The guy grabs a kettle bell and throws it behind him.
My scream gets caught in my throat when I watch Hudson jump over the black kettle bell. It’s like a horror movie happening right in from of me, as Hud comes down and slips on the mat I’d just washed, landing on his knees.
The guy in the mask takes advantage of Hudson’s misstep and moves like lightning through the hall and out the back door.
With my heart racing, I scramble to my feet and fly to Hudson’s side.
Kneeling next to him, it’s impossible to miss the pain etched on his face. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”
He reaches around me and cups the back of my head. “I’m fine, Mads.” His eyes frantically search mine, and I think I’m seeing this tough MMA fighter petrified for the first time in the three years I’ve known him. “Are you okay?”
I nod, but the adrenaline begins to wane, and the world starts to spin.
I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around what almost just happened.
Once he’s satisfied I’m okay, he clenches his jaw. “Call the cops, Mads. Tell them to meet us at the hospital.” He closes his eyes and tilts his head up to the ceiling. “I think I busted my knee.”
With trembling hands, I make the call.
“How fucking long does it take to get the results of an MRI?” Hudson’s older sister, Scarlet Kingston-St. James, hasn’t stopped yelling since she and her husband, Cade, stepped into the private room Hudson was given as soon as we arrived at the hospital. Apparently, when a wing of the hospital is named after your family, they don’t make you wait in the emergency room like everyone else.
Cade wraps his arm around Scarlet, attempting to soothe his wife, but by the looks of it, he’s just fueling the fire. “He’s going to be okay, duchess. They’re both okay. It could have been worse.”
Cade would know. He owns Crucible, and he’s Hudson’s coach.
My life has been intertwined with the Kingstons for years.
Despite that, I’m curled up on the chair next to the bed, feeling like an intruder.
There’s nine of them, and they’re the biggest, loudest family I’ve ever met.
It’s all sorts of intimidating when you see it up close, even if it’s the family dynamic I’d always wished for growing up. My brother, Brandon, is my only family. He and I grew up bouncing from one foster home to another. We’ve only ever had each other to depend on. So being around this crazy family has always been overwhelming.
Brandon plays professional football for the Philadelphia Kings—one of the teams the Kingston family owns—and I run the social-media accounts for a few of the Kings players, as well as the official account for the Philadelphia Revolution, the pro hockey team they bought a few years ago.
And I teach yoga at Crucible. At least I used to.
Please God, don’t let him fire me for this.
But even as interconnected as we all are, I’m not part of this family. They’re a tight-knit circle that I’m outside the periphery of. Watching but not part of. We share friends, and I’ve been to their weddings and championship games, but I’ve never felt like I belonged.
And I can’t help but feel like I shouldn’t be here for this.
While Cade and Scarlet continue their argument, which feels more like foreplay than him actually trying to calm her down, my eyes scan up Hudson’s legs. They cut his sweatpants off at the knee, and he’s been icing it on and off since we got here.
He reaches over with his big palm and squeezes my hand, sending a shiver dancing down my spine. “Hey, you doing okay?”
This man does not touch me . . . ever.
He flirts.
A lot.
But he never touches, and that’s a good thing because I don’t really like to be touched. And if this is what it feels like, I definitely need us to stay in a touch-free zone. Because for a hot minute, I consider what it would be like to crawl into that bed next to him and feel his arms wrap around me. And that’s not something I do . . . ever.
“Mads,” he prods.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m good. I’m just so sorry you got hurt. I swear I counted my students as they left, and the building should have been empty.”
Scarlet spins around on her red-soled high heels. “Don’t you dare apologize, Madison Dixon. This is not your fault.” She looks at her phone for the millionth time tonight, probably checking to see if the news has gotten hold of the story yet. “Have you called your brother?”
Scarlet Kingston-St. James is a force of nature, and she’s a hella scary one too. She runs the Philadelphia Kings, so she’s Brandon’s boss. Of course, this means she knows he treats me like a breakable piece of glass instead of a grown woman who owns a successful business and is capable of running her own life.
“Scarlet, back off.” Hudson glares at his sister. “We’re okay. You can reel in the momma-bear routine a bit, okay?”
She ignores him, keeping her sights set on me. “Madison, he’d want to know what happened.”
“He’d want to fly home from London,” I push back. The team just left for their first international game, and he’s not due back for a few days.
Scarlet hands me her phone. “Call him. Tell him what happened, and do not let him fly home.” This woman is used to getting her way. And normally, I’d envy her confidence and determination, but right now, I don’t have the energy. I pull my phone from the pocket of my yoga pants and stand from the chair.
When I turn my head, I plaster a forced smile Hudson’s way. “Want me to get you anything from the vending machine?”
Cade glares at me. “He’s got two weeks left before his fight. No junk food, Mads.”
“Sorry.” I shrug my shoulders as Hudson drops his head back against the pillow. “I tried.”
Just as I push through the door, Hudson calls out my name. “Mads . . .”
There’s frustration lining his beautiful cobalt eyes when I turn around.
“Don’t go far, okay?”
With a nod of my head, I step just outside the door and realize it wasn’t frustration I was seeing in his eyes.
It was fear.
Hudson
“You’ve got to postpone the fight.” Scarlet folds her arms across her chest and looks between Cade and me, like her word is gospel—written on a stone tablet.
I’ve been sitting in this goddamned bed for three fucking hours, and now, she’s going to try lecturing me? I don’t think so. I love my sister, but I’m pretty sure I earned a pass tonight. Let her husband deal with her.
Cade looks from the doctor to his wife, never even glancing my way. “He’s hyperextended his MCL. It’s not torn. He doesn’t need surgery. He’s a professional. We’ll give him a few days’ rest and have him training next week.” The fucker finally looks at me with a cocky smile that’s covering his concern. “Can you stay off your leg for a few days, King?”
“If it means I walk into that cage next week, you bet your fucking ass I can.”
“I’ll get the nurses to bring your release papers, Mr. Kingston.” The doc heads out of the room, and my stomach drops. At least, this is manageable. It could have been worse. It could have been a torn MCL or ACL, then it would have required surgery. Game over for months.