Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
HUDSON
Five years after Selection
Hudson sat in the warm, bright interior of his mother’s townhouse. It was a refuge from the Brooklyn cold currently raging outside. The familiar scent of cinnamon and brown butter filled the air. His mother had been baking since the twenty-third and showed no signs of stopping.
Hudson sat on the floor in the middle of the living room.
The couch was white and impractical. He’d decided years ago that he was too clumsy to eat anything near it.
Gloria Hale loved minimalistic Scandinavian design.
But then there was the lopsided clay bowl Taylor had made in fourth grade sitting on the kitchen counter, still holding the spare keys.
The height chart penciled onto the doorframe of the hallway that his mother had never painted over.
The photo on the fridge of Hudson and Taylor at Coney Island, 2004, both of them soaking wet and grinning.
A game of Scrabble was laid out on the coffee table in front of him.
Taylor was on his right, his mother to his left. This was the annual Scrabble show-down.
“That’s not a word,” Hudson said.
“It absolutely is,” Taylor scoffed, not looking up from her tiles.
“‘Zoetrope’ is not a word.”
"It's a Victorian optical device. Look it up."
"I'm not looking it up."
"Because you know I'm right."
Hudson looked to his mother, but she was busy rearranging her tiles with the diplomatic neutrality of a woman who had been refereeing for twenty-six years.
"Mom."
"I'm not getting involved."
"You're already involved. You're sitting right there."
"I'm playing Scrabble." She placed her tiles. QUAINT. Triple word score. She picked up her tea like nothing had happened.
Taylor pointed at her. "That's where I get it from."
Hudson slumped back against the seat of the couch.
Outside, the wind pushed rhythmically against the windows and somewhere down the block a dog barked.
The Christmas tree in the corner was still lit, half its ornaments the same ones he'd grown up with—the faded gold star Taylor had made in second grade, the ceramic soldier his father had bought the year before he left and which his mother had kept. Hudson had never asked why.
He played JOINT and got twelve points.
Taylor made a noise. "Big military energy.”
"It's a good word."
"It's a boring word."
"Not everything has to be a Victorian optical device, Taylor."
His mother won the first game. They argued about whether to play again and Taylor went to make more tea.
Hudson studied his mother as she collected the tiles and dropped them back in the bag one by one.
"You seem good," she said.
"Yeah." Hudson turned a tile over in his fingers. "I am. Mostly."
She raised her gaze. Hudson usually deflected that look—the prying, all-too-well-knowing look—but tonight he didn’t.
He turned the tile over again.
"There's someone," he said. "Kind of. It's complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"Well—" He put the tile down. "It's a guy, Mom."
His mother's hands stilled on the tile bag. Then she set it down, folded her hands on the table, and looked at him.
"Okay," she said.
"I'm bi. I think. I mean, yes. I am."
"Okay," she said again with the same warmth.
Hudson exhaled. "That's it?"
"What did you want me to say?"
"I don't know. Something."
His mother reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. "I love you, Hudson. You're my son. Was there supposed to be more to it than that?"
Hudson swallowed hard. "No. I guess not."
She squeezed his hand and let go. "So. This person."
"Elliot. We were at Selection together."
His mother's expression shifted slightly. "The military Selection program?"
"Yeah."
"Where fraternization was against the rules."
"...Yeah."
She shot him a look. "Hudson James Hale."
"I know."
"That was reckless. You could have been discharged."
"I know, Mom."
"Both of you."
"Jesus. I get it, okay?"
She picked up her tea, took a sip and set it back down. "Tell me about him."
Hudson almost laughed. "He's—" He tried to find the right words for Shaw, which was a problem he'd never successfully solved. "Controlled. Precise. He's French-American, his dad's a General, he's kind of terrifying in the field." He paused. "He's funny. Not on purpose though."
His mother watched him with an expression he recognized and didn't love.
"What?" he said.
"Nothing." She picked up her tea again. "He sounds lovely."
"He's completely infuriating."
"Yes," his mother said. "The good ones usually are."
Taylor came back with the tea, her eyes moving between them. “What did I miss?”
“I told her,” Hudson said.
Taylor set the mugs down and shot him a shit-eating grin. “Finally. Only took you five years.”
Hudson rolled his eyes.
“I have so many questions,” she said, dropping into her chair.
“I’m not answering any of them.”
“Are you still madly in love with Elliot?”
He ignored her.
“Mom, tell him to tell me.”
His mother got up and collected some candy wrappers and stray popcorn. “I’m getting some wine.”
“That’s not helpful!” Taylor called after her.
“It’s helpful to me,” she called back.
Taylor leaned across the table. “Do you guys ever actually meet up and—” she wiggled her eyebrows.
Hudson closed his eyes. “Oh my god.”
She put her hand over her heart. “I’m your sister. I love you. I just want to know if you’re getting any.”
Hudson opened his mouth. Closed it.
“So, are you?”
He picked up a Scrabble tile and threw it at her. She caught it without looking.
“‘Z,’” she said. “Good one. Thank you.”
Later that night, Hudson lay on his back in Taylor’s guest room, phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling when the door opened without a knock.
Taylor threw herself onto the bed beside him before he could even react.
“Are you texting Elliot?”
“No.”
She craned her neck to look at his screen. “Who’s Reed?”
“You know Reed. From the Ranger Regiment. And Selection. Who got married a couple of years back?”
“Ahh. The hot one who kinda looks like a golden retriever?”
“Yup. That’s the one.” Hudson held up the phone. “He’s visiting family in Connecticut. Wants to come down for a day.”
Taylor sat up. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I wanna come.”
“It’s a guy’s thing, Taylor.”
“I won’t be weird about it.”
Hudson shot her a look.
“Okay, I’ll be a little weird about it,” she amended. “But in a fun way.”
He went back to his phone, texting Reed the details.
“Are you seeing Elliot while you're home?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Hudson put his phone down on his chest. “He’s at Fort Liberty.”
“That’s not that far. You’re in New York for two weeks and you’re not planning on seeing him?” She propped herself up on one elbow. “Have you told him you’re back?”
Hudson said nothing.
“Huddy.” Taylor searched his face curiously. “When did you last see him?”
“March.”
“That’s nine months ago.”
“I know how calendars work.”
“And you’re not going to tell him you’re in the same time zone?”
Hudson stared at the ceiling. He’d been about to text Shaw three times since landing at JFK.
But something had shifted the last time they were together—he’d felt it and he was certain Shaw had too.
It wasn’t just physical anymore. He’d wanted to ask Shaw to stay, and he knew exactly why he hadn’t.
Shaw wasn’t coming out to his father. And Hudson was done hiding.
“It’s fine,” he said.
Taylor lay back down beside him. “It’s really not, you stubborn idiot.”
Hudson rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll tell him after Reed leaves.”
“That’s the spirit, brother. Tell me if you need a wing woman. I’ve got you.”
“Hard pass.” He rolled off the bed, then leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Thanks, though.”
The following day, Hudson and Taylor occupied a booth in a sports bar in lower Manhattan, waiting for Reed to arrive.
Reed showed up twenty minutes late, unwinding a scarf the length of the East River from around his neck, cheeks red from the cold.
“Sorry—” He stopped when he saw Taylor. “You brought your sister.”
“She invited herself.”
“I invited myself,” Taylor confirmed, already extending her hand. “Taylor Rose Hale. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Matthew Leo Reed.” He shook it, grinning. “I’ve heard little about you. Seems like Hudson’s been holding out.”
“He holds out about everything.” Taylor slid over to make room. “Sit, I already ordered you a beer.”
Reed sat. Hudson watched his two worlds collide with the mild apprehension of someone who had absolutely no control over what was about to happen.
“So,” Taylor said, settling her chin in her hand. “You were at Selection.”
“I was.”
“So you know Elliot.”
Reed’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced sideways at Hudson.
“She knows,” Hudson said. “Just roll with it.”
Reed recalibrated quickly. Then he picked up his beer and took a long sip. "Okay. What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
"Jesus—" Hudson started.
"What’s Elliot like?"
Reed considered this with genuine seriousness. "Terrifying. Competent. Completely unable to keep a straight face around Hudson though."
"Interesting…" Taylor said. "And what’s Hudson like in the field?"
"Also terrifying. Less competent—"
"Excuse me—"
"—but better at making people like him." Reed set his beer down. "They were obsessed with each other from day one. Everyone at Selection knew it before either of them did."
Hudson snorted. As if.
"Aw," Taylor said. “That's genuinely sweet."
"It's not sweet, it's—" Hudson picked up his beer. "Can we talk about something else?"
"No," Taylor and Reed said simultaneously.
Reed looked at her. She looked at him. They appeared to reach some kind of understanding that Hudson found deeply alarming.
“How’s the baby?” Hudson said loudly.
That seemed to work. Reed’s entire face lit up. “She’s—” He pulled out his phone. “Wanna see? Just turned twelve weeks.”
“You mean three months,” Hudson said.
“Twelve weeks.”
Hudson shot Taylor a look. Taylor shrugged and leaned in to whisper: “Parents count in weeks, dummy.”
“For how long? A hundred and four weeks?” Hudson whispered back.
“I can hear you both,” Reed said, already pulling up the photos.
He turned the phone around. Mae was asleep in a striped onesie and a very small hat, mouth open, fists curled up by her face.
“Oh my god,” Taylor said. “She’s so tiny.”
“She’s gotten big actually. You should have seen her at two weeks.”
Hudson studied the photo. Mae was approximately the size of his forearm. “She looks like a potato.”
“She does not. She looks like Sarah,” Reed said firmly, taking his phone back.
They ordered burgers somewhere around the second round. The conversation moved—Afghanistan, Reed’s new posting, the Rangers’ season, Mae’s sleep schedule, whether Reed had cried in the delivery room.
Another round later Taylor spotted someone at the pool table who was apparently more interesting than Hudson and Reed.
“I’m going to say hi,” she announced, already sliding out of the booth.
“Sure you are,” Hudson said.
She turned to Reed. “Lovely to meet you, Matt.”
“You too.” Reed watched her cross the room. “She’s great.”
“She’s a menace.” Hudson stood to fetch another round. “I’ll be right back.”
He found a gap in the crowd by the bar and waited. The bartender appeared in front of him—beautiful, long wavy hair, bright red lipstick. “What can I get you?”
“Two IPAs.”
She grabbed the glasses. “Catching up with friends?”
“Something like that.” Hudson leaned against the bar.
Setting the first glass down, she eyed him. “You from around here?”
“Brooklyn. You?”
“Jersey.” She filled the second glass. “Are you in town for long?”
“Couple of weeks.”
She slid the glass across the bar and held his gaze. “Well. You know where to find me if you get lonely.”
Hudson smiled, took the drinks and headed back to the booth.
When he sat down Reed was on his phone, typing with his brows pulled together.
“Everything okay?” Hudson asked.
“Yeah. Fine.”
Two minutes later he checked his phone again.
Hudson watched him do it one more time before reaching across the table and taking the phone out of his hand.
“Hey—”
“Just gonna let Sarah know she doesn't need to worry. I’m watching your six…” The screen was open. Hudson read the text on the screen before he registered whose name was at the top.
Shaw: Hale can do whatever he wants. We’re not a couple. We never were.
He stared at it.
Right. Of course. Five years of reading too much into nothing. Good job, Hudson.
He put the phone down on the table. “What are you doing?”
Reed held up his hands. “It’s not like that. I saw her flirting with you, so I—I told him we were out, and to pull his head out of his ass before someone else got to you first.”
Hudson said nothing.
“I was trying to help. Give him a little push.”
He nodded slowly. “Right.”
“He panicked. That’s what this is.”
“It’s okay. He’s right.” Hudson’s voice came out even, which took some effort. “We’re not a couple.”
“I don’t know, man.” Reed eyed him with more compassion than Hudson had the stomach for right now. “It kinda seemed like it.”
“It’s fine.” Hudson picked up his beer.
“It’s really not fine, you look—”
“Reed.”
Reed stopped.
Hudson took a long sip. “Tell me more about Mae.”
An hour later Hudson knew everything about Mae’s diapers, the gory details of her birth, the difference between a hungry cry and a tired one.
When Reed got up to catch the train back, he pulled Hudson into a hug and held him there for a moment. “Be safe, okay?”
“Always.” Hudson patted his shoulder. “Say hi to the girls for me.”
When Reed turned to leave, Hudson headed to the bar.
The bartender looked up when she saw him coming and smiled like she’d been expecting him back.
Hudson leaned onto the bar and smiled back.