Chapter 53

HUDSON

The display of colorful explosions reflected in her eyes. I could see how happy she was. I was, too. Tonight had been fun. More fun than I thought it would be. I was expecting some old dudes sitting around playing the spoons when she told me they had a music festival.

Diana's grip tightened around my hand. I squeezed back, reassuring her without uttering a word. Her eyes held a question. She was worrying for me. The realization made my heart twist in an odd but not unpleasant way. I had been very careful with my behavior tonight. Two beers. That was it. I took it slow, and it wasn't bad. I was so used to drinking to get wasted and then I couldn't remember if I had fun.

For a moment, I allowed myself to forget about my insecurities and simply basked in the warmth of her affection for me. It was moments like these that made all the doubts seem insignificant. But they were always there, lurking in the shadows, ready to rear their ugly heads whenever I let my guard down.

It was hard to always stay alert. I couldn't let myself relax too much or I was going to fall back into my old habits.

The big finale exploded over our heads with the crowd clapping and cheering. The fireworks receded into a chorus of applause and whistles. The crowd began to disperse slowly. The night was cool, but Diana's warmth seeped into me, and it was a comfort. I didn't really want to leave. I liked being with her like this.

But it was time to go. We got to our feet and said our goodbyes to the others. I held her hand as we made our way back to Diana's place. As we walked side by side, we were each lost in our own thoughts. "That was good," I said. "I had fun."

"Me too." She smiled. "Tomorrow is the big attraction."

"I can't wait," I replied. "But I think I'll pack a lunch. I'm not sure I can keep eating that food."

She laughed. "It's fair food. You're just not used to it."

"The hotdogs are questionable at best," I teased, nudging her gently. She laughed again, her laughter echoing through the quiet streets. It felt good to make her laugh, to bring a smile to her face. The tingling sensation of happiness radiated throughout my body. "I didn't see any stray dogs around."

A loud burst of laughter erupted from her again. "Stop it." She laughed. "It was good."

I pulled her close. "Maybe. But I think tomorrow I might try the taco truck. That's food I know I can handle."

We got back to her house and went for a late-night snack and more water.

"Stay the night?" she asked.

I smiled. "Of course."

We stripped to our underwear and crawled into bed together. It was weird, but I kind of liked the nights we didn't have sex. Holding her was almost as satisfying. It was a different level of intimacy. One that was very new to me. New but good.

"I need to tell you something," she said after we had settled in.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'm falling in love with you, Hudson. And this is what I want."

Her words hung in the air between us, charged with emotion and raw honesty. I felt a surge of emotion welling up within me, threatening to spill over as I struggled to process her confession and what it meant.

No one—absolutely no one—had ever said they loved me. My mom probably did, but that was a long time ago. I had come to think of myself as unlovable. I didn't know what it was like to be loved. I was sure my family probably loved me on some level, but not love love.

"You're freaking out," she said.

"No.

"You are." She sighed and put her hand on my chest. "But you don't need to. I know you can't see it, but I do. I see adventures with you. I see us discovering more about ourselves and each other. And down the road, maybe we will even have a family of our own."

If she hadn't been lying on me, I probably would have jumped out of bed and made a beeline for the door. Her vision for our future was both terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

"Diana," I murmured.

"Relax." She laughed. "I'm not asking for a ring. I'm not putting a deposit down on a dress. I just want you to know that the stuff you said the other night wasn't right. You are good enough. You are good enough for me. More than good enough."

She was waiting for my response, a response that I didn't have. The silence stretched on until it became unbearable. I felt her shift in my arms, probably expecting me to bolt or say something utterly stupid.

"Diana," I began, trying to find the right words. "No one has ever said something like that to me."

There was a beat of silence before she pulled herself up onto her elbow, looking down at me in the dark. Her eyes were filled with patience and understanding, but there was a flicker of worry there too. "Hudson," she whispered, tentatively tracing the lines of my face with her fingers. "You don't have to say it back. Not if you're not ready."

"I want to," I confessed urgently. "But it's just all so new to me."

She nodded, her thumb gently caressing my cheekbone as though to ease the tension. "It's okay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We can take this slow. There is no rush."

"I don't want you to think that I don't feel something for you, Diana," I admitted, reaching up to cover her hand with mine. "Because I do. Maybe more than I've ever felt before."

She studied me, as if trying to read the truth in my words, and then her lips curled into a soft smile. "I believe you, Hudson," she said gently, her fingers lightly squeezing mine in reassurance.

We settled back down, my arm draped over her waist as we drifted into silence again. Her confession, though startling, had opened up a door to a depth of feeling I didn't know I was capable of. There was a fear that loomed over me, the fear of the unknown and the fear of getting hurt.

More importantly, I was terrified of hurting her.

"I didn't mean to drop a bomb on you," she said. "Please don't think I expect anything. I just needed to get it off my chest. We can take it slow. I like what we have. It's just, well, the other night, what you were saying, I didn't like it. I don't like you thinking you're not good enough. You are. You are perfect in my eyes. I love you the way you are."

"That's because you are too good," I told her.

"I trust you," she told me, her voice filled with conviction. "I have from the minute I picked you up on the side of the road. It has nothing to do with me being good. I see the good in people. I trust my first impressions. I know I'm right about you, even if you can't see it yet."

Her words hit me like a thunderbolt. From the moment we had met, there had been a connection. It defied explanation. I wasn't sure I believed in soulmates, but there was an uncanny connection. Like we had known each other all our lives without actually ever meeting.

I had confessed to her that I didn't think I was good enough for her, that I was plagued by doubts and insecurities that threatened to tear us apart. And yet, here she was, planning our forever life as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It scared the hell out of me, the thought of committing to a future that seemed so impossibly out of reach.

She deserved someone who could give her the love and security she craved, someone who didn't run at the first sign of trouble or uncertainty.

"Go to sleep," I said, kissing the top of her head. "We've got a busy day tomorrow."

She yawned. "You go to sleep. Don't stay up all night freaking out."

I laughed. "I won't. Goodnight."

I felt a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. Guilt and shame washed over me. She deserved better than this, better than me—a broken man who couldn't even love himself, let alone someone as incredible as her.

I did my best to pretend to sleep, lulling her into sleep. I glimpsed the future. But unlike her, I didn't see the bright and shiny future she did. I saw her miserable and unhappy. She would probably end up divorcing me. It would kill her to have a failed marriage. Her parents were the picture-perfect couple, married for thirty-plus years. That was what she wanted. I didn't think I could give that to her.

She finally drifted off to sleep, her words still echoing in my ears. My stomach was turning. I didn't know if it was the hot dogs or what she told me.

I knew what I had to do. I couldn't bear to see the disappointment in her eyes when she realized that I couldn't give her the future she deserved. I couldn't bear to watch as her dreams crumbled around her, shattered by the harsh reality of my inadequacy. She was na?ve. She was a beautiful soul and was never going to see how bad I was for her.

I must have stared at the wall for hours before I finally knew what I had to do. With a heavy heart I slipped out of bed without disturbing her.

I quietly gathered my belongings, leaving behind a note on the bedside table, a feeble attempt to explain the unexplainable. The words were inadequate, but it was all I could muster in that moment of cowardice. The truth would hurt her more than my absence ever could. With one last glance at her peaceful expression in bed, I turned and walked away.

It was the ultimate act of selfishness disguised as selflessness, a cruel deception that would haunt me for the rest of my days. But in that moment, all I could think about was freeing her from the burden of loving someone like me.

The night was silent as I stepped into the darkness, the cool night air sending shivers down my spine as I made my way to my car. I hoped she wouldn't hear it start. I knew I couldn't face her. I was a chickenshit. I didn't want to look into her eyes when I broke her heart.

I looked in the rearview mirror and felt a sharp pain in my heart. Part of me couldn't help but wonder if I had made the biggest mistake of my life. She was going to be destroyed tomorrow morning, but eventually she would forget about me. But deep down, I knew that leaving was the right thing to do. She deserved a chance at happiness with someone who could give her the world, not a man plagued by self-doubt and drunken debauchery.

I got back to the rental house with the intention of going to bed, but the bottle of whiskey that sat unopened for too long was calling to me. There was no reason to stay sober.

I poured myself a drink and stared at the dark liquid for several seconds. The weight of what I had done settled heavily on my shoulders. I took a drink and refilled my glass. Another sip burned my throat, but it was nothing compared to the searing guilt consuming me from the inside out. The alcohol offered a temporary escape from reality, a numbing sensation that dulled the ache in my chest.

But no amount of whiskey could erase the image of her face from my mind, the look of betrayal and heartbreak she would wear when she woke up to find me gone.