You Own My Heart (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 4)

“Is this serious?” Hudson was dogged and looked equally pissed as he faced Nash. “You and her?”

“Define serious.” Nash was in no mood to play games, and anger thrummed in his chest.

“Serious is more than just a fuck.”

Nash saw red. Absolute crimson. If it weren’t for the baby in Hudson’s arms, he would have taken a run at the guy.

“I’m going to forget you said that, because I’ve known you my whole life and you’ve always had my back. Just like I’ve had yours.” Nash wasn’t just angry as hell, he was confused by Hudson’s behavior. This didn’t feel right.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but I need you to understand something. Honey has always been more than that. I don’t what the hell is up your ass, but get used to her. After the gala tomorrow night, I plan on making things permanent.”

“You don’t know anything about her, Nash. I’m just trying to look out for you. It’s what we do for each other.”

“Do you know something I don’t?” The air was charged between the two men, and Nash took an aggressive step forward. The baby, sensing turmoil, let out a big yelp and started to cry. “Dammit, Hudsy. Where the hell are you going with this?” Nash was pissed. Pissed at Hudson. Pissed at himself. And maybe, if he were totally honest, pissed at Honey. In many ways, Hudson was right. He didn’t know much, only what she shared and that was on the lean side.

“Look. You need to get over whatever this is, because she’s going to be around for a long, long time.”

“You sure about that?” Hudson asked, his face dark and serious.

“Yes.” Nash’s answer was clipped. He pulled on his gloves. “Tell Becca I said goodbye. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Nash strode to his Jeep and headed out into the early evening, his mindset a complete one-eighty to what it had been less than half an hour earlier. A quiet disenchantment settled over him. He didn’t know it yet, but it was one he wouldn’t be able to shake for long time.

19

“He’s hot.”

“Huh?” They were stopped at a red light, just before the bridge, and she glanced at Brooke. The teenager looked good. No dark circles under her eyes. There was color in her cheeks. No bruises either. The young girl had come a long way in a few months. She’d gotten out of a toxic relationship with a boy who hit her and abused her verbally and emotionally. But more importantly, her mother had agreed to get counseling for her problems with drugs and alcohol, and for once, where there had been darkness, now there was light.

“Nash,” Brooke said with grin. “I get it. Like, he’s really hot.”

Amused, Honey accelerated over the bridge. “Twenty minutes ago, you were grossed out by him.”

“Not him. Geez. The kissing. It’s kind of awkward watching two adults basically having sex in front of you. Pretty sure that’s against the law.”

“Okay, now you’re exaggerating. We were not having sex.”

“No, but you were putting on a pretty good preshow.”

Honey zipped her lips. She so wasn’t having this conversation with a sixteen-year-old. “Did you have fun today?”

“Not as much fun as you’re going to have tonight.” At Honey’s look Brooke laughed. “I know. I’ll drop it. I guess it’s just the little girl in me who used to like watching Disney movies, you know? He’s like the ultimate prince. Totally hot with rock-hard abs and a butt to die for.”

Okay. This kid was only sixteen, right?

“And oh my God, do you see how he is with his little nephew? Like, seriously? I hope I can find someone like that one day. There’s something so sexy about a guy who pays attention to little kids.” She paused. “And he’s hot.”

“You already said that.”

“I know. I just like saying it. I bet he’s a really good kisser.”

“Brooke.”

“I mean, it sure looked like it.”

Honey pulled into the girl’s driveway, which hadn’t been plowed, but she had no problem navigating it since Nash had gone ahead and installed winter tires on her car the first week in January. She paid for them, of course, but the simple gesture meant a lot. She wasn’t used to people doing nice things for her simply because they cared. A lump formed in her throat, and she gave herself a mental shake. She was becoming too soft.

Brooke lived in a modest bungalow on a quiet street not far from Nash’s parents. The house had seen better days, with a few missing shutters, and the front stoop was a little off-kilter, but the place was tidy and there was a warm glow coming from the front windows.