Chapter 5
Chapter five
Cullen
Iwake with a gasp, the image of Hudson’s hands clawing at the ventilator fading as the late afternoon sunlight spills through my bedroom window. It blends with the memory of him stepping off the bridge into the river, the pictures looping in my head like a broken reel.
The sunlight feels wrong, like the world forgot Hudson is still lying in an ICU bed.
Watching him wake like that gutted me. The second he reached for his breathing tube, I understood—he wasn’t glad to be alive. Like waking up was a mistake he was trying to fix.
I knew when he woke he wouldn’t magically be fixed, but I hoped for something. Relief, maybe? Regret?
Not a continuation of whatever darkness he was in before.
Rolling over, I grab my phone to check the time—5:30 p.m. I barely slept for two hours.
I spent the entire day at the hospital. The only reason I left was because they needed to run tests and wouldn’t let me stay in the room. When I hesitated, Mrs. Nora promised she wasn’t leaving the hospital and would stay in the waiting room in case Hudson needed anything.
So I came home.
It was supposed to help, but the restless energy hasn't eased. There is an electric current simmering under my skin, uncomfortable and persistent.
My hands scrub down my face, trying to soothe the feeling.
Maybe that's what happens when the person you love is awake but still feels out of reach.
Hud has been awake for two days now. Awake, but not really present. He just lies there, staring into space, the low-dose sedative keeping him calm. The only communication we’ve had is when he blinks once for yes and twice for no whenever someone asks him something.
Not that I think he’d talk even if he could.
He won’t even look at me.
The thought that he is mad that I saved him burrows under my skin, intensifying the itchy electricity crawling through my body.
It doesn’t matter. Angry or not, I’ll keep showing up for him.
Sleep is pointless now, so I force myself into the shower. Steam fills the bathroom, hot enough to turn my skin red, but exhaustion still clings to me by the time I step out.
I drag on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, then throw on my hat, sliding the bill to the back.
Quietly, I open my bedroom door, listening for my parents.
I trudge down the stairs, my heavy footsteps not helping my escape. If my mom catches me, she’s going to demand I turn around and go right back upstairs.
The landing creaks under my weight, and just when I get my hand on my keys hanging by the front door, a throat clears behind me.
My shoulders slump, chin dropping to my chest.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mom’s tone is soft but firm.
I sigh, rubbing my brow as I turn to face her. “You know where I’m going.”
Mom leans against the stair railing, arms crossed over her chest. “You need to be sleeping. You’re swaying on your feet.”
To be honest, that nap did more harm than good. Sleep will continue to be useless as long as Hud is in the hospital and my dreams continue to terrorize me.
Planting my feet with a tight jaw, defiance courses through me. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” I snap.
Mom shoves off the railing, grasping my biceps tightly in her small hands. “That’s what I’m worried about! You’re going to kill yourself at this rate. You can’t keep going like this.”
I can’t keep going like this? She has no idea what I’m willing to do for Hudson. She doesn’t get it.
Gritting my teeth, I yank myself from her hold, a scowl on my face. “I’m going to keep showing up for Hudson until I physically can’t. He’s laid up in the ICU, a tube shoved down his throat breathing for him. The least I can do is suffer with him.”
Mom’s voice rises, her tone pleading. “You can barely stand, Cullen! What good are you to Hudson if you go down, too?”
“At least if I go down, I’ll be there with him!” I bellow, spit flying from my lips, my chest heaving.
Mom steps back like she doesn’t recognize me, a hand pressed to her chest.
A wave of dizziness hits, so I close my eyes until the room steadies. This is the wrong time for my body to try to prove my mom right.
Footsteps thunder through the living room, Dad rounding the corner. “What the hell is going on in here?” His gaze flicks from Mom to me, brows raised.
My hands lock behind my neck, my forearms squeezing the sides of my face.
Yelling at Mom isn’t okay.
I’m not okay.
I push the thought from my mind. I’ll deal with my shit later.
Mom has tears in her eyes, and guilt punches straight through my chest. I pull her into my arms and rest my head on top of hers.
“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks, but I clear my throat to cover it.
She hugs me back, giving me the strength only a mom can give. “I need you to take care of yourself,” she says into my chest. “You’re right—Hudson needs you. He’s going to need all of you. But you can’t give him that if you don’t deal with what happened… if you don’t rest.”
I blow out a breath and nod, her soft hair brushing my cheek.
Dad steps forward and wraps his arms around both of us. After a moment, he lets go and we pull apart.
“If I promise to come home in a couple of hours and try to sleep, will you let me go?” Compromise is the only way I’m getting out that door.
Mom huffs and shares a look with Dad. “I don’t want you driving like this. If Dad is willing to take you, then, yes.” I grab my keys, but Mom tugs at my arm. “But, you will come home in two hours, and you will go to bed. Understood?” She gives me the look that’s made grown men shrink.
Just ask Detective Whitfield.
The urge to roll my eyes is strong. The demand feels like something she’d say to ten-year-old me, but instead, I give her another hug. “I promise. Thank you.”
She cups my cheek, then walks to the kitchen.
Dad squeezes my shoulder and leads me to my truck, opening the passenger door and gesturing for me to get in. I sag against the closed door, my head meeting the cool glass of the window.
The ride is comfortable, Dad quietly humming along to the song on the radio. I watch as the trees whiz by, my thoughts rushing along with them.
We pull into the parking lot, Dad snagging a physician’s-only spot. He idles the truck, his face contemplative.
“Just say what you want to say, Dad.”
He sighs and turns the truck off, turning to face me in his seat. “Mom and I are worried about you.”
“I agreed to come home and try to slee—”
“That’s not what I mean.” His voice is softer than I’ve heard in years, the concern evident. “You’re running yourself into the ground being at the hospital all hours of the day, and you’re not dealing with what you saw. It was traumatic, and you can’t keep shoving it down, son.”
My throat is tight, a twinge of pain lingering in my ribs. “Shoving it down is what’s carrying me to the next day,” I admit, voice strained. “I can’t face it right now, Dad. I can’t fall apart.”
He cuffs the back of my neck, his eyes warm. “I know you want to be strong for Hudson, but if you bury all this, it’s going to eat you alive. And then you won’t know who you are anymore.”
Then he gets out of the truck, leaving me sitting there with everything I’m trying not to think about.
I round the corner into the ICU wing and peer into the waiting room. The usual people are there—Hud’s parents and Hadley. Mr. Daniels is pacing the length of the room while talking on his phone. Mrs. Nora watches him closely, wringing her hands in her lap.
Slipping inside, I drop into the seat next to Hadley. I’m still pissed at her for all the shit she said to Hudson, but I’m trying to keep the peace.
“Everything alright?” I ask, nodding towards Mr. Daniels.
She’s scrolling through some guy’s social media, her head propped on her fist. “I think he’s on the phone with the police.”
My chest tightens, my knee bouncing frantically.
“Okay, thank you.” Mr. Daniels ends the call and pockets his phone. He lets out a heavy sigh and sits down next to his wife.
“What did they have to say? Did they find something?” Mrs. Daniels asks, taking his hand in hers. “The investigation has been going on for almost a month.”
“It’s procedure,” he says tightly. “But, yes. They think so.” He leans his head back against the wall and gazes up at the ceiling, the dark circles under his eyes rivaling mine. “It’s only gone on this long because of his stalker. They have to rule out foul play.”
My hands ball into fists. Hud’s intentions were clear. He just wanted the noise in his head to stop.
He was tired of fighting it.
But the police still want to make sure nothing else was going on, and honestly, we’re grateful for that.
Mr. Daniels continues. “They found some muddy footprints on the opposite side of the bridge that led into the woods and to an old Airstream that looked lived in. They knocked, but no one answered. They’re going to ask the judge for a search warrant.”
The air whooshes from my lungs. We never told the police about seeing the guy at the end of the bridge that day, and now I’m kicking myself for it.
“Finally, some good news,” Mrs. Nora remarks, a small smile tugging at her mouth. She looks over at me, her eyes kind. “I thought you were going home to get some rest?”
Is this a universal Mom thing? To nag about the lack of sleep I’m getting?
I force a weak smile. “I tried, but it’s not coming so easily these days.”
She nods, taking a sip from the coffee cup she’s holding. “We understand that. I’m surprised Eliza didn’t make you stay home.”
“Trust me, she tried.” My dad walks in, chuckling.
He has a drink tray with more coffees and a bag from the bakery downstairs.
He hands them over to Mr. Daniels, then sits next to me.
“She let him come only because he promised to stay for just two hours, then go home and back to bed. I’m his warden. ” He nudges me and winks.
I just roll my eyes.
Okay, enough small talk. I don’t want to waste my two hours sitting here. “Is Hud out of testing?”
Mrs. Nora checks her watch and nods. “They said he’d be done by now. Janine will know if he’s out yet or not. Go on since you’ve got limited time.”