22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hudson
I need to do something, so I go for a run. I promise Trey I will be back soon, and change into jogging pants, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt. Trey watches me the entire time, staring at me as I lace up my shoes. I’m halfway out the door when I turn back.
“I’ll be fine. I just need some time.”
He nods, watching me like he thinks I won’t come back. It’s my house; of course I’m coming back.
I close the door and go. I just run, pushing myself as hard as I can.
I haven’t worked out consistently in a long time, but as I get going, I remember why I loved running so much.
Why I liked working out. Why I liked football.
Expelling the energy this way, it feels good.
Feeling the ache in my muscles and the sweat on my skin?
It’s relieving. Freeing. It clears my head and just makes me feel better.
Cars pass me as I go, and I lose track of time.
I get tired quickly but I keep pushing—until it’s too much.
I stop, bending over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
My lungs burn and my legs are starting to cramp.
I should have stretched first. I shake out my limbs, stretching a little to help with the pain, then I turn around and head back in the direction of my house.
My thoughts are clearer as I walk back, though I still don’t know how to feel about what happened today. Warning my mother not to speak about it wouldn’t have gone in my favor, but not telling her did the same thing. It’s not something she usually brings up, so I assumed I’d be safe.
I’d thought of telling Trey. I wanted to.
Okay, part of me did. But I wanted to do it on my own terms and on my own time.
I didn’t want the bomb dropped like that.
It’s the exact thing I didn’t want because now he’s going to make it a big thing because I hid it.
No matter how I explain this to him, he isn’t going to understand.
He’s just going to be offended that I kept it from him and he’s never going to believe that I was going to tell him because I didn’t get to start the conversation.
All I can do is be honest, but that won’t mean he’ll think the way I want him to.
Trey jumps up from the couch when I open the door.
“You okay?” he says.
“I’m fine,” I say. “But I need a shower.” I go directly to my room. “We can talk when I get out.”
“Okay,” he says, sounding unsure.
I pause before getting into the shower, wondering if I should talk to him now. I feel bad that he’s upset, even if he’s acting like he’s not. But there is no way I can focus with my body covered in sweat, so I take a quick shower, and change into clean sweatpants and a t-shirt.
He’s sitting on the couch with a beer when I get out, and I drop beside him. I feel his gaze on me, but mine focuses on the TV even though I don’t see what’s on.
“How was your run?” he asks carefully.
“Good. I should do it more often.”
“I like to check out the gyms at all the hotels I go to. Some of them are pretty nice and it gives me something to do when I don’t have much time to go out and explore.”
I nod, thinking back to what he said about us being together… like in a relationship.
“So, I was thinking about what you said earlier. About…” I clear my throat and he shifts his position next to me. “How would this work?” I point from him to me. “Between us.” I can’t help but feel a little bad at the way his smile falls.
“I’m not saying we can’t try, but what is this going to look like?” I add. “You travel all the time. I live here. I work a lot, especially during football season. We’re both very busy.”
“Yeah, but that’s okay,” he says. “I mean, I could… you know, move here.” He twists his lips, glancing up at me from under his lashes. “I mean… if you are okay with that.”
“You’d do that? Sell your house and move here?” I ask.
He glances at me. “I’d probably keep the condo in Miami. My mom loves it, and she goes there more than I do, so it makes sense.” His gaze holds mine with a seriousness that I’m not used to seeing on him.
“So, yeah. To give this—us—a chance? I would move here. If it would make things easier.” His gaze drifts to my mouth, and he chews his bottom lip like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. I speak, cutting through the weird tension.
“How often are you home?”
“Depends. Sometimes a few weeks. Other times just a couple days, but… isn’t there that saying?” he smirks. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder?”
“And what about… everything else?” I ask.
“Everything else?” he questions, his brow furrowing.
“Me being a guy.”
“Oh, that…” He clears his throat. “Like I said, we do what feels right for us.”
“That’s not what I mean, Trey.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, letting out a sigh. “I mean with other people. How do you feel about telling people you’re with a guy?”
“Well how do you feel about that?” he returns, sounding defensive.
“Honestly? It doesn’t bother me one bit. I’ve never focused on my sexuality, and didn’t care much for sex or hookups. Not since college. And to be even more honest? This is a relief.”
“A relief?”
“Yeah.” I huff a laugh. “I was kind of worried I was broken or something. I mean… I really had zero interest in sex since college. Like… zero. I didn’t understand why, but now I get it.
” He raises a brow, so I explain. “It’s not just about sex for me.
It’s not about getting off, it’s about the connection.
A relationship. Wanting something stable. ”
He nods in understanding, licking his lips as he thinks over what he wants to say.
“I won’t be shouting from the rooftops that I’m dating a guy, but if people find out, they find out. I won’t purposely hide it, I won’t hide you , but… maybe I might be a little discreet. At least for now. You know, while we figure things out.” His gaze softens a bit, like his voice.
“I think that’s fair,” I say. “Do you want another beer?” I ask as I get up.
“Please.” He hands me the empty bottle, and I get us each a beer from the fridge, handing him his when I get back to the couch. I take a few gulps before taking a breath.
“So… what about the other thing?” he asks quietly. He doesn’t have to say the words, I already know just from the look in his eye what he means.
I sigh, staring at the bottle in my hand. “What about it?” I ask.
“Feels like something we should talk about.”
“Why?” I ask, my chest getting tight again. I don’t want to feel defensive over this, but I do. And I don’t know how to stop that.
“Because it feels like something you should have told me.”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” I say.
“No one?” he asks in disbelief.
I take a sip. “Yep. The only people who know are me, my mother, father, Tom, and the doctors.”
“Mandy doesn’t know?”
“She shouldn’t, but I guess with my blabbermouth of a mother, she probably does.”
I feel bad for calling her a blabbermouth. I know my mother means well, but damn…
“Look,” I start after a moment of silence, turning on the couch to face Trey.
“This isn’t something I like to talk about.
It’s something I’ve handled my whole life, something I deal with.
It is not something that I will let define me.
Not something I will use as an excuse. I chose not to tell people because I don’t want people looking at me as ‘the guy with autism.’ Because that’s what labels do to you, that’s what they are, whether you like it or not. ”
“I would never do that,” he says carefully.
I huff a laugh. “It’s human nature to do it. Look at my mother. Every time she hears about something with autism, she’s thinking of me.”
He smirks. “Well, every time my mother sees Stitch somewhere, like a stuffed animal or a keychain, she sends me a photo of it because one year I dressed up in one of those onesie suits with the hoods, for a work party, so now she thinks that I’m obsessed.
” He rolls his eyes. “Honestly, I didn’t have time to get a costume, and it was the only one on the rack two hours prior to the party, so…
” He chuckles, drinking his beer. “Now, it’s a big reminder of me for her.
Makes her think of me when I’m not there.
Maybe it’s that simple for your mother, too. ”
I finish my beer and get up to get another as I think over what to say and push away the defensiveness that won’t let up.
When I get back to the couch, I say, “This isn’t something I like talking about, and I don’t want to.
There’s no reason to bring this up—ever.
I went to therapy when I was younger. I learned to deal with it. Now we can forget it’s there.”
“Why would we do that when it’s a part of you?”
“Trey, this isn’t up for discussion,” I say firmly.
“Okay,” he says with a sigh. “Sorry. Fine. We can forget about it.”
I feel bad for snapping at him, but I can’t do this.
I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want everything moving forward to be about this, even though it still could be.
In his head, he could be questioning everything I do.
Did he not understand because of the autism?
Did he choose that material because of the autism?
Is he using that fork because of the autism?
A lot of people make jokes about it, they embrace it. Well, that’s not me. Not at all. I’d rather just ignore it and forget it’s there.
“And please don’t tell anyone,” I add after a moment.
“I won’t. I promise.”
Moments pass and my anxiety over the day settles. Trey puts on a movie, though I’m not sure what it is, it looks interesting enough that it helps distract me even more. I glance at him a few times, watching him smile at the TV. I get a pang in my chest.
I miss him. He’s right here, but I miss him. So I take the last sip of my beer and lie down on the couch, putting my head on his lap. His fingers brush through my hair, and we stay like that while we watch the movie.