Chapter 57

HUDSON

The pounding bass reverberated through the crowded club. I sat in the VIP section looking down at the dancers below. I took another swig of whiskey, the burning liquid searing its way down my throat as I tried in vain to drown out the memories that haunted me. The memories of Diana, her laughter, her smile, and her touch were constantly around me.

The pulsating lights and gyrating bodies were doing little to block the thoughts. No matter how hard I tried to bury it beneath layers of alcohol and distractions, her presence lingered like a ghost in the shadows of my mind. I knew I had messed up. I knew I had walked away from the best thing that ever happened to me. Then I reminded myself of why. She was too good for me.

Women circled around me like vultures, their eyes hungry with desire as they vied for my attention. These were the types of women I was used to. They were who I deserved. Unfortunately, I had no interest in their advances. Once you had the best, there was no going back. No settling. No other woman would ever compare to her. No amount of alcohol could numb the ache in my soul.

One of my buddies sauntered into the VIP area with a woman on each arm. "Hudson, my man." He grinned, his words slightly slurred from the alcohol. "I didn't know you were here."

"I'm here."

"I was going to enjoy these beautiful ladies by myself, but I'll share," he offered.

The blonde one sat down beside me, close enough to be nearly on my lap. I barely acknowledged her presence.

"Where the hell have you been the last couple of months?" he asked with the woman sucking on his neck like a vampire that hadn't fed in weeks. "You disappeared off the face of the earth."

I shrugged, avoiding his gaze as I took another sip of whiskey. "Just on vacation," I muttered. It was easier than admitting the truth.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression curious. "And what about that girl you brought to the club a while back?" he asked. "You two seemed pretty cozy."

I felt a pang of guilt twist in my gut at the mention of Diana. "It's nothing," I replied, my voice hollow with resignation. "It's over."

My buddy frowned. "Well, then we need to find you another woman," he declared, his tone determined. "Someone to take your mind off of her."

"I'm right here," the blonde said, sliding her hand up my thigh. "I can make you forget about anyone."

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said.

I leaned forward and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. I refilled my glass and quickly sucked it down.

"Can I have a drink?" the woman asked.

I looked at her, my vision just a little blurred. "Sure. Order me another bottle. We'll drink."

As the night wore on, the club became a blur of flashing lights and booming music. I found myself in a haze of alcohol and empty conversations, the blonde woman beside me laughing a little too loudly at my slurred jokes. But no matter how much I drank or how many women tried to catch my eye, my thoughts kept drifting back to Diana.

I knew I had made a mistake letting her go, but pride had kept me from reaching out, from trying to make things right. In the darkness of the club, surrounded by people yet utterly alone, I felt the weight of my decisions. I reached for the bottle, but my hand refused to grasp it.

The girl, Carly, gigged and grabbed it for me. "Do you want it?" she asked.

I had a hard time focusing on her. "I do."

"Do you want me?"

For a brief second, I thought I would say yes. "Hit me," I muttered, holding up my glass. At least I thought I was holding it up.

I was fucking hammered. Liquor spilled over the rim of my glass as I tried to keep it steady. Carly's giggle filled my senses along with her cotton-candy scented perfume. It was God awful.

She sank in close to me, curling up against me like a cat. I could feel her watching me as I tipped my head back and drained half the glass.

"Slow down, baby," she cooed, reaching to take the glass from me. "We don't want the fun to end too early."

She had no idea what I wanted. And even if she did, she couldn't give it to me.

I found the bottom of the glass quickly. Carly pouted and tried to take the bottle of liquor away, but I snatched it, put my lips to the rim, and drank straight from the bottle.

Carly pushed to her feet with a huff. "Fine then. Drink yourself stupid."

The club pulsed around me. The vibration of the music thrummed through my body, lulling me into a senseless oblivion that felt like the embrace of a long-lost friend. I let the alcohol drag me down, pulling me away from the music, the lights, and the people milling all around me.

I never heard the bottle smash when it fell from my hand.

"Mr. Bancroft? Hudson. Hudson, open your eyes."

The harsh glare of fluorescent lights assaulted my senses as I slowly opened my eyes. Everything was so bright and loud. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils as I tried to piece together where I was.

"There he is," a woman said.

"Hudson, this is Doctor Shelton."

I blinked again, trying to focus on the face hovering over me. Doctor Shelton's face slowly came into focus, his expression a mix of concern and disapproval. "You're lucky to be alive, Mr. Bancroft," he said, his voice stern. "Another few minutes and we might not have been able to revive you."

I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over me. I fell back against the pillows. Memories of the club and the drugs flooded back, mingling with the throbbing headache that pulsed behind my eyes.

"What happened?" I managed to croak out, my throat dry and scratchy.

I realized with a sinking feeling I was in a hospital bed, hooked up to various machines and monitors that beeped and hummed. Panic surged through me as I tried to remember how I had ended up here, but the memories were hazy, distorted by the fog of alcohol and regret.

"You're going to be a little groggy," the doctor said. "We've pumped your stomach and flushed out the toxins. You had a dangerous mixture of alcohol and drugs in your system. We were able to stabilize you, but you need to understand the severity of what happened."

I nodded slowly, the reality of my situation sinking in like a heavy weight on my chest. "I don't remember."

Doctor Shelton's expression softened slightly. "I understand, Mr. Bancroft. But this is a wake-up call. You were lucky this time, but next time…" He let the words hang in the air, a stark reminder of how close I had come to losing my life.

"Where—" I asked.

"You're in the hospital," he said.

"How?" I murmured, trying to piece together what happened. "I mean, how did I get here?"

"Club security called an ambulance," a familiar voice answered.

I turned my head and saw Kameron sitting in a chair. He looked like shit. His hair was standing up and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"What?"

"You were unconscious," he said. "They found you when they were cleaning up. They thought you were dead, Hudson."

"What?"

I was lost. I couldn't remember anything. I remembered being in the VIP section and drinking.

"I'm guessing your so-called friends watched you slip into unconsciousness and left you to die like a bunch of cowards," Kameron hissed.

"You were about fifteen minutes from going into cardiac arrest," Doctor Shelton added grimly. "You're lucky they found you when they did."

I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as the reality of how close I had come to death settled in. The weight of my own mortality hung heavy in the air, suffocating me with its stark reminder.

"What now?" I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Doctor Shelton exchanged a glance with Kameron before turning back to me. "Now, you focus on getting better. Physically and mentally. You've been given a second chance, Mr. Bancroft. It's up to you how you handle it."

He left the room with the nurse following behind him. Kameron got up and walked to my bedside. He held a stack of brochures in his hand, his expression grim as he met my gaze.

"We need to talk, Hudson," he said, his voice grave. "About what happened last night."

His eyes bored into mine with a mix of anger and concern. I knew he was right. There were things that needed to be addressed, truths that needed to be uncovered.

"Last night—" I started, my voice barely more than a whisper as the memories started to trickle back. Flashes of blurred faces and dim lights flickered through my mind, the events of the night slowly piecing themselves together like a fragmented puzzle.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "The details don't matter. You being in this bed is what matters. You could have died. It's nothing short of a miracle you didn't. It's time to get real help. Your vacation didn't work. I understand you were good for a bit, but you're not now. You cannot deny that."

I tried to push back, to brush away his concerns with a casual wave of my hand, but he wouldn't let me. "I had a little too much," I said.

"I've got some brochures," he said. "You can go out of the country, or you can go to Arizona. Every one of these places has a bed for you. You leave here and go straight to rehab."

"No."

"Hudson, this isn't a joke," he said. "Look at you. You're a fucking mess. You look like shit." He grabbed my hand and held it up. "Do you see the IV? You're hooked up to a heart monitor. You were literally at death's door."

"I had too much," I said.

He shook his head. "You're blind. You'll be dead within a year at this rate. If not sooner."

Zayn appeared at the door with a coffee in hand. He looked just as rough as Kameron.

"Your turn," Kameron said. "I'm going to get some coffee."

Zayn looked at the brochures. "Did you pick a place?"

"No," I said. "It was a mistake. I drank too much."

"This is a wake-up call, Hudson," Zayn said, his voice firm. "We can't force you to go, but you need to. This is too big for you to handle on your own."

"Zayn, I was fine before. I wanted to get drunk last night. I did. Don't act like you've never gone on a bender."

"You're right," he said. "I can honestly say I've never drank so much that I landed in the hospital."

"I fucked up. I get it. I'll get my shit together."

"We're here for you," he said. "All of us. Dane is in the waiting room. Reese is flying in. We'll support you every step of the way. You can say we're circling the wagons. We've got your back, but every single one of us knows you need to be in rehab."

I sighed at the thought of the bat signal going up. The Bancroft alert. Soon, the hospital was going to be filled with the extended family. My brothers were all going to be here and every one of them was going to demand I go to rehab.

"What about Dad?" I asked. "Does he know?"

As if on cue, my father entered the room, his presence commanding and reassuring as he approached my bedside. Zayn quickly left the room, leaving me alone with my father.

"It's time, Hudson," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You deserve the help. It's not weakness, my boy. It takes strength to face your inner demons head on. But you're not alone. When you don't feel strong enough, lean on us."

His words hit me hard, like a gut punch. The man who I'd dreaded disappointing my whole life was standing there begging me to get help. "Dad, it's not as bad as it looks. This won't happen again."

"Hudson, I have asked very little of you, but I'm telling you, this is serious. You need help. I cannot lose a son. I am not that strong. It will kill me."

His eyes were shining with unshed tears. It was a rare moment of vulnerability that my father rarely allowed anyone to see. In that moment, I realized exactly what my addiction was doing to those around me.

"I need you to be stronger, Hudson," he said softly. "For yourself first, but also for your brothers. For me."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, the reality of the situation crashing down on me. My father was right. I needed help. But the idea of going to rehab filled me with dread. I'd heard stories from others who'd gone through it. The loneliness, the raw exposure of your weakest self, and the grueling trek toward sobriety. But looking into my father's pleading eyes, I knew there wasn't any other path forward. It wasn't just about me anymore.

"Alright," I said finally, feeling a wave of resolve wash over me. "I'll do it. I'll go to rehab."

My father exhaled a sigh of relief. "Thank you."