Forty-One
Outside, rain slaps against the windshield in uneven sheets, blurring the glowing yellow arches of the McDonald's drive-thru sign into long streaks of gold.
I lean my head back against the headrest and watch the wipers swipe across the glass.
“They’re going to suffocate me.” My voice is raspy from crying. “Mom’s already talking about bringing over food tomorrow. Dad asked if he needs to drive me to my next specialist appointment.”
“How do you feel about that?” Hudson asks, his hands resting on the steering wheel.
I shrug. “Honestly, I’m not sure yet.”
I take a slow breath and let the exhaustion settle into my bones. The emotional dam has broken, but my body is paying the toll of the adrenaline crash.
When we finally stopped crying and hauled ourselves up off the living room floor, my body felt like it had been run over by a truck.
That’s when Dad tried to offer the old defense. He looked at me with soft, apologetic eyes and said, “Rowan, you have to understand. We took you to the doctors. We tried. But nothing was found.”
It acted like a match tossed into a dry forest. They’re not doctors. I never expected them to figure out what was wrong with me. I just wanted them to trust me enough to believe me.
The anger flared up so fast in my chest I couldn't stop it.
Years of quiet resentment burst right through my ribs, and before I could filter the words, I spat them out.
I said things that were jagged around the edges.
Maybe they were hurtful. Maybe they were just the plain, ugly truth.
I haven't quite figured out where the line between the two sits yet.
Either way, the venom in my voice worked, because for the first time in twenty-six years, they completely shut up and listened.
I didn't hold back. I told them what it felt like to be fifteen years old, watching your body fail you while everyone around you decides it's just an inconvenient cry for attention. I told them about sitting in doctors’ offices listening to adults talk about my “heightened emotions” while my joints felt like they were slipping out of their sockets.
I told them how terrifying it was to grow up believing your own mind was an enemy fabricating pain out of thin air.
I stripped away every polite lie we’d ever told, handed them the raw wreckage of my childhood, and forced them to look at it.
They know now. We can rebuild from there.
Hudson nods toward the wrapped burger on my lap. It’s remained untouched for ten minutes. “You need to eat.”
I look down at the wrapper. I want to show him I’m fine, that I survived the confrontation, that I can handle a damn drive-thru meal.
I lift my hands off my lap, but the second I try to curl my fingers around the paper, my muscles lock. My wrists stiffen, and my fingers pull into tight, rigid spasms, shaking violently.
My body is paying me back for the stress.
I can’t unwrap the paper. I can’t even flatten my palms.
A hot, prickling wave of embarrassment rushes up my neck. I press my hands back into my thighs, tucking them under my sleeves so he won’t see.
I stare straight ahead at the rain, fighting the sudden sting of tears.
Not now. Please, not now.
Through the rain-slicked glass, a couple walks past a streetlight. The woman waves her arms frantically, her face contorted with anger, while the man walks with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“Look at those two,” Hudson says casually, breaking the quiet. “Third date. Big mistake.”
I blink, catching the sudden shift. I look at the couple, then sideways at Hudson.
“Third date?” I play along, my voice wavering before I steady it. “No way. That’s a married dynamic if I’ve ever seen one.”
He smoothly grabs the wrapped burger from my lap and begins peeling back the wrapper.
“Not married,” he insists, his tone completely serious as he tears off a piece of the burger. “He got fired and never told her.”
Without missing a beat or looking away from the window, he reaches across the center console and holds the piece right in front of my mouth.
I chew, swallowing down the dry lump in my throat along with the food. “Please. That man has affair written all over him.”
“An affair?” He holds out the next bite.
“A scandalous affair,” I say, leaning into the headrest as he casually feeds me another piece. “She just found a second phone in his glove compartment.”
“A second phone is rookie behavior. If you’re going to run a double life, you put the burner in the spare tire well.”
“How do you know that, Shrink Wrap?”
“I have complex patients.” His fingers brush my bottom lip with the next bite. “And a vast knowledge of terrible crime shows.”
Out on the sidewalk, the woman suddenly stops, spins on her heel, and slaps the man across the arm with her umbrella before marching off into the rain. The man throws his hands in the air.
“Definitely an affair,” we say at the same time.
A genuine laugh bubbles out of my throat.
Hudson doesn't say anything about the fact that he just hand-fed me an entire cheeseburger in a rain-soaked parking lot. He just folds the empty wrapper, drops it into the bag, and reaches over to take my aching hands in his.
His palms close gently over my rigid knuckles, his thumbs working in firm circles, easing the spasm out without a single word.
I lean across the console, resting my forehead against his shoulder.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his coat.
He presses a kiss to the crown of my head. “Always.”