“You haven’t seen anything.” He doesn’t bother to whisper as he rolls his eyes. “Once Flint gets going, it takes hours to wind him back down again.”
“I’m not a cuckoo clock, you know,” Flint tells him, and though he’s wearing that goofy grin of his, there’s a flash of something that looks an awful lot like hurt there, too. “You can’t actually wind me up.”
“It’s not the winding up I’m interested in,” Jaxon responds, and suddenly I feel really awful, as I can’t help thinking about what Flint told me on the field this morning.
“Anybody need another drink?” I ask as I stand and head over to the table near the window. Eden and Flint both ask for a soda, while Macy requests a sparkling water.
I take my time gathering everything up, mostly because I need a minute before I head back over there.
I get that Flint doesn’t think I’ve connected the dots, and I know his heart is breaking over Jaxon, but there’s a part of me that wishes he hadn’t chosen me to be that person there for him this morning. Jaxon’s my mate. How am I supposed to feel except guilty as hell that he’s hurting and I’m the reason? Especially since they’ve known each other way longer than Jaxon and I have.
I’m the interloper. I’m the one who came along and probably messed everything up in Flint’s mind. But what am I supposed to do? Just give up my mate? I couldn’t even if I wanted to, and I most definitely don’t want to. Which leaves us where? With me breaking one of my closest friends’ hearts just by existing? Or me watching while he breaks that heart on Jaxon over and over again?
It’s awful just to think about, my soul hurting for Flint in a way that makes me ache deep down inside. I just wish there was something, anything I could do to make this better.
“There’s nothing,” Hudson says in a surprisingly serious voice as he walks over and flops down against the wall next to Jaxon’s bedroom, about as far from the group as he can possibly get and still be in the same room. I’d wondered where he went during the game, figured maybe he’d stayed away so I could focus. But now, I stare at the dark circles under his eyes, the fatigue hunching his shoulders, the hollowness in his cheeks, making his cheekbones look even sharper.
My chest is so tight, I can barely breathe. I glance from him to Jaxon, who is laughing at something Mekhi is saying, the picture of health and energy, and then at Hudson, gaunt and exhausted. And I know Jaxon wasn’t the one giving me his energy on the field. It was Hudson.
I’m about to mention it when I see his expression shift. He doesn’t want me to make a big deal about it…so I don’t.
Instead, I forget the drinks and walk over to where Hudson is and sit down next to him. I want to send him some of my energy, but I know he won’t accept it. So instead, I pick up our conversation again.
“But I want to do something…” I search for the right words. “I feel like I should be able to fix this.”
“Flint knows it’s too late, Grace. Now he’s just trying to figure out how to deal with the disappointment. Let him.”
There’s a layer of undercurrent there that I can’t even begin to unpack right now. Lia? I wonder. How weird must it be to know that your mate loved you so much that she died to bring you back? But also, how awful.
“I already told you—she wasn’t my mate.” Hudson’s voice cuts like a switchblade. I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. At least not about Lia. “You’re right, though. Flint probably shouldn’t have brought you into his mess.”
“It’s not a mess. It’s how he feels,” I say, looking around to make sure no one can hear me. They’re all used to watching me talk to empty space and pay me no mind. Still, I keep my voice extra low. “He can’t help how he feels.”
I’m still wondering about all the weird vibes I’m picking up from Hudson about Lia. Not that I’m going to push or anything. One painful relationship confession a day is already more than I can take…
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know,” he says in the super-snooty British accent he gets only when he’s trying to make me feel childish…or trying to piss me off. “Emotions are absurdly messy all the time.”
“Is that why you don’t let yourself have any?” I shoot back. “Because they’re too messy for you?”
There’s another long silence. Then, “Do try to keep up, Grace. I have plenty of emotions. Mostly loathing, at the moment, but a feeling’s a feeling.”