“My brain doesn’t work. Don’t hate me because I love you.”
“I’m sure it's the booze talking, but no matter what, I’d never hate you.”
I shuffle him to his unmade bed and basically drop him. He lands face-down, limbs sprawled out like one of those old-school chalk outlines at a crime scene.
“I’m going to get your shoes and jeans off so you’re a little more comfortable, okay?” He gives me a half-hearted thumbs up, rolling only his lower half so I can undress him.
“This isn’t how I pictured you getting me naked one day,” he mumbles into his pillow.
I freeze, my hand on the button of his jeans.
“What?”
Snores. That’s all I get—soft, steady snores. Hudson’s out like a light, and I’m left trying to decide if I heard him right—or if I just want to believe I did.
I chalk it up to drunk ramblings, but then the phrasedrunken words are sober thoughtscreeps in. It only adds to the mess my head has been lately.
There’s something itching at the back of my brain. Something I’ve been avoiding. But maybe it’s time I stop pushing it away and face it head-on.
Breathing out some of my anxiety, I finish getting Hud’s jeans off and toss them on the end of his bed. He’s lying on top of his blue comforter, so I grab a soft blanket from where it rests on the trunk at the end of his bed and toss it over him. He has a water bottle next to his bed already, so I grab some Tylenol from his bathroom and leave them on his bedside table for tomorrow. I give him a last cursory glance, then turn off the lights in his room and shut the door.
I quietly make it down the stairs and back out to my truck. I get in, crank it up, and let it idle for a moment. There are a lot of things I need to start sorting through. Things with Hadley are getting worse by the day, and there is a pull in my chest that I can’t ignore anymore.
I’m scared to name what any of this means. But maybe tomorrow… I’ll stop running from it.
Six
Cullen
I wake up the next morning with a weight sitting on my chest. I had texted Hadley once I got home, apologizing for all the bullshit, even though I know I didn’t do anything she accused me of. Unsurprisingly, she left me on read. I gave up and fell asleep with dread wrapped around me like a blanket.
But it’s not just the mess with Hadley. I can’t stop thinking about Hudson. He waswaymore out of it than a little tequila and weed would explain. I’ve seen people with a cross buzz before, and that was more than that. Thinking that someone might’ve slipped something into the drinks makes my stomach twist.
The need to call and check on him is overwhelming. Turning over in my bed, I reach for my phone on the side table to check the time. It’s just after ten, so there is a possibility he is awake. I dial his number, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Yo, it’s Hud. Leave a message and I may call you back—unless you’re calling about my car’s extended warranty, then I definitely won’t.”
Disappointment lands hard, but hearing his husky voice? It sends sharp electric strikes through me. I blow out a breath and run a hand through my bedhead. I don’t think I can deny it anymore
I’m attracted to Hudson.
If I’m being honest, it’s probably always been there. Quiet and tucked under the surface. But seeing him wrapped around Ella last night… it flipped something. Dragged it into the light.
And it’s not just him. There’ve been other guys. Moments. I used to point out guys to Hadley, kind of testing the waters,trying to figure it out. She’d always get defensive, tell me to “stop being gay” like it was some dirty habit I needed to kick. I was naive then to think she’d welcome my feelings openly.
I guess I don’t blame her. It must’ve been confusing hearing your “straight” boyfriend comment on other guys. But still. Those moments chipped away at something I didn’t understand yet. I pushed it all down. Buried it.
Until now.
And I think I’m done hiding.
I still have a lot to sift through, primarily what to do about Hadley. You would think after last night that I’d be ready to call it quits, but I’m hesitant. Regardless of how things have been lately, there is comfort, history. And that makes it hard to walk away.
I know I need to talk to her sooner than later, especially about last night, so I grab my phone and press call.
One ring, then it goes to voicemail.
I drop my phone onto the bed and drag my forearm over my eyes, trying to block out the sun and the swirl of thoughts that won’t quit. Images from last night roll in like a tide I can’t hold back. The party. The fight. The worry.
