Ten minutes after, I’ve calmed myself a little more, but I’m biting my lip nervously as I start to wonder about what comes next. I mean am I really going to do this with him? I mean it’s not like I’m a virgin or anything; well, not technically at least. That dubious technicality involves a spectacularly brief encounter with my date to senior prom. But this is Hudson we’re talking about; Hudson with the dangerously charming smile, Hudson with the practically legendary history of women trailing after him. I’ve been drinking, but I’m hardly drunk anymore; maybe from that kiss, but not from wine. But I’m worried now that there was a boldness and a confidence in me that I’m not used to when I pretty much dragged him up here, and now I’m starting to wonder how much longer that boldness is going to last me without his lips on mine.
Fifteen minutes after he went inside, I decide I can’t just stand here out on the terrace tapping my feet, so I find myself walking back into the house. He’s not in Quinn’s room, not where I told him to look for condoms, and he’s not in mine, where I’m secretly hoping to find him waiting for me. Walking back downstairs is like slowly re-immersing myself into reality, as the shadowy murmuring sounds of family and mourners sucks me back into the now. I’m scanning the room for him, thinking maybe he got drawn back down for some sort of emergency or to help someone, but I’m still not seeing him.
His back is to me, and he’s standing with a bunch of other suits in corner of the foyer, and I’m about to go up and tap him on the shoulder when I hear it, and the floor just drops out from under me; “..A girl like that is just another place to get your dick wet.”
It’s his voice; the same man who just kissed me with a passion I never knew existed in the world, and who told me he’d be right back is now telling a bunch of his buddies that he fucked me. I’m backing away slowly, realizing that the pain inside my chest is the feeling of my heart just breaking.
“Reagan, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I turn quickly to the woman I’ve never met before who probably worked for my father - someone else who probably knew him better than I did - and nod quickly; “Uh, thanks.”
“He was a great man.” She looks at me plaintively, shaking her head and pursing her lips.
“M-hmm.” When I look back, he’s gone, and I can feel the shattered pieces inside of me tumbling to the floor. I turn back to the women talking to me about my father, and it’s then that I see him. It’s right then, surrounded by the mourners and shadows and memories of my father, that I see the Hudson Banks - the man that just broke my heart - shuffling out the front door with the pretty blonde girl hanging off his arm and giggling at something he’s saying. He’s nodding quickly at the valet out front and helping the drunk-looking bimbo into the passenger seat of his car before he turns quickly, his eyes darting over the crowd quickly as if trying to make sure he’d not caught making this escape like this. He doesn’t see me - which is good because if we’d locked eyes in that moment, I’d have broken entirely - before he takes a quick breath, his face looking dark, and slides into the car. And then he’s roaring away, dust kicking up behind the car with the screaming giggle of her voice trailing out the window.
And then he’s gone.
There’s a sting; something piercing deep inside that threatens to take me to my knees right here as I realize what a complete fool I’ve been. And in that moment, I’m not even sure I’m mad at him; I’m mad at myself. I’m mad at being the silly little stupid girl I never wanted to be. I’m mad at letting my convictions and my armor and my sensibilities drop for just a second; only realizing now that it was just enough to get hurt.
The tears start to come then, and another person I don’t know is hugging me and telling me how it’s all going to be ok. And with this stranger’s arms around me, I realize how awful I am that I’m standing there shedding tears over some bullshit crush on some bullshit shadow of a man named Hudson instead of my father, who I should be crying over.
And then I’m tearing away and pushing my through the crowd, back up the stairs, past the Goddamn library and the terrace, and down to my room. I’m under the covers, my face pressed tight to my pillow as I sob; for my father, for me, for the pain of growing up and the bitterness of life.
P R E S E N T
“Hudson!” I’m stomping up the staircase to the second floor, chasing him as he storms down the hallway
“Goddamnit, Hudson where-”
“Go back, Reagan.” He’s in the upstairs library, pushing open the double doors to the terrace where that kiss happened all those years before; back to the scene of the crime. I tense myself and tighten my jaw as I stand staring at the double doors across the room where he’s just gone through, feeling the licking tendrils of the shivering cold teasing through the crack where he’s left them not quite closed. I storm across the room, fling them open and step out into the chilly night; determined to corner him here.