“And what happens if I sayno?”
Hudson sighs. “Then we will arrange for flights to get you backhome.”
The air suddenly leaves my chest and I go lightheaded at the thought of having to return home. What would I be going home to? A pissed mother, her endless trail of dirty old men, and a mess I want nothing to do with but have got drawn into nonetheless. Looking at Hudson now, thinking about last night and the growing feelings I have for the brothers, just makes me even more confused. I’ve stolen from them, I’ve been rude, defensive, jealous of the women they’ve been with, attracted toall three of themand yet done nothing but push them away time and again. Self-preservation is a fucking messed upbitch.
“Will you contact the police?” I say. I hate the fact my voice sounds so small, weak. I hate that Hudson is the one who is making me feel that way, but most of all I despise my mum for putting me in this position atall.
“That depends on your answer,Louisa.”
Tiny black spots start to speckle my vision at the thought that I could get into trouble with the police. It is mortifying enough I have stolen from them, but to be charged with theft on top of that as well. A stint in prison is not what I want to see in myfuture.
“Louisa, are you okay?” Hudson asks, concern creasing his brow. He reaches out, but I flinch away from histouch.
“Don’t,” I say, resigned now. “I will go with you, not because I want to, but because I can’t bear to go home, and because I don’t want to go to prison,” I add, moving into the middle of the room and crossing my arms defensively. I hear the spite in my voice and cringe internally. Even when saying the words, I know I am not being entirely honest withmyself.
“Then you’ll need to pack. We’re leaving in half an hour,” Hudson says, his voice clipped, onedge.
“Half an hour?” I step out of his way as he walks past me. He stops at the door, turns around and considers me a moment. “Yes, Bryce and Max have been out this morning and got everything we need for a few days away. Believe it or not, we are able to put together a pretty good Christmas dinner,” he says, attempting to lighten theconversation.
I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t care about your skills as chefs. I won’t be eating itanyway.”
“Fine,” he snaps. “Just be ready inten.”