“Slow down there, Miller.” A deep, groggy voice says from behind me. I pivot in my seat to see Hudson, hair rumpled, walking down the stairs, his IV bag in hand. It’s almost empty, and the colour has started to return to his cheeks. “I might need a day or two before I can do any conquering.” Hudson approaches me from behind, and wraps a forearm around me, bending down to give me a peck on the cheek. “I don’t want to lose you either, Wren. Whatever we need to do, we’ll figure it out,” he murmurs in my ear, and a warmth blooms in my chest. It’s relief, and hope, and joy all at once. “Same team.”
“I would be careful about doing any smooching for a while. If it is a virus, he’ll still be contagious,” Claire remarks, and because I’m still Wren Miller, and she’s still Claire, I stick my tongue out at her before turning my head and planting a warm, wet kiss on Hudson’s mouth. Because I don’t care about germs in this moment, all I care about is Hudson.
And besides, I’m a Miller, and I’m not going to let a stupid little virus hold me back from getting what I want.
CHAPTER 42
HUDSON
Wren is violently ill.
We no sooner arrived back in Heartwood and my symptoms resolved than she started vomiting with such ferocity I’ve decided to take some time off work to take care of her. She did that for me, no questions asked, even though it meant facing Claire. She’s a mess. She’s sweaty and pale, and doesn’t smell great, but God, I fucking love her.
Even as I’m kneeling beside her while she leans over the toilet bowl, scooping her hair up and away from her face, I love her. Even as she constantly fights against being fussed over, I love her. Every version of her. The feisty, tenacious, sassy as all hell version of her. The tender parts of her she doesn’t show anyone else. The version of her when she’s curled up in a ball, breathing through an anxiety attack while I draw pictures on her back. The version of her that loves to put on fancy heels and wear her stunning red lipstick, and the version of her every other day of the week that lives in denim overalls.
The sick and puking version of her.
I love it all, and I want all of it, forever.
Despite whatever hurdles come our way, we overcome them easier when we’re playing on the same team.
We haven’t had the chance to talk about the other night at the hotel—it’s not exactly a conversation you can have when one of you constantly has their head either hanging out of the car or leaning over a toilet bowl—but Wren showed up for me yesterday, the way a real partner would. The way a teammate would.
Although I’d like to think I’ve shown up for her, too, I haven’t. I’ve let my own insecurities get in the way of being there for her.
Wren lifts her head, finally coming up for air, the retching having subsided for now. I wipe her brow with a cool, damp cloth and make softshushingsounds as she catches her breath.
“When is it ever going to end?” she whines. “This is hell.”
“I would be sympathetic, but you kind of did this to yourself,” I remind her. “I could call Claire, see if she has the miracle anti-nausea medication.”
“No,” Wren snaps like I knew she would. Humbling herself to Claire once in two days is probably enough. My mouth slides into a lopsided smirk.
“Then I guess you need to admit defeat, Miller. Stomach virus: one, Wren: zero.”
Wren groans and rolls her eyes, exasperated.
“You’re killing me, Landry,” she mutters, and I chuckle to myself, because even when Wren feels like she’s on death’s door, she’s got some fightin her.
“Are you done for now?” I ask, and she nods.
“I think so.”
“Let’s get you over to the couch.” I help her to her feet and let her lean on me as I walk her back into the living room. She flops down on the brown leather sofa where I’ve set up blankets, Gatorade, her favourite sitcoms, and a garbage can within puking distance in case she can’t make it to the bathroom.
Once she’s settled in, I sit at the end of her feet, both of them resting on my thighs. I want to be close in case she needs anything. We sit, watching reruns ofFriendsuntil her eyes close and she dozes off.
She sleeps for about an hour before my phone vibrates in my pocket. I flinch, hastily snatching it from my pocket before Wren feels it and wakes up. She needs her rest.
Shelley’s name pops up on my screen in a text message.
SHELLEY
Excited for tonight! You knocked this project out of the park, now you can sit back and celebrate your accomplishments. The whole town will celebrate with you!
I stare at the screen, re-reading Shelley’s text, trying to figure out how I’m going to respond. Today is the breaking ground ceremony for the arts centre, and I have to break it to her that I won’t be there. She was going to let me do the honours, digging up the first shovel of soil, but there’s no way I’m leaving Wren right now.
“Is everything okay?” Wren’s voice breaks me out of mythoughts. There’s some pink tinging her cheeks again, her lips have regained a rosy hue.
