4. Hudson

4

HUDSON

I toss the hotel keycard onto the shiny countertop as it slides to the corner, nearly toppling over the other side.

I’m annoyed.

Annoyed isn’t even the right word. Annoyed is for people stuck in traffic or picking the express lane at a grocery store when the slowest person in the world is checking out with more items than allowed.

I’m furious that I didn’t get more information from her. Like her last name, for starters. Her phone number, home address, social security number, and credit history. So I could stalk her properly.

Now, I’m conjuring up every illegal way to find her and have been since the moment I left baggage claim after searching every single name tag on the goddamn conveyor belt, searching for an ‘Ember’.

Fortunately, her name is unique because I had every intention of stealing her luggage and holding it ransom. I never found it, thankfully, because I didn’t want to commit an actual crime today .

Jesus, what has gotten into me?

I’m unsure if my behavior is warranted, being that I only spent two hours with her. Well, I know it’s not warranted. But, I haven’t felt so strongly about someone in so long that it brings a small smile to my face in the realization I’m not dead to it.

Then I remember she’s gone, and I’m pissed again.

As I take a few meditative breaths to calm myself down, I walk around the well-lit, expansive hotel room.

The room is nice. The guys went all out planning this bachelor party. Well, belated bachelor party.

Jake, our ‘groom’, for all intents and purposes, got married a few years ago, but they eloped. At first, we thought she may have been pregnant, but it turns out they just wanted to get married without the hassle that comes with the ceremony. Since neither of them have a large family, it worked out, and it was exactly what they wanted. Except for the fact that Jake never got his bachelor party, so fast forward to the present day, and here I am in Vegas with a non-groom-to-be and a total hard on for a stranger I know very little about.

Settling in, I unzip my suitcase, placing my toiletry bag with my shaving essentials in the bathroom. I remove some of the clothes I brought along and eyeball a couple of button-up shirts and my sports jacket, not knowing the exact plan since Seamus took on coordinating this whole thing himself.

Seamus is the most militant guy in our group. Literally and figuratively. He is the most structured routine guy I’ve ever known, and he’s an ex-Navy SEAL. Now, he does something for the government that he apparently can’t talk about because every time we give him shit for his job, he says it’s classified and drops it. I’d account his systematic routine lifestyle to his military training, except he was like that even as a kid.

He was the first in our group of friends that I met in grade school. We bonded over organizing and color coding our crayon box. I think our parents found us to be absolute lunatics, but a match made in best friend heaven for us. I’m close to all the guys, but Seamus has been through hell and back with me.

My phone rings in my pocket, and I know immediately it’s Seamus because he hates texting.

“Hey, Shay. I’m checked into the suite. Great pick, man.” I hit the speaker button before throwing my phone on the plush down comforter of the king bed in the bedroom I picked for myself.

“Glad you made it. I was worried when I got your text about your seat being bumped.”

“Me too. But I was able to get on the same flight. They just had to downgrade my seat.” Except I hit the fucking seatmate jackpot, so it was a complete upgrade in my book.

“Shay, with your, uh… connections. Would you be able to find someone for me? Nothing illegal or anything. Just like a phone number and address?”

“Yeah, easily. Who are you looking for?”

“A girl on the plane. She was… Well, she was fucking perfect. Her name is Ember.”

“Oh… interesting. Why didn’t you just get her number?” His confused tone mirrors mine. Which I can understand. I’m not shy and have no problem asking for a number. But he also knows I’m never serious about relationships or women in general. I’m not a total playboy, actually not one at all, anymore, and that was a crutch.

I’ve just never pursued anyone seriously since my last relationship, which was right after high school. So, needless to say, it’s been a while.

“Long story, man.” I run my palm down my face, scratching at the stubble on my jawline that’s beginning to invade too much space on my neck.

“What’s her last name? ”

“I… don’t have it,” I squeak out.

“That’s a problem.” Well, don’t sugarcoat anything for me, fucker. We’re going to have to talk about his overly factual bedside manner at some point.

“I figured as much. It’s fine. I need to shower and shave before we head out. What’s the plan tonight?”

“We’re going to eat at the steakhouse at the hotel. Then we’ll head to a club tonight. Tomorrow night, we’re going to Temptation .” Some background chatter statics through the speaker. “Hud, I just got a taxi. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

He hangs up. Because he’s Seamus and he was done talking.

As much as I’d like to start Googling and stalking a certain redhead, this weekend is for Jake. To celebrate his… well, his pseudo bachelor party. This is the first time all the guys have been back together since our college days. We finally have the chance to give him the bachelor party we always wanted to, and it’s either going to be wild and we will either end up in jail or half dead, or we’re going to discover how old we really are and retire by midnight.

But I’m doubting the latter.

I walk around the suite that Seamus booked, and it’s huge. It has a large living area with multiple couches, a bar, and even a corner area with a stripper pole. A traditional bachelor pad used specifically for bachelor parties. There are four separate rooms, two that have their own bathrooms and another shared bathroom in the living space.

It’s far too much room for the five of us guys. Two of them will share a room, or Dane will just sleep on the couch because that guy is the most free spirited one of all of us. He can spontaneously do anything, and I’m not sure he’s ever experienced anxiety in his life. He just goes with the flow and doesn’t have an opinion about much of anything.

Voices trail in from outside my bedroom door, so I slip on my shorts and exit the room to see who’s here. I’m certain it’s Seamus by now, but I have no idea what the flight plans were for the other guys.

Seamus and Jake are reuniting in the kitchen, giving each other a slap on the shoulder and half hug before they look up and see me.

“Huuuuud!” Jake rounds the luggage at his feet and pulls me in for a brotherly hug. “How was your flight?”

Before I can answer. Seamus replies, “He met his dream girl.”

Jake ricochets his eyes between Seamus and me with a curious smile. “On the flight?”

So much for the circle of trust with my best friend Seamus.

“Nah, man. I mean, she was great.” Rubbing the nape of my neck as I round my head in circles. As content as I was with Ember, coach seating is not built for men like me.

“I think the word you used was perfect,” Seamus interrupts.

Dick .

I turn, giving him the look of death. But I am no match. Seamus is the scariest fucker I know. I’m certain he could John Wick my ass with a pencil.

“Yeah, perfect. She was perfect. But she ran off when the plane deboarded.”

Confusion makes way over Jake’s face. I usually don’t have issues if I attempt to go after a girl, and he knows it.

“I think she had a boyfriend.” I shrug. “Looks like I have a habit of hitting on unavailable women.”

Jake chuckles because that is exactly how I accidentally met his wife.

“Undoubtedly, the best moment of that night.” He pats my shoulder, still laughing, before grabbing his suitcase and heading toward the master suite we reserved for the so-called groom.

“We’re eating at the steakhouse downstairs in an hour. Dane and Kobi will be here in a few minutes, and the car will pick us up after dinner,“ Seamus calls out, heading in the other direction, toward the room he’s claiming.

I grab a bottle of water off the counter and head back to my room to get dressed. My thoughts keep straying to Ember. Damn her for running off. I already liked her, but now, now she’s a complete mystery and I don’t know if it’s the enigma of her or if it’s like my father always said. ‘ When you meet her, you’ll know.’

My parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary is next year, and they have been a shining example of exactly what I want out of a marriage. They are truly the quintessential married couple. To this day, my dad still courts my mom. They kiss, laugh, dance in the hallway, and treat each other with the utmost respect. Sure, I see them argue, but in the end, they always support one another and find a middle ground.

They are the reason I’m a closet hopeless romantic, and I’ll never settle for anything less than unadulterated, can’t live without each other, love. Nothing short of magic, my mom would always say. Of course, I repress those feelings and never appear to be the romantic I am at heart around the guys. Except, I can’t seem to help myself with her.

Ember was magic. Her presence was all-consuming, and no one has ever captured my attention like she did. I’m so pissed at myself for not getting a last name or her phone number. I could have stalked her until she broke up with her boyfriend, then went in for the kill or just found ways to break them up.

Christ, listen to me.

I’ve got to get my mind here with the guys. It’s been far too many years since we’ve all been together.

I flip open my suitcase again and hang up what should be hung in the closet, then I unpack the rest into the dresser drawers.

We’re only here for two days, so I don’t have much, but I hate living out of a suitcase. Whenever we travel for away games, the first thing I do is unpack. It makes most hotel rooms feel less stale. Especially the kind of rooms you stay in for the minor leagues. Travel is not nearly as comfortable as what the major league provides and the hotel rooms are typically shared. They are nowhere near luxurious, which is fine. I don’t need luxury. I just need it bedbug free, with clean sheets and an extra travel-sized body wash container.

I have to share the news with the guys. They need to know that I can’t get into any shit this weekend. I have a solid chance of getting moved up to the majors with the Seattle Smashers. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. I love San Diego and love the guys on my team, but I was built for the MLB. Both my older brother, Henry, and I were raised for it. We ate, drank, and slept baseball. Henry, of course, went on to play in the MLB, with only a short stint of time in the minors, which most ball players do. But ever since my injury, I’ve had to play in the minors. I’ve been holding on to the hope of getting signed, knowing my potential is there. But the coaches, they are the ones who steer clear of injured players, especially injuries like mine.

Nope. Not going to risk anything that can prevent this from happening, so I have got to tell the guys. If they get into some shit, I’ll bolt. Shameful, but necessary. They’ll understand.

I’ve finished getting dressed and appraise myself in the bathroom mirror. Dark stonewashed denim jeans fit low on my waist, and luckily, the material has enough stretch to give way to my muscular quads. I decided to keep it simple with a basic, but snug, beige colored long sleeve button up. The material is thin and soft and fits nicely over my chest and shoulders. I’ve strategically rolled the sleeves up just below my elbows, exposing the forearm tattoo I’ve been intending to turn into a full sleeve soon. I look pretty well put together, considering my brain feels like a jumbled mess .

Seamus bangs on the door as he walks by yelling, “Wheels up,” which is stupid because none of us are military trained except for him, and I swear he just likes to boss us around. I’m also surprised he knocked and that I haven’t experienced a full-blown invasion of my privacy yet from any of the guys.

As if on cue, Dane busts through my bedroom door without an inkling of a knock, barrelling into me with a manly bro hug.

“Hudson!! I’ve missed you, man.”

“Dane!” I pull back from his hug, rubbing my hand on top of his head, shagging out the long ass dirty blonde hair on his head. “When was the last time you had a haircut, man?”

“Women dig it. Guys, too.” He pulls it back in a low man bun, wiggling his eyebrows, and all I can do is shake my head. He has a ‘love the one you’re with’ idea of relationships. I’ve always thought that he was born in the wrong generation. He’s a hippie at heart and could probably live in a VW van his entire life and be totally content with nothing but a backpack full of shorts, t-shirts, and a couple of flip-flops. You would never know that he’s brilliant. Literally, the man has an IQ like Einstein with a personality like Bob Marley.

“That sounds like it has a story you’ll have to fill me in on.” I pat him on the back.

“I will later. It’s time to gooooooo!” He runs out of the room, where all the guys are gathered at the mini kitchen island, shots in hand.

“Hudson, hurry your ass up,” Jake yells as he hands me my shot.

Kobi holds his fist out to me, since he’s the only one I haven’t seen yet, and I connect with a knuckle bump.

Seamus holds up the small glass with clear liquid. I’m thankful they decided to go with vodka tonight and not tequila. Not sure that will make much of a difference tonight, but at least tomorrow, the hangover will hurt a little less. “To Jake and his non-bachelor, bachelor party! ”

“To Jake!!” “Jakey.” “Let’s goooooo!” A mix of different salutes overlap each other before the night begins. Hopefully these bastards won’t get me arrested.