Page 3

Chapter 3

Hudson

I wake up on Sunday morning very aware of the fact I’m not in my own bed.

Flashes of last night’s antics run through my mind; downing another bottle of beer when I should have cut myself off, the strong whiff of perfume tickling my nose while wet lips suck a trail down my neck, a mass of dyed red hair gripped between my fingertips as I pound into the body beneath me.

Pressing my cheek to the cool side of the plush pillow, I crack open my eyes to see the redheaded woman, who features in my flashes, lying awake beside me, scrolling through something on her phone.

Feeling my eyes on her face, she turns and smiles at me, a coy “Morning, Hudson,” slipping past her lips. Lips, which only last night were wrapped around the tip of my cock—

“Morning,” I croak, pin pricks of pain beginning to piece either side of my temples – the beginnings of a painful hangover.

The redhead, whose name I can’t remember for the life of me, moves closer to me, tucking herself into my body. It’s obvious were both naked beneath the sheet. “How did you sleep?”

I make the mistake of glancing down to find her staring at me before I look away, focusing on the heap of unfolded clothes sitting on a vanity chair. She’s staring at me too intently, as if she can peer into my soul, cataloguing every one of my movements until my skin prickles with discomfort.

Last night was a mistake.

Shit.

“Do you want some breakfast?” she croons, oblivious to my thoughts. “I think I’ve got some eggs in. I could whip us up—”

I stretch my arm out to reach for my phone, the device lying face down on the bedside table, and type in my passcode, effectively cutting off whatever she was going to say next.

A hot huff of morning breath skitters across my jawline. “Hudson? Did you hear me?”

I hear her alright, although I wish I didn’t. I need to get out of here ASAP.

“I gotta get going,” I say, still not looking at my one-night stand. It’s almost noon, and I need to get a taxi back to mine, change out of last night’s clothes and hop on the next train, all in the hopes of making it to the weekly Millen Sunday family dinner on time. Mum won’t let me hear the end of it otherwise.

She’s adamant I don’t call or text her enough as is, so missing the family dinner because I’ve woken up in some random girl’s bed and I can’t drag myself out of it, would just end up in a lecture I could do without.

Plus, I quite enjoy the time together with my mum, dad and brothers. It was easier when we were younger and all living at home, but now we’re all off doing our own things, living our own lives, creating families for ourselves – or, at least, Noah and Grey are – finding time to see each other in between work and other commitments can be difficult. More so, when three of us Millen boys live in London; out of the four of us, Noah is the only one who stayed close to home in the Cotswolds.

Although I don’t say it very often to their faces, I do love my brothers and I’ve always been very aware that the time we spend together is precious because we’ll only ever get that exact moment once.

There aren’t any replays, second attempts, or a chance to rewind time with life, no matter how many times you wish you could.

The redhead sits up next to me, her sharp nails grazing the bare skin of my bicep. She snorts derisively and purposefully allows the bedsheet to fall past her breasts, as if the sight of them alone will convince me to stay until well after breakfast, maybe even another evening. “You’ve got to get going?”

She says it as if she doesn’t understand, as if no other man has ever turned her down before.

“Yeah.” I scrub the crumb of sleep from the corner of my eye and swing my legs out of bed, scouring the floor for my discarded clothes.

“Seriously, Hudson?” Once I’ve pulled my underwear on, I force myself to look at her, locks of extensions and real hair all mussed up as evidence of just how rough we were together last night.

“I’ve really got to get going…”

“Will you call me tonight? Once you’re back home? I can come over if you want—”

“I—Look…” I button my trousers up tight. “Last night was great.” I don’t know if that’s a lie or not. I know I came all over her back, but just because I got my rocks off doesn’t mean the sex was any good. Still, I pretend I remember every detail, if only it’ll soften the blow of what I’m about to say next. “But I’m not looking for anything serious and I don’t think you are either, so—”

“You don’t know a single fucking thing about me, Hudson,” she fumes, face screwed up in a mixture of what I think is disbelief and anger.

Well, she’s not wrong there, but you can’t blame me for just trying to get out of this situation as unscathed as possible.

“I just mean that I really enjoyed last night… but I’m not sure there should be a repeat. Do you catch my drift?”

“I fucking catch your drift alright!” The redhead is only one decibel from screaming now. “I hope you catch mine when I tell you to get the fuck out of my apartment and block my number! I don’t ever want to hear from you again!”

She doesn’t need to tell me twice. I shove my arms through my shirt, double check my phone, wallet and apartment keys are in my back pocket and high tail it out of there.

I’ve been in this exact same position more times than I care to admit, but I never seem to learn my lesson.

Ignoring the questioning looks from the other passengers, probably at the state of my sex hair and messy clothes, I hop on and off two different tube lines to get back to my small apartment in Clapham, Southwest London. It’s nothing massive or fancy, not at all like my brother Grey’s apartment, which I lived in for a few months last year when I’d been fired from my job and kicked out of my apartment.

Apparently, my boss at the gym hadn’t really appreciated the fact that I’d slept with his youngest daughter and then never called her back.

I hold my hands up. I admit it was my mistake. But I never dreamed he’d fired me from working at the gym and then kick me out of the apartment I’d been living in above said gym.

That had been a fucking bad day.

Thankfully, Grey had taken me in when I needed him most, giving me a roof over my head while I got back on my feet. So no, my apartment isn’t anywhere near as nice as his, nor as big as the apartment he and his girlfriend Delilah have been viewing in anticipation of moving in together, but still, it’s all mine and I take pride in that.

St Pancreas train station is packed to the rafters by the time I get there, buying myself a digital ticket on my phone while I navigate the crowds of confused tourists staring up at the large, pixilated boards with its bright orange lettering displaying random platform numbers, train departure times and locations.

I duck into one of the many shops dotted around the station, to grab a sandwich and a packet of crisps; something, anything, to soak up the alcohol still sloshing about my stomach and to keep me going until I shovel Mum’s famous roast potatoes down my throat.

“A packet of painkillers as well, please, mate,” I ask the bored looking cashier behind the till, scanning my phone to pay for my items.

Arms full of my lunch, painkillers and a bottle of fizzy pop to wash it all down and give me a bit of well needed energy, I find platform four and perch myself on the uncomfortable, metal seats tucked away inside the platform waiting room. At least I don’t have to sit outside, freezing my balls off in this harsh January weather while I wait for the train to make its arrival.

I’m crumpling up my empty crisp packet when the train finally pulls into the station with a squeak of its brakes on the track. Throwing the rest of my rubbish into the metal bin on the platform, I step through the automatic doors, heading into the unreserved coach to see if I can steal a seat.

Grabbing one by the window, I rest my temple on the cool surface, closing my eyes as the smog filled streets of London begin to peter out, replaced with flat green fields and pastures of golden wheat, to ward off the oncoming nausea the jolt and jitter of the train is stirring up inside my stomach.

I’m grateful when the overhead Tannoy calls the name of my station, the automatic doors opening to allow in a gust of cold wind that I desperately suck into my lungs, trying to dispel the tequila induced sweat beading on my brow.

Minding the gap, I step off the train, and tread to the car park where I’m hoping my eldest brother, Noah, will be waiting to pick me up.

But it isn’t his blue car which sits trundling in a car spot.

No, instead it’s my father’s old dark green jeep. I loved the thing as a boy. The smell of the old leather seats, mingled with my father’s aftershave and a hint of leather polish coating the steering wheel, still lingers in my memory even now.

“Where’s Noah?” I ask without preamble, fighting against the wind to open the old car door without the entire thing being ripped from its hinges.

“Mollie isn’t feeling too well,” my dad answers with a sympathetic smile at the thought of his first grandchild. “So, he and Faith took her back round home.”

I nod, sliding into the passenger seat and reaching behind me for the seatbelt. “Thanks for picking me up.”

Dad pats my knee before he clicks the handbrake off. “That’s what dads are for, Son.”

We chat about the recent football scores while Dad takes us for a spin down the back country lanes; not a single other person crossing our paths except for a large cow who watches us coast by with sleepy eyes.

“Any update on the job front?”

I can’t stop the smile from tugging at the corner of my lips. “Yeah, actually.”

Dad glances my way before he returns his focus to the road.

“I’ve got another personal trainer gig at a gym not too far away from my apartment. I start tomorrow morning.”

“Great job, Hudson.” I get another pat on the knee. “I’m very proud and I know your mother will be too. We’ll have to uncork something nice for a cheers before dinner.”

Feeling guilty, I slouch down in my seat. We’ve already uncorked three different fancy bottles in the past couple of months since I’ve blown through three PT jobs and not been able to stick at any of them. “No, they’re too fancy—”

Dad bats me away as he turns into our driveway, the gravel crunching under the heavy-duty tires. “Don’t be silly, we’re celebrating.”

I can’t argue with that.

The house is quieter without the chattering presence of my thirteen-month-old niece, Mollie, but no less busy.

Toeing my trainers off and kicking them into the pile of shoes in the corner, I follow the flagstone floor into the kitchen, the scent of warm, homecooked food making my stomach rumble even if I only ate an hour or so ago.

My brothers, Blake and Grey are already seated at the table, while Mum stands at the stove, a frilly apron tied around her waist, stirring something. Delilah, Grey’s girlfriend, rounds the granite island when she spots me, a glass of wine in hand.

“Hudson! Hey!” She engulfs me in a hug, squeezing tight.

“Hey.” I pat her back. “Happy Sunday.”

A cold bottle of beer is pressed into my hand by my dad, but the sheer sight of it is enough to turn my stomach, reminding me of the night before. He must see me grimace, for he laughs and then turns to Mum.

“Just a water for Hudson boy, I think. Late night last night, Son?”

It’s all I can do but nod, knocking knuckles with my brothers in greeting and then pressing a kiss to my mum’s powdery cheek.

“I thought something was up when I rang you last night and you didn’t answer,” says Blake with a grin. “Which part of London did you end up in?”

“Soho.”

A chorus of “oohs” kisses my ears as I pop the tab to boil the kettle and grab a whisk to help Mum make the gravy.

“Was there a girl?” Delilah singsongs.

Turning to face them, I lean back on the counter and nod.

Delilah continues with a smirk, “Did you wake up in your own bed?”

I shake my head wordlessly.

It’s not a surprise to anyone; I’ve always dated around after getting my cock wet for the first time at fifteen.

“Did she—”

“That’s quite enough, thank you,” Mum interrupts a laughing Grey. “Hudson, save some of the granules so I can make some more gravy in a bit. I’m going to take Noah and Faith’s dinners round later. Did Dad tell you Mollie’s under the weather? They’re not sure if it’s a chest infection because…”

Conversation flows easily as we plate up dinner, serving and sharing from the dishes spread out over the table.

I groan as the first bite of roast beef coated in gravy and a smearing of mash potatoes hits the pit of my stomach.

“Good?” Mum asks, her green eyes sparkling with unbidden delight.

“So good,” I say thickly through a mouthful of softly boiled carrots. “Thanks, Mum.”

After dinner, I scoff down two servings of homemade apple pie with lashings of double cream and then lean back in my seat, stomach full.

Pushing his chair back with a screech against the flooring, Dad reaches up to grab one of the dark glass bottles kept safely on the top of the fridge.

“What are you doing?” Mum asks, wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Are we celebrating?”

Dad nods, now pulling out six crystal champagne flutes from one of the cupboards. “Hudson has some news.”

Six sets of eyes focus on me around the dinner table.

“I’ve got a new job… I start tomorrow.”

Mum is the first to jump out of her seat, throw her arm around my broad shoulders and hug me to her side. “I’m so proud of you!”

I don’t think it crosses my family’s mind to be anything but proud of me.

No one mentions the fact this will be my fourth gig in only a few months. Even when I came home each Sunday and told them I’d quit for one reason or another, no one made a fuss, Mum had simply given me a kiss and told me the right thing would come along when I least expected it and to keep on trying.

After everything our family has been through – Mum’s fight against breast cancer, Grey’s skiing accident which ended his competition swimming career, and the day-to-day struggles of life – I know it’s not a job, or money, or material things which matter in the end.

The champagne cork pops with a bang, followed by the fizzle of bubbles as Dad pours us each a glass and hands them out.

He raises his glass. “To Hudson.”