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“Could be.” Nash tossed his empty can. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Hudson raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “I don’t think you do.”
“You think I’m not responsible enough. Not dedicated or grounded. You think I’ll go nuts staying in one spot longer than a year.”
“That’s generous. Six months is what I would have said.” Hudson eyed his friend. “Have you thought this through?”
“That’s why I’m here. To think things through.”
Hudson let things settle as he pondered Nash’s words. “Where you staying?”
“Up the road. My grandmother left me the cottage when she passed on last year. It needs a bit of updating, but it’s solid. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“If you need help with anything, let me know.” Hudson looked down at his handiwork. “Feels good to get the hands dirty.”
Nash got to his feet and stretched. “How long you plan on sticking around? I hear your old man isn’t doing great.”
“He’s not. I took a leave from work to deal with things, and right now, everything is up in the air.”
“You got plans tonight?”
Hudson got to his feet and followed Nash up the steps. “Hadn’t thought that far ahead. What’s up?” They reached the top steps just as a gust of wind rolled across the water. The air was definitely on the chilly side, and the sun had dipped behind the tree line.
“It’s wing night at the Coach House. Thought I’d get a head start on the whole thinking-things-through thing.”
The Coach House. Wing night. Shit. Had it really only been a we
ek since he’d been back?
“Becca works there Monday nights,” Nash said.
“I know.”
Hudson took a moment to respond. He had to. Because his heart started up, beating something fierce, pushing something hard and almost…angry through him.
“You and her aren’t…” Hudson’s jaw clamped down because he couldn’t verbalize what he was thinking. “You guys…”
Nash’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?” He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and cocked his head to the side. “I told you already, Hudsy. Becca and I are friends, and we’ve kept in touch.”
Hudson looked away from eyes that saw too much and wished he’d kept his damn mouth shut.
“What’s up with you two anyway? You run into each other yet?”
Naked limbs. Delicate mouth bruised from his kisses. That tattoo on her lower hip. His tattoo. They were images he couldn’t shake, and the reason he’d spent half the night in bed with a raging hard-on and a need to see her so bad, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“You could say that,” he muttered.
“And?” Nash prodded.
That was the big question now, wasn’t it? Where the hell did he and Rebecca go from Saturday night? They couldn’t go back. Couldn’t change what had happened between them.
The note Rebecca left made it seem as if Saturday night was a mistake. As if it was something she regretted. Hudson Blackwell didn’t believe in regret. He believed in action and consequence. She’d opened the door for him, and he’d walked right on through. That was her action and his reaction.
As for the consequence? The consequence was still unknown. The consequence was buried in need and want and desire. They’d always been good together. Sure, the sex had been off the charts, but they’d had so much more than just the physical. Until he’d left and screwed up everything. For a long time, he’d blamed his father for making it impossible for him to stay in Crystal Lake. Eventually, he’d realized it was on him. Every decision. Every action and consequence was on him. He could use the excuse of being young and stupid and irrational, but again, it only held so much weight.
By the time Hudson figured it out, it was too late. Rebecca had left Crystal Lake and married some guy he’d never heard of.
And now what? Had Saturday night only been about sex? Just a connection with a woman who would always hold a special place in his heart? Or was it something more?
