One I hadn’t revised for. Shucks.
NINETEEN
“I’m sorry. About your mom,” Hudson said as we hit the freeway. “I know she passed away recently.”
Those feelings I usually experienced when my dad brought her up resurfaced, but this time, it didn’t feel as difficult to talk. Maybe that was due to Hudson being neutral. He’d never met my mother, didn’t know anything about her. Well, apart from the story that she left my father and me. And she did. Just not in the way people thought.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“We don’t need to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable,” he said. “If you want, we could just park up and make out?” Hudson added with a cocky grin.
I chuckled and turned to look out of the window, appreciating his attempt to break the ice. We were crossing the water, the sun bouncing off the sea. It was so beautiful and fresh.
After a deep breath, I began to talk openly about my mother’s death; how it happened, the anger, the guilt, and he understood. For the first time since it happened, I could speak to someone who had experienced a similar type of pain.
Hudson was so attentive and listened to every word; any questions were soft and unintrusive, and I felt a slight sense of calm at that moment.
After a few settled minutes of contemplation, the conversation naturally changed direction. “Are the guys still there?” I questioned as Hudson glanced in the rearview mirror with a frown.
He nodded, “Yeah. About four cars behind, though. Reed drives like an old lady.”
I grinned, and Hudson grinned back. I noticed he got dimples when he smiled. I hadn’t seen them before, but that’s probably because he didn’t smile much.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said with a sigh, dropping a hand from the steering wheel to fiddle with the air vents.
“Me too,” I replied, lifting the neck of my gym top off my skin, and wafting it. Boy, it was hot. I was glad I’d changed into gym gear and wasn’t wearing my school shirt.
“I know. It’s boiling in here. You could always take your top off?”
“Nice.”
Considering where we were going, he was in high spirits. With a mischievous look, Hudson rubbed the back of his neck and said his go-to comment after attempting smut. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” How could God have created such a fine male specimen of a man and then hand his soul to such a cheeky devil? I wondered what he’d do if I did take my top off. Probably crash the car.
He gripped the wheel again, his knuckles turning white.
“How do you feel?” I asked, changing the subject to something more appropriate.
Dashing a hand across his nose, he replied. “I’m not sure. Anxious, I suppose. But I should be OK. I took a double dose.”
Hudson, admitting he took medication, surprised me.
“Have you taken tablets for long?”
“Since I was fifteen. I’ve been trying to cut down, but since I got the letter about my old man, I had to put those plans on hold.”
“Have you ever tried any other types of remedy?”
“Like what?” he asked, clearing his throat.
“I don’t know. Stuff that relaxes you.”
“Is that your way of asking me if I get myself off regularly?” Again, with the smutty comments. I realised it was probably his coping method, like Chandler from Friends, who used humour to protect himself.
“Hudson?” I said, turning in my seat, the belt digging in between my breasts.
“Yeah. I’ve tried other stuff. Punching the shit out of stuff helps too as does checking out your tits in that top.” He flicked me a look, his eyes dropping to said area.
I laughed and shook my head. “When did you decide to stop hating me?”
