40. Ember

40

EMBER

I wake up feeling the same hungover sensation I did when I woke up next to Hudson in Vegas. Except this one is not alcohol induced, it’s my father induced, or at least who I thought was my father. I’ve decided, right here and now, that a hangover from pure emotional destruction is definitely far worse than a hangover induced by any liquid poison.

I don’t recall how we got to wherever we currently are. My mind was muddied and dazed last night, and I completely shut down. That’s never happened to me before. I’ve always been able to control my emotions, my reactions to exciting things as well as negative. I’m not quite the master of the poker face, but I know how to wear a mask to camouflage my true sentiments.

Last night was an exception.

The mask was ripped off and torn to shreds by the people who are supposed to love me the most.

I’m not sure why I’m surprised; they have always treated me like the red-headed stepchild.

Shit .

I am, in literal terms, the red-headed stepchild. To my father, at least .

I think I always knew. Deep down. I just refused to accept it. My brothers, none of them have any inkling of my same coloring, in either hair color or skin tone. They always treated me differently than my brothers. And the way my mother would look at me, the scowl behind her eyes, the hate behind her voice. It was dripping with resentment, and no matter what I did, nothing made it better.

My heart feels as if it’s been drained, leaving a faint pulse, just enough to keep me alive to suffer.

What will my brothers think or feel about me? Will they want to have anything to do with me? It’s clear my parents don’t. Definitely not my stepfather, and my mother… well, she’ll do whatever he tells her. It’s sickening, and the bile that sits at the back of my throat threatens to make an appearance.

I swallow down the bitterness and attempt to push the nausea aside.

The lost little girl in me wants her family, regardless of how they treated me.

The warrior in me wants to fight back, get revenge, show them who I can be, all while giving them the middle finger.

Instead, protecting myself and constructing a wall, like the professional bricklayer I’ve become, feels most natural. Easiest.

All I know is, I never want to feel this way again. Ever.

My briny eyes blink fully open, and I squint at the throbbing from behind my eyeballs.

Jesus. That hurts.

A large poster covers the wall. It’s light blue, with drawings of people and cartoon dogs all around a nuclear eruption exploding in the middle, with the words “Green Day” coming out of the clouds. I instantly recognize it as one of the band’s album covers.

The poster next to it is of the Goo Goo Dolls, and some other classic car pictures surround that.

Where the hell am I ?

My eyes widen and my pulse picks up. Please note, for the record, an emotional hangover will cause memory loss, just like a regular one.

My pulse calms as my arm brushes against Hudson, lying shirtless in bed next to me. The steady rise and fall of his chest is a dead giveaway he’s in a deep slumber.

I rise slowly, due to the full body ache, centering heaviest in the middle of my chest, and circle the room. A shelf in the corner, above a desk, catches my attention. There’s only a small amount of light coming through the window, forcing me to squint to see the photos.

Hudson with his brothers, a similar picture like the one he showed me on the plane. Hudson with his parents, wearing a green graduation cap and gown. His mother is a timeless beauty, and he’s a spitting image of his father, both beaming with proud smiles ear to ear.

I have a selfie on my phone from my graduation. I thought it was the only one I was going to get until Cody and Benson surprised me by coming. I almost cried when I saw them show up for me. Two was better than none.

More photos of his family and a larger one on the end of five guys. Picking it up for closer inspection, I recognize all of them. They are lined up, arms draping over each other, bonded together and all smiles.

Jake is on the far left, and a blush heats my cheeks as I recall how I saw him at the club the other day. He’s older now than in this picture, but the same strong essence of power he broadcasts naturally is there, clear as day. The tallest of them all, Kobi, I think is his name, next to him with Dane. They are the only ones not looking at the camera, instead looking at each other, laughing like something happened right before the picture snapped. On the right side, Seamus and Hudson, in all his handsome glory, smiling in a way that I’ve only seen when he’s with his friends .

The corner of my lip lifts and my eyes soften, something that I’ve been unable to prevent whenever Hudson is involved, but the heaviness in my chest wipes that away, and the hard ridges that I wear like armor returns.

Placing the frame down, I glance back at Hudson. There’s a nightstand next to his side of the bed with a small frameless photo leaning against the lamp. I pad a few light steps in that direction and pick it up, then stand in front of the window to see it better.

It’s me. From the opening night gala.

I’m in the green dress that Cruz picked out for me, my hair pulled over one shoulder as I look to the side, smiling widely at something someone was saying. I can’t even recall when he took this. I never even knew he took this.

“It’s a good luck charm.” Hudson’s voice startles me, and I jump-turn to face him.

“Well… actually, at first I just wanted to feel you next to me, whenever I was away at my games. So, I placed it on my nightstand next to my bed. Then, that first stint of games, we won all but one game.” He smiles, pushing himself up to a seated position on the bed. “The game we lost, your picture had fallen off the nightstand the night before. I woke up in the morning and it was facing down on the floor, so now it’s a superstition. If I don’t have it…” He runs his hand through his disheveled bed head hair. “If you’re not there… everything feels off.”

He looks up at me with a tight smile, lifting his eyebrows at his confession. He tosses off the sheets and stands, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs and a field full of smooth skin and ropes of muscles. He closes the distance between us and lifts my chin, shifting my eyes away from the picture and directly into his.

“There isn’t anything in my life that feels absolute, unless it’s with you. ”

“Oh,” I breathe out, my lips barely moving, feeling paralyzed and confused.

“You know, you say ‘Oh’ a lot.” He nods, answering my silent expression. “Whenever you are surprised about something.” He leans in close to me and tucks a rebellious strand of hair behind my ear. “You say ‘ right’ whenever you have to accept something that you can no longer avoid, and you say ‘ I can’t ’, instead of no, because you have spent your entire life pleasing people and don’t like saying no.”

Right.

“When you’re nervous, you bite the corner of your bottom lip. This side,” he brushes his thumb over the left side, “and you stick your tongue out on this side,” he moves his thumb over to the right, “when you’re hyper-focused on something.”

Well, shit.

My broken heart cracks a little more at the realization of how well he knows my ticks. Or maybe it’s attempting to repair itself, but my heart doesn’t know the difference between breaking and healing, knowing that an open heart leads to a broken one.

“People see you Ember; the ones that matter do.” His words speak volumes, even though they were hardly a whisper.

Wet cotton balls form in my throat with the density of the air and dryness in my mouth, mixed with that heavy ache in my chest, and it’s difficult to breathe. My thoughts evaporate between my brain and tongue, and I’m unable to form any words. His statement leads to a conversation that I’m just not ready for.

“Well, you are an observant one, Mr. Byrnes.” I smile, keeping it as light as possible.

His brow furrows and I step around him, avoiding any scrutinizing, and place the picture back on the table.

“We’re at my parents’ house.” He steps into sweatpants and pulls a shirt over his head. “I didn’t know where to go, but I knew we couldn’t stay there, so coming home just sort of happened.”

“Makes sense.” I nod in agreement. Home is a comfort to him, so I can totally understand why this is the first place he thought of. I wish I felt the same.

“I just need a few minutes. I’ll meet you down there?” He nods, kisses my temple, and disappears, closing the door softly behind him.

My purse sits on the corner of his desk, and I reach inside to grab my phone.

No missed calls. No text messages.

Nothing.

Not even my brothers.

I’ve walked through my entire life feeling like I’m on an island, fending for myself. Nothing but my thoughts, ideas, and goals to motivate me. I reveled in the solidarity because it made me feel strong.

But for the first time, I feel so alone, and it makes me feel so weak.

“I don’t know if or when they will ever tour again. They just so happen to be here today, when you randomly come out of the blue. When mom told me last night you were on your way, I called my guy and got front row tickets. It’s like a miraculous divine intervention for you to finally see them!”

I stand at the base of the stairs, tucked around the corner from behind the kitchen. The smell of perfectly cooked bacon permeates the air, and it smells like I’m in the best breakfast diner in the city instead of someone’s home.

My stomach was anxious to get to the kitchen, but I slowed instantly when I heard another man’s voice talking with Hudson, realizing pretty quickly it’s one of his brothers .

“Grant, this is amazing, but try to sell them or something. I can’t go. I’m not comfortable taking Ember with everything that’s happened.”

“Okay, hear me out. From what little you told me, that’s all kinds of jacked up shit what happened last night, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. It’s fucking Green Day. You know, your favorite band, like ever of all time.”

Hudson has mentioned this before, and I’ve seen his playlist for his workouts and game days. There’s a mix of all kinds of different hype music, but his favorite 90s punk band takes up a majority of it. He told me his mom thinks he should have been born in an earlier generation with his love for 80s and 90s music, specifically punk rock. He prefers to listen to that than current pop or anything else.

I enjoy my share of that genre. I can lip sync a couple of Green Day songs, and Blink-182 had some good ones, but they were way before my time. Some days I feel like Hudson half lives for their lyrics.

His brother is right, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Plus, getting lost in music sounds like an amazing distraction today.

I caution my steps and round the corner, and both Hudson and Grant crane their necks in my direction, stopping any further conversation. Hudson slaps the envelope onto Grant’s chest, giving him back what I assume are the tickets and a pointed look.

“Good Morning, Ember.” Hudson’s mother, who I have only talked to on the phone with Hudson, smiles at me, setting down the towel she was drying her hands with, and opens her arms as she walks toward me.

“Good Morning.” A genuine smile grows on my face as she embraces me in a cozy hug.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she says, walking back to the stove .

“I could definitely eat,” I reply, looking over at Hudson, then turn to Grant. “Hi, I’m Ember.” I give a shy wave.

Grant lunges at me, wrapping me in a hug as he picks me up and twirls me around.

“Dude…” Hudson says.

Grant is definitely a playful one, and it makes me giggle.

“Can’t help it, I’m a hugger.” He shrugs after he sets me down.

“Me too.” My laugh still lingering.

I step up to the breakfast bar, lifting one leg on the barstool as I push myself onto the seat.

“What are you guys up to?” I ask, as Hudson slides a cup of coffee my way.

“Nothing much,” Hudson quips quickly before Grant can say anything.

“That’s interesting,” I sip my coffee, “because it sort of sounded like you were trying to cock block me from going to a concert today?” Grant’s eyebrow ticks up with the corner of his mouth, and Hudson’s jaw slacks as his eyes glance over his shoulder back at his mom.

Christ. The woman literally just hugged me and I completely forgot she was in the room. A blush of embarrassment forms on my cheeks for inappropriate use of the word cock in front of her. Jesus, my recent job requirement of the use of any and all sexual innuendos is wearing off into real life way too easy and far too uncensored.

“I apologize, Mrs. Byrnes.” Palming my face.

“Oh, no need to apologize, my dear. I’m glad someone is trying to talk some sense into my son.” That makes me smile.

“Hey, I was trying to,” Grant whines to all of us. That makes me smile, too, and damn, it feels good.

Hudson’s fixed stare doesn’t leave mine.

His brows pinch together ever so slightly, as he mouths, “You sure? ”

The look of vulnerability kills me. Other than asking me for that one favor earlier this year—you know, that little favor of being his wife—he’s literally asked me for nothing and done everything for me. A part of me feels like he has catered to me because of guilt, that I agreed to stay married to him, but I’ve realized… that’s just Hudson.

He gives and hardly ever takes. He wants my happiness more than his own. He would never force me to go to this concert, no matter how much he wants to go himself, nor would he even consider leaving me alone for it.

I want nothing more than to go with him. His happiness will definitely feed mine. And I think we both need that today.

“Oh, we’re going. My only requirement is breakfast and I’m all in.”

“Yesssssssss!” Grant’s arms fly over his head then slap Hudson on the back so hard he winces.

The smile that forms on Hudson’s face after, though, it’s worth its weight in gold.