5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Trey
I sip my beer, watching the highlights on ESPN on the TV above the alcohol shelves, but I don’t process anything because all I can think about is what Hudson said—about all of us being different people.
It hit harder than it should because it felt like I was being called out, even though Hudson isn’t the type to call anyone out for anything.
But he’s right. We are different. I know I am, and I hate it. Sometimes I wish I could go back to those glory days. Before Austen got married and before I graduated. Before my life became this roller coaster that I can’t seem to get off of.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.
He’s different, too. Though I can’t put my finger on what it is, he just… feels different. Tense, I guess.
Without thinking, I reach out and grab his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. He jumps like he’s seen a ghost, nearly knocking his beer over.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” I say as I give him a reassuring smile. “Relax, Huds.”
I tap his shoulder, noting the thickness, the heat from beneath his shirt. Slowly but surely his shoulders ease up as he wraps his hand around the base of his glass, but he doesn’t drink. He glances down at the bar.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just—”
“Tired?” I ask, rubbing his shoulder lightly. “Yeah, I know. You want to call it a night?”
He looks up at me, his amber eyes glistening with a softness that makes me feel like somehow he can see right through me—past the facade I’ve constructed over the last eight years. It should scare me, but it doesn’t. Instead, it feels almost cathartic.
But that might be the couple beers I’ve had, too.
“We just got here,” he says guiltily.
“Doesn’t mean we have to stay,” I offer.
I realize my hand is still clutching his shoulder, though I swore I let go of him.
He glances at my hand, and I let go. Maybe we should call it a night.
I hadn’t intended on drinking quite so much, but talking to Hudson felt good.
Familiar. I’d offered to buy us another round, but he refused, though he didn’t leave.
Not like he said he would. Part of me wonders if maybe he needed this, too.
Or that might just be the alcohol talking.
“I’m feeling kind of… tired, too,” I say as I call the bartender over.
“Close it,” I tell her, not bothering to ask Hudson if he wants anything else. Given the way he’s been clutching the same drink all night, I think it’s safe to say he’s good.
“Sure thing, handsome,” she drawls sweetly as she heads over to the computer.
I let my gaze rove over her. I wasn’t lying when I said she was hot.
Long dark hair, perfectly round tits, and an ass I’m pretty sure you could bounce a quarter off of.
Maybe it’s the drinks, but I know what I should feel looking at a woman like that.
But I don’t feel anything. Not like I used to. But commenting on it is a habit, I guess.
I reach into my wallet, pull out a couple of twenties and toss them on the bar.
“Have a good night,” I say as I focus my gaze up at the TV, which is showing highlights from Alex’s game this afternoon.
Hudson nudges me.
He’s standing, hands in his pockets, and so I push off the bar and do the same.
I smirk as I lead us through the bar toward the lobby. I can feel the heat rippling off him like he’s a damn furnace despite the distance between us.
“You didn’t get her number,” he says carefully.
“Huh?” I ask, realizing I must have spaced out because he’s staring at me.
“The bartender. Thought you were going to ask for her number.”
I shrug as we head to the elevators.
“Yeah, guess I changed my mind.”
“Probably good on account you’re engaged ,” Hudson says carefully.
Shit, I forgot about that.
I press the up button for the elevator a couple of times.
I let out a deep sigh as his words settle on me.
I hadn’t meant to lie to the guys, but it just sort of happened. Just like when people assume Mandy and I are dating, Andre assumed I was engaged, and I didn’t correct him. I guess I figured it wouldn’t hurt. A little white lie never hurt anyone, and after this weekend it won’t matter, anyway.
My heart rate picks up as heat floods my face.
“Oh yeah, right,” I say, swallowing harshly. “It’s not true.” He looks at me, raising a brow. “I let people assume it because it’s good for my image, but it’s not real. I’m, uh… I’m not engaged.”
The elevator doors open, and nearly make me jump out of my skin. Hudson clears his throat, and I wave him in first.
“After you, Princess,” I tease.
He coughs out a, “Fuck you,” but I don’t miss the humor in his voice.
“Not drunk enough.”
He shakes his head. I let out a laugh as I follow him in.
When the doors close, the silence is deafening.
And tense as hell.
I feel him looking at me like he wants to say something, and when I glance over at him, I see the sad, wistful look on his face.
I so badly want to know what’s going on with him.
I feel like he isn’t telling me the entire truth.
That he’s upset about something, or… I don’t know.
But something is up with him. It makes my damn heart ache, and a memory hits me out of nowhere like a brick.
Hudson leans against me for support, staring up at the wall.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he says over and over.
“It’s okay,” I say, rubbing his back as he groans, burying his head against my shoulder.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
A chuckle escapes my throat.
“That just means you had fun, Huds.”
He groans again, fingers fisting my shirt.
“Fun is the worst. I never want to have fun again.”
I rub his shoulders and they ease up, tension dripping off him.
“I don’t know if I’m going to make it,” he says.
The elevator dings and the doors open.
“You coming or what?”
I blink and Hudson comes into focus, standing on the other side of the door with his arm out to stop it from shutting.
“Shit, didn’t realize we were here…”
On my floor.
Hudson grunts out an incoherent sound, and I move out of the elevator, expecting him to get back on and head to his floor, but he doesn’t. He walks by my side, saying nothing.
It’s awkward, but it’s also kind of nice.
“What number are you?” he asks, though his voice sounds weird. Concerned and worried.
I take out my wallet, fumbling with my key.
“2912. You?”
There’s a pause before he says, “2213.”
“Cool,” I say, sliding my hands into my pockets.
Hudson leads me around the bend, and I follow without question. Sure enough, we hit 2912 pretty quickly. Or maybe time’s just moving faster because I’m not by myself. Who knows.
When we get to my door, Hudson grabs my key out of my hands and presses it to the handle until it clicks.
“Thanks,” I say, grabbing the key from him, our fingers brushing quickly. I lean into his space and lower my voice. Hudson stiffens and looks up at me. I’ve got a couple inches on him in height still, it seems.
“Uh huh,” Hudson says, his voice low.
“If you’re worried about me, don’t be,” I tell him.
“Why would I be worried?” he asks, his voice shaking only minimally as he looks back up at me. The concern is written all over his face.
I give him a friendly smirk.
“Because I’m drunk.” I smile. “Which is entirely your fault, by the way.”
His eyebrows shoot up.
“My fault?”
“Mhmm. You’re a bad influence on me, Hudson Daniels. Always have been.”
Hudson’s cheeks turn red.
“I am not. You’re just a lightweight.” He pokes me in the ribs with his free hand. The gesture is humorous, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Are you kidding? I’ve got a liver made of steel,” I say, and he smirks. A low chuckle escapes his throat.
“Maybe corroded steel,” he says.
For the briefest moment, he looks happy. Like whatever is going on with him has been forgotten.
And that makes me happy, too.
“You calling me rusty, Hudson?” I tease.
He shrugs. “Nope.”
“We should do breakfast tomorrow,” I say, my voice dropping to a lower octave as I hold his gaze.
“What?” His smile fades.
“You and me. Like…”
Hudson’s breath catches, and I don’t miss the frown on his face. Gone is the ease, the familiar grins and laughter, and in its place is something else. Someone else. Someone I don’t know.
“I can’t.” His answer is abrupt. Solid. Definitive.
It’s my turn to frown because the way he says it hurts more than it should.
“Come on, Huds. It’ll be like old times.
Just you, me, some coffee… maybe some waffles, sans the chicken,” I plead, hating how desperate I sound.
Maybe it’s the beer, or maybe it’s just being around Hudson and the guys, but whatever it is, I feel a strange sort of loneliness echoing in my chest at the thought of him leaving me.
Which is weird, because I’m always alone.
Maybe that’s the problem. I’m so used to being by myself, I have forgotten what it feels like to have another person in my space. I forgot that I enjoy it.
Hudson nods, his gaze drifting from my eyes to the floor.
I lean in closer, lowering my voice, trying to be as cool as a cucumber. I don’t want him to worry.
“Or we can get you all the chicken you want. Try all the chicken and waffle joints in the city until you start clucking,” I promise. “Please…”
Hudson swallows, and I don’t miss the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he does so.
“I can’t, Trey,” he says carefully. “It’s too—I just can’t.” He looks away. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say, even though I am severely disappointed.
“I should go,” he says, his voice far away even though he’s inches away from me. “You good?” I don’t miss the edge in his tone.
“Don’t worry about me.” I do my best to give him a reassuring smile. “I’m good, promise.”
He nods. “Okay.”
I could invite him in. Maybe we could watch a movie while I sober up. This wasn’t the plan. We were supposed to chill and be quiet and calm. Yet, here we are, and now he’s leaving.
Whatever is going on with him, I want to help, but… I don’t know how.
Maybe he just needs a good night’s sleep. You could use one of those yourself.
He had a long day today.
“You good?” I ask.
He nods, licking his lips. “Mhmm. Just—”
“Tired,” I whisper in defeat. “Yeah, I know. Good night, Huds,” I add, as I back into the room, slowly.
Hudson stands in the doorway, watching me with sad eyes. I swear he wants to say something but won’t.
“Night,” he says, and with that, the door closes.
I pull my shirt over my head as I make my way down the penthouse hallway.
Most of the time when I travel, the company pays for my stay, and because I have an image to sell, I get the good rooms. Even though this isn’t a work trip, I still used the company card for the points, and luckily I had enough to book the penthouse without having to pay for it.
Normally, I’d be happy to get a weekend in the plush digs, but right now it feels really empty.
And lonely.
I undress along the way, not giving a shit where my clothes end up. What’s the point? It’s not like I have anyone to impress.
When I make it to my bed, I’m down to my underwear. I check the group text, but there’s no new messages, except for Alex’s directions to whatever place we’re having lunch at tomorrow that’s nearby Austen’s place.
I tap out a “see you there” text before shutting my phone off, closing my eyes, and letting slumber drag me under without hesitation.