I take a small bite of one of my slices and close my eyes as the flavors burst in my mouth.
“I’m sorry about today.” Those words cause my eyes to pop right back open. Hudson looks serious and sincere.
Chewing as fast as possible, I swallow. “It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not. All those people were assholes to you today.”
Not “all” those people, just your mom and Monica. “It’s not your fault.”
“I’m also sorry to hear about your father.”
Okay. We can’t go there, not again. I force out two words I’ve said a million times in instances just like this. When I don’t want to talk about it. “No worries.”
“It upset you.”
“Not a big deal.”
“So much so you fled.”
Setting my plate down, I look Hudson in the eye. “Idon’twant to talk about it. Okay?”
“You should talk about it. It helps to talk.”
“Oh yeah?” I stand. “You lose your father, Hudson? Did your father die in the street, Hudson? Did he die because some asshole was high on whatever drug he was using, and he thought he should steal a car, except your father tried to stop him and got killed in the process?”
“No, but––”
“Did your mom have a breakdown so completely crazy that she sold almost everything and threw the rest away and moved to Arizona the week after the funeral so she didn’t have any reminders?”I’meven a reminder.
“No, I’m––”
“Then, with all due respect, Hudson, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” I rarely cuss, but sometimes, sometimes it’s necessary.
God, I wish I had a bedroom so I could run into it and slam the door shut, but all I have is this room. I could go into the bathroom, I suppose.
“I’m sorry, Willa. I didn’t know.”
“No, you don’t know, so don’t say things like ‘Talking it out helps, Willa.’” Crap. Tears are building, and I’m not going to be able to hold them back. “I’m doing the best I can. The an-anniversary is coming up, and it’s hard enough. That man, my dad, was the best fa-father in the world.”
“He was a hero.”
I wish he’d stop talking.
“Screw being a hero, Hudson. I want mydadback, not the hero. I want the guy back who taught me how to ride a bike and threatened to beat up Frankie Scarpino for pushing me down on the playground when I was seven. Instead of beating him up, he went to his house and gave him a talking to, after which, Frankie Scarpino never got within six feet of me. Even today. I want my parents back together. They adored each other. I miss seeing that kind of love. I want the man who read a book to me every night and madethebest chili on the planet. I want the man who lived and died for the Chicago Bears. I finally saved up enough money to buy him tickets for next season, but he died before I could give them to him. I want––I want mygoddamndad back, Hudson.”
I guess I started crying during my diatribe because at some point, Hudson stood and came to me, wrapping me up in his strong arms, whispering, “I’m sorry, Willa. Shh, please don’t cry, honey. I’m sorry I made such a callous comment. You’re right. I have no fucking clue. Shh, sweetheart, shh.”
I haven’t cried about Dad in a while. I try not to because it ends up being an all-day thing. When I finally stop the sobbing, Hudson takes my hand and pulls me over to the sofa. “Sit.”
I do as he requests because I’m exhausted from this emotional day. When his arm wraps around me, I let it happen. I melt into him a little bit, letting my head rest on his shoulder. It feels good. Even with the heat outside, I’m not bothered by this kind of closeness. Shutting my eyes, I let the feel of his hand that is now running up and down my arm lull me into a peaceful place. “Thank you, Hudson.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he gently squeezes my upper arm.
ChapterTwelve
HUDSON
Willa has finally calmed down,which I’m glad about. I feel like utter shit for being so blasé about her father. She’s right, I have no clue what it’d be like for her. Not one.
