Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Every emotion I kept locked tight in a little steel box when it came to Hudson flared to life, flooding me with disbelief, and yearning, and anger . . . so much anger. That’s what I held on to as I swam past him for the ladder mounted on the third pylon.
It had been so long that I’d felt anything but numb that the anger was a blessing.
“Wait, you were working out?” He swam my direction while I found the familiar wood and began climbing out of the water and onto the pier.
“Was being the key word there,” I said over my shoulder, continuing the ascent. The sun did little to combat the breeze on my ocean-chilled skin, and my teeth chattered as I made it to the top of the ladder, then quickly scrambled for the towel I’d wedged between boards so it wouldn’t blow away.
“The water is still in the fifties!” The wood groaned under his weight as he climbed the ladder.
“And I have three more months to rehab an injury that should take another six.” I wrapped the towel and tucked it under my arms, more than a little conscious that I wore a completely unsexy black one-piece that was better suited for a swim meet than a chance encounter with . . . well, whatever Hudson had been to me. “And who are you to lecture me about water temperature? About anything? Let alone scare the shit out of me—”
“I thought you were drowning,” Hudson repeated as his head crested the edge of the pier.
“So you said.” I tugged the towel closer. So much for that one revenge fantasy where—oh my God.
Hudson made it onto the pier, and he was huge. He’d been a little over six feet when we’d met, but he’d gained at least a few inches and a good forty pounds of what looked to be pure muscle with the way his white Bruins T-shirt clung to his chest and abs as he stood.
“I was trying to save you, Allie!” He had the nerve to look all wounded, like I was the one in the wrong here. “I thought you needed help.”
Save me? After all this time? Anger flushed up my neck, stinging my cheeks with much-needed heat. “Yeah, well you’re a little late for that. And you don’t get to call me Allie. Not anymore.”
Crap, that came out a little more aggressively than I’d intended.
His eyes slid shut like he was in pain, and he breathed deeply before opening them again, his gaze momentarily pinning me in place. “Been holding on to that one for a while, have you?”
A heartbeat passed, then a few more as I stumbled down all the possible avenues this conversation could take. I was too damn tired to fight with him—with anyone, really.
“About ten years,” I finally admitted.
“Sounds about right, give or take a few months.” The dip of his wide shoulders almost made me feel bad.
Almost. Then I remembered the hospital stay, and the rehab . . . and the funeral, and the anger overpowered the guilt with glee.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I shifted my weight to take it off my aching ankle. The Achilles repair had been done by the best orthopedic surgeon in the country, but that didn’t mean I was happy with how long it was taking to heal, or the rather grim prognosis. I was lucky to already be walking unaided, not that I’d ever admit that out loud—especially not to Hudson.
“I live here.” He ruffled his hand through his wet hair, sending water droplets flying, then looked over the edge of the pier, into the water. “And there goes another hat.”
“Still making a habit of jumping into the ocean to rescue perfectly safe swimmers?” I ran a hand down my low ponytail, squeezing the cold salt water out of my hair.
“One, you weren’t perfectly safe the first time I jumped in after you—” He looked away from the water, obviously giving up on the hat the cove had swallowed.
“That was eleven years ago—” I argued.
“—and two, yeah, it’s my job to jump in and rescue people, but I thought I’d learned not to take my favorite hat.” He dropped his arms to his sides.
“—and I’m perfectly capable of swimming!” I finished, then blinked. His job? Silence hung between us as his words settled on me. “You’re a rescue swimmer, aren’t you? You made it.” The sixteen-year-old girl inside me stood up and cheered for him, but she was quickly hushed by the misanthrope I’d become.
“Yeah.” His lips quirked upward for a second, and he dripped water onto the pier. I probably owed him a towel or something, given that his intentions had been pure. “And you’re a world-famous ballerina.” He cocked his head to the side and searched my eyes. “Or do you prefer Seconds star?”