Chapter 2
The second I landed in New York, my mom called.
“I already set up the meeting,” she said without even saying hello. “Go be polite. At the very least, visit the grandmother. Don’t embarrass this family.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
I had never told my parents about my online boyfriend.
So as far as my mother knew, I was still the perfectly eligible daughter who just happened to be heading to the same city as the family we’d once had a vague old-fashioned verbal marriage promise with.
I had figured I would use the visit to politely clear things up.
No harm done.
Besides, I had heard the family’s last name was Hale.
Because of Hudson, I had always had a soft spot for that name.
The softness died in a coffee shop.
I waited from afternoon to evening, and nobody came.
Not the grandson. Not a secretary. Not even a pity text.
By the time I finally dragged my suitcase out into the cold, I was furious.
Mom was furious too.
Apparently the Hales had lived in our hometown years ago before moving to New York, and in the past few years they had climbed their way into a much better social circle by attaching themselves to the Quinn family, one of the city’s old-money giants.
Which meant, naturally, they no longer looked twice at people from small towns.
“Afraid we’ll cling to them, probably,” my mom snapped over the phone.
My dad chimed in lazily from the background, “Honey, maybe don’t curse in front of our daughter.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then, out of habit, I looked up at the evening sky, took a quick picture, and sent it to Hudson.
I’m here, I wrote. One day until we meet.
At that exact moment, several miles away, a black luxury car was pulling up outside a dorm building at Belmont University.
A group of guys coming back from the basketball court slowed down.
“Hey,” one of them said. “Isn’t that a Quinn family car?”
Hudson Hale looked over.
From where he stood, he could only see a pale, elegant hand gripping the edge of the open car door so tightly the knuckles looked bloodless.
He recognized it immediately.
Not the hand.
The fear.
The kind that locked a body from the inside. The kind that made stepping into a crowd feel like walking into fire.
“Adrian Quinn?” one of the guys muttered in disbelief. “Why is he here again?”
Another snorted. “Didn’t he try dorm life once already? Last year he lasted, what, two days? Then ran back home. What is this, another failed experiment? Maybe he’s here so you can babysit him again, Hudson.”
The joke hung in the air a little too long.
Hudson’s expression changed just enough for the other guy to notice and clear his throat.
“I’m just saying,” he added quickly, “the Quinns only have one grandson. Weird kid though. Can barely talk. No wonder the old lady values you.”
Hudson said nothing.
He just looked once more toward the car, then turned away.
Inside, Adrian sat frozen, beautiful face pale as carved marble, a sheen of sweat at his temple.
After a long time, he asked in a low, unsteady voice, “Will she think I’m weird?”
The butler beside him, an older man with silver hair and kind eyes, opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
He had learned years ago not to make promises he could not protect.
Because once, when Adrian was little, there had been another child.
A boy who smiled to Adrian’s face and called him a friend.
Then laughed behind his back and called him broken.
Adrian had heard.
After that, he never tried to make another friend again.
And yet, for the last year, he had changed.
Because of a phone.
Because of someone on the other side of it.
Because of a girl whose name the household still barely understood but whose existence had somehow brought color back into him.
The butler cleared his throat gently. “Should we go home, sir?”
Adrian looked out the window.
His voice trembled, but this time it carried a quiet, terrifying determination.
“No,” he said. “I have to meet her.”