And Hudson is going to think that it’s because of his money that I’m telling them about the baby.
A wave of dizziness overtakes me, and I slump to a seat. Hudson gives me a sharply concerned look. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been strange all evening.”
“Forget me.” I wave my hand at the carnage in front of me. “What about this?”
Hudson looks bleak. “This is my fault,” he grinds out. “I should have anticipated Thorne’s actions. I should have stored it at my office until the last possible minute.”
“It’s not your fault.” My voice is tired. I’m tired, too tired to fight back, too exhausted to think of a plan to combat this. I can’t even reassure Hudson properly. He’s blaming himself for something that Thorne did. Just like Asher does with the woman that Thorne raped.
Ultimately, there’s only one person responsible for these actions, and it’s my half-brother.
“I can’t think in this room,” Hudson says savagely. “Do you want to get out of this fucking place?”
“Sure,” I agree. I can’t bear to look at the crushed wreckage in front of us. The model had been so beautiful, so perfect, and now it’s in shambles. It could be a metaphor for my life. “Where to? Your apartment?”
Hudson shakes his head. “There might be something I can use at the office,” he says.
The situation is hopeless, I want to tell him, but I can’t bring myself to admit defeat by saying those words out loud. “Sure,” I agree, “let’s go to your office. You never know what we might find.”
It’s late. I expect the place to be empty, but though the office corridors are dim, a sliver of light shines from under a closed door. “Nadja’s still at work,” Hudson notes. He doesn’t look particularly surprised.
“Hudson, is that you?” The door opens, and Nadja gives us a surprised look, then flushes as she realizes who I am. “I thought you’d gone for the day,” she says. “I was just catching up on emails.”
“Seth at home with the kids?” he asks.
She shakes her head. “They’re visiting his parents,” she says. “We made a deal. Seth disappears with the kids for a couple of weeks, and I catch up on work, and I do all the Christmas shopping in return.” She grins easily. “I think Seth got the better bargain. Mara loves having her grandchildren around. What are you doing here? I thought you’d be at Hancock Construction. Raul said they’d dropped off the model earlier without any problems.”
Hudson’s face darkens. He quickly fills Nadja in on what happened while we were at dinner, and her mouth falls open. “That’s terrible,” she says, sounding horrified. “So you thought you’d use the 3D printer?”
I’m guessing from Hudson’s stupefied expression that the thought has never even occurred to him. “Of course,” he exclaims, hugging her tight. “Nadja, you’re a genius. Do you know how to use it?”
I push back the reflexive jealousy I feel. From the smile on her face when Hudson’s coworker talked about her husband, she’s obviously in love with him. I have nothing to feel insecure about. Besides, judging from Hudson’s reaction, I think Nadja has just saved our bacon.
She disentangles herself with a chuckle. “I’ve been playing with it in my spare time,” she admits.
“What free time?” Hudson asks dryly. “You’ve been working non-stop the last couple of months.”
“I fiddle with it when I need a break,” she replies. “Come on. I’ll load your design into it.” She leads the way down another dimly lit corridor. “You’ll have to print it in stages,” she warns over her shoulder. “You’re going to be here all night.”
“Not a problem,” Hudson replies. “Even a rudimentary model seems like a miracle at this point.”
Just then, my phone beeps. I glance at it, expecting it to be Asher, but the display shows my mother’s number. “Hey, I have to take this,” I tell Hudson.
“You should go home,” he says, looking at me with a frown. “You look exhausted. You need rest.”
“And you don’t?” I ask pointedly. “I’m not going anywhere, but I do need to talk to my mom.”
Hudson realizes there’s no point arguing with me. “Fine,” he concedes. He flashes his key card at the door just opposite the printer room. “My office. Make yourself comfortable.”
I bite my lip. I’ve been avoiding telling my mom about the baby, but I’m running out of time. She’s visiting me in a couple of days. She’ll be staying with me for two weeks over Christmas, and the truth is bound to come out then. I’d much rather tell her about the baby on the phone now, than risk seeing her disappointed expression in person. Yes, I’m a coward.
However, even with the door shut, there’s a chance that Hudson will be able to overhear my conversation. He’s in the room opposite me, after all. “Where’s the washroom?” I ask him.
Nadja points down the hallway. “The ladies room is the third door on the right,” she says with a friendly smile. “The code on the door is one-two-three-four.”
“That’s very secure,” I snark, unable to help myself.
She laughs. “I changed it when I was pregnant,” she says. “I needed to pee all the time in my final trimester, and I didn’t want to fuss with a complicated password. This guy here,” she says, looking at Hudson with fond exasperation, “insists on codes for every single door. Including the washroom.”
“Basic precautions,” Hudson explains to me. “Design plans are easily stolen.”
She snorts. “Please,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “You’re just paranoid.”
This sounds like an old argument, and they’re both looking at me as if they’re expecting me to play referee. “I need to go,” I say hastily, and make a run for safety.
I barricade myself in a bathroom stall in the ladies room and call my mother. “Hey sweetie,” she says in greeting. “My call went to voicemail, so I figured you were busy.” She takes a deep breath. “Do you have a moment? There’s something I need to tell you.”
Her tone is almost diffident. “What’s wrong, mom?”
“I’ve been hiding something from you,” she confesses with a sigh. “Please don’t be angry. Ten months ago, Paul came to see me.”
“What?” I squeak out. “Why?”
“He’d learned he was dying. He told me he was trying to make amends for all the things he’d screwed up.” She sounds sad. “As you can imagine, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him. I hadn’t seen him in thirty years, and I didn’t have good memories of him. But he stayed for hours, looking at all your baby photos. I think he really regretted not knowing you.”
“He had a choice about that,” I snap. He looked at my baby pictures? “He could have contacted me.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I didn’t want to tell you about his visit; there was no point getting your hopes up. Paul Hancock was not good at having difficult conversations. He preferred to avoid them, to throw money at the problem rather than deal with it in a straightforward manner.”
“I don’t want to hear this,” I say flatly. “I don’t want to hear any excuses. Paul Hancock made his choices.”
“Wendy, wait,” my mom says urgently. “I agree with you. When Paul showed up, I almost shut the door in his face. In the end, I listened to him, not for his sake, but for mine.” Her voice falters. “For more than thirty years, I’ve refused to trust anyone because of what Paul did. But listening to him gave me some closure.”
Her voice falters. “I’m afraid I’ve let my bitterness corrode you. You turned thirty a few weeks ago, yet you’ve never dated someone for longer than a few months. I taught you to mistrust men, Wendy. I shouldn’t have. Not all men are like Paul.”
An image of Hudson and Asher flashes in my mind. They’ve been at my side from the start. They’ve watched out for me. They’ve held me when I’ve been down. They’ve done nothing but provide solid, unwavering support, and because I’m afraid of their reaction to my pregnancy, I’ve hidden the truth from them.
My mom is right.
“Umm, mom?” I grip the phone tight and hope she doesn’t take the news too badly. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something too.” I swallow hard. “I’m pregnant.”
“Oh, Wendy.” My mom sounds like she’s tearing up. “I’m so happy for you, sweetie.” She clears her throat. “Are you dating someone?” she asks carefully. “I haven’t heard you mention a boyfriend.”
I grimace. Time to blurt out the truth. “I had a threesome,” I mutter, my cheeks hot with embarrassment. “One of them is the father. I haven’t told them yet.”
I hear the phone clatter to the floor. Shit. My mom’s so shocked she’s dropped the phone. Somebody just kill me now.
“Mom?” I sound desperate when the silence stretches. “Say something. Anything. Tell me you’re ashamed of me. Call me a slut. Just speak to me.”
“Of course you aren’t a slut,” she replies at once, her voice sharp. “And I could never be ashamed of you.” She gives a strained laugh. “You’re a grown woman, but you’ll always be a little girl to me. I guess that I prefer to think of you as a virgin.”
“Yeah. That ship sailed a long time ago.”
“Wendy,” she says. “You know you can’t keep something like this a secret. You have to tell them.”
“I’m going to,” I tell her. “Soon.”
When I open the bathroom stall, Nadja is outside, her eyes wide with shock. “Before you ask,” she whispers, “I overheard everything. You’re pregnant, and either Hudson or Asher is the father.”
Fuck, fuck and fuck again.
“I’m going to tell them,” I beg Nadja, desperate for understanding. “But Hudson keeps talking about his ex-wife, and I lose courage…” My voice trails off.
A brief look of understanding flashes across her face, then her expression hardens. “You haven’t told them yet,” she accuses.
I shake my head. “I will,” I whisper. “I just need some time.”
“No,” she replies at once. “Hudson is my friend. I can’t keep this from him. Tell him today, Wendy, or I’ll have to tell him myself.”
29
Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.
Mark Twain
Asher:
I want to act. I need to take the fight to Thorne but I can’t. I’m paralyzed by fear. This isn’t about a spoiled trust fund millionaire anymore. This isn’t a fight about who’s going to be the CEO of Hancock Construction.
This is about the Russian Mafia. And I know how to fight Thorne Hancock, but I don’t have weapons big enough to take on Mikhail Vasiliev. The NYPD can’t touch him—how can I? I haven’t felt this helpless in ten years.
Then I arrive at Hudson’s penthouse, and the two of them aren’t there. I feel a moment of pure unadulterated fear until I call my friend, who fills me in on his evening. “I think the 3D printer is going to work though,” he says.
I don’t feel comfortable leaving them alone. “I’m heading to your office,” I tell him. “I’ll see you soon.”
I overhear Wendy talking to Hudson when I walk in. “I bet you wish you hadn’t agreed to help me,” she’s saying. “Tell me you don't think that your life was more peaceful before you met me.” She sounds distressed, at the point of tears. “Asher gets blackmailed. Your model gets ruined. What a waste.”
“Hey.” I enter the room and give Hudson a questioning look. Why is she so upset? Hudson appears to have the 3D printing under control. Things aren’t as bad as they appear. Well, based on what Jean Nakashima said, they’re a lot worse, but Wendy doesn’t know that.
I put my arm around her waist, drawing her near, and I kiss her forehead. “The time we’ve spent with you isn’t a waste.” My lips find hers fleetingly. “Our lives are better because of you.” I run my fingers through her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, feeling the warmth of her body. “If I had to choose again,” I whisper in her ear. “I’ll choose you. I’ll choose you every time.”
Her hand wraps around my neck. “Kiss me,” she demands, a ragged edge in her voice. “Both of you. Please?”
Hudson’s office is empty except for the three of us. I lift her up and set her on the couch in the corner, then I kiss her softly. Pushing aside my fear, I focus on Wendy. My fingers trail down her body and I try to memorize the way she feels. Soft, warm. Alive.
I can’t let anything happen to her. My thoughts swirl like angry bees trapped in a glass jar. I will protect her with my life, if that’s what it takes, because I don’t want to exist without her.
She kisses me back, her need just as fierce as mine. She reaches out for Hudson, who kneels on the floor and parts her legs.
Our lovemaking is hurried, desperate and feverish. When we’re done, I cling to her, unable to let go, even for a moment.
What am I going to do?
30
If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn't sit for a month.
Theodore Roosevelt
Wendy:
Guilt floods me the next morning when I wake up in Hudson’s bed.
Asher’s words from last night echo in my heart. Our lives are better because of you.
I love them. I’ve known that for a while now, though I’ve shied away from acknowledging the way I feel. But I can’t hide from the truth anymore. I’ve delayed telling Hudson and Asher about my baby because I’m afraid I’m going to lose them.
Now, Nadja has forced my hand.
I don’t blame her. In her place, I’d do the same thing. Her loyalty is to her friend. I respect that.
And she’s right.
You’ve blown it, Wendy. Admit it. You should have told them at Thanksgiving.
I remember Piper’s horrified look last night when she realized Hudson still didn’t know I was pregnant. My mother’s gentle admonishment. Nadja’s implacable glare. They’ve all been united in one thing. I must tell Asher and Hudson the truth.
Do it now, Wendy, I urge myself. You told your mother. Can this be any worse?
I dress in the clothes I was wearing last night, and head to the kitchen. Asher’s perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, reading the Wall Street Journal, while Hudson’s frying something on the stove. Unexpectedly, my stomach roils at the scent of bacon.
“You’re up.” Hudson smiles in my direction. “How are you doing on two hours of sleep?” He lowers the heat and walks toward the coffeepot. Pouring some coffee into a mug, he offers it to me.
Too late, I breathe in the scent of the beverage, and my stomach goes into full-fledged rebellion. Before I heave in their presence, I clasp my hand over my mouth and make a mad dash for the washroom, where I retch out the contents of my gut.
I thought I was done with morning sickness. Clearly, I was wrong.
I do my best to throw up silently and pray that the bathroom fan muffles the sound. When I return to the kitchen, feeling like someone sent my insides through the wringer, Asher eyes me with concern.
Hudson, on the other hand, looks at me sharply. He’s on the verge of figuring it out—I can tell. I’m not drinking. I can’t keep food down. Had the three of us not been so busy with work, they’d have worked it out a long time ago.
Looking at them, my courage fails me. My news is too big. Too monumental. The moment I tell them the truth, everything will change. I’m not ready.
But it’s time.
“I have to tell you something.” My voice comes out in a quiver. “I’m pregnant.”
My news is greeted by complete silence.
“One of you,” I continue nervously, “is the father.”
Neither of them responds.
“I think it was the first night,” I babble. I swallow back the lump in my throat. “I don’t want anything from you. This isn’t about that.”
Say something, damn it.
Hudson finally breaks the silence. He’s gripping the frying pan so tightly that his knuckles are white. “How long have you known?”
I close my eyes. The one question I don’t want to answer, and that’s the question he asks. “Since the middle of October.”
“You knew two months ago that you were pregnant and you didn’t tell us?” Asher looks shell-shocked, but Hudson’s eyes are so hard, and his expression is colder than I’ve ever seen. “You hid something this big, this important from us?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Tears well up in my eyes and I brush them away with the back of my hand. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
“For two months,” Hudson says slowly, “you’ve lied to us.” He finally looks me in the eye. “There’s a lot I can forgive, but lying to me? Deceiving me?” He shakes his head. His voice drops so low I can barely hear the words. “I’m so angry with you that I don’t even know how to react.”
He loosens his grip on the pan. Giving me one last, cold look, he walks out of the kitchen. I hear the sound of a door slam.
Asher still doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at me.
I can’t breathe. I can’t feel. I have to get out of here. I grab my coat, my hat, and scarf. “I’m sorry about everything,” I choke out, then I run, as fast as I can, out of there.
I was right to be afraid.
Now, I have to figure out what comes next.
31
Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.
William Shakespeare
Hudson:
I’m still furious when I get into work. My anger doesn’t abate when I see the fully constructed model sitting in our conference room.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Nadja looks up when I walk in.
“You look like hell,” I respond. “What on earth are you doing here so early? You should have taken the morning off.”
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