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Authors: Violet Duke
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think she was looney at all. In fact, she was one of the most grounded individuals he’d ever met.
“If it’s weird then sign me up for that club because I talk to the buddies I’ve lost in the war all the time.”
He glanced down at the scars on his palms and wrists, still healing from the shrapnel and the many surgeries afterward that were only partially successful. Ironically, those wounds weren’t even the cause of the career-ending damage to his hands. The long jagged scars he had between his shoulder blades were the reason why when he fisted both hands, his left was slow to respond, while his right could no longer register touch fully. So technically, while his right hand still functioned properly, for him, it was the more devastating injury. He hated having to look at his right hand to see what his nerve endings could no longer feel.
Hudson looked up to see her eyes on his scars as well. There was no pity there, but a sadness that spoke to her understanding more than nearly all the people in his life, certainly more than the therapists he was assigned for PTSD. Clenching his left fist—not nearly as tightly as his right, though not for the lack of trying—he added with a shrug, “I’m not always drinking when I talk to them, either. But they only respond when I’m super drunk.”
A shocked bubble of laughter brimmed out of her. “I swear, you have to be in that club to find that funny. Are we morbid?”
“Nah. I think we just look at death in a different way when we join the club. And we adapt our lives to fill the holes that they leave in them.” For the first time in a long while, he felt it before he saw it—her hand squeezing his. When he squeezed back, he stared down and their entwined hands until his nerve endings kicked in. For reasons he didn’t understand, he needed to be able to feel her. To know that she was actually real. To know with every nerve ending as well as brain cell that someone like her really existed.
She checked her watch and stood up. “You mentioned this morning that you needed to head out by eleven.”
Was it eleven already? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just talked with someone for this many hours straight.
Slowly, the two of them made their way through the town square. He told her a little bit about his job in California, the movie he was consulting on in Yuma.
When she stopped walking all of a sudden, he turned and was surprised to see they were standing next to his jeep on the street.
“Not too many of these come through here,” she explained. “I took a wild guess.”
Hudson pulled out his keys and felt an irrational desire to toss them into the garbage can.
She took a step closer and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for what was unequivocally the best night and best morning I’ve had in a really long time.
He stared down at her lips and seriously contemplated making good on his warning from earlier this morning.
Feeling her lips on him was even sweeter than he remembered
But the decision was made for him when an adorable little girl with corkscrew ringlets and—of course—a bowl of cereal came up to tug on Lia’s shirt. Her big blue eyes beseeched up at her, “Lia, will you come play with us again?”
Hudson felt something crack open in his chest, felt the rush of something else start seeping in. Something he hadn’t felt in months.
Something he didn’t deserve to feel. Not anymore.
“Your fans await,” he said lightly, brushing his thumb over her cheek. If he kissed her now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to drive away. “I had an amazing time with you too.” His rough concession had her eyes lighting up in affectionate agreement, and it skewered him to have to force that to fade. “I wish this wasn’t goodbye.”
But it is.
He knew the instant his unspoken words were heard.
“Bye, Hudson,” she replied softly, her eyes no longer lit up just for him.
* * * * *
HUDSON PARKED HIS JEEP in the dirt driveway
“If it’s weird then sign me up for that club because I talk to the buddies I’ve lost in the war all the time.”
He glanced down at the scars on his palms and wrists, still healing from the shrapnel and the many surgeries afterward that were only partially successful. Ironically, those wounds weren’t even the cause of the career-ending damage to his hands. The long jagged scars he had between his shoulder blades were the reason why when he fisted both hands, his left was slow to respond, while his right could no longer register touch fully. So technically, while his right hand still functioned properly, for him, it was the more devastating injury. He hated having to look at his right hand to see what his nerve endings could no longer feel.
Hudson looked up to see her eyes on his scars as well. There was no pity there, but a sadness that spoke to her understanding more than nearly all the people in his life, certainly more than the therapists he was assigned for PTSD. Clenching his left fist—not nearly as tightly as his right, though not for the lack of trying—he added with a shrug, “I’m not always drinking when I talk to them, either. But they only respond when I’m super drunk.”
A shocked bubble of laughter brimmed out of her. “I swear, you have to be in that club to find that funny. Are we morbid?”
“Nah. I think we just look at death in a different way when we join the club. And we adapt our lives to fill the holes that they leave in them.” For the first time in a long while, he felt it before he saw it—her hand squeezing his. When he squeezed back, he stared down and their entwined hands until his nerve endings kicked in. For reasons he didn’t understand, he needed to be able to feel her. To know that she was actually real. To know with every nerve ending as well as brain cell that someone like her really existed.
She checked her watch and stood up. “You mentioned this morning that you needed to head out by eleven.”
Was it eleven already? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just talked with someone for this many hours straight.
Slowly, the two of them made their way through the town square. He told her a little bit about his job in California, the movie he was consulting on in Yuma.
When she stopped walking all of a sudden, he turned and was surprised to see they were standing next to his jeep on the street.
“Not too many of these come through here,” she explained. “I took a wild guess.”
Hudson pulled out his keys and felt an irrational desire to toss them into the garbage can.
She took a step closer and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for what was unequivocally the best night and best morning I’ve had in a really long time.
He stared down at her lips and seriously contemplated making good on his warning from earlier this morning.
Feeling her lips on him was even sweeter than he remembered
But the decision was made for him when an adorable little girl with corkscrew ringlets and—of course—a bowl of cereal came up to tug on Lia’s shirt. Her big blue eyes beseeched up at her, “Lia, will you come play with us again?”
Hudson felt something crack open in his chest, felt the rush of something else start seeping in. Something he hadn’t felt in months.
Something he didn’t deserve to feel. Not anymore.
“Your fans await,” he said lightly, brushing his thumb over her cheek. If he kissed her now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to drive away. “I had an amazing time with you too.” His rough concession had her eyes lighting up in affectionate agreement, and it skewered him to have to force that to fade. “I wish this wasn’t goodbye.”
But it is.
He knew the instant his unspoken words were heard.
“Bye, Hudson,” she replied softly, her eyes no longer lit up just for him.
* * * * *
HUDSON PARKED HIS JEEP in the dirt driveway
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