I need what he said to be true, because I’m falling apart inside.
Everything in me hurts.
“Why don’t you come on out for a minute?” Dad urges. “There are a few people in the waiting room who want to see you.”
Here to see me?
I wipe my face on the sleeve of the paper gown, then glance back at Hudson. He hasn’t moved. Not even a twitch. I bend down and press a kiss to his cheek, my lips meeting the fabric of the mask. I don’t know if he can feel my affection, but I hope he can.
I follow Dad out of Hudson’s room and down the quiet hallway. When he opens the waiting room door, I step inside, stopping cold.
The tiny room is packed.
Our entire friend group is gathered, Archer and Matt standing at the front. The sight of them, every single one of them showing up, hits me like a punch to the chest.
Matt’s chewing on his bottom lip, eyes red and puffy. Archer reaches for me, his Adam's apple bobbing, the rest following his lead.
No one says a word. One by one, they close the distance until I’m pulled into the middle of them, surrounded by arms and shoulders. They hold me like a single body, warm and steady.
For the second time today, I break.
Chapter two
Cullen
Iroll the small bottle of bubbles between my palms, the plastic long warmed from my skin. They were bought on a whim from the gift shop during one of my late-night walks through the hospital. I remember thinking of Hud when I saw them—how we've turned bubbles into an inside joke when we're sad.
But I think I bought them more for myself than for Hudson.
Because my sadness is suffocating.
It feels like I never left the river. Like I’ve been pulled into its dark depths and can’t find the surface.
The only thing keeping me anchored is the monitor. That steady beep. Over and over. Proof that Hudson’s heart is still trying.
Everything else in this room feels like a reminder of how close we’ve come to losing him anyway.
I keep hearing Dr. Mansley’s voice in fragments.
Aggressive pneumonia. Oxygen turned up higher than it should’ve needed to be. Antibiotics so strong that he calledit a “heroic dose,” something he mentioned only having to administer one other time in his thirty years in medicine.
At least it did what it was supposed to do, and the pneumonia is finally gone.
The seizures came after that.
My eyes scrunch closed at the memory.
I was holding Hud’s hand when it happened—a twitch. Enough movement to give me hope that he was waking up after they decreased his sedative.
Then his whole body locked up, arching off the bed. Every monitor screamed at once.
The sound still echoes in my ears.
Nurses flooded in before I could even stand. Someone pulled me back, and I remember my hands grabbing at Hudson, wanting to stay with him in case he…
They shoved me into the hallway instead.
My knees hit the floor before I even knew I was falling, the wall cold against my back. I remember pressing my forehead into my hands and just begging for it not to be the end.
