Chapter 36
LEAH
The move from my apartment was a whirlwind.
Unannounced and entirely unexpected, Hudson arrived at my place early.
He was freshly showered with his hair stylish as if he’d just stepped off a photo shoot, and bright-eyed, standing in stark contrast to my bleary, bedhead, stained T-shirt, and quitting time sweat pants morning mess.
It looked like I’d been engaging in late-night revelry with the neighbors when in reality, I’d been dancing with Hudson at the HoCo.
I sway a little on my feet and it’s not only because I’m tired.
Wow, does he have dance moves. The man is surprisingly equipped for a boxy hockey goalie, moving fluidly in a blend of strength and elegance that captivated me and kept me dancing alongside him.
My family, especially Abuela, will be thrilled.
Until her supposed dream about Hudson, she had three requirements for suitors entering the family: no criminal record, tolerance for spicy food, and the ability to dance.
One of my uncles, who shall remain nameless, somehow slipped under the radar on all three, but we still love him.
It’s not long before we have all of my belongings gathered, including my various projects.
The good thing is the one I’ve been working hardest on lately is remote and has mostly been done through emails, texts, and finally an overseas phone call.
Whether it works out remains to be seen, but I have my fingers crossed that October thirtieth is going to be an extra special day.
Before we leave Graves Street, Hudson asks, “Did you want to say goodbye to anyone?”
Vigorously shaking my head, I get in the car and follow him to Golden Bantam Lane as the reality of what’s coming hits me again like a rogue wave from the sea. This time it doesn’t knock me down or freeze me in place.
After we bring in all my belongings, it’s obvious how distinctly different Hudson and I are in how we live in a space.
I separate and stack the tubs he packed neatly because they’re all closed and clearly labeled next to the ones that I packed which are haphazard with things hanging out the sides and the tatty box top flaps half open.
“Whatcha doing?” Hudson asks, passing me a can of Dr. Pepper.
“A demonstration.”
“Like a protest?”
I playfully whack him, point at my stack, and say, “You realize you’ve just invited all of that into your life.”
“Do you mean that you tend to be messy?”
“More like scattered.” I take a long sip of soda because my thoughts get vocal about all of his possible responses.
Instead of uttering a word, I get a shrug.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
He opens his can of soda and takes a glug. “It means settle in and make yourself at home.”
I watch him swallow, practically on the edge of my seat because surely there has to be a … but coming.
Turning to me, my heart leaps into my throat.
Gaze softly on me, Hudson says, “After leaving home, if you could call it that, and having my own place, it was a sanctuary of sorts. A private place where I just for me where I didn’t have to listen to anyone fighting—in real life or my brother’s video games.
I didn’t host house guests. Then the Nebraska Knights barged in and you followed. ”
I sputter, trying to come up with a defense because technically I snuck into Hudson’s garage before the team welcome potluck. Though, perhaps that detail is better kept to myself.
His grin lights up his eyes. “Leah, you’re the shake up I needed. The one I want. You are welcome in my life. In my home. What will be our home.”
The objections come fast and furious. “What if you find my stuff everywhere?”
He shrugs again as he takes another sip of his Dr. Pepper.
Like Vanna White from Abuela’s third favorite game show, I sweep my hand along his bookshelf. “Your books are organized by size and topic. I tend to see a cool shelf organization style, get inspired, and then quit halfway through.”
“Okay.”
“Why are you being so mellow? Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
He grips my shoulders. “Leah, after we get married this will be our home and we’ll figure out how we want the books organized.
I did it that way because no one was around to suggest otherwise.
Growing up at my house, being neat or whatever, was a way for me to cope with the lack of control I experienced. ”
“That’s insightful.”
“After Hunter bailed in Boston, I went to therapy. Learned some stuff. We’re not going to have a chaotic home, so I won’t need to maintain the illusion of control.”
“Have you met my family?”
He wears a half smile. “They’re wonderful, but there will be rules. They have to ask before rearranging our bookshelves.”
I want to laugh but resist. “Hudson—”
“Leah—”
We’re both quiet, evaluating each other.
He sits down on the couch. “We will figure it out. We’re going to communicate. If your habits or my habits are at odds, we’ll find a solution. It might be to compromise or it could be that we do things a certain way for a good reason and if that needs to be dealt with, we’ll face it together.”
“Are you saying you might let yourself get a little messy?”
“If you’re willing to be a little tidier.”
I hold out my hand.
We shake and both say, “Deal.” Then he tugs me onto the couch with him. A playful yelp escapes as I try not to spill my soda, then the laughter comes from both of us, long and robust.
My head is in his lap and he smooths my hair. I look up at those dark eyes, unable to think about anything other than how surreal this is. “What are the odds?” I ask faintly.
“Who would’ve thought?” he asks.
Hudson’s gaze traces my features, then his focus lands on my lips. I realize that I’m smiling. His grows until his eyes crinkle. Suddenly shy, I glance away and sit up.
A copy of Pride and Prejudice sits on the coffee table. “I’d agree that we’re a bit of a Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet reversal.”
“There’s still the arranged marriage element.”
“Ignore my parents. They’re loco.”
His smile drops. “Are you suggesting we unarrange our marriage?”
“Too late for that.”
“Are you using me for a place to live?” Hudson’s tone is lilting, but I worry he’s serious.
I slug him in the arm. “Don’t be dumb.”
He takes my hand in his and slides the pads of his fingers along my skin before lacing his fingers through mine.
He gazes at our clasped hands and then rubs the soft spot by my thumb.
His palms are rough with calluses, but I welcome his touch.
My breath is shallow and my ordinarily noisy thoughts fade into a certain kind of fog before I resurface, realizing I’ve been gazing into Hudson’s cocoa-brown eyes.
Clearing my throat, I say, “In Gracie’s book club, we read a romance where the female main character was in love with her best friend’s brother.
” I clear my throat again. “And the hero, the male main character, was secretly in love with his sister’s best friend.
Of course, it was a bit forbidden because of this … ”
Hudson meets my gaze. “I wasn’t secretly in love with you.”
This crushes my fragile little teenage heart and I do my best to brush it off. He doesn’t let go of my hand which sends another message.
I take a deep, steadying breath, preparing to admit something. “Being part of a bigger family, so often, my feelings don’t get airtime, so they just circulate in my head.”
“Do you want to talk about them?”
“No.” I so do anyway. “The Smiths move as an amoeba, a blob. A singular unit. That’s what was so great on your side of the duplex.
With Hunter, it was like I had the potential for all the attention rather than having it split among the four of us, plus whatever accompaniment of cousins were at our house.
I wanted to be seen rather than be part of a pack of lobos. ”
“If anything, Hunter was the wolf.”
I nod regretfully, seeing this more clearly now.
Hudson says, “You used the word potential.”
“I know I was the annoying girl on the block who always wanted to play hockey with you guys, but eventually he was the one guy who noticed that I was a girl.”
Hudson gets very still and then his eyebrow arches. “Trust me, Leah. We all noticed.”
“Didn’t seem like it.”
He rubs his hand down his face. “It was a challenge for all of us not to notice. We didn’t want you to feel out of place when those physical changes happened. It seemed like that’s what you wanted. For things to be normal for you.”
“Well, I did, but—”
He looks me up and down, sending a rush through me that I wouldn’t have been able to handle at sixteen. “Leah, I have a lot of hockey stats and plays memorized.”
That must mean he used them as a distraction from me … How can that be true? The noise in my head and the space between us fills as he shifts closer.
“To us, or at least to me, it seemed like you wanted to be accepted and not looked at like the one girl in the group, so I worked hard to convince myself otherwise. We all did.”
“Except Hunter.”
“Debatable.”
“Half the time you acted like you could hardly stand me.”
“What about the other half of the time?”
Realization dawns. “It was when Hunter wasn’t around. That was when we were younger. I’m talking about when we were teenagers and you really, truly realized I was a girl.”
“That was the problem.” Hudson gets to his feet and slides his cell phone onto the kitchen counter.
I sag into the couch because I find what he’s telling me hard to believe and it conflicts with the story Hunter told me and the one I’ve chosen to believe.
Hate to love?
In romance. Sure.
In real life. Never.
Something pokes my hip and I dig a shiny book out from under the cushion. I turn it over to reveal our graduating class yearbook.
Hudson says, “Now here we are all these years later. We could try this marriage thing for real. What do we have to lose?”
Recalling what I overheard him say back in high school, I snort. “Why? Because your dream girl is a former figure skater who is nearly as tall as you and slings French fries at a sports bar.”
“I have a solid six inches on you. Plus, I like your size and shape and the way you …” Leaning in the doorway, gripping the upper frame and leaning in slightly, it’s like he’s entranced and forgot what he was saying.
Something about it sends a current through me.
He glances at the yearbook in my lap. “Forgot where I put that the night of the team welcome party.”
I haven’t forgotten about the first note I wrote him.
Hunter and I were hanging out, then he went into the other room to play video games.
Hudson left his yearbook on the table. I flipped through.
Reached the last page. Started writing. Finally got my grievances off my chest. Guilt sits heavy there now because of the emails I’ve since sent.
“You look murderous. Did someone hurt you?” Hudson’s voice is like gunpowder.
Is it too late to backtrack? Too much is already in motion and I don’t want a court trial on our hands—or a criminal for a husband. “Yes.”
His nostrils flare and his eyes darken.
“Now you look murderous. Never mind. No,” I say quickly.
“Which is it?”
“Yes, someone hurt me, but it’s fine.”
In one sweeping motion, he’s across the room, has his hands around mine, and pulls me to his chest. The internal current sparks.
“Who hurt you?” Hudson asks.
I can’t carry this burden down the aisle. I say, “Hunter—”
A string of unbrotherly words come out of his mouth.
Cutting him off, I say, “I wasn’t done. And you.”
He jerks backward. “Me?”