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Wyatt posed for one last selfie with a cute redhead and then hopped in.
“Travis gonna make it?” Hudson asked as he eased into traffic.
“Think so.” Wyatt yawned and leaned back in his seat. “He doesn’t play till Saturday, and I understood he would be home by noon. So I’m guessing he’s already there.”
“You pull an all-nighter?” Hudson shook his head. His brother reeked of cigars, booze, and women. It was the trifecta of all trifectas, and it currently had Wyatt by the balls.
“Damn right I did, so keep it down. If I want to enjoy my Thanksgiving turkey, I need to catch some shut-eye.”
Hudson didn’t say a word. Twenty-four hours earlier, he’d been holed up in a dive in San Francisco, running on zero sleep and a rush of adrenaline so high, it gave him the shakes. After weeks of knocking down doors and calling in favors, his team, combined with local law enforcement, had been able to nail down Dartmouth’s location. It had been under the radar, and he’d been off the grid for weeks. Hudson was the lucky bastard who’d been given the green light to bring him in, which should have made him feel like a fucking king.
Professionally speaking, it was a big win, and yet, in the minutes just after he’d cuffed Dartmouth, the only thing he could think about was Rebecca. The instant gratification was gone. He’d been congratulated, and then his mind moved elsewhere. And here he was, about to change the game. He just hoped she was up for it.
After debriefing, she’d been the first person he’d called. But just like the past few hours her phone went straight to voice mail. Pissed him off. He needed to hear her voice like he needed air to breathe.
Needed to know she was still waiting.
Hudson drove like a son of a bitch—Wyatt would have been proud—and they reached the familiar sights of Crystal Lake at just after six o’clock. His brother must have sensed he was home, because he pushed back his Dodgers ball cap and gazed out the window as they crossed the bridge and sped along River Road.
“This place doesn’t change.”
It did. And it would. But Hudson didn’t bother pointing that out. Wyatt would figure it out eventually.
They pulled up in the drive, and Hudson hopped out before Wyatt even had time to put his hand on the door. He spied his father’s car, a rental he was going to assume belonged to Travis, and—his heart jumped—Rebecca’s modest vehicle.
He strode up the steps, uncaring that his jeans were wrinkled or that the boots he wore were still caked with dirt and European mud. He knew he looked like shit, but he didn’t give a crap. It was the least of his worries.
He pushed into the house, was immediately assaulted by the familiar scents of turkey and stuffing and all the fixings that went along with that. Voices spilled out of the great room. Liam’s, then his father’s, laughter.
Then Rebecca’s soft rejoinder.
He didn’t take his boots off, even though there would be hell to pay from Darlene, and strode into the back room as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Maybe they were, because if things didn’t work out the way he’d envisioned, Hudson would probably spend the rest of his days putting out fires and taming the beasts.
He saw her right away. She was bent near his father, a smile on her face as John recounted a story or joke. When Darlene gasped, she glanced up, and that was when everything went wonky.
The room sort of faded away, and he blinked rapidly until his vision cleared. He was aware that Wyatt was beside him and that Travis got up from the chair by the fireplace. This should have been a monumental occasion, considering it was the first time all the Blackwell men had gotten together in years. But Hudson didn’t give a crap about that. In this moment, all he cared about was the pale woman standing beside his father.
“You look like shit.” That was Travis.
Hudson ignored his brother. There was time for all that later. He crossed the room and nodded to his father before pausing in front of the one person on the planet he needed to see more than anyone.
“I’m back.”
Her face was blank, though she was breathing fast and hard, as if she’d just run a mile.
“Becca.”
Liam had gotten to his feet and taken two steps toward him, but stopped in his tracks when he sensed the tension in the room.
“Bec?” he asked again, swallowing a hard lump as he tried to gauge just where her head was at.
“Not here.” Her words were whispered.
“Becca, we need to talk.”
She shook her head, chin trembling slightly. “Not here. I can’t…”
Wyatt walked by him just then and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m not real up on the way relationships work. But I’m going to guess you need to do some groveling before this situation improves.”
