Chapter 7
Seven
Hudson
I woke up around eleven to the sound of cheerful birds chirping and the bright sun pouring through the window above my bed, signaling a beautiful day ahead.
But it has to be all a sick joke because I feel like I’m in Hell, and I have no idea how I got here.
My mouth feels like cotton and tastes like a possum's ass. Throw in a heavy metal band giving a concert in my skull, and you’ve got one miserable bastard who can’t move out of bed.
The most I’ve managed to do is roll over and plug in my phone.
It died sometime during the night, but luckily, my jeans were at the foot of the bed, and my phone was still tucked in a pocket.
Once it had enough charge, I powered it on and saw Cull had called a couple of times.
I messaged him back, requesting tacos. If there’s one thing I know about hangovers, it’s that grease is the magic cure.
Right now, I’m just wallowing in my misery, praying Cullen shows up soon. Maybe he can shed some light on what the hell happened last night, because my memory’s a gaping black hole. The last thing I remember is Ella and me spritzing his truck with perfume as a joke, but even that’s super fuzzy.
And honestly? I feel like a massive douchebag for pulling that stunt.
Not knowing what happened after that is making my stomach churn, part hangover, part guilt.
I thought if I could amplify the holes in their relationship, they’d get a clue.
But I’m realizing that playing relationship god is not my place.
I sigh and scrunch my eyes shut, willing the nausea to pass.
My mom came to check on me not long after I woke, but all I could manage was a thumbs up.
She chuckled, kissed me on the head, and said, “Play dumb games, win stupid prizes.” If I weren’t toeing the line of death, I might’ve appreciated the snark.
After that, she and my dad headed out to run errands, and I haven’t heard a single sound from Hadley.
Honestly, the quiet is a blessing, though the drummer from Sleep Token is still going hard in my skull.
I must’ve passed out again, because the next thing I know, someone’s waving a foil-wrapped something under my nose. It smells suspiciously like a chicken taco from Rosa’s Taqueria. I crack open one eyelid, just one, because both would be way too painful.
I squint against the light and see a blurry angel standing next to my bed with a stupidly handsome smile. He’s backlit by the sun, grinning like he owns the room, and for a split second, I wonder if I died and went to the wrong kind of Heaven.
“Good morning, sunshine. You look like shit,” he grins, dragging my desk chair over and dropping down into it.
“I feel like shit. I’ve never had a hangover like this before,” I mumble.
“Maybe the tacos will help. I also brought Gatorade. Figured you could use the electrolytes.”
I do the grabby hands thing at the mention of cold liquids.
Cull laughs, cracks open the bottle, and waits while I maneuver myself into something vaguely upright.
He hands it over, and I drink steadily, careful not to piss off my already uneasy stomach.
I get through about two-thirds before my thirst eases and my stomach starts to calm.
I hand the bottle back to Cull. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“No problem. Think you can handle one of these?” He holds up one of the wrapped tacos, and my stomach rumbles loudly.
He laughs. “I'll take that as a yes.”
Taking the offering, I unwrap it. “Any pico?” I ask hopefully.
Cullen gives me a duh look and pulls out the salsa.
“You’re my hero,” I tell him seriously.
His ears turn bright red. Huh. That’s weird. But I don’t think much more of it as I bite into the taco, grease and seasoning dripping down my arm.
“Damn,” I mumble, my mouth full. “If this taco were a person, I’d marry it.”
Cullen snorts, hands me some napkins, then unwraps his own taco. “So, last night was weird,” he garbles around a mouthful of tortilla.
“Was it? I can’t remember shit.” I take another bite and fuck.
I’ve never had sex, but I imagine it feels like this taco tastes.
I look up to find Cullen assessing me a little too intensely.
My skin prickles. I shift, suddenly unsure.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Did I miss something last night?”
He sets his food down, slowly rubbing his hands together. The self-consciousness fades away, replaced by unease. My heart pounds, more awake than I’ve felt all morning.
“You’re freaking me out, dude.”
“Sorry. I don’t know for sure, but after you said you don’t remember anything… it feels like a possibility.”
“What might be a possibility?”
“I can’t prove it, but it almost seemed like you had been drugged.”
I freeze for a second—then burst out laughing. “That’s ridiculous. I poured all my own drinks and never let them out of my sight.” I just went too hard and got a cross buzz. Right?
“You were grabbing random bottles, not to mention, you wandered off with Ella.”
I blink at him. I know Cull’s never been chummy with her, but this feels like a low blow, even for him.
“You think Ella slipped me something? That’s insane.
” My cheeks heat, and my fists twitch with the urge to clench.
She’s been a big part of my life since we were babies and was my first best friend.
Sure, she can be a little too bubbly and even closed off when she wants to be, but she’s never so much as said a mean thing to me.
She’s harmless.
So hearing Cull even suggest that pisses me off.
“If you’d seen yourself last night, you might believe me. She said you drank and smoked a little, but you were damn near unconscious by the time I got you to the truck, and now you don’t remember anything. Meanwhile, she was hardly buzzed. It just seems… off.”
I try not to let my anger boil over. I know Cullen’s looking out for me, but Ella’s my friend too, and this is starting to feel a little like jealousy.
“You sure you’re not just jealous I’ve got someone else to hang with while you’re busy fighting with my sister?” The words are out before I can stop them, and the regret hits instantly. “I’m sorry, Cull. I shouldn’t have said that,” I admit, deflating.
He gets up from the computer chair without a word, balls up the foil, and tosses it into the bag.
“Take the Tylenol I left for you last night,” he mutters, nodding toward two little tablets on my nightstand I hadn’t noticed, “and get some rest. I’ll see you when I see you. ” Shoulders slumped, he turns to leave.
“Cull, wait.”
He turns, and the look on his face makes my chest tighten. His mouth is pulled down in a deep frown, brows drawn together. He looks… sad.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re not jealous, and it wasn’t fair to throw that at you, but there is no reason to rag on Ella. She’s not a bad person.”
His smile is small, defeated, as he turns to leave again. Before he makes it too far, I stop him one more time.
“How did I get into bed last night?”
He keeps his back to me when he answers, posture rigid. “I took care of you. Not Ella. Not your sister. Me. No one gave a damn how fucked up you were. Just me, Hud.”
Then he walks out my door, calmly shutting it behind him.
The ache in my chest hurts like hell. Guilt and sadness slam into me all at once, and I’m quickly drowning in it. My breathing goes shallow, tears falling before I even realize I’m crying.
I abandon the taco on my bed and stand, knees cracking from lack of use this morning.
Walking over to the dresser, I grab my magic bottle of pills and twist it open.
The little blue oval tumbles into my hand, then I pop it in my mouth, chasing it with the last of the yellow Gatorade Cull brought me.
I crawl back into bed and curl up on my side, like that’ll somehow help me disappear. The guilt just keeps coming, wave after wave. I hurt Cull. I fucking hurt him. He was just looking out for me, and I threw my own bullshit in his face like a coward.
I’m the jealous one.
Not him.
I breathe deep through my nose, hoping to slow my spiral, but it doesn’t help when my brain’s screaming that I’m pathetic.
I ruin everything.
My skin feels like it’s crawling with ants, and I can’t take it anymore.
I bolt out of bed and head for the bathroom across the hall, twisting the shower knob all the way to cold.
Clothes hit the floor fast, and the second I step under the frigid spray, the panic jerks to a halt.
It’s a shock to the system, but it works.
Not my favorite way to snap out of it, but right now, I’ll take whatever does the job.
My brain isn’t screaming anymore, just a cruel whisper. It's an upgrade from being berated for being a broken crackpot of a human, I guess. A few tears keep sliding down my cheeks, but the water washes them away without a sound.
Once my teeth become an uncontrollable chatter, I nudge the faucet toward warm and press my hands to the wall. My breathing’s steady again, and I feel more in control.
If there’s one upside to that panic attack, it’s that it wiped out my hangover. Now I just feel like shit for a whole different reason.
Once the water warms up, I wash fast, towel off, and brush my teeth.
Back in my room, I throw on some clean clothes, toss the leftover tacos, and strip my sheets. The place reeks like tequila and cilantro, so I crack a few windows. The smell starts to fade, but the guilt still lingers.
I spot the two tablets Cull left for me on the nightstand and take those along with my daily meds, then gather up my sheets and head to the laundry room to toss them in the wash.
My body is sluggish, and my mind is no better. I can tell that my medicine is already taking effect, so I grab my cell and two pillows from my bed, then trudge downstairs to the entertainment room.
After a quick trip to the kitchen for a couple bottles of water and a bag of chips, I drop back onto the couch, letting myself go limp and blank. I scroll aimlessly through the streaming apps before landing on my favorite comfort sitcom and letting it play in the background.
I burrow into my pillows and wrap a blanket around me, trying to pretend that everything is fine. But my mind is racing, unable to focus on anything other than upsetting Cull. That dull throb in my chest just fuels the whispers in my brain.
Cullen’s words keep looping in my head. “Just me, Hud.” I don’t know why that hits harder than anything else, but it does.
My phone beeps, pulling my attention from another spiral.
UNKNOWN: What do I have to do for you to notice me?
“What the hell?” I whisper.
My pulse quickens, and my palms get clammy.
Didn’t I block this creep yesterday? And what do they mean?
Was Cull right about me being drugged? I try to remember my night, but it’s one big black hole.
Unease settles in my stomach as I block this new number, adding to the anxiety that is pummeling me from all sides.
Who is this?
Why me?
It’s just one more thing my brain doesn’t have the capacity to process. My fingers tingle while my pulse races. I toss my phone on the coffee table, then sink into the couch, pulling the blanket over my head.
I need to block out the world before I let it suck me into the dark.