can to get her out of my life. Damn it! If only I’d been there to answer my phone!
Then what? What would change? She’d still be pregnant, still be everything I thought she wasn’t—a gold-digging whore after my fame and fortune instead of my heart and soul. Fucking hell. Who even says things like that? Since when did I care about my heart and soul?
I need to get her out of my head. I need to stop thinking about Maya London. And I think that means I need to stop avoiding her. I need to sit down and talk to her. Find out what the hell is going on with the baby and then say goodbye.
I drive to her apartment, hands gripping the steering wheel, jaw clenched, but there’s this tiny little flame of happiness igniting my heart at the thought of seeing her again. When I pull into the parking lot outside her building, her windows are dark and her car is nowhere to be seen. Well you know what? I’ll just sit here and wait.
She wants to talk? Well here I am.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I almost don’t turn into my parking lot because I see Hudson’s car sitting there beside the spot I normally claim as mine. What the hell? All I want for weeks is to see him and he’s nowhere to be found but the instant I feel strong enough to do this without him he appears out of thin air?
I don’t think so.
He doe
sn’t get to ignore me while I unravel, fuck a bunch of women while I cry his name into my pillow. He doesn’t get to disappear on me only to show up at my doorstep the moment I’m finally angry enough not to care. Of course my first reaction is to run away, just keep driving right past my turn off and head straight back to Chelsea.
I’m so over being a coward. I’m over being invisible. I’m over bending to everyone else’s whims and not worrying about the things I want. The things I need.
So I don’t keep driving. I turn into the parking lot and pull right up next to Hudson’s car. I get out without looking at him. Ignore the lurch of nerves and nausea in my stomach and pull my coat tighter around my body.
My heels strike the pavement—the right one says fuck and the left one says you—as I stride up to my front door. Behind me, his door thumps shut.
“Maya.”
His voice does funny things to my resolve. It sounds like home. Like laughter. Like acceptance. Like my soul rejoicing through the clouds as he calls my name, his hips thrusting against mine as he comes inside me.
And that, my friends, is how we got into this situation in the first place.
I set my jaw and refuse to turn around. Slide my keys into my lock and compliment myself on the total lack of tears. Chelsea was right. Moving past the emotion feels amazing.
He grabs my shoulder and I whirl. “Get your hands off me,” I hiss.
Anger casts a shadow over his handsome face. He looks nothing like the Hudson I thought I loved. “No.”
“Fine.” I open my door, step inside, and slam the door in his face. That should show him exactly what I think about him. That should prove just how over him I am. That should give him a taste of what it feels like to be ignored when you have something you really need to say.
Feeling mostly proud of myself, I stride into my living room and wouldn’t you know? Hudson just walks right in and closes the door behind him.
“You don’t get to walk away from me,” he says through a clenched jaw.
“What?” My mouth falls open. “You don’t get to say that. Not to me. Not after disappearing on me when I needed you the most.”
“You mean you needed my money.”
Rage takes control of my body. I close the distance between us and stand directly in front of him. “No, asshole. I needed you.”
I stab him in the chest with my pointer finger and he grabs my wrist. We stand like that, frozen in time. I’m stunned by his proximity. Stupefied by his touch. Terrified that I’m not going to be able to hold onto my anger and I’ll fall back into sorrow because, damn it, I still love this man.
I pull out of his grasp and cross the room. Distance between us. That’s essential.
“What do you want, Maya?”
“You’re the one standing in my apartment in the middle of the night.” I scowl at the wall, unable to look at him. If I look at him, my strength will waver and I can’t let that happen.
“You’re the one who called me. Again. For the hundredth time.”
“And you’re the one who was out with another woman.” And just like that, a splinter shows up in the armor I built around my heart. I lean my head against the wall and I cry. So much for being strong. So much for showing him what it feels like not to be wanted. So much for not wanting him.
“Maya,” says Hudson, his voice softening. “Don’t cry.”
I shake my head and turn away from him. “Please leave,” I manage.
Instead of leaving, Hudson crosses the room and runs a hand down my back. Puts the other hand on my shoulder. I want to push myself into his arms, wrap myself up in his strength. I want to cry and cry and cry and tell him I love him and I want everything to be okay.
“No. We need to talk.”
“You’re breaking my heart.” I spin to face him, leaning on the wall so he can’t touch me. “I love you like I’ve never loved anyone else. I didn’t want to let you have any meaning whatsoever because I knew I was going to end up here, shattered. Broken. I didn’t want to love you but you told me it would be fine.” Sobs swallow my voice.
“Maya…” Hudson reaches for me and I him push away again.
“No!” I wrap my arms around my stomach, trying to hold in the rush of feelings that are desperate to tear me open. “It’s not fine! I’m not fine! I’m falling to pieces without you and I’m more scared than I’ve ever been so if you don’t have anything to say would you please get the fuck out of my apartment?” I point to the door with a shaking hand.
Hudson lowers his head and takes a deep breath. Passes me on his way to the door without looking at me. My lower lip trembles. My breath is caught. If I move, I’ll break and I refuse to do that in front of him.
And then, in a rush of movement and sound, Hudson changes his direction, moves to me and swoops me up in his arms. Presses his lips to mine and there’s this moment where I’m confused and my heart is surging with something that must be joy. I slide my hands up his chest, remembering how his skin feels when it’s pressed to mine, remembering the hard pressure of his cock against me, the answering call of lust in my body.
This man is my world. How will I survive having a child that looks just like him, when I can never have him again?
I press my hands against his chest and push him away. He grabs my wrist and pulls me back.
“Let me go,” I say as I pull away.
“I can’t.” Something in his voice makes me go still. “I can’t let you go, Maya. You’re everything to me.” He runs a hand up my cheek, into my hair.
“You’ve got a fucked up way of showing it.” But I lean into his hand despite myself.
Hudson doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t make an excuse. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. My breath hitches once and then I’m lost in him. So lost.
Our bodies crash together as my hands grip his back and pull him into me. I can’t fight him anymore. I can’t ignore how much I want him. I pull at his shirt and he steps away from me long enough to whip it over his head and discard it on my floor.
He fumbles with his zipper while I pull off my shirt and step out of my pants. I expose myself to him, bare myself to him once again. His eyes rake over my body and then he’s on me again. We kiss and our hands dance along familiar paths. I grab his dick and he gasps, swoops me up before I can kneel and take him in my mouth.
I wrap my legs around his hips, grinding into his hard dick as he puts me down on my kitchen table. And then he’s inside me, moving with such force, his eyes claiming mine, my name on his lips.
“I missed you, Maya.”
“I need you, Hudson.”
He groans and shoves himself into me. “I love you.”
My breath hitches. “I love you, too.”
He rolls his hips and I lose the rest of the moment to sensation and emotion. I’m riding high, flying on feeling. He’s here, with me, loving me in this moment and whether or not we’ll last doesn’t matter because right now, I am complete. How can I worry when I have everything I ever wanted?
Hudson. Here with me. That’s all I need for my happily ever after.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hudson kicks into some kind of frantic nesting mode as my belly swells and grows. I’ve never seen anything like it. If there’s a product out there, we have it, and probably more than one. I’m starting to believe he’s trying to apologize for abandoning me and not believing me by making sure to solve for every possible need me or the baby might have. By the time the winter frost gives way to the green of spring, he’s talking about moving me in with him.
I’m hesitant to agree. If his reaction to my pregnancy taught me one thing, it taught me that he could disappear from my life at any minute. That he is in no way a permanent fixture here. I can’t be that vulnerable to him again. I just can’t.
Hudson clanks and thumps around the kitchen of his apartment, cooking dinner for us. “Maya!” he calls over the whirr of the food processor. “Where are you?”
I wait for silence before answering. “In the living room.”
“Why?”
“Because the couch is in here.”
“But I miss you.” He mutters a curse underneath the clatter of a bowl hitting the floor. “And I need your help.”
Groaning, I pull myself off the couch and waddle into the kitchen. I’m not even that big yet, just barely starting to show, and I feel like an absolute cow. I can’t imagine how I’m going to feel later when I actually get big.
“There’s my beautiful woman,” says Hudson as I turn the corner into the kitchen and see the disaster of cookware and flour he’s created.
“What the hell happened in here?”
He studies the mess. “Cooking is hard.”
“Why don’t we just go out?” Although, even as I say it I realize that I don’t really want to go anywhere. Staying in sounds so very nice.
Hudson shakes his head and wipes his hand on a towel hanging from the oven door. “I told you. One of us needs to learn how to cook. We can’t raise a child on restaurant food. I’m more than happy to be the sacrificial lamb here.”
“I’m not sure you’re the only one making a sacrifice, here. I have to eat whatever it is you’re concocting.”
“You mean the fried chicken of awesomeness coupled with a mashed potato masterpiece?” Hudson brandishes a spoon and bits of something go flying off onto the floor.
Turns out that the meal is pretty delicious, even if the gravy he made had its fair share of lumps. I offer to clean up the kitchen, but he makes me sit down, citing me as too pregnant to have to do anything else.
“Besides,” he says while scrubbing the counter for the fifth time. “You work really hard all day. I like being able to take care of you at night.”
I chalk that up to more of his guilt for abandoning me coming through but just smile and thank him. As far as I can tell, he’s not aware that I’ve lost some measure of trust in him, that I’m holding bits and pieces of myself back. And if he is? Well, he’s being awful damn patient about letting me come around on my own.