Hudson doesn’t look at me. I wish he would, though.
He grunts out a sound and his shoulders tighten.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice low.
“Fine,” he grits out. But I can tell he’s not.
Then he clears his throat, loudly.
I look from Hudson to the dining room table and make a split-second decision.
“Hey, Carol?” I call, and she comes back into the room.
“Yes, sweetheart?” I don’t miss how Hudson tenses up in her presence.
“Can we get some dessert to go? I think I’m feeling the effects of that tryptophan,” I say with a practiced laugh.
“Of course,” she says with a bright smile.
Hudson glances up at me, but when I turn to look at him, he looks away. It hurts more than it should.
It takes her two minutes to box up his dessert into a Tupperware container that she hands to me as Hudson all but sprints toward the door.
“Thank you,” I say as Hudson throws open the door, not bothering to say anything. “For having me.”
The drive back to Hudson’s is quiet. There’s no music, no sound except his heavy breathing. He doesn’t speak, and though I want to break the silence, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I should. Things feel strangely delicate right now, and I’m not sure why. I mean, yes—I’m pissed too. Pissed he didn’t tell me. Pissed he won’t look at me. Pissed at myself that I didn’t know somehow, even though there’s no way I could have guessed. I mean, some things make sense, but… How would I have known? I don’t go around pinpointing the things my friends do and turn them into a diagnosis.
In college, we spent most of our time on the field or at parties and clubs when we weren’t studying or in class. And sure… he felt different when we saw each other in New York, but I just thought something was bothering him, that he’s older and more mature, I didn’t think—
I look at him as a hundred things go through my head—things I can’t seem to wrap my brain around. The way my heart beats faster when I look at him or the way my dick seems to have a mind of its own when he’s around. But it’s more than that, too.Memories fill my thoughts along with feelings, both familiar and new.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, his voice hard and full of bitterness.
Shit, that’s twice now he’s caught me staring at him like a space cadet.
“Like what?”
Hudson’s gaze narrows on the road, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel.
“Like I’m not the same person.”
“Hudson, I’m not—”
“Yes, you are. This is exactly why I didn’t want anyone to know. I see the way people are judged and labelled.”
“Are you serious right now?” I ask defensively.
Hudson pulls into his driveway, throws the car into park, and scrambles out of the car.
I open my door and jump out, Tupperware in hand, as he storms toward the front door.
“Huds, come on…” I call out.
He doesn’t answer me.
I follow him inside, closing the door softly.
When I get to his living room, I find him at his kitchen counter, palms pressed against the granite, shoulders hunched. Frozen like a statue.
