Love, Tussles, and Takedowns (8 page)

Her sigh was long, but tiredly affectionate. “I should clear that up for them. Every year, on Leo’s birthday, I have several ‘twenty-first birthday drinks’ as I would’ve done for him had he been here. Remember, he and I were friends first and foremost. And since he’d been not just literally but figuratively a boyscout, he’d never had a drink in his life. When his twenty-first birthday rolled around six years ago, not too long after my own, I went to a bar to have a few drinks. And when I repeated the tradition the year following, it then became an annual thing.”

“But everyone swears you get drunk out of your mind because you’re depressed.”

“
No,
I get depressed because everyone looks at me with pity all night long. And yes, I do drink a lot when that day comes around each year, but that’s
only
because they all keep buying me drinks all night long. I swear, I haven’t paid for a single drink during these annual traditions in the last three years.”

Despite the massive information avalanche the last few hours had been, Hudson couldn’t help but marvel at his final big takeaway from the day. “This town is kind of great.”

She grinned. “Yeah.”

“So do all of the town’s efforts to get you drunk help you celebrate with Leo? You mentioned ‘with’ earlier.”

“Caught that did you? Is that weird?” She peeked up at him as if she were afraid he’d be looking at her like a loon.

He didn’t think she was looney at all. In fact, she was one of the most grounded individuals he’d ever met.

“If it’s weird then sign me up for that club because I talk to the buddies I’ve lost in the war all the time.”

He glanced down at the scars on his palms and wrists, still healing from the shrapnel and the many surgeries afterward that were only partially successful. Ironically, those wounds weren’t even the cause of the career-ending damage to his hands. The long jagged scars he had between his shoulder blades were the reason why when he fisted both hands, his left was slow to respond, while his right could no longer register touch fully. So technically, while his right hand still functioned properly, for him, it was the more devastating injury. He hated having to look at his right hand to see what his nerve endings could no longer feel.

Hudson looked up to see her eyes on his scars as well. There was no pity there, but a sadness that spoke to her understanding more than nearly all the people in his life, certainly more than the therapists he was assigned for PTSD. Clenching his left fist—not nearly as tightly as his right, though not for the lack of trying—he added with a shrug, “I’m not always drinking when I talk to them, either. But they only
respond
when I’m super drunk.”

A shocked bubble of laughter brimmed out of her. “I swear, you have to be in that club to find that funny. Are we morbid?”

“Nah. I think we just look at death in a different way when we join the club. And we adapt our lives to fill the holes that they leave in them.” For the first time in a long while, he felt it before he saw it—her hand squeezing his. When he squeezed back, he stared down and their entwined hands until his nerve endings kicked in. For reasons he didn’t understand, he
needed
to be able to feel her. To know that she was actually real. To know with every nerve ending as well as brain cell that someone like her really existed.

She checked her watch and stood up. “You mentioned this morning that you needed to head out by eleven.”

Was it eleven already? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just talked with someone for this many hours straight.

Slowly, the two of them made their way through the town square. He told her a little bit about his job in California, the movie he was consulting on in Yuma.

When she stopped walking all of a sudden, he turned and was surprised to see they were standing next to his jeep on the street.

“Not too many of these come through here,” she explained. “I took a wild guess.”

Hudson pulled out his keys and felt an irrational desire to toss them into the garbage can.

She took a step closer and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for what was unequivocally the best night and best morning I’ve had in a really long time.

He stared down at her lips and seriously contemplated making good on his warning from earlier this morning.

Feeling her lips on him was even sweeter than he remembered

But the decision was made for him when an adorable little girl with corkscrew ringlets and—of course—a bowl of cereal came up to tug on Lia’s shirt. Her big blue eyes beseeched up at her, “Lia, will you come play with us again?”

Hudson felt something crack open in his chest, felt the rush of something else start seeping in. Something he hadn’t felt in months.

Something he didn’t deserve to feel. Not anymore.

“Your fans await,” he said lightly, brushing his thumb over her cheek. If he kissed her now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to drive away. “I had an amazing time with you too.” His rough concession had her eyes lighting up in affectionate agreement, and it skewered him to have to force that to fade. “I wish this wasn’t goodbye.”

But it is.

He knew the instant his unspoken words were heard.

“Bye, Hudson,” she replied softly, her eyes no longer lit up just for him.

* * * * *

HUDSON PARKED HIS JEEP in the dirt driveway of the mobile house that had been home for him for the past few weeks. It was basically a trailer with roots about thirty minutes from the film site but he’d requested it specifically when his boss had told him he’d be living in Yuma for a few months during filming. It was an hour away from the posh neighborhood where most of the principle cast and crew were staying. Extravagant hotel-like accommodations and resort-style villas in gated communities didn’t float his boat. His tiny little house just contained the bare necessities, along with the one indulgent thing he’d allowed himself to splurge on, his giant king-sized bed that essentially filled up the entire bedroom.

Tonight was the first night he truly wished his bed weren’t quite so empty.

And that the woman he wanted sharing it with him wasn’t quite so off-limits.

It was a slightly easier pill to swallow now that he was officially two hundred miles away from her.

Yes, he’d counted the mile markers.

He grabbed a beer and sat out on his little lawn chair in his ‘back yard.’ Oh, if his parents could see him now. This entire lot could fit in their current Paradise Valley mansion. Yet another reason for them to be disappointed in him.

Taking a swig, he watched the sun set and wondered over the hollow feeling he was experiencing. Sure, he’d felt like he was missing something now that he wasn’t in the military anymore but that wasn’t it. It was more than just a hole where his life used to be, it wasn’t a feeling that he was necessarily missing anything but rather…wanting something.

Something
more.

It was an unsettling feeling. He’d never wanted for anything in his life before now. Not really. And he was entirely ill-equipped to process the feeling fully.

And to think he’d only gone to the gun show on a lark.

As a believable excuse to get away from his friends who’ve been ‘killing him with kindness’ from the moment his latest film consulting contract relocated him back to Arizona temporarily.

By the end, however, he’d found himself glad to be in attendance. It was all a very different take on weaponry. Almost artistic.

Almost
enough to make him forget that these very weapons were the ones responsible for the career-ending injuries he’d sustained to his hands.

He had
not
been expecting this when he woke up today.

Life lately had been…routine.

Not that he wasn’t grateful for having landed a job that his unique skillsets qualified him to be an “expert” in outside of the military. Thanks to the company run by a buddy he knew back when he’d been a Ranger, Hudson had been able to start fresh in California, consulting on fight scenes and weapons for the movie industry. And as luck would have it, his newest project involved him working alongside his favorite little starlet, Fiona—his only friend from high school who’d clung like a barnacle to their friendship no matter how much Hollywood tried to change her, and how far the Army took him.

Talk about a departure from his past life.

But it was good in a way for him to be around Fiona and her crowd. It took his mind off things he’d just as well never remember again.

Lately, however, even Fiona had been proving herself to be less the non-hovering free spirit friend he’d come to appreciate in his life and more like everyone else who couldn’t help but give him ‘that look’ whenever meeting his eyes. Sure, he’d taken this latest contract in Arizona knowing full well that she’d be one of the main actresses on set, but he didn’t honestly think they’d be seeing each other too much since she wasn’t playing a role that had any weapon or combat scenes. He’d thought he could just take the few months to collect himself. Re-charge.
Heal.

Or at least forget.

He quickly discovered that this was the exact opposite of Fiona’s plans for him. From chick-prowling bro-dates with a few of the guys on the crew to the not-so-subtle suggestions for him to show the visiting actresses his home state’s finest sights, his friend clearly had very different ideas of how he should be getting over his demons.

Finishing off the rest of his beer with one final glance at the setting sun, he headed back in to see if Fiona had managed to overload his answering machine like she had the last time they had a few days off from the set.

The flashing red numbers weren’t as bad as he expected.

Seventeen. An all-time low. Maybe Fiona had gotten lucky this weekend. He’d purposely left his cell phone off the entire time he’d been in Cactus Creek.

This wasn’t going to be pretty.

*Beep*

Where the heck did you disappear to on Friday? I tried to find you after we finished filming for the day. Dude, I had at least five extras from the restaurant scene—four of whom were marginally interesting, and two were classically slutty. I told them about you and they’re all dying to ‘handle’ your weapons. If you know what I mean.

Ah, his friend the pimp.

*Beep*

Look, if it’s your hands you’re worried about, hell, you have a working mouth and an impressive main attraction down south from what I hear. Call me!

That’s right folks, his friend the
sensitive
pimp.

*Beep*

Okay, so it turns out that all five of the girls were grossly uninteresting. But that’s okay. There’s a VIP party tonight with enough good alcohol that most of the girls should seem downright fascinating. Have you lost my number?

Shaking his head, he finally let out a chuckle. A delicate debutante she was not. But, she was his oldest friend who would gladly give away all the designer clothes off her back to help someone in need. And where he was concerned, she’d always had his best interest at heart.

The rest of her messages detailed a typical whirlwind weekend for Fiona. The last few, however were more subdued, navigated by that deeper part of her that she hardly ever let anyone see.

*Beep*

Alright, if you’re going to insist on the silent treatment, it’s time for me to bust out the big guns. I’m worried about you. I miss seeing you happy. I know you say you’re not punishing yourself but you are, hon. It’s like you made it back here in one piece, but lost a chunk of your soul somewhere in the process. Just let yourself be happy. If only to get me off your back.

Maybe she had a point.

He stared at his hands, gritting his teeth when even making a fist with his left one hurt like hell today. It was because of the three-hour drive back. And this was just from driving his jeep. Going for a ride on his bike, one of his absolute favorite things to do, was now out of the question thanks to the little piece of shrapnel that had slashed its way into his vertebrae along his C7 and T1. Activities like the ones Fiona seemed to be fixated on, however, were still within his abilities; and yet he’d been acting like his injuries were from the waist down as well.

He kind of hated when Fiona was right.

After another minute of questioning his sanity, he picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hello?”

“I lied,” he admitted gruffly, the sound of her voice already easing the pain in his hand. How did she do that? He could almost picture her cute pixie-like smile, and those deep, incredible catlike eyes of hers—the way they sparked with a delicately witty humor and razor sharp intelligence, overflowed with unending empathy and yes, at times, pain.

Even in his memories, she took his breath away.

“Hudson?”

“Yeah.”

Pause.

“So you
did
do a little recon on me,” came the lightly playful reply.

“I’d hardly call it recon, sweetheart. You leave your number on the bottom of your shop’s ‘closed’ sign.” The reminder of that filled him with the same protective worry he’d had this morning when he first saw it. “That’s just a big ass blinking welcome sign for every psycho stalker out there.”

“Clearly,” she deadpanned.

“I’m not kidding, Lia. It’s not safe. At least consider getting a second number.”

“This
is
my second number.”

Well then. Geez, how the woman managed to ground him one minute and tie him up in tangled fishing knots the next was beyond him.

“My brothers did their little magic to make sure my phone was unstalkable.”

That only made him feel marginally better. Because when it came down to it, unstalkable or not, he just didn’t want strange men calling her, especially not ones who knew she lived right around the corner in an isolated studio apartment above a brewery with a hoppable gate and lots of dark alleyways.

Okay, okay. He just didn’t want other men calling her, period.

Cave man, party of one?

Funny thing was that he’d never been like this before.