Hudson grins. “Thanks. I still have some bad days, but they don’t control everything anymore. The coping mechanisms Maria taught me feel second nature now, so I’m more capable of controlling my anxiety and thoughts.”
“You’ve worked hard for that progress,” Dad praises. “You should be proud of yourself.”
Hud shrugs, but his small smile tells how much that means to him.
“Yeah, well. Maria doesn’t let me get away with much.”
“Good therapists rarely do.”
Dad’s gaze shifts to me.
Shit.
Hud turns his head, his eyes on my profile.
Double shit.
“What?” I ask, clipped.
Hud studies me for a second. “You’ve been exhausted lately.”
“I’m fine.”
I’m not.
Dad arches an eyebrow. “You took an unprompted field trip to a potential threat’s house, which resulted in a severe panic attack.”
My molars grind. “Yes. And I’ve already served time for that mistake.”
I know exactly where this is going.
“Yes, you have, but son—”
“Dad,” I growl, cutting him off.
“No, hear me out.” His voice stays calm. “Recovery isn’t just about surviving what happened. It’s about dealing with it.”
A lump forms in my throat. “There’s nothing to deal with.”
Hud grabs my hand and squeezes. “Babe, we’re just worried about you.”
“I said I was fine.”
“Babe—”
“For fuck’s sake. I’m fine!”
My hands smack against the tabletop hard enough to rattle the plates, and half the restaurant turns to stare.
Hud’s mouth snaps shut, and the pink creeping into his cheeks punches a hole straight through my anger.
Fuck.
I didn’t mean to snap at him.
I reach for his hand just as Dad’s voice cuts through the silence.
“Outside. Now.” He throws a few bills onto the table and slides from the booth.
