Chapter 13
LEAH
My cousin excuses herself to chase down a slice of grilled elote flatbread before it’s devoured. Panic spikes through me as I wonder how much of the conversation with her Hudson overheard. Actually, why do I even care?
He says, “Thanks for inviting me.”
“I didn’t, my parents did,” I say, harsher than I mean.
“Tia, Tia, watch this,” my baby cousin Josiah says as he jumps into the pool.
When he surfaces, thanks to the water wings on his arms, I clap and call, “Good jump!”
This would be a great opportunity to make a polite exit, but I notice Hudson glancing down at the empty glass bottle in his hand. My movement must get his attention.
He regards me for a long moment. “I’m not Hunter, you know.”
I give a duh roll of my eyes. “Obviously.”
Aunt Tracy appears. “Your mother said you know where the tonic water is.”
“Garage fridge on the right-hand door,” I answer.
She grins at Robo and then hurries off.
He says, “Chuck mentioned that he’d break Hunter’s legs.”
I press my hand over my mouth to suppress a laugh. My brother isn’t a tough guy. Then again, he’s been hanging around with hockey players for the last seven years and going to the gym lately, mostly for Marisol, and has built a lot of muscle.
A jellyfish-like blob of toddling cousins rushes by at the call for pool time, knocking into me. Without meaning to, I plant my hand on Hudson’s arm to steady myself. It’s solid marble under my palm.
My cousin Louisa skips by me and waggles her eyebrows.
I hiss, “It’s not what you think.”
Then she’s lost in the gaggle of cousins planning Catalina’s quinceanera. Yes, my huge family is planning a party while at a party.
Hudson adds, “Where were we? Oh, right, if you have a chance later, ask Chuck what I said about that.”
Voice flat, I say, “Why would I care?”
I know better than to mistake Hudson’s expression for defeat, but he nods and then starts to walk away.
“You don’t have to be here,” I call, feeling more and more like a jerk each time I say it. But I want him to relent, to admit that he hates me, and leave.
My words stop him, and he looks at me for another long moment. “I know, but maybe I want to be.”
I rock back slightly, not expecting the sincerity in his voice. There’s something else, too, that I can’t place. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it’s longing. That can’t be right.
His house was always a quiet refuge from this madness, so it must be overwhelming him.
Why would he want kids bumping into him while they play a rousing game of “keep up the balloon,” Aunt Nelly repeatedly replacing his drink as if he’s been thirsting in the desert for the last eight years, and all this background noise?
Like a mafioso, my mother will break my legs if she finds out how rude I’ve been to Hudson, so I grab some polvorosas from a nearby table.
“Peace offering?” he asks when I hold out the small dessert plate in front of him.
“Are we at war?”
“You tell me.” He takes a bite.
I can’t help but watch how his lips close around the cookie and his eyes dip as if the taste is just as he remembers.
I find it hard to believe that Hunter, my best friend and his brother, told him not to come to our family gatherings. If that’s true, why? I’m starting to run out of room for questions.
With half the cookie in his hand, he gestures to our surroundings. “Glad to find out what I was missing all this time.”
“You mean the rampant chaos?”
“I like it.”
“We’ve been standing here long enough for you to debate whether your abs can afford to eat three small cookies and have been interrupted a half dozen times.”
He wears a half smile. “The cookies are worth it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t say thank you.”
My lips part slightly with surprise. So he can be feisty too. Let’s go, Big Guy. He has powdered sugar on his chin, which makes me want to reflexively point and laugh … or tenderly wipe it away.
Before I can, he says, “It’s refreshing to see a happily married couple, celebrating their lives together.”
Oh, so he’s sentimental too.
“Anyone special in your life?” Hudson asks, eyes alighting on mine.
And nosy.
“Do you mean like a boyfriend?” I reach up and brush the sugar from his chin, my fingers gritting against his hint of stubble.
His lips quirk upon contact and his voice is slightly rougher than before when he adds, “Or a fiancé, husband?”
“That escalated quickly.”
“I haven’t seen you in years.”
My mouth betrays me when I say, “I’ve been to several of your games.”
He bobs his eyebrows. “Checking me out?”
Also, as cocky as ever.
“I figured you’d be hitched unless you’re holding out for Hunter.
If so, don’t …” he trails off as if not wanting to finish the sentence.
Then, more animatedly, he adds, “I remember you once telling Hunter that if you two weren’t married by the time you’re thirty, the two of you should go to the courthouse.
That would mean missing a huge party like this.
I bet your family goes all in on weddings. ”
“And funerals.”
But the memory about my “proposal” to Hunter hits me like a Knights defenseman at full speed, nearly taking the wind out of my lungs because of what Hudson’s brother said, or in this case, didn’t say. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do. We were in the living room. Hunter was playing that dumb video game with the dinosaur zombies. The only way to save civilization was if his mercenary character married the last living woman on the planet.”
I swallow because I remember the gut-punch moment all too well.
“Hunter said marriage was for suckers.”
My pride lodges in my throat now just as it did back then.
I told Hunter that if the video game were real life, I’d marry him to save humanity.
He laughed like I was joking. Then I suggested we get married if we were both still single by the time we reached thirty.
Even though I wasn’t ready for that level of commitment at seventeen, I was fishing, hoping he’d throw me a crumb on the end of the hook that would solidify whatever was going on between us. Whatever I wished was there.
I expect Hudson to replay this in vivid detail if only to drive home my complete and utter humiliation, but all he says is, “When Hunter said no, I offered to volunteer as tribute.”
I repeat now what I said then. “I’d never marry you.”
His expression is a replica of the one I recall when he stood in the stark light of his kitchen. His smile wavers and I glimpse hurt. However, quickly recovering in pro hockey fashion, Hudson’s lips quirk. “So salty. So sassy.”
“There’s plenty more where that came from.” I revert to fortifying the wall between us because it’s the only way I know how to act around Hudson if I am to retain any dignity at all after what he said to Hunter about me.
He smirks. “Good.”
“You’re not supposed to like it.”
“I’m up for a challenge.” He bobs his eyebrows.
The past and present collide, and with a twist in my gut, I realize how much like Hunter I just sounded. He rejected me and I rejected Hudson—not that he was, or is, actually interested in me.
Hudson adds, “For the record, I would’ve married you to save the world from the zombie dinosaurs and if you’re racing against the thirtieth birthday clock, there’s another Roboveitchek.”
Is he saying he’s available, but why? Questions crowd my mind that have no logical answer.
“Can we be done talking?” I ask, well aware of how nasty I sound.
A wet nose presses against my leg. But it’s not a sticky child in need of a wet wipe.
Hudson bends over and pets the family dog. “Tinker!”
The next sixty seconds pass in a flurry of petting, tummy and ear scratches, and, “Tinker is the goodest boy. Oh yes he is,” on repeat.
This would be another opportunity to take my leave while the dogs keep each other company, but I don’t move as if waiting for my turn.
“How did you know about my dog?” I ask.
Hudson inclines his head, preparing to state the obvious. “Because we were neighbors and because I always wanted one, but Hunter claimed he was allergic.”
“He wasn’t allergic.”
“I know.” His tone is soft again … or is it restrained?
“I remember you guys bringing him home when Dani moved out.”
“Mami likes a full house. Her,” I add as a memory comes back.
“Huh?”
“We thought the dog was a girl so Valentina and I named her Tinkerbell, then quickly realized the gender, so now he’s just Tinker.”
“And getting a little gray around the muzzle.”
“He’s almost fifteen.”
“And as lively as ever.”
“Dad said he needs to take him on more walks.”
“I’d offer if I had more time.”
“You could just get a dog.”
“Not with my schedule.”
Even though I’m well aware that away games regularly take hockey players out of town, I hadn’t thought much about it as a reality for Cara, Margo, Ella, and all of my other WAG friends. Then something else Hudson said catches up with me.
“Why would Hunter pretend to have dog allergies?”
I get one more searching look from Hudson as if he’s trying to figure something out. I’m usually fine with silence in a conversation, but the music, multitude of simultaneous conversations, and laughter surrounding us seem to somehow make it louder.
“How is Hunter doing, anyway?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Don’t know.”
“He won’t talk to you?”
Hudson turns his attention to the party before saying, “I prefer it that way.”
“But he’s your brother.”
“He’s not like your siblings, Leah.” It’s my turn to stare because aside from the fact that I don’t think anyone is as ahem … unique as my family is, I adore them all the more for it.
Dani and Chuck are rolling out the slip-and-slide and directing it into the pool.
Meanwhile, my little brother is wearing a blowup pineapple on his head and Dani’s husband has on a snorkel and goggles.
I don’t see Valentina, but I hear her voice echoing from the kitchen about snacks, her husband, and being thirsty.
The guy can’t be discharged from the army soon enough.