My best friend.
My pain-in-the-ass second brain.
My sense of humor when one can’t be found.
My— My?—
My breath hitches. “Hudson, hey,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “You still with me, pretty boy?”
His eyes flutter. “You think I’m pretty?” he mumbles weakly, too weakly. “I won’t die on you if I’m finally getting you and Pippa to hold me at the same time.”
Pippa lets out a small laugh, voice tight. “Stay awake and we’ll make sure the touching is a lot more fun next time.”
She and I make eye contact and share a million thoughts in the blink of an eye. We can’t lose him and when he’s through this, we’ll stop wasting time.
Hudson coughs. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
That’s Hudson. Always able to keep things light. Always able to keepmelight. I feel anything but light right now, though. I press harder on the wound.
Stay with me Hudson. Please, please don’t make me lose you, too. I won’t survive it.
Pippa leans in, peels back his blood-soaked shirt. “Eva, let the doc know, pulse is 120, BP is dropping; tachy, shallow breathing. Let her know she’ll need suction and blood units prepped. We’ll need to decompress if we lose lung pressure enroute.”
“Copy,” Eva replies instantly. “Clinic is ready, and Doc is almost here.”
Luca drives faster. We take a corner hard, and I have to shift to keep Hudson upright.
He groans.
“Sorry,” I whisper, hand pressing harder on the gauze. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be fine, okay?”
He doesn’t respond, his eyes are closed, and all my efforts to remain calm are about to fail.
I met Hudson on the playground on the first day of second grade. Much to my dad’s concern, I was a quiet and soft child. Too much like my mom in those early years. And the kids on the playground didn’t care much that I was the son of the head of the Italian mob. I’d later be crafted in Lorenzo's image, but at the ripe age of seven, I was picked on just the same as any other shy, quiet, awkward kid.
I was sitting by myself on a bench at the edge of the playground. Some kids came to make fun of me for reading instead of playing, but Hudson wasn’t having it. He approached the group and acted friendly with them, charming them—like he charms everyone. Right when they thought they had another ally in bullying me, he dismantled them.
Not physically. Verbally. Even in second grade, he seemed to understand everyone’s insecurities, their little-kid-secrets. He exposed all this embarrassing stuff, totally mortifying them. Then, he spoke of my dad, me, and my family in a way that made us sound formidable.
I’d later come to realize my family was exactly all the things he believed them to be, but he seemed to have reverence for myplace in the world long before I did. I didn’t understand until we were older that he knew about my family through his mother. She talked highly of the Lucianos and Hudson followed suit.
He became my best friend that day and we’ve been inseparable since. He’s been by my side through every moment in life—all the good and all the bad. He kept Eva and me going when our parents died. Always treating her like his own sister, protecting her. The two of them are just as tight as she and I.
I can’t remember a time he wasn’t there when I needed him.
“Hudson, listen to me—keep fighting. You don’t get to die on me,” I whisper into his ear, urgent, desperate. “I finally figured it out. Please give me more time with you to do it right.”
Pippa slips her fingers between mine. Her hand is blood-slicked and trembling, but strong. We’re both applying pressure to Hudson’s wound now. A triad of tension and fear and something sacred.
“Enzo’s right, Hudson. You’re not done here, okay? You’ve got to stay.” She pulls her hand back to take his pulse again. “He’s going to crash.”
“Not today,” I murmur, forehead pressing to the side of Hudson’s. “You hear me? Not today. You’re too charming to bleed out in a van.”
The gates to the mansion are open by the time we round the final curve. Security floodlights cut across the driveway, guiding us to the large, open garage where the clinic is attached.
Dr. Alessia Romano, who we have affectionately called “Doc” since I was a teen, stands waiting. Her family and mine go way back. She’s in her early fifties and has sharp eyes and steady hands. She’s patched up half my crew at one point or another and right now she looks like a war general.
We screech to a halt.
