Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Starling

T he sound of voices wakes me up. Not knowing where I am, I pretend to still be asleep until I recognize Abbot's voice.

I crack my eyes open. Abbot's talking to Hudson. The credits are rolling on the TV for the movie I missed when I fell asleep. I keep still and listen as they try to keep their voices down, but the undercurrent of anger makes it difficult for both of them.

"I told you?—"

"You didn't tell me shit, Abbot."

Both are silent for a moment before Abbot finally speaks. "You'll have to ask Starling what she needs. I know dick about girly stuff; I'm a guy. And I don't need a lot."

"Fine. What about a laptop?"

"A laptop would be good. Me and Starling can share."

"Make me a list, and I'll make sure you have everything you need. I assume Starling will be riding in with you."

"Yeah."

"What about when you have practice?"

"I don't do many early mornings, but the after-school ones, she hangs around until I'm done."

"She doesn't do cheer or anything?"

Abbot snorts. "She seems like the cheerful type to you, Dad?"

Abbot's words sting, even though he doesn't mean them maliciously.

"Fun fact, Abbot, women are complex, and I'm old enough to know better than to assume I know anything."

"She's shy. A lot of the guys were into her when she started freshman year, but she wouldn't give them the time of day. Some were dicks about it and started spreading rumors, so I shut that shit down. Now that she's with me, people leave her the fuck alone. But it's not like everyone suddenly wanted to be her friend. Whatever. Their loss is my gain."

"Can't argue with that. Christ, I forget just how fucked-up high school was."

"From what I heard; you were at the top of the food chain. So I doubt you know what it's like to be Starling."

"Funny, aren't you Mr. All-American on the football team wanting to go pro someday?"

"Seems like it's not just women you shouldn't make assumptions about."

Another pause before Hudson sighs.

"You're right. So what are you into?"

"Football," Abbot deadpans, making Hudson chuckle.

"I have no interest in going pro, though. I'm not saying I'm not good. I am for high school, but college ball is filled with guys just like me. I'm good, but I'm not one of the greats, and I'm okay with that."

"You know what? Good for you. Not many people are that self-aware. It's hard as fuck to step off the path you've been on your whole life. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know yet," he replies, the lie spilling from his lips.

"You'll figure it out. Anyway, I'm gonna head up to bed. You want me to help you get Starling upstairs?"

"Nah, I've got her."

"Alright. Night."

I close my eyes and feel him walk past me. Once I'm sure he's gone, I open my eyes as Abbot shuts everything off.

He turns to look at me and rolls his eyes. "You are the worst person to watch a movie with."

"It's not like I do it on purpose."

"I guess I shouldn't complain, having a hot girl fall asleep on me isn't much of a hardship."

"I bet." I stand up and stretch. Abbot's eyes drop to the sliver of skin around my waist as my T-shirt rises.

"You need me to do anything?" I ask, glancing around the room.

"No, I've got it. I'll meet you up there."

I nod and leave him to it, jogging up the stairs and almost colliding with Hudson at the top.

"Whoa, careful." He grabs my arms to stop me from falling back down the stairs, his grip tightening a fraction as I look up at him. His eyes drop to my lips for a second before he takes a step back. "Be careful, okay? Wouldn't want you to get hurt."

He's gone before I can close my mouth. Goosebumps erupt across my skin from where he touched me. When I look down, I expect to see his fingerprints scorched into my skin.

Hearing Abbot cough downstairs startles me, and I hurry down the hall to Abbot's room. I go straight into the bathroom, where I take care of business, brush my teeth, and wash my face. I take off my track pants but leave my T-shirt on and climb under the blankets. I get comfortable and try to shut down my thoughts. I've lived in some pretty hostile environments, but I don't remember ever feeling as on edge as I do now.

I don't question why I feel relieved when Abbot walks into the room and closes the door behind him. I just do. I listen to him strip out of his clothes before he uses the bathroom. When he's done, he climbs in beside me and wraps his arm around my waist, pressing a kiss on my shoulder.

Neither of us speaks. Eventually, Abbot's breathing evens out, and his arm relaxes around me. I stare at nothing in the dark room and pray for guidance. I've been winging this thing we call life for the last seventeen years, and honestly, I suck at it.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing, and I'm not sure I can handle falling flat on my face once more. Each hit I take lands a little bit harder, each stumble has me falling a little farther, and each mark leaves a deeper scar. I keep trying to do everything right, but somehow I keep getting it wrong. It's like I'm destined to fail.

It takes forever to fall asleep, and when I do, it's fitful and filled with weird dreams. When I wake up, I feel more tired than when I went to sleep. I turn and find Abbot gone, and the spot next to me cool, so I know he's been up for a while. It gives me a second to lie here and sort out my thoughts.

I don't want to examine my odd reaction to Hudson. Sticking my head in the sand and pretending he doesn't exist feels far more appealing. But I know I need to deal with it so I don't turn into a simpering idiot around the man all the time.

I blow out a deep, steadying breath and pull apart my reactions to him. I'm ashamed to admit, even to myself, that I know some of my reactions are due to my attraction to him. That in itself is shocking because I'm usually so wrapped up in my own little bubble that I don't notice people, let alone become attracted to them. There's comfort in putting a barrier between myself and the rest of the world. If I don't let people in, they can't hurt me. It might sound childish, but it's something I learned the hard way.

Hudson smashing through my defenses within a minute of meeting him shows just how intense the man is. Of course, the fact that I'm sleeping with his son takes a messed-up situation and fucks it up even further. Abbot's hatred for his father is palpable, and I can't say I don't understand why he feels the way he does.

The man walked out the door and left them behind. Even if he did it for all the right reasons, he still left a scar. Scars might fade over time, but they never truly disappear. Abbot has a lot of unresolved issues with Hudson, but because of Hudson's absence, he's never been given the chance to deal with them. Now he's right here in front of him, and Abbot can't escape him. On top of that, he just lost his mom—the one parent who did stick around—yet, in her own way, caused more damage.

I blow out a frustrated breath and roll over. Living here with Hudson will either help mend the rift or turn it into a chasm. Me standing in the middle is like handing a lit match to a stick of dynamite.

If I show any kind of positive reaction to Hudson, Abbot will make me pay for it. He won't hurt me, and I wish I could stop reminding myself of that. But that doesn't mean he won't make his feelings known in a million other ways. Like fucking me on his dad's bed to remind me who I belong to.

I snort and sit up at that thought. We might be fucking, but I'm not Abbot's any more than he's mine. That's not the kind of relationship we have. Hell, I don't know how to describe what Abbot and I have—beyond strange codependency and providing each other with a safe space.

While I continue to work through everything, I walk into the bathroom and use the facilities before taking a quick shower. My attraction to Hudson aside, there's something else about the man that makes me freeze like a deer in the headlights.

Fear.

I've known my fair share of dangerous men. All of them had an air of menace to them. It's like their bodies couldn't contain all that anger and hatred, so it started to seep out, allowing those around them to feel it in the room.

Hudson has the same air of menace as the others. But unlike the others, he's found a way to control the violence inside him and keep it contained. As much as that should be a comfort, it's not because I can only imagine the damage he could cause when he lets it break free.

I shiver at the thought and quickly dry off before stealing some of Abbot's clothes. Using the other room as a dressing room is fine, as long as I remember to leave some clothes in here too. I use the towel to squeeze the excess water from my hair and pull it up into a messy bun before heading downstairs to find Abbot.

Sorting through my thoughts and feelings helped clear my head a little, but it didn't offer any solutions to my problems. All I can do for now is try to avoid Hudson. Eventually, everything will settle down. He and Abbot will figure their shit out, and hopefully, I'll develop some kind of resistance to the man.

I walk into the kitchen, and despite the smell of bacon, I find it empty. Shrugging, I head to the fridge and grab a bottle of water. I close the door and shriek like a movie star in a B-rated horror film.

"Fuck, sorry, I thought you heard me come in," Hudson apologizes as I try to stop my heart from beating out of my chest.

"How do you move so quietly?" I gasp, backing up to put some space between us.

"Occupational hazard," he answers, making me frown. I thought he was a driver. Though if the rumors are true, he's a driver for one of the city's mob bosses, so I guess being sneaky is part of that. I don't comment on that, having no desire to swim with the fishes.

"Do you know where Abbot is?"

He takes a step closer so he can grab his own bottle of water, which is when I notice what he's wearing: a sweat-soaked white T-shirt and gray sweatpants.

Oh, no. Oh no-no-no-no-no. I like to think I'm strong, but I'm not gray sweatpants strong.

A whimper slips free, so I do the only thing I can think of. I fake tripping and stub my toe on the counter, which isn't fake at all. A curse replaces the whimper as I bend over to check my now sore toe and freeze when my ass grazes something hard that is most definitely not the counter.

I bolt upright and limp away. "I just remembered I have a thing—" I'm out the door and hobbling up the stairs before I can finish the sentence because God only fucking knows what would have come out.

I duck inside the first room offering me safety, which just so happens to be the one that's solely mine, and close the door. Sliding down to the floor, I stare at my throbbing toe in disbelief. Did that just happen? How the fuck am I ever supposed to leave this room again? Maybe I can get Abbot to deliver food up here, so I never have to leave it.

I bang my head against the door lightly, not wanting to give myself a headache. Because then I'd have to leave the room to find painkillers, and as I've already established, that's not an option right now.

It's on bang six or seven that something registers, and I pause. In all my embarrassment for acting like a raving lunatic, I failed to process that Hudson had a hard-on.

Hudson had a hard-on.

The question I'm almost afraid to ask myself is: did I interrupt him doing something or someone… or was the hard-on because of me?