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“I’m sorry, son,” he says, emotion thick in his words. “I handled everything all wrong. I know I wasn’t there for you the way you needed me to be.”
It sounds like years of realization are crashing down on him at once. Something hot and sharp pricks at the sides of my eyes, so I shut my eyelids closed and hug him back.
“It hurt too bad to lose her,” he says, still holding me tight, sobs fighting to break over his admission. “I didn’t know what to do. I lost myself in hockey, in helping you build up your career. Because as long as we shared hockey together, I thought that meant at least I’d never lose you.”
There’s a muscle in my chest tugging like crazy. I can feel the moistness around the crease of my eyelids.
“If you thought I stopped loving your mother …” My dad’s words are still ragged. “Shit, then I made an even bigger mistake than I knew I was making. I loved her with everything I have, and still do. I love you, too, Hudson. I sure as hell hope you never doubted that.”
“I know, Dad,” I manage to say. Maybe I didn’t always feel it. But I always knew it.
My dad takes a step back, his hands bracing on my shoulders. He looks at me, and there’s a liveliness in his eyes that I haven’t seen in a long time.
“You got more pictures in that box?” he asks, nodding his head to it. The edges of his lips are tilted higher on his face than I can remember then being in years.
“Tons.”
My dad nods. “Alright, son. Let’s put them all up.”
47
SUMMER
The crisp chill in the air prickles my cheeks, but Hudson’s arms around me, pulling me flush against his chest with his legs propped on either side of me as we sit on a thick blanket spread over the cold ground, is more than enough to warm me up.
We’re in a big crowd here on a clear field on a high hill a couple miles into the wilderness outside of Cedar Shade.
There’s a meteor shower tonight, and the whole town and campus has been buzzing about it for a week. It feels like Cedar Shade must be a ghost town right now, with everyone out here away from the lights, gazing up at the inky black sky dotted with stars, waiting for the show to start.
We’re both bundled up, the temperature having really plunged over the last couple days, letting us know we’re on the doorstep of true winter now.
I’ve got a coat over a thick sweater with fluffy gloves and my favorite hat with the fuzzy ball right on top of it.
Hudson’s wearing a chunky cable sweater with a navy blue peacoat that looks so sexy on him I’m constantly fighting the urge to turn around, push him flat down on our blanket, and ride him right in front of everyone.
“When’s it supposed to start?” Hudson asks.
“In about five minutes.”
I let my gaze sweep around the clearing we’re all packed into. It’s dark with a faint glow from a moon just early in its cycle, most of the illumination coming from people looking at their cellphone screens and a couple dim portable lights some families have brought with them.
Everyone’s buddled up just as heavily as Hudson and I are. It’s a cool, atmospheric communal moment, and I can feel everyone’s anticipation to see the meteors streak across the black night’s sky.
It's been over a week since Hudson got back from his visit to his dad. Since then, he’s seemed a little different. More optimistic. More open with his feelings. Warmer.
Don’t get me wrong. He still has his grumpy side. His style of communication with people he doesn’t know can still be heavy on grunts. He still sends death-glares at guys he catches looking at me on campus when we’re together.
On the day before or of a hockey game, he’s still intense and locked in. He still holds himself to an incredibly high standard and feels disappointed in himself if he doesn’t meet it.
But he doesn’t beat himself up over it. He doesn’t let his performance on the ice define everything about who he is.
Hudson’s still Hudson. I wouldn’t have him any other way. He’s the man I fell in love with, after all. But lately he seems like a happier version of himself.
The first gasps of wonder from the crowd thronging around us pulls my attention up to the sky, where I see the first long, silvery-white streak of a meteor dashing across the sky.
“Wow,” I say, feeling my chest leap in awe at nature.
Then another comes. And another. Before long, the sky is full of shooting stars.
