Faith:Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
Fallon: Felicia, you change your mind, let us know.
Ford: I was just joking about the officer of the law thing. I can be across the harbor in thirty if I use the sirens.
That Mr. By the Book would violate procedure to make her feel better almost made her smile. He wouldn’t kill Hudson. Frankie and Finian? Well, the twins had the hot heads to go with their chosen professions.
Felicia: Thanks, guys. I’m fine.
Finian: You’re not fine. All of those were single syllable words.
Faith: Butt out.
Fiona: What Faith said.
Felicity: Night. XOXO
Felicia turned her phone over and buried it under a pillow. Whether in person or in texts, her brothers and sisters couldn’t end a conversation like normal people. There would be more smack talk and gossip, probably at least another half-hour’s worth, before they’d finally be done. She loved them, but being around them right now—even if just via phone—was too much. All she wanted was to turn off her brain and watch British people baking and then, hopefully, sleep for a few hours without dreaming of Hudson like she had for the past two nights.
…
If it weren’t for the potential of starting a massive wildfire, Hudson would have thrown a match in the mineral spirits and let the whole cabin burn down days ago. He couldn’t sleep for longer than half an hour at a time. He couldn’t paint. Eating wasn’t even of interest so he had no idea if he could or he couldn’t. All he knew was that he wanted to sit in the middle of the glorious light and stare at all the portraits for his show at Black Heart Gallery, despising each and every one. Before Felicia, he’d thought of them all as little slices of life in Harbor City. Now they just looked like lies—the kind others told him and, even worse, the kind he told himself.
The cabin had a huge fireplace. It would take all day, but he could probably take care of them all that way, and then he’d never have to come back here again.
Ten minutes later, he was still contemplating expending the energy to actually get up and start a contained blaze, when the sound of three car doors shutting came in fast succession. Great. He didn’t need to look to see who it was, but he got up anyway and walked out onto the porch.
Linus, who had been the family’s driver since time eternal, was still sitting in the black town car. However, Helene, Sawyer, and Clover were already making their way up to the stairs to the door. He knew at a glance why they were here. He should. He’d staged a similar intervention with Sawyer after he’d fucked things up royally with Clover. This was different, though. Sawyer and Clover loved each other. Hudson wasn’t that fucking lucky.
Closing the door behind him, he stood in front of it and crossed his arms. “Did I forget a party invitation that I sent out?”
“You forgot to answer your phone,” Sawyer said as he and Clover walked hand in hand up the steps.
“I’ve been busy,” Hudson said, his voice sounding scratchy and used after four days by himself. “You know, with all my girlfriends.”
“Excellent.” Helene flashed him a brilliant smile and marched up to the porch. “Let’s go meet them. I’m looking forward to being shocked. It’s been decades since that happened.”
One side step and there was no way his mom was getting past him. It was the smart move because once Helene, Sawyer, and Clover went through that door, there was no way to keep Hughston a secret anymore. She stopped in front of him, one steel eyebrow going up in command—an expression he’d used on her too many times to count. That’s when it hit him. Helene Carlyle would take on a pack of rabid dogs for her family, and it was past time he stopped hiding this truth from her.
He let them walk in ahead of him so they could take in the room without watching their faces. All three stopped in the middle of the room as the afternoon sunlight streamed in and stared at the paintings. As usual before a show, canvases covered almost the entire space. It was worse this time because, in addition to the portraits for his show this weekend, Felicia looked out from canvas after canvas. Even after everything that had happened, he couldn’t cover those paintings up. She just stared at him everywhere he walked, haunting him.
Sawyer let out a low whistle and turned around to face Hudson. “I should have brought a bottle of scotch.”
Clover gave him a long look, no doubt taking in every detail of his current miserable condition. “I’m not sure forgetting is what he needs right now.” She reached out and gave him a hug before pulling away, her nose wrinkled up. “But a shower has got to be up there on the list.”
List.
Unbidden, an image of Felicia popped into his head. The mental image sliced through him like a rusty knife. “Right at the top of it.”
“Hudson Bartholomew Carlyle.” His mom’s voice rang out through the open space as she stood in front of a painting of Felicia, showing how he’d seen her when she’d given him a tour of the museum art lab, right down to her messy ponytail, oversize ant shirt, and a wicked gleam in her eye. “This is your best work to date, but this one is my new favorite.”
Clover scrunched up her face in question. Sawyer cocked his head in confusion. Hudson’s stomach dropped down to his toes, and his brain went blank. His best work? How could she…
“What?” Helene said with an elegant shrug of one shoulder. “You thought I didn’t know you’re Hughston?”
He would have formed the obvious question if Clover didn’t beat him to it. “What? Hughston? The painter?”
“So, no wild cabin orgies? Too bad.” Sawyer took a closer look at the paintings then looked back at Hudson, pride obvious in his eyes. “Nicely done.”