“I’ll drive you.”
I turned to find Jack behind me. Gratitude boiled inside so intensely, tears formed in the corners of my eyes. “Thank you. Give me ten minutes to pack.”
I rushed out before anyone could say another word. Taking the stairs two at a time, I sped to our bedroom. Our bedroom. The thought pained me in the absence of Hudson. After dragging my suitcase out of the closet, I scrambled around the room picking up random items that I’d left lying around the past few days—my swimsuit, my robe. The red nightie.
When I’d returned from the bathroom with my toothbrush and other toiletries, Mira was standing in the doorframe. “Laynie, you don’t have to leave yet.”
I walked past her and dropped my things into my luggage.
“Stay until tomorrow. We can go do something girly, get mani-pedis if you want.”
There really were great people in the Pierce household. I adored Mirabelle. And Jack had become a fast friend. Even Chandler and Adam for all their boyish personality had taken a piece of my affection.
But the goodness of all of them was outweighed by the horror of Sophia.
And no one meant anything to me in comparison to what I felt for her son. “Thank you, Mira, sincerely. But I can’t stay here without Hudson.”
“I understand.”
I zipped up my bag and stood to face Mira, searching to see if she really did understand. From the softness in her eyes, I believed she did.
Maybe she understood more than I knew. I took a deep breath and asked, “Did he say...anything about me?” I bit my lip, embarrassed to let her see my insecurity. “Or leave any message for me?”
She seemed unsurprised by my question. “I think he was going to call you or something. Have you checked your phone?”
My phone—I hadn’t looked at it since I stuffed it in my purse on the drive up. I returned to the closet and found the purse hanging on a hook inside the door. Rifling around inside, I quickly located the phone. “It’s dead,” I said. “I forgot to bring a charger.”
“Is it a standard USB? You can take my car charger.”
I wanted to hug her. “Thank you, Mira.”
“No problem.” She watched while I set my suitcase in the rolling position. “Martin can get that.”
“I got it.” I didn’t want to wait to call someone up to carry a suitcase I could manage myself. I scanned the room one more time then started toward the door.
“Laynie.” Mira stopped me before I’d crossed the threshold.
It was difficult to give her my attention when every fiber of my body wanted to go. I fidgeted as I met her eyes.
She took a step toward me, her face soft and compassionate. “I know he loves you,” she said firmly. “I know he does. But he’s been through...things...that’s made it hard for him to open up, so please don’t take that as, well, as evidence of anything if he can’t tell you how he feels.”
My eyes felt misty. Maybe Mira was as snowed as I was, but it felt good to hear. I swallowed hard. “I know.”
“Good.”
“But…” I might never get the chance to have this conversation again. “Why do you believe that? I mean, what makes you think that he loves me, or that he even can?”
Surely Mira knew the things Sophia claimed about her brother. That he was a sociopath, that he couldn’t feel anything for others. Unless all of that had been her mother’s way of riling me up. But I suspected there was more to her claims than that—they were rooted in truth somewhere, a therapist’s opinion, a doctor’s diagnosis.
Mira closed her eyes briefly and blew out a steady stream of air. “I don’t know, Laynie. He’s different around you. I’ve never seen him like he is with you.”
“Maybe you see what you want to believe.”
“Maybe.” She stuck her chin out. “But I’m not giving up on him. I hope you don’t either.”
“I won’t.” But Hudson might have already given up on me.
And, if not me, himself.
Back downstairs, Mira left me in the foyer to grab her phone charger from her car. Jack had gone to the garage to bring the Mercedes up to the circle drive. I paced, waiting for him to pull up.
I sensed Sophia behind me without seeing her. Hoping she’d go away if I didn’t acknowledge her, I kept my eyes focused on the front driveway. I was wrong.
“You shouldn’t be surprised that he left you.”
I still didn’t look at her, but I pictured the satisfied grin she likely wore, imagined myself slapping it off her face. Violence never hurt as much as a good verbal argument, though. Problem was, if I reacted to her bait, she could very well win. Again.