Page 79 of Hudson
“Don’t be. You didn’t shoot him.” She said it firmly, like she’d already decided not to let him carry it. “He’s strong. He’ll come back from this.”
Hud pulled her into a hug and held on for a moment. When he stepped back he knew he had tears in his eyes, but he didn’t care. Creed was one of his best friends. “Yes he will.”
Abbie looked at Blair. “Take him home. Make sure he actually sleeps.”
“I will.” Blair touched her arm. “Call me if you need anything at all.”
“I promise.” Abbie hugged her, then turned and walked back toward Creed’s room.
Blair looked at Hud. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Which home?”
“Mine. Tonight.”
He hesitated just long enough for her to notice, then nodded. “Alright. I want to stay a few more minutes.”
“Hud.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “There’s nothing you can do tonight. They won’t let you see him until tomorrow. Come back then.”
He looked down the hall toward where Abbie had gone, then back at Blair. “Yeah. You’re right.”
He took her hand and they walked to the elevator together. When the doors closed he leaned back against the wall and let out a long slow breath. He knew sleep wasn’t coming easy, not with Creed’s blood still in the creases of his knuckles and the whole night playing on a loop in his head.
But Blair was beside him. He’d make it through until morning. He was sure of that much.
Chapter Twelve
Blair woke before he did. She lay still for a moment, aware of the unfamiliar weight of his arm across her waist, the sound of his breathing slow and deep beside her. The room was gray with early light and the house was quiet. She turned her head carefully so as not to wake him and looked at him.
He’d stayed.
She hadn’t been sure he would, even after everything. She’d half expected to wake up alone, his side of the bed empty and his truck gone from the driveway. But he was here, his face relaxed in sleep in a way it never quite was when he was awake, and something in her chest settled at the sight of it.
She thought about everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. The fight on the stairs, him walking out, the call from Celine, the hospital, his hands laced through hers in that waiting room. I’m in love with you. Said quietly, without fanfare, like it had simply become too true to keep to himself any longer, and she believed him.
She eased carefully out from under his arm and slipped out of bed, reaching for her robe from the hook on the back of the door. In the kitchen she made herself a cup of coffee and stood at the window watching the morning come in over the rooftops.
She heard him on the stairs a few minutes later and put a cup on for him.
He appeared in the doorway in yesterday’s jeans and nothing else, hair still messed from sleep, and she thought he looked absolutely devastating first thing in the morning, which seemed deeply unfair.
“Your coffee is almost ready,” she said.
“Good.” He came into the kitchen and without a word pulled her back against his chest and pressed his lips to the top of her head. They stood like that for a moment, his arms loose around her, both watching the coffee brew.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked.
“Better than I have in a while.” His voice was still rough from sleep. “You?”
“Same.”
He turned her around to face him and looked at her for a moment, his eyes moving over her face like he was taking inventory. Then he kissed her softly, unhurried, the kind of kiss that had nothing to prove.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said against her lips. “The fight. I should have told you the minute I walked in.”
“We both should have handled it differently.” She smoothed her hand along his jaw, the stubble coming in thick. “It’s done.”
He nodded and reached past her to lift his mug, then they carried their cups to the small table by the window and sat across from each other in the quiet morning light.
