Page 114 of All the Ugly Things
I sniffed away the tears forming.
His hand slid to the back of my neck and tilted my head up so I had to look at him direct in the eyes. “You can tell me anything. Always. Or nothing at all.”
And somehow, I knew that. I could trust this man. I could trust him with everything.
I curled my hand around his wrist. “I want you to know.”
“Then I’ll listen.” He bent down, kissed me briefly, softly, but powerfully enough my body warmed. “Get your keys.”
I unlocked the door and once we were inside, relocked it behind us. Dropping my purse to the kitchen counter, I unbuttoned my coat and tossed it over my purse.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“Funny.” I laughed, awkward and stilted. “I can’t remember the last time I had a drink, but I could really use one right now.” Too bad I couldn’t.
Hudson took a seat on the couch, back to the corner, one arm on the armrest and the other flung over the back of the couch. He bent one leg up, one foot planted flat to the floor. He looked sprawled out and relaxed, but the tension in his eyes belied his manner.
“Come here, Lilly.”
If he was trying to make me feel relaxed, it wasn’t working. There would be no relaxing for me. Not through this.
I went to him and once I was close, he reached out, pulled me to him so I was curled in his arm, pressed against his side, ensconced in his heat and safety of his strength. And that boulder of guilt I’d become so accustomed to carrying in my gut shrank. I could give all my truths to him and I knew, at the end, he would still hold me like he was doing now.
And while that sent a flutter of hope through me, it didn’t make telling the story easier.
I focused on the thread of his dark blue jeans he’d thrown on after work and the small, frayed area on his muscled thigh.
Clearing my throat, words escaped me. Everything had been so convoluted and dark and twisted for so long, finding the beginning was difficult.
Hudson’s hands curled around the back of my neck and he dragged his hand through my hair, massaged my neck and scalp while I gathered myself.
“Take all the time you need.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
Eventually, with our reflection shining in the open windows and flickers of city lights coming from beyond them, I found the starting point.
“Josh always had a big problem with alcohol. He went to rehab at least three times while he was still in high school, once in college. My dad did everything he could to hide it because Josh was so well known for football.”
It’d been so long since I’d talked about him, years since I’d ever told this story, just saying his name sent a pang of grief to my chest.
That hand of his continued running through my hair, soothing me, calming my racing heart and my jagged nerves.
“Dad beat us. Well, not me, but he used to beat Mom.” My voice was dry and scratchy. My throat burned as I spoke truths I’d always been so afraid to share. “I think the first time Dad hit Josh was when he was ten. Dad had slapped Mom in the living room after we were supposed to be in bed, but we’d snuck down for some water. Josh ran to Mom to block her and Dad punched him in the stomach.”
I squeezed my eyes closed to stave off the memory, the cry of Josh’s pain that had sliced through the home, making me tremble on the stairs where I’d stayed out of sight. A choked cry escaped me, and I dug my fingers into Hudson’s thigh as I relived that moment. Almost twenty years and I would never forget the sound of my older brother crying and screaming out in pain.
“Did he—?”
“No.” I burrowed deeper into Hudson’s hold and he dropped his arm, pulling me even tighter against him. His weight was a warm blanket as I said, “Dad never hit me, he just didn’t ever like me all that much. But Josh—Josh was special. Did you know he went to college on a full-ride?”
He hesitated and then said, “Tell me.”
“Top ten. He was the best, one of the best in the entire country. Anyway, we protected each other, Josh and me. He protected me, promised he’d come get me if I needed him to. That was why he went to college in Chicago when he could have gone to Alabama or Clemson. He stayed close to home for me. Even if he never said it, I knew it was why.” A football-sized lump grew in my throat. It was always Josh and me.
“It wasn’t the first time he’d come to get me from a party, but that night I called Josh because there’d been this guy there. He was a dick and he wouldn’t leave me alone. Kendra and I kept trying to avoid him, but he kept following us. I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, he was waiting for me…”
