There’s the sound of cupboards opening followed by running water. A few moments later, he’s by my bedside.
“Sit up and take these.”
He smells like coffee and fresh air, and for a moment, I hate him for it. Hudson got out on his own terms. He chose to leave. He’s whole and has purpose and doesn’t have a missing limb and an emptiness in his chest.
“I’m going to stand here until you take these, so you’d be doing us both a favor if you sat your sorry ass up and took your meds.”
I roll over and find Hudson by the bed, holding a glass of water out to me and wearing a don’t-fucking-try-me expression.
I know he’s only trying to help, and even though all I want to do is kick him and tell him to leave me be, I owe him more than that. I try to inject humor into my lifeless voice. “You gonna feed them to me too, Mom?”
Hudson rolls his eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”
I drag myself into a sitting position and grit my teeth as the pain sharpens. He watches as I swallow them, gulping down the water as if I’m still in the desert.
“Are you happy?” I ask him.
“Not even close,” he replies. “But it’s a start.”
I mutter a curse under my breath, but Hudson just grins.
“Get your wheels tuned up. We’re going for a spin around the center.” Hudson indicates the wheelchair.
I glare at the wheelchair as Hudson rolls it over to the bed. “No chance.”
“Why not? Sun’s out. It’s a good day to show you the center.”
I don’t want to admit to Hudson that I can’t even drag my sorry ass into the chair. “I said no.”
“You think staying in bed all day helps?”
When I say nothing, he folds his arms across his chest.
“I had to pull a lot of strings to get you here, Ryan. You’re the first resident at Jake’s Retreat.”
Hudson’s been helping to set up the veterans’ retreat in his hometown. I should be more thankful, but the pain’s too sharp to feel gratitude. I ease myself back onto the bed, waiting for the painkillers to kick in. “You should have left me in Louisville.”
Hudson puts his hand on my shoulder, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Never leave a teammate behind.”
His hand on my shoulder is solid and steady. All the things I’m not. I roll onto my side and face the wall, done trying to be cordial.
“I want to be left alone.”
Hudson doesn’t move for a long time. Then I hear him walking around my room, the squeak of the wheels of the chair as he places it near my bed, the running of the tap as he washes up my glass. After a few minutes, I sense him next to the bed again.
“Fine. I’ll leave you alone today. But tomorrow, I’m getting you out of this room even if I have to drag you out of here.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the pain meds to take over. “Good luck with that.”
Hudson chuckles. “Challenge accepted.”
He walks to the door, and it clicks shut behind him. I roll onto my back and glimpse the wheelchair waiting for me by the bed.
As the meds blur the edges, I tell myself that tomorrow, I’ll try again. Maybe tomorrow the pain will be less. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get out of bed. Maybe.
11
PAIGE
