Her words trail off after that. There’s a loud buzzing in my ears, and everything around me goes foggy. I blink, swallowing past my dry throat and reaching for my beer blindly. I finish the bottle, and come back to reality with my mother laughing, then saying, “—but he’s just the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. Have you heard of it, Hudsy?”
I feel Trey’s stare, his eyes like laser beams on the side of my face.
“Excuse me,” I manage to say as I get up from the table and walk as quickly as I can to the bathroom.
Chapter Twenty-One
Trey
I watch Hudson quietly get up and storm off down the hall after the comment his mother made. I’m not sure if I should go after him or if he’d want me to, considering he looked pretty pissed even though he was clearly trying to hide it.
Part of me wants to make sure he’s okay, but Carol’s voice pulls me back to the here and now.
“He seemed a little better today.” She pouts. “I thought he was making progress, but these fits may never go away.”
I blink, trying to process her words as Tom shoves a piece of pie into his mouth. I can’t touch the last pieces of mine, trying to make sense of what is going on.
“What made you think about sharing the article with Hudson, exactly?” I ask, needing to make sure I’m not leaping to conclusions. Because it sounded like she was telling Hudson because…
“Because of his autism,” she says nonchalantly. “The article was so informative. Truly. I thought it might help him to see other adults like him—”
“Hudson’s autistic?” I hear the blunt shock in my voice, and Tom raises an eyebrow as Carol nods, picking at her pie like this is just a normal conversation—maybe for them it is.
“Of course,” she says with a little laugh.
“Hudson never said anything.” I turn to look at the empty hallway, my heart aching in my chest to get up, but my legs are frozen. I can’t move.
“You couldn’t tell?” Tom asks between shoveled bites of pie. I purse my lips as I attempt to eat a piece of cheesecake, if only to buy myself a moment to process… this.
Not Hudson being autistic, but that he didn’t tell me.
Why didn’t he tell me? Does he not trust me? We’re supposed to be best friends, and this feels like something you’d tell your best friend, so… why didn’t he tell me? I wrack my brain trying to figure out why he’d keep something like that from me. It hurts—a lot.
I shake my head. “No.”
Tom looks at me in surprise.
Carol sighs, stabbing a piece of her pie. “Well, I suppose now you know. He’s not like you and me. There’s things he’s just not capable of, things that he just can’t—”
Her words don’t feel harsh or judgmental, despite their bluntness. In fact, it’s the opposite. She sounds like my mom every time we see each other, honestly. And that’s what kicks me back into the present. Into this moment. Because I know whatit’s like for people to have unfair expectations. The words come out of my mouth without a second thought.
“I beg to differ,” I say, taking a bite of my last dessert.
Carol looks at me in question.
“I’m pretty sure Hudson is capable of anything,” I add. “And maybe he’s a little upset that people think the opposite of him.”
Tom whoops a second later, cheering for the touchdown, just as Carol gets up and collects the plates, the moment gone but not forgotten. I feel him before I see him. It’s like the temperature in the room completely shifts, or maybe that’s just me.
I turn to see Hudson in the hallway, his body stiff, his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t look at me. His lips are pressed into a hard line, and I feel the tension emanating off of him.
Tom’s words echo in my brain.You couldn’t tell?
I know they weren’t meant to be shitty. Some people just don’t understand that they’re being offensive. I look at Hudson, standing here in his parents’ house, dressed up in a tight-fitting Wolves polo and khakis, his golden-brown hair shining under the incandescent lights. I try to picture what Tom meant, but I can’t. I don’t see anything but Hudson. My hot, smart, sexy as hell friend who I can’t stop thinking about. And it has nothing to do with him being autistic.
I get up without a second thought and head over to him.
“Hey.” I clear my throat as Tom heads over to the TV in the living room, a fresh beer in his hand, and the sound of dishes clanking in the kitchen.
