Chapter 3

HUDSON

Istared at the beer list, feeling the familiar pull of temptation gnawing at me. It had been over forty-eight hours since I last had a drink. For someone like me, that felt like an eternity. But it wasn't much of an accomplishment, not really. Two days sober? Big whoop. I had made it ten days once.

I scanned the menu again, debating a cocktail instead. That was just a little alcohol, right? More mixer than liquor. Or maybe a glass of wine. That was made from grapes, which were fruit, and fruit was healthy.

The warm late-summer evening seemed to mock me. The gentle breeze carried the scent of alcohol and laughter from the surrounding tables. It was the perfect setting for a cold beer, and yet here I was, trying to resist the urge to give in to my cravings. Agreeing to go out to dinner with my brothers was a bad idea. I wasn't in the mood for being out in public. I wanted to stay home with the blinds closed and my phone off.

But that had only made the cravings stronger. I was going stir crazy, so when Zayn called and said he was going out to dinner and wanted me to come along, I agreed.

Then he told me Kameron was going to be there. Kameron and I had made up after one of our many fights, but I wasn't in the mood for his nagging. I felt like I was ready for a fight. One poke and that was going to be the limit of my self-control.

As I read each drink on the menu, I took a second to actually imagine myself drinking it. Kameron was regaling us with tales of Zara's wedding-planning woes. When he talked about Luke, his son, and the desperate plea for relief from the endless discussions about floral arrangements and seating charts. I was with Luke. No young boy wanted to look at flowers all day.

Zayn laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Poor Luke," he remarked. "Who knew wedding planning could be such a nightmare?"

"Everyone," I muttered under my breath. "That's why they invented wedding planners."

"Zara is hands on," he said. "She doesn't want to leave it up to a planner. It's kind of an important day."

I tried to muster up a chuckle, but my mind was elsewhere, my thoughts consumed by the relentless craving for a drink. It was a struggle to keep my focus. No one knew I was on the wagon. I could drink if I wanted to. I was the only one holding myself accountable.

"You seem a bit off," Kameron said. "Everything okay?"

I forced a smile, attempting to brush off his concern with a casual shrug. "Yeah, I'm fine," I replied. "Just tired, I guess."

He knew me too well to buy my excuse.

"You're tired because you don't sleep," Kameron said.

"I've been trying to sleep," I said.

"What's going on, Hudson?" Zayn asked. "Kameron is right, you look rough. Rougher than usual."

"You have a great way of making me feel better," I said.

"You've been spending a lot of time with that menu," Zayn joked. "Planning on ordering one of everything?"

"I spent another night in the drunk tank the other night," I said.

Kameron raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. "Again?" he teased. "At this rate, the cops at the station are going to start reserving a cot just for you."

I cringed at his words, the reality of my situation hitting me like a ton of bricks. It was true. I had become a regular fixture at the local police station, a fact that filled me with shame and self-loathing.

"You didn't call me," Zayn said.

"Why would I?"

"Good point." Kameron nodded. "I know I'm done bailing you out."

"And that's why I didn't call," I replied. "Not that I would have had the option. It's a mandatory stay. They won't let me out until I'm sober."

"What happened?" Zayn asked.

I shrugged. "I have no fucking clue."

They both shook their heads. I knew I was a disappointment. "Jessica didn't know either. But she came to pick me up."

"Who's Jessica?" Zayn asked. "Are you seeing someone?"

"No. She's just some chick I partied with."

"But you don't know how you ended up in the drunk tank?" Kameron asked.

"Nope. Jessica said it was one hell of a party and I disappeared. I don't remember any of it. But when I got home the next day, it did look like I had a good time. There were half-naked women all over the house. The place was trashed."

Zayn scoffed. "If that's your idea of a good time, I think you might be doing it wrong."

"You're right," I agreed.

They both stared at me like I had two heads.

"I'm right?" Zayn asked.

"It's just starting to feel…" I trailed off, struggling to find the right words to describe the overwhelming despair and hopelessness that had settled over me.

"Pathetic?" Kameron supplied shamelessly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Old?" Zayn chimed in.

I winced at the blunt truth of his words, knowing deep down that he was right. "Yeah, maybe," I admitted. "Maybe both."

"You're tired of partying," Kameron stated.

"Something like that. I haven't had a drink since I got out of jail."

Not having a drink for a couple of days had forced me to confront the reality of my dependence on alcohol, and it scared me more than I cared to admit. Had I become an alcoholic without even realizing it?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and a cold chill of dread crept into the pit of my stomach. I drank because it was what I did. I liked to party. But now, I was wondering if it was more of a need than a choice.

"What should I do, guys?" I asked. "I know I need to make changes, but I have no idea where to start."

"First thing you need to do is get out of this area," Zayn said. "Why don't you pack up and pick a small town somewhere upstate? Take some time to refocus and live a simpler life for a few months."

"That seems a little drastic," I said.

"Drastic is what you need," Zayn said. "I had a buddy hole up in a small town after college to dry out, and it totally changed his outlook on life. He came back a different person, ready to dive into his life with a clear head. You're not going to be able to break the habits if you don't make some changes."

The idea appealed to me, escaping the chaos of the city and finding solace in the quiet tranquility of a small town. Running away didn't seem like a good solution, but it would be better if I wasn't constantly surrounded by the people I used to party with. They kept showing up at my door offering temptation.

"Just go somewhere and unplug," Zayn said. "Simplify and recenter yourself. Figure out who you are without the booze."

"Where would I even go?" I asked, feeling a glimmer of hope beginning to spark in my chest.

Zayn leaned back, tapping his finger against his chin. "There's a place up in the mountains that I visited once for a hiking trip. It's remote, peaceful, and far away from the temptations of the city. You could rent a cabin there and just be. No distractions, no parties, no bullshit. No women either. You tend to get yourself into trouble with the women you hook up with."

"I'm not allowed to have sex, either?" I asked. "That's going a bit far."

Kameron shrugged. "Regular sex is a perfectly normal part of life, but a string of mindless hookups, like you have, is just drugs in a pretty dress. It's an unhealthy addiction that's no longer adding to your life. It just takes away."

I let out a long breath. "Fine, I can lay off a bit. To clear my head."

The image of a secluded cabin nestled among tall trees and overlooking a serene lake sounded like a dream come true. Could it be the fresh start I desperately needed?

"Hudson, let's be real here," Kameron said. "You need therapy. And on top of that, you need rehab. You can't expect to move to a little cabin in the middle of nowhere and be miraculously cured of all your troubles." Kameron's voice dropped an octave, and I knew he was about to lay it on even thicker. "There's no quick fix for this kind of thing. You can't just expect whatever it was that drove you to drinking to go away. It's going to be there until you fix it. Rehab. Therapy. Whatever is going on in that head of yours needs some serious attention. You can't just run away from it."

The word rehab sent a shiver down my spine. I'm not that bad, I wanted to protest. I just like to party and have a good time. But Kameron was right—I had been at this for years on end, and these weren't just habits I could drop overnight.

"I'm not a basket case," I said. "I don't need therapy."

"Something made you crawl in a bottle," Kameron said.

"I was just having fun," I replied. "Maybe I got a little carried away, but that doesn't mean I need therapy."

"Rehab and therapy," he clarified. "One to fix your body and the other to fix your mind."

"Isn't that a bit harsh, Kameron?" Zayn asked. "He knows he has a problem and he's ready to quit. That's saying something, right?"

"This isn't something we can sugarcoat, Zayn," he replied firmly. "Hudson needs serious help, and rehab is the only place that can offer the kind of support and accountability he needs to be successful. He's quit before. And how did that work out?"

"Hello, I'm sitting right here," I said.

"I vote rehab," Kameron said.

"Do I get a vote?" I asked.

Rehab? It sounded like a nightmare, a last resort for people who had hit rock bottom. I wasn't at rock bottom. Was I? I knew that he was right. I needed help, and I needed it now. But rehab? That felt extreme.

"Dad wants you in rehab," Kameron said.

"Dad doesn't even know about any of this," I said.

"Like hell he doesn't." Kameron scoffed. "You're not exactly hiding it well. He just doesn't say anything."

"I don't need rehab," I repeated, my voice growing more insistent. The mere thought of being confined to a rehabilitation center sent a wave of panic through me. The idea of being stripped of my freedom, my ability to come and go as I pleased, was suffocating.

"I like Zayn's idea," I said. "I could do that."

"Zayn's idea is putting off the inevitable," Kameron insisted.

"There are plenty of people that have avoided rehab and got better," Zayn argued.

"Yeah, sure." Kameron snorted.

Zayn reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. "Let's leave it up to fate," he suggested. "Heads, you pack up and leave the city for a while. Tails? You go to rehab."

My heart raced as I watched the coin spin through the air, my breath catching in my throat as it landed in Zayn's palm. He was about to decide my fate. Part of me reminded myself I could just change my mind. No one could force me to move or go to rehab. This was ultimately my choice. But then again, I knew I needed to change something. I didn't like my life. I wasn't happy.

He flipped it over onto the back of his other hand, pausing for drama. "Are you ready?" he asked me.

I shrugged. "Whatever."

I held my breath, waiting for the final verdict that would determine the course of my future.