Wild Thing

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘What did you make her do?’ He spoke with lethal precision, using every ounce of self-control not to pummel this shell of a man who’d never done a single thing to earn the title of father.

  ‘I was working full time as a mechanic when we met. We got married fast, had you nine months later so she gave up her teaching degree. But I couldn’t cope with a baby, was a lousy father.’ Wiley coughed and Hudson waited. He hadn’t known any of this.

  From the time he was old enough to understand anything, his father hadn’t worked. He’d sat around the house, drinking, a belligerent man who’d scared the bejesus out of him. His mum had been the one to go out and work, mainly nights. Those had been the pits, when he’d be left with an angry man he barely knew who’d yell at him to stay in his room and not come out.

  Some nights he’d gone to bed hungry, wishing his mum would suddenly appear like a guardian angel. But he’d be asleep by the time she came home and he’d fling himself into her arms first thing in the morning, not breathing a word of how terrified he was of his father.

  ‘I couldn’t work with a hangover so after you were a few months old I lost my job. That’s when things got tough.’ Wiley glared at him as if it were his fault. ‘Kim had no qualifications so she took whatever jobs she could. Check-out chick. Cleaner. Waitress. It still wasn’t enough.’

  Sorrow made Wiley’s eyelids droop and for a moment Hudson thought he’d fallen asleep.

  ‘A friend told me how much she could make in the strip clubs, taking her clothes off. I encouraged Kim to do it because we needed the money desperately.’ Wiley’s upper lip curled in disgust and Hudson didn’t know if it was at the thought of Kim stripping or at himself for pushing her into it. ‘It took the pressure off. The money was a godsend. But I couldn’t look at her the same way.’

  Wiley blinked rapidly, and Hudson hoped to God he wouldn’t start crying. What he was hearing made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t want to cope with crocodile tears too.

  ‘Made the mistake of going to a club to watch one night. And that was the end of it for me. I snapped.’ Wiley pressed his fingertips to his eyes. Hudson resisted the urge to do the same. ‘Said I couldn’t come near her again. That what we had was over. Drove her away deliberately with day after day of abuse.’ Wiley waved his arm around. ‘And ended up here because of it, a lonely old man losing his mind.’

  Impotent rage simmered in Hudson’s gut, a slow-burning anger he’d harboured against his father for years. The old bastard deserved it, considering he’d driven his mother away because of something he’d pushed her into doing in the first place.

  But no one had held a gun to his mum’s head once she’d established distance. She could’ve found another job, could’ve come for him and taken him away from his drunkard, pathetic excuse for a father.

  Instead, she’d followed the money and taken the step from stripping to prostitution. And she hadn’t looked back. Hadn’t called him. Hadn’t come for him.

  The kicker? He could identify with what his father had felt the night he’d seen Kim stripping, because he’d felt the same way when he’d seen Mak naked on stage. It had changed everything between them. He’d been angry too and he’d taken it out on her, driving a wedge between their friendship for years.

  The only way he’d found his way back to her was once he’d learned the truth about her motivations. That was where he differed from Wiley. He’d known Kim’s motivations but he’d lashed out anyway. Bastard.

  ‘Why are you telling me all this now?’

  Wiley slumped further into the chair, as if he was trying to disappear into it. ‘Because I was a shit husband and a shit father and I don’t want to go to my grave without telling you the truth.’

  ‘That you were a mean-spirited drunk who pushed my mother away and left me being the primary care-giver for you?’

  Wiley shrugged, as if the years of Hudson’s sacrifice and hard work meant little.

  ‘Been having a lot of dreams lately. Nightmares. Past blending into the present, that kind of thing.’ Wiley plucked at a thread in the seam of his corduroys. ‘Just felt like I had to tell someone.’

  ‘Lucky me,’ Hudson muttered. He’d heard enough. He felt pity for his father, for the shell of a man he’d become. But he couldn’t forgive him. The time for absolution had long passed.

  ‘What are you doing here? Get out of my room!’ Wiley bellowed, pushing to his feet with difficulty and brandishing a non-existent cane. ‘I don’t let strangers into my room. Nurse!’

  Hudson stood and headed for the door, relieved to leave. The switch from lucid to confusion happened like this sometimes, so quickly he didn’t have time to come up with a way to placate his irate dad.

  ‘Get out, I said.’ His father’s face turned puce, the familiar colour of anger Hudson recognised well from the old days. ‘Get out!’

  Hudson did exactly that, without a backward glance.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  MAKAYLA LOVED THE thrill of opening night. The anticipation of performing in front of a crowd. The culmination of many hours of rehearsal. The smell of make-up and hairspray mingling with the sweat of nerves. The excited chatter of performers about to strut their stuff. She’d been doing this for years and it never got old.

  But this opening night didn’t hold her enthralled like others.

  Because once this opening night concluded, she only had another nine shows at Embue until she left her old life behind and embarked on her new one.

  She’d had three days to scrounge together the money to book flights, organise travel documents and find short-term accommodation. She’d been lucky, using a contact in the industry to gain a working permit and scoring a room in a brownstone shared by four other wannabe dancers. So once her commitment at Embue was done, she’d be leaving.

  She should be ecstatic.

  So why the lethargy that wouldn’t quit?

  She’d managed to get through the remaining rehearsals by feigning complete indifference towards Hudson and he’d done the same, treating her with a frosty politeness that made her yearn for their old warmth.

  But their friendship was ruined along with any chance they might have had at maintaining something more. She should’ve been relieved. It would’ve been a struggle, doing the long-distance thing. Yet seeing Hudson the past three days and not being able to tease or laugh or smile at him had been torture.

  Her fingers had itched to run through his artfully mussed dark blond hair. Her eyes had automatically sought his, searching for some kind of emotion in that unique indigo blue. Her body had yearned to be close to him, to feel the heat, the spark that never failed to ignite her in a way that would never be replicated by any other man.

  That was another thing. Now that she’d had phenomenally great sex, how could she ever settle for anything less? The whole situation was beyond annoying. Maybe the first thing she did when she landed in the States was find the hottest American she could and shag him senseless?

  Yeah, and if it were that easy, she would’ve been having great sex for years. Instead, the hotties were too egotistical and lazy in bed, while the nice guys with a modicum of talent didn’t do it for her outside the bedroom.

  Hudson had been the best of both worlds. Worlds that had well and truly collided and imploded.

  ‘Damn it,’ she muttered, the outer corner of her fake eyelashes slipping a tad as she tried to glue it.

  Mulling about the past wasn’t conducive to kicking ass on stage and she wanted to do a good job if it killed her. She had to prove to Hudson that their break up didn’t affect her at all. Even if her hands shook and her legs wobbled at the thought of dancing on stage in front of him.

  Last time he’d seen her on stage that hadn’t involved rehearsals it hadn’t ended well. The thing was, that night haunted her more than it must’ve ever bugged him.

  She’d moved past the shame bu
t she’d never been able to shake the deep-seated belief that there might’ve been another way to get the money she’d needed for her mum’s funeral.

  A sharp knock sounded at the door before Hudson stuck his head around it. ‘Ready?’

  She nodded, not willing to answer when her voice might quiver as badly as her insides.

  He paused, as if wanting to say something else, before half shrugging. ‘On stage in ten.’

  When he left, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding. Ten minutes to pull herself together.

  And nail this performance.

  She went through her routine pre-performance stretches and, after a final glance in the mirror, made her way backstage with a minute to spare. The other dancers milled around, going through their individual pre-performance superstitions. Some touched the curtains. Some tucked a lucky talisman into a secure place. Some did deep breathing, eyes closed.

  Makayla had never believed in luck. She made her own. Starting now.

  As Hudson did the intro and the curtain rose, she strutted onto the stage for the opening number.

  And stumbled.

  It hadn’t happened once in rehearsals and it momentarily threw her. Thankfully, the other dancers were out on stage quickly, doing their own spins and pirouettes and shimmies.

  Makayla had faced other minor mishaps on stage before. All part of the biz. But for some reason, she didn’t recover from that initial stumble and for the next forty minutes, she struggled.

  Missed steps by a beat. Felt stiff and uncoordinated. Lacked her usual joy for dance. And it must’ve showed. She only risked a glance at Hudson in the wings once and his stony expression told her everything she already knew.

  She stank.

  Mortified, she managed the finale before limping off stage, her Achilles aching as much as her pride.

  She went through the routine of backslapping fellow dancers and feigning enthusiasm, all the while wishing she could sink into the floor. After that pathetic performance, she would’ve cemented what they already suspected: that the only way she’d got the lead role was by sleeping with the boss. Ugh.

  Slipping away from the mini celebration as quickly as possible, she headed for her dressing room. The sooner she got the hell out of here, the better.

  She’d planned on rubbing Hudson’s nose in it, triumphant in her professionalism. Instead, she’d let her earlier musings derail her and had put in the worst performance of her entire career.

  Not waiting to remove her make-up or change out of costume, she slipped on an overcoat, grabbed her bag and made a run for it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  HUDSON WATCHED THE dancers mill about backstage. He should be mingling out front of the house, where enthusiastic patrons raved about the show while spending big at the bar.

  But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mak.

  She looked...broken.

  As if all the spirit had drained out of her.

  Sure, she’d given a lacklustre performance but only an industry expert could tell. The audience had still applauded every move and clapped madly at the end when she’d taken the final bow.

  But she’d been seriously rattled after that initial stumble and hadn’t recovered. It surprised him, because she’d been flawless at rehearsals.

  Unless...he’d never seen her perform in a show on stage. Was she one of those dancers who nailed the previews but couldn’t translate it on the big stage?

  He’d seen it before, actors who memorised entire scripts but couldn’t enunciate a word in front of a crowd. Singers who performed in pubs but lost their pitch when they got their big break.

  Was Mak a choker when it really counted?

  He hated to think it. Followed by another worrying thought. If tonight’s performance was anything to go by, how did she expect to make it on Broadway?

  She’d be wasting her time, going from audition to audition, her funds dwindling. What would she do then?

  The memory of her stripping naked on stage popped into his head. Fuck. Would she return to that in the US? Or like his mum, desperate for cash, much worse?

  He knew nothing about her financial situation beyond what she’d told him: that she had a flatmate because her part-time job at Le Miel couldn’t cover the bills alone. She might have savings but if so, why hadn’t she chosen to head to the States before now...? Damn.

  He watched her slip away from the dancers, was about to follow her, when a hand landed on his shoulder.

  ‘Good work, bozo.’ Tanner squeezed his shoulder, then released him. ‘You may be onto something with these live dance shows.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Hudson’s gaze didn’t leave Mak, wishing she’d glance over her shoulder so he could signal to her to wait for him.

  ‘If you pack the crowd in like this over the next two weeks, I may need to think about making this a permanent gig.’ Tanner slapped him on the back. ‘And give you a raise.’

  Another back slap and Tanner was gone, leaving Hudson craning his neck looking for Mak. She’d vanished.

  Cursing under his breath, he headed for her dressing room, bypassing the dancers who’d waylay him. He should be with them, congratulating and encouraging. Yet all he could think about was getting to Mak.

  The desperate edge to his urgency scared him. For someone who’d ended their relationship without a backward glance, he sure was concerned about her. In fact, it was more than concern. It was an ache in his gut that screamed...fear.

  The abject failure he’d seen on Mak’s face terrified him.

  He didn’t want her feeling like that. He wanted to pick her up and cradle her and tell her how frigging fantastic she was.

  He wouldn’t put her down or push her away when she needed him most.

  He wasn’t his father.

  In that moment, he realised something else. He didn’t want to be alone like Wiley either. He didn’t want to live with regrets or end up by himself in some old-age home because he hadn’t taken a chance on love.

  He wouldn’t hold Mak back but he wouldn’t let her go either.

  He’d fight.

  Make a stand.

  As he should have that night he’d seen her strip and given up on her.

  Who knew, dear old dad had done him a favour, revealing the truth about what happened with his mum.

  Wiley had been a quitter.

  Luckily, Hudson was nothing like his father.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  MAKAYLA HAD ALMOST made it to her car in the staff underground parking lot when Hudson burst out of a side door.

  Damn it, the one person she’d hoped to avoid. She could pretend she hadn’t seen him and get into her car as fast as humanly possible, but that would be poor form considering he’d given her this job at a time she’d needed it most.

  She waited until he got closer, feigning nonchalance by leaning against the open driver’s door. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘You tell me,’ he said, sounding frantic, his words clipped, his voice just above a growl. ‘It’s usual to have a debrief after the first performance but you bolted out of there.’

  ‘I’m exhausted.’

  The lie slipped easily from her lips and she threw her bag onto the back seat in an effort to hasten her exit. ‘Can we do the debrief tomorrow?’

  ‘No.’

  He took a step closer, invading her personal space in a way she would’ve loved last week. Now, not so much. The tantalising fragrance of his crisp aftershave reminded her of how he smelled delicious, all over, and how much she was missing out on by not having him in her life any more.

  ‘Hudson, I’m not in the mood—’

  ‘What happened in there?’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the club. As if she needed the clarification. She knew exactly what he was talking about. ‘Not that the audience
noticed, but I did.’

  Hating that she’d need to have the conversation she’d hoped to avoid, she shrugged. ‘You of all people know it’s been a big week. Plenty of upheaval.’ She tapped her head. ‘All the crap up here affected my performance tonight. It won’t happen again.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘So that’s all it was? Opening night nerves? Over-analysing?’

  She hadn’t been talking about the dancing and he knew it. But she was all for wrapping this up as soon as possible and leaving.

  ‘I’ve never danced the lead role before. And I’m ashamed to say it rattled me tonight. That’s it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Another step forward, bringing him within touching distance, and she had to curl her fingers into her palms to stop from doing just that.

  ‘Because as I recall, most of that upheaval had to do with you and me. And you having to travel to the other side of the world to avoid having the kind of conversation we’re about to have.’

  A nervous fluttering started deep in Makayla’s belly and wouldn’t let up. She didn’t want to have any conversations with Hudson, least of all ones involving the two of them.

  ‘I’m heading overseas to work,’ she said, enunciating each word with precision. ‘And unlike what you implied, I won’t be lying on my back with my legs spread to do it.’

  ‘Don’t be crass.’

  ‘You’re the one who seems to think I’m capable of it.’

  To her horror, all the emotion she’d managed to subdue in front of him for the last few days bubbled up and lodged in her throat, making her nauseous.

  ‘I have to go.’ She slipped into her car and tried to slam the door shut.

  He wouldn’t budge. ‘Hudson, I mean it—’

  ‘I’m not letting you go,’ he ground out. ‘I’ve made that mistake several times now but never again.’

  She gaped at him, letting the implications of his words sink in, totally missing her chance to shut the door and drive away when he moved around to the passenger side and slid into the seat next to her.

  ‘Do you want to have this conversation here or somewhere more comfortable?’