A frisson of awareness zinged up Mac’s spine, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. It was probably nothing. Just like every other mention of a military man over the past decade had been nothing. After this many years, she should’ve been used to it. She should’ve been able to ignore it. But sometimes, when you got so little of someone, you scavenged for crumbs. Even when those crumbs ended up having no correlation to the person you’d been missing.
“Once in a while, guys pass through from Fort Shelby, so that’d make sense,” Mac said. “Was he at the gas station?”
“No, actually, he was at—”
“There y’all are!” Rory yelled, the front door banging against the wall as she came tearing in, her heels clicking on the polished concrete floor. “Been lookin’ for you all over this damn town.”
She was the most put together of all of the Haven girls, but even she was looking a little unkempt today. Probably nothing that could be discerned by passersby, but something Mac picked up on immediately.
“Well, we definitely weren’t in Nash’s bed, which is clearly where you came from,” Mac said.
Rory rolled her eyes and pulled out the chair next to Avery before taking a seat. “I’m in this state because I need to speak to you immediately and didn’t think you’d appreciate me takin’ time to freshen up.”
That feeling in the pit of Mac’s stomach grew, the handful of butterflies that had come to life from Avery’s explanation transforming into a swarm of bees being swept up by a tornado. Without conscious thought, she reached under the table and gripped Will’s knee, needing something—anything—to anchor her.
“Edna must have some good gossip today,” Mac forced out through her dry throat.
“Every day, which you know better than anyone,” Rory said. That was true…Havenbrook’s mail carrier and Mac were two peas in a pod, despite their more than forty-year age difference. “But I’m gonna need you to shut up for a second, honey, and listen to me.” She punctuated the last three words with slaps of her hand against the table.
“Calm down, Rory,” Will said. “I’m sure Edna will fill Mac in later today. You didn’t need to make a trip out here, especially if you and Nash were having your special, grown-up time.”
Rory raised a brow. “We’ll see if you think the same thing when you find out just who arrived in Havenbrook this morning…”
The last time Hudson Miller awoke to the smell of his momma’s cooking, he’d been nineteen years old and had no idea what it truly meant to be homesick. He knew now. Had felt it down to his very bones over the past ten-plus years. Felt it every time he lay on a bunk in a third world country, dreaming of Mississippi summers and his momma’s peach pie.
He hadn’t been home in too damn long, so all he’d had to keep him company were his memories. His goals in the army had had him on a strict schedule—obtaining his degree by the time he pinned on sergeant so he could put in his OCS packet and work toward the ultimate goal of earning his captain’s bar. That meant little to no downtime. Because of that, once a year, he’d flown his momma and sister, Lilah, to wherever he was stationed at the time. They got to see the world, he got to see them, and all was right.
Except…
Except for the piece of his heart he’d left in Havenbrook. The piece that had never been the same since the day he’d left.
Hudson stretched, rubbing a hand over the dull ache in his chest, his feet hanging off the end of his childhood bed. At 6’4” and a hell of a lot bulkier than he’d been the last time he’d lain in this bed, he didn’t exactly fit on the twin mattress. Didn’t matter. He hadn’t slept on anything as comfortable as this for nine long months.
After donning a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt and making a pit stop in the bathroom, he descended the steps and followed the scent of French toast. Cinnamon roll French toast—his favorite—if his nose was to be trusted.
He was absolutely fucking famished. He hadn’t eaten much more than a bag of peanuts since midafternoon yesterday. After taking the red-eye from Seattle to Memphis, Hudson and his copilot, CW2 Caleb Bridges, rented a car and drove the hour and a half to Havenbrook. Got in just in time to intercept his sister arriving at The Sweet Spot to start the day’s morning prep. He’d set Caleb up in the guest room, not bothering to do anything but point and grunt toward the unused space, and fell straight into his bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a solid six hours of sleep.
“’Bout time you joined us, sleepyhead,” his momma said over her shoulder as she stood in front of the stove. And, yep, cinnamon roll French toast sizzled on the griddle in front of her, along with a pan of scrambled eggs.
Hudson glanced around, lifting his chin in greeting to Caleb, who sat at the round table, already dressed for the day. He’d obviously showered, though he’d forgone the razor—something they both favored during their time off—a layer of black scruff covering his umber skin. He lifted a coffee cup in Hudson’s direction, his eyes clear of fatigue. Looked like the solid six had done the other soldier some good, too.
“Hey, Momma,” Hudson murmured, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind and tugging her back into him. Her dark hair, pulled up into a ponytail, was streaked with tiny slivers of gray, and he was sure those hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent that would always remind him of his childhood.
She exhaled a long, low breath and reached up to grip his forearm, her relief at his presence clear in the way her fingers dug into his skin. The way she sagged back into him.
Even though she supported him, sent him care package after care package, and was there to talk to him any time of the day or night he was able to call, she hated that he’d chosen this life. Chosen to devote himself to the army and his country. Especially since her husband had done the same.
But he hadn’t made it back.
Jack Miller had died in combat when Hudson was only ten, and he was a ghost Hudson’s momma had lived with for almost twenty years. A ghost Hudson had tried to live up to for just as long.
“You makin’ my favorite?” Hudson asked as he gave her another squeeze before letting his arms drop. He needed coffee. Good coffee, not the shit he got in Afghanistan.
Momma hummed in agreement. “My baby’s home for the first time in too long, so he’s gettin’ the five-star treatment.”
“You didn’t need to do all that. I’d’ve been fine with a bowl of cereal.”
She shot him a look over her shoulder that clearly telegraphed are you out of your damn mind? “I beg your pardon, but my son who’s just come home from protecting and serving is not gonna spend his first mornin’ in civilization eatin’ cereal.” She spat the word like one would centipede. “And certainly not when he’s brought Caleb home too. I own a bakery, for heaven’s sake. Quit insultin’ me in front of our guest.”
Hudson held up his hands in surrender, his low chuckles mixing with Caleb’s. Christ, he’d missed this. His momma was nothing if not feisty, and he loved every second of it. It had been different when they’d been together in other locations over the years—not as comfortable. Not as easy. And certainly not as familiar.
“Sorry, Momma. I’d eat an entire batch of your cinnamon roll French toast by myself, you know that. I just didn’t want you goin’ to any extra trouble.”
“Hush now. No extra trouble.” His momma placed a plate piled high with French toast and a bowl full of scrambled eggs on the table between the two place settings already laid out, the glasses filled with OJ. “Let me grab the bacon for you, then you boys go on ahead and dive in. I’ll keep whippin’ up more over here, since I’m sure y’all’re hungry as all get-out.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Miller.”
“Now, none of that, Caleb. I’ve told you to call me Marianne a dozen times over the years.”
He tipped his head toward her, his lips twitching the slightest bit. “Yes, ma’am.”
Hudson settled at the round
dining table across from Caleb. He forked a few pieces onto his plate then scooped up a pile of eggs and several slices of bacon, having absolutely no interest in being polite and letting his guest go first. Not when it was his momma’s French toast on the line. Not when it’d been years since he’d had it.
“You get settled all right?” he asked Caleb, lifting his eyes from the pool of syrup he poured over the stack of deliciousness on his plate.
Caleb gave a single nod, slathering butter on his French toast. “Yes, sir.”
Hudson froze with the fork to his mouth and narrowed his eyes. “Knock that shit off. I told you to cut the sir when we’re not on base.”
His best friend merely lifted a brow. “Hard habit to break. Sir.”
Hudson blew out a breath and shook his head, a wry smile tipping his lips. You could take the soldier out of the army, but you couldn’t take the army out of the soldier.
Momma chuckled under her breath. “You remember Clive?” She didn’t wait for Hudson to answer before she continued. “Your dad used to say the same thing to him the couple times he came back home with your daddy.” A wistful smile swept over her face as she shook her head.
The truth was…no. Hudson didn’t remember. He didn’t remember a whole hell of a lot about his father. At only ten, Hudson hadn’t built up a lifetime of memories with his dad before he’d passed away. Not like his momma had. And Lilah had even fewer than he did.
Hudson cleared his throat. “Were Rory and Nash gettin’ started on the renovation at The Sweet Spot today?”
“I believe Lilah said they were headin’ over there this afternoon to finalize the design.”
“All right.” Hudson lifted his gaze toward Caleb. “I’m gonna run over there after I grab a shower. You wanna tag along?”
Caleb nodded as he chewed before swallowing half his cup of orange juice in one go and lifting the glass in Hudson’s direction. “I’m just along for the ride.”
It was the same thing he’d said to Hudson hundreds of times before. Every time they took their Black Hawk up, whether in friendly or enemy territory. Hudson had flown with a handful of copilots over his years, but he’d never bonded with one as much as he had Caleb. In the four years they’d served together in the same unit, they’d become as close as brothers. Which was why the sir bullshit made him uncomfortable as fuck, even if it was protocol.
Hudson held out his hand for a fist bump, then dove into his breakfast. Around a too-big bite, he said, “Y’all haven’t needed to put down a deposit or anything for the work bein’ done, have you?”
His momma raised her eyebrows as she spared him a glance. “I’m not sure why that’s any of your concern.”
“Momma.” Stubborn as a mule, that woman. Goddamn, he was sick of having this same fight with her over and over again. Without a home of his own to worry about, he had so much damn money, he didn’t know what to do with it. His monthly bills consisted of internet fees and whatever he deemed worthy of entertainment, which meant he’d been socking away the majority of his paychecks for a decade. Which also meant whatever renovations his momma and sister wanted, they were getting, and he was footing the bill for all of it. Period.
“Hudson,” she said back in the same exasperated tone. “Don’t think you can come home and start bossin’ us around like you did after your daddy passed. The army might’ve made you a captain, but around here, you’re still the little boy who used to run around wearing nothin’ but underwear, a cowboy hat, and a pair of cowboy boots.”
Caleb’s lips twitched at that, but he didn’t comment.
“Thanks for that, Momma,” Hudson said dryly.
“Anytime.” She smiled before pointing the spatula at him. “But I meant what I said over the phone. You can’t come in and highjack our routine when you’re only home for a few weeks. Not when it’ll be just me and Lilah again after you go on back to the base.”
Her words didn’t carry any malice, but he still felt a pang in his chest over the thought of leaving. He’d been feeling it more and more lately—something calling him home. He’d thought it was just him tiring of deployment like usual. Except this was different somehow. He wasn’t itching for just American soil. He was itching for Havenbrook. And because of that, he’d used the renovation as an excuse to break his own rule—that he wouldn’t come back home until he could come back home to her. Kenna. Childhood best friend, first everything, and the only girl he’d ever loved.
That had all been good in theory, but when the timing had aligned that he’d be on leave when the renovations started, he couldn’t dismiss the opportunity. After all this time, he wanted to see if what he and Kenna shared was real or if he’d built it up in his mind over the years to this unattainable connection. Because God knew he’d never felt anything like it since he’d been away from her. Not even a whisper of it.
And now, more than ever, he needed to see her. Felt it like an actual tug under his skin.
After two more helpings, he stood from the table, rinsed his plate at the sink, and put it in the dishwasher like he was taught—his momma had enough to do without cleaning up after his ass, too. As he closed the appliance door, he felt her eyes on him and glanced over to find her staring, eyebrows raised.
“Ma’am?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes and tossed a towel over her shoulder before shooing him out of the kitchen. “Don’t ma’am me. Standin’ here, actin’ like you’re not crawlin’ outta your skin to go see a certain someone.”
Caleb’s low laugh rumbled out of him so quietly, it might’ve been missed by anyone else. In answer to the look Hudson shot him, he shrugged. “She’s not wrong. You’ve talked about that certain someone so much, I can tell you her blood type.”
So, he’d talked about her to his copilot and best friend. Sue him. And yeah, he wanted to see her. Was desperate for it, even. But he had no idea how he’d be received. He was a few months early for the pact they’d made all those years ago when he’d enlisted—a promise that he’d be back for her on his twenty-ninth birthday—and he hadn’t exactly warned her he’d be coming now.
In fact, he’d dropped that bomb on his momma only days before in hopes it’d help staunch some of the gossip of his return. It’d been years since he and Kenna had talked in more than sparse text messages or handwritten notes in sporadic packages sent back and forth between them.
All he knew was that he had only three weeks in town, and he didn’t plan on wasting a single day away from her.
Mac had no idea how she made it through lunch—and actually ate anything—without bailing. Or puking. Though, to be fair, maybe she didn’t eat a single bite and/or puked up her lunch, because she didn’t remember a damn thing after Rory had dropped her bomb.
Hudson fucking Miller. Here. In Havenbrook. Six months ahead of schedule.
On the one hand, she was desperate to see him. Wanted to knock on every door in town just to find out where he was. Wanted to feel his arms around her, breathe in his Hudson scent, and listen to her name roll from his tongue in the deep timbre of his voice.
On the other hand, she wanted to run away as far and as fast as she possibly could. She’d thought she still had time before he came home, before their pact was in full effect. Time to do something other than sling drinks at the local watering hole. Time to rack up a couple accomplishments—or, hell, even one. Time to get her shit together.
But Mac wasn’t like her sisters. She didn’t make things happen like Rory. She didn’t work her ass off for them like Will, mostly because she didn’t know what she wanted. And, as much as she wished it were true, she didn’t not give a fuck like her younger sister, Natalie.
So, of course, Hudson would come home without notice. And, of course, he’d do so months ahead of the planned date she’d been simultaneously not watching and obsessing over for the past several years. And, of course, on the day he decided to show up, she’d be wearing a long-sleeved threadbare T-shirt with an owl screen print, its huge eyes placed directly over her b
oobs, and her holiest jeans that’d give anyone who cared to look a glimpse of her hot pink underwear. Of fucking course.
“Hey, you okay?” Will hooked her arm through Mac’s as they stood up from their table, her voice full of concern. “If you’re not ready to see him yet, we could go out the back, smuggle you home somehow?”
“What she said.” Rory gripped Mac’s hand and squeezed. “You just say the word, honey, and we can make anything happen.”
“I could create a diversion,” Avery said, walking backward in front of them. How she did that in her knee-high stiletto boots was beyond Mac. “Sweet-talk old Gleaves into streaking through the Square naked, maybe.”
Will and Rory groaned, while Avery couldn’t keep a straight face and busted out laughing. God, Mac loved these women. And she knew they wouldn’t leave her side unless she asked them to. Knew she wouldn’t have to face this alone.
“I’m fine,” she said as they stepped outside into the crisp fall air. Okay, so she’d said those words approximately seventy-two times since Rory had dropped the bomb, but it was the truth. She was fine. She was steady as a rock. Cool, calm, and collect—
Even the subtle breeze sweeping up Mac’s hair and blowing it around her face wasn’t enough to distract her from the man her eyes immediately connected with.
It’d been years since she’d seen Hudson in anything other than pictures or on a screen, but there was no mistaking that the absolute giant who stood in front of The Sweet Spot was her childhood best friend. He’d been walking but seemed to freeze in place when their eyes connected, just like she had.
Even when someone jostled him from behind, he didn’t take his eyes off her. She couldn’t either. It felt as if all the air in the atmosphere had been sucked out and then pumped straight into her heart, bringing it to life in a way it hadn’t been for so long.
Her sisters and Avery were murmuring around her, but she couldn’t make sense of anything they said. There was a steady hum in her ears, her heart beating too loudly, and then he took a step toward her.
Captain Heartbreaker (Havenbrook Book 4) Page 2
