Love, Tussles, and Takedowns (Cactus Creek #3)(49)

“No—”

“But she’s a martial arts instructor,” finished Fiona. “And a weapons specialist. One of the best in Arizona. Her family’s business is one of the ones the prop guys have been using for rifle construction—Spencer’s Antique Arms.”

Brow arched in respect, the man stuck his hand out to greet her. “Boy, am I glad you guys travel in packs. You really think you can fill in for Hudson? You’ll be saving us a ton of money for today’s shoot.”

Lia gave him a reassuring nod. “Kids are my specialty.” With one last glance at Fiona helping Hudson away, she ruffled the kid’s hair. “C’mon, let’s show you how to kick some butt.”

She kept her voice modulated and her smile on her face when she could. But inside, her stomach was in knots. Now she finally understood why Hudson was so dead-set on believing he didn’t deserve to be a father.

Her heart broke for him.



*



HUDSON WALKED BACK onto the set during the second practice run for the scene. Silently, he watched the little boy Lia had been working with make a few adjustments to his rifle and then pretend-struggle via a few punches and kicks with the actor playing his adversary.

By the time all the actors and extras went to their marks, and silence was called for on the set, the vivid ghosts from Hudson’s past were retreating back into hibernation.

Meanwhile, Lia was giving a few last-minute pointers before ruffling the boy’s hair and wishing him luck.

He felt his ghosts linger then, lurking.

Just in case.

A few last minute filming directions and then the director called out, “Action!”

Hudson felt it starting to hit him again when the little boy charged forward into battle.

Different from his memories, and yet overwhelmingly similar at the same time.

Then suddenly, two small, comforting hands squeezed his forearm. Looking down, he saw Lia’s fingers intertwine with his. He wished to hell and back that he could feel more than just the faint pressure her silent comfort was pressing into his right palm. He did feel her thumb stroking over his radial pulse at his wrist, however, and her head lightly resting against his shoulder.

And just like that, his breathing regulated itself.

The wave of impending horror and utter bleakness that had threatened to consume him again fell and dissipated slowly.

On set, the boy crumpled to the ground, just as it’d been scripted for him to do, and Hudson felt another gentle squeeze on his forearm—fiercely comforting if he could describe the gesture with words.

Had he been in a mindset to do so, he would’ve almost smiled then.

“I’m fine now,” he informed her quietly.

“I know you are,” she said just as quietly, her tone telling him she was telling the truth.

He looked down and saw her eyes were glued to the little boy on set, unwavering until the director called out, “Cut! Nicely done, everyone.”

Folks materialized out of the woodworks and began shuffling off-scene as the director gave Hudson and Lia a thumbs-up and headed to the cluster of actors and extras waiting for him at the next ‘village’ set-up about a hundred yards away.

The little boy turned to wave at Lia while his handler helped him remove the props that needed to be returned to the prop master. Not long later, the two were heading toward the refreshment table. Just another day on the job.

Only then did Lia loosen her grip on his arm.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

Her eyes swung up to meet his, a faint sheen of emotion glittering for a moment before she blinked it away. “I would never have had the strength to go through what you went through. Or what I’m assuming you went through. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

He took a deep, ragged breath. “Why didn’t I tell you that I killed a kid at nearly point-blank range? That he was looking me straight in the eye, scared out of his mind, when I shot him?” Shame throbbed in his voice as he looked back down to the ground, unable to meet her empathetic gaze any longer.

“That I did what even that tweaked-out criminal from your past failed to do?”

Lia gasped. “Hudson—”

“Don’t. Don’t try to say that it’s different. Because it’s not. That man was strung out on drugs, and he was still somehow able to stop himself. He was able to move the gun away at the last second. Show you humanity. I wasn’t. I didn’t. No amount of reasoning will change that fact.” Disgust and scalding hot remorse ripped through him, sent a sucker punch to his gut that almost had him retching out bile again.

“I looked that terrified little kid in the eye and executed him.”

He felt her place a comforting hand on his. His left hand. The one that could feel. And all he could feel was acid-dipped contempt for himself. He jerked his hand back, not wanting to poison her goodness.

Staring down at his clenched fists, he saw the blood on them that everyone seemed determined to forgive him for. He’d given that same comfort to countless other soldiers in the past. Some took, some didn’t. But Hudson learned the hard way why some of them felt like their hands would never be clean again.

There was no forgiveness for this.

And by allowing himself to forget that fact these past few months, Lia—amazing, beautiful Lia—was now trying to comfort him, a man no better than the one who’d held her at gunpoint when she was not much older than that young boy.