“I’m sorry, Cull.”
I’m snapped back into reality at the sound of Hudson’s rasping voice. His breathing has leveled out, and his cries have turned into sniffles.
“What are you sorry for? You haven’t done anything wrong.”
He gives a small huff and slides out from beneath my arm, scooting to the edge of his bed and lying flat on his back. I instantly miss the warmth of his body against mine, but I know this isn’t about me, so I let him go.
It’s the first time I get a full look at his face, and he looks fucking awful. His usually bright blue eyes are dull, ringed with harsh purple and red shadows, and his skin is pale and drawn. I try not to react, but it’s hard. He looks so… fragile.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like this, but I’m glad you’re here. You helped snap my mind out of a bad place,” he admits with a sad smile.
I don’t want to dig into that because I’m not ready to face what he might mean.
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you,” I confess, keeping my tone light. “I came by yesterday, but Mama Daniels wouldn’t let me in. Said you had a bug.”
“Yeah. She knows I don’t want anyone other than her and Dad to know about… this.” He gestures towards his head. “Hadley doesn’t even know.” He sighs, dragging his hands down his tired face before turning to look at me. He blows out a harsh breath, then catches his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing the skin.
Fuck, I want to bite that lip.
Yeah, cut that shit, Cull.
Now is absolutely the wrong time for those thoughts.
I clear my throat, hoping it’ll clear my mind, too. Then I ask the question I think I already know the answer to, but I still need to hear him confirm it. “What is this?”
His lip trembles, and another tear slips out, so I reach over and grab his hand, lacing our fingers together. I want him to know that no matter what, I’m here.
He looks down at our clasped hands, then gathers himself and begins to explain.“When we were sixteen, I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and Panic Disorder,” he admits shakily.
I keep a firm hold of his hand because I can see how much it hurts him to admit it. Hudson hates looking weak. I wish he could see what I see. That he’s a warrior for fighting this battle every single day.
“I first started noticing changes in myself sometime around fifteen. I woke up one day and had zero energy. That was the day you and I were supposed to go with your parents to Charlotte to see the Hornets play, remember?”
I nod because I do. I had been pissed at him for flaking last minute, brushing it off as a lazy excuse about “being tired.” Ironically, my mom suggested we take Hadley instead, and that’s what started our whole relationship.
“Well, that day was just the first of many in a row where I could hardly lift my head from my pillow,” he admits softly. “The anxiety was so bad I’d throw up anything I managed to eat. Mom took me to my pediatrician, and he chalked it up to ‘teenage hormones.’ Said the fatigue was a normal part of my body changing. He figured the vomiting was a bug,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “We took him at his word, and I tried to get on with my life, but it was hard. Some days, excruciatingly so. I would snap at people for no reason, my appetite would swing wildly, and I’d have to drag myself to soccer practice. I was so physically exhausted, I’d break down after every session.”
I remember a few times when he snapped at me for no reason, but I just shrugged it off as him being crabby. I wish I’d known then what I know now.
“Remember that summer you and Hadley went on that cruise with your family?”
“Yeah. You were supposed to go, but you told me you had the flu the day before. Hadley gladly took your spot.”
He nods and wipes another stray tear from his eye. “Yeah… I, uh—I couldn’t get out of bed that whole week you were gone. Leading up to the cruise, I just felt off, but I ignored it because I was excited. Then the day before we were supposed to leave, I had a huge freak out.”
“Freak out?”
“That’s what I called them, since I didn’t know what a panic attack was at the time. Mom told me I couldn’t go on the trip and said she was making another doctor’s appointment. I told you I had the flu because I was embarrassed and didn’t know how to explain what was happening to me.” Another tear rolls down his temple into his blonde hair.
“I get it,” I say simply. “We make up white lies because sometimes they’re easier to explain than the truth.”
He nods and continues. “Imagine my surprise when we didn’t go to my normal pediatrician… but showed up at your dad’s office.”
I freeze mid-circle with my thumb still on the back of Hudson’s hand.
When the hell did I start caressing him?
I try to pull away casually, praying he didn’t notice the tenderness, but then the reason I stopped hits me. “My dad? He’s the one who diagnosed you?”
