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“I know that Rocky really hurt you—”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Mom.”
“Not every football player is a jerk.”
She made a sound to that. So far…and maybe, okay, she wouldn’t include Hudson in that category.
Or at least, the Hudson that seemed to morph into a responsible, albeit annoying, babysitter. But before that—
“No, Mom. No football players for me, European or otherwise. I’m happily single. It’s just…hard to meet people when I travel so much.”
“I get that. I’m still feeling jet-lagged after our trip to France.”
The driver had slowed as he came down her street, cobblestones flanked on either side by ocher-yellow and burnt-pink or orange stucco homes, most with Juliet balconies, many with bicycles parked outside. Planters with lemon trees or geraniums cordoned off the sidewalk, and the bistro near her house had attached their plastic tenting, adding warmth to the chilly evening.
“Mom, it’s been at least two weeks, and you’re still tired?”
“I’m fine, honey. Although, I am a little worried about your brothers. Ned and Fraser left in such a hurry about a week ago—I know Fraser is retired and Ned is on leave, but I got the sense that they were about to deploy on some secret op.” She finished with a chuckle, but Iris only drew in a breath.
So, the boys had left their mother—and maybe their father—out of the loop. Interesting.
But the boys had always been a little protective of their mother.
And her.
Her mouth tightened, thinking of Fraser’s words to Hud.Take her home.
Poor man hadn’t even been given a choice. Even when she protested.
But that was Fraser. Bossy. Made her feel invisible most of the time.
“I know that Jonas sometimes stops by, so if you happen to see the boys, can you have them call home? I don’t like to bother them, but…” She sighed.
“I’m sure they’re fine, Mom,” she said, hating that she’d suddenly taken sides with the boys. The driver pulled up outside her apartment block. Hers sat on the end, a two-story townhome with an inner gated courtyard and a view of the lake. She’d renovated it herself, adding an Italian tiled bathroom and finishing the attic.
“When is your next game?”
“Not for a week. I’m flying to Spain for a week of practices with the Barcelona Dragons. Then they play the Vienna Vikings.”
And oh goody, she’d see Hudson.
Given the way she’d left him, he wasn’t likely to be in a great hurry to see her again either.
She might have been a little nicer to him, given that he’d taken a plane with her all the way to Milan and might have even called them a cab and driven her all the way home if she hadn’t intervened.
I can make it home on my own. My flat is an hour from here. What are you going to do, bring me home, order a pizza, tuck me in bed, and make it back by your flight?
And even after that, he’d stood there, considering her for a long, way too long, moment. A moment where she had sort of stopped and considered it also.
Because he had been about to attack her brother, thinking he was an evil spy sent there to hurt her. And no one, ever, had gone to the mattresses with one of her brothers over her. It had sparked something inside that she hadn’t realized was there.
Hudson, in that moment, had made her feelnotinvisible.
And it helped that he was, in a word, gorgeous, in a made-for-action sort of way. Shorter dark-blond hair, a body made of steel, and when he’d looked at her at the airport with those gray-blue eyes, she’d seen in them something of a storm, as if he warred with himself.
Again, over her.
Oh brother. Maybe her mother was right.
