Chapter 47

HUDSON

Islowly woke up, confusion washing over me. I opened my eyes and looked around, realizing I was in Diana's bedroom. I squinted, trying to piece together the events of the night before. My head throbbed as bits and pieces of the night started coming back to me. I remembered the party, mixing drinks, laughing too hard. And then things got a bit fuzzy.

"Damn it, Hudson," I muttered to myself, rubbing my temples in an attempt to alleviate the headache that was rapidly escalating into a full-blown migraine. I tried to sit up, only to find the room spinning around me. Wincing, I lay back down and squeezed my eyes shut. I knew I messed up, and I hated myself for it.

I was still fully clothed in my jeans and T-shirt. My arm hurt, barely noticeable with the throbbing in my head. I opened one eye and held it out, trying to find the source of the pain. There was an ugly purple bruise and some scrapes. It took a second for me to remember falling on the table. Technically, Jessie had fallen, and I went down with him. I vaguely remembered hitting my elbow on the table when I fell.

I closed my eyes again, wishing I could push away the painful memories of last night. Every second that rushed back was like a punch to the gut. I didn't have to remember all that happened to know that I'd messed up big time. The disgusting taste in my mouth, the dull ache spreading through my body, and the heavy silence in the room were telltale signs of my epic failure.

I groaned, rolling over on my side. Diana. The thought of her filled me with a bittersweet sensation. She probably brought me here, took care of me as she always did when I messed up. God, she deserved better than this. What the hell was wrong with me? She gave me a second chance and I fucked up again.

The silence in the room was suddenly shattered by the jarring ring of my phone, making me wince. I fumbled for it on the bedside table and managed to pick it up. The bright screen made my head feel like it was splitting open. It was Kameron. He was the last person I wanted to talk to. He would figure out I was hungover, and it would be a lecture I couldn't deal with.

I could smell coffee and knew Diana was already up. I honestly had no idea if she had even slept in the bed with me last night. I couldn't remember. I was a piece of shit. I couldn't even remember if she gave up her bed for me. I slowly sat up. A bout of nausea rolled over me. I swallowed hard, fighting to keep down the acid rising in my throat. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as the room spun around me.

Closing my eyes against the spinning, I managed to sit still long enough for the sensation to subside. My phone rang again. I let it go to voicemail. I didn't have the strength to talk to anyone right then. Not when I had yet to face the one person who deserved an explanation the most.

On shaky legs, I stood up, using the wall for support. The smell of coffee was stronger now. My stomach twisted in response. It was surprising that I hadn't lost everything from last night yet. I wanted the coffee, but my gut was telling me not to dare.

I walked into the kitchen to find Diana staring at her phone, a cup of coffee in one hand. She looked exhausted, like she had gotten very little sleep. I knew I was the one to blame for that. I walked toward her. She looked up and I could see the disappointment in her eyes. It killed me to see her look at me like that.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper as I reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. "I don't know what came over me last night."

But even as I spoke the words, I could feel the barrier between us growing stronger. "What happened?" she asked. "You were drinking water and then an hour later you're drunk as a skunk."

I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth. That Troy had freaked me out when he said he loved her. Troy was drunk, and feelings that would typically not be expressed spilled over. I didn't want to throw the guy under the bus and risk their friendship.

"I don't know." I shrugged.

"Everything was going just fine one minute, and the next, you were drinking like a teenager at his first party," she said with disgust. "I don't understand what happened."

Hell, I can't even understand it myself. "I don't know," I said again.

"I'm worried about you, Hudson," she said. "This isn't like you."

I shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, not liking the way my drinking and partying were being put under the microscope. "It won't happen again," I said. Deep down, I know that's not enough. We just went through this very same argument. She didn't believe me, and I couldn't blame her for it.

There's a part of me that wants to tell her the truth, to reveal that Troy's confession of love for her was what set me off last night. But I can't bring myself to do it. It would only get me partly off the hook. Ultimately, I chose to drink. Troy didn't force me. I wanted the alcohol, and it was right there for the taking.

"Hudson, this is not good," she said on a sigh. "I don't know what to say."

"I'm sorry," I repeated. What else could I say? Every word, every excuse, sounded hollow even in my own ears.

"Sorry doesn't solve everything, Hudson," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Guilt twisted like a knife inside me. I wanted to pull her into my arms and comfort her, but I knew she wouldn't want that right now. Her disappointment was palpable. It permeated the room and settled around me like a shroud. She deserved better than this, better than a man who couldn't even be honest with her about his own feelings.

"Can I have some coffee?" I asked.

I hoped the jolt of caffeine would help get my head straight. Maybe then I could find a way to talk to her.

"Of course. I'll drive you home in a few minutes."

I poured a cup of coffee and took a few drinks. She was kicking me out. She didn't want to be around me. "I'll get my shoes on," I said.

As I walked away, the sheer weight of her disappointment followed me. I found my shoes by the bed, just where she must have left them since I was unable to take them off in my drunken stupor last night. I did remember trying to take them off—I thought. The laces were knotted together, a testament to my clumsy attempts to remove them last night. I sat down on the edge of the bed and worked on untangling them, my hands shaking with the effort.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Diana watching me. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she was leaning against the doorframe. She looked like she wanted to say something but was holding back. Pain flashed in her eyes for a moment before she looked away. She went into the bathroom. I could hear her brushing her teeth.

When she came out of the bathroom, she said nothing. I used the toothbrush I had left at her place and tried not to look at myself in the mirror. It wasn't a pretty sight. The room felt stuffy, suffocating, and every second I spent in it stirred uncomfortable memories from the previous night. As I made my way to the front door, I caught sight of Diana. She was standing by the window, her eyes staring blankly at the world outside.

Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles white from the pressure. It didn't take a genius to realize she was struggling with whatever happened last night, trying to make sense of it all just like me.

"I'm ready," I said.

She looked at me like she was trying to decide what to say before she walked out the front door. I followed her out, getting into the passenger seat of her car and staying quiet. It didn't take a genius to figure out she was pissed at me. I could see it in the set of her shoulders, the furrow of her brow. She had a lot on her mind. Me. I'm what's on her mind. We had just put these issues to bed, and now I've gone and brought them all back up again. I felt like such an idiot.

She pulled to a stop in front of my rental house. "Do you want to come in?" I asked.

"No. I need to go check on Troy, offer to help clean up the mess."

"I should go with you," I said.

"No, just go take a shower and sleep it off."

"Are we still going to your parents' house tonight?" I asked.

She looked at me. "I don't know."

I nodded, understanding I might have screwed it all up. "Let me know," I said and got out of the car.

She drove off, leaving me standing at the front door all alone. The silence in the wake of her departure felt crushing. I closed the door behind me, my heart sinking as I looked around the empty house.

I stepped into the living room, my shoes clattering against the wooden floor. There was a dull throbbing headache at the back of my head, but it paled in comparison to the throbbing guilt in my chest. I knew I had messed up and I had no one else to blame but myself.

Why do I always have to ruin everything I touch?

It's a question that haunts me, one that I don't have an answer to. All I know is that no matter how hard I try, I always seem to end up making a mess of things. I was the definition of self-destructive. I went to the kitchen and grabbed the carton of orange juice, drinking straight from the container. Suddenly, the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. Maybe I do need help. Maybe I do need rehab. The thought made my stomach drop, the weight of it almost suffocating.

I reached for my phone, my fingers trembling as I scrolled through my contacts, searching for Kameron's name. The first step is admitting you needed help, right? I knew Kameron probably had a list of rehabs ready and waiting for me. All I had to do was accept the fact I was fucked up and couldn't do this on my own.

But as my thumb hovered over the call button, a wave of uncertainty washed over me. I hesitated, my courage faltering at the last moment. I put my phone back on the table with a defeated sigh. Maybe now isn't the right time. Maybe I'm not ready to face this yet.