Page 62 of The Wedding Fake
Dan said nothing more, he just turned and walked away. The B&B was in the center of Bridgeport, an easy walk to nearly anywhere, but I thought his date would wonder where he’d gone. I felt badly for her.
“Claire.” This time it was Hudson saying my name, and the single word felt heavy enough to crack my chest open. I wanted to lean into his chest and let him soothe away the lingering pain. I wanted Hudson to be real, not just some fake date, but life had taught me how real men behaved. Real men cheated and lied and fucked random women during their brother’s wedding. It was only a matter of time before I’d see the real Hudson North, and I’d been wrong when I thought my heart could take it.
“Hey,” he murmured, pulling me close even though my arms remained wrapped around my middle. “You okay?” he whispered into my ear, tilting his face down so his lips brushed my temple. In my periphery I saw my family walk back inside, and we were alone.
“I saw you flirting tonight,” I said into his chest. “If you weren’t stuck being my fake date, would that have been you up in that hotel room?”
Hudson went still, his embrace turning stiff. “That’s bullshit, Claire.” he said, shifting to see my face. “I wasn’t flirting, and this isn’t fake to me.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I said flatly.
“Are you kidding me? Your question doesn’t even make sense.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I grumbled. “You were my fake date for the week and the week is over. We’re done.”
“Are you serious right now?”
I stiffened, anger rising in my chest, but I wasn’t sure if I was angry with him or with myself. “I know what I saw, Hudson. You can’t help but flirt, and eventually…I don’t know. I don’t want to find out.”
Hudson’s arms dropped. He was furious, that much was clear in his expression, but if you looked closer, the hurt was evident in his eyes. I tried not to look too close. "If you’d been paying attention, you'd already know I don't want anyone but you,” he growled, and then, unexpectedly, he walked into the parking lot, following Dan’s path away from the B&B and away from me.
“Where are you going?” I called after him, feeling the tears already tightening my throat.
He turned, walking backward. “Home, Claire. You don’t feel about me like I feel about you, and I can’t take anymore pretending.”
33
HUDSON
How long does it take to get over a broken heart?
I typed the words into my search bar and scrolled through the results until I found research from 2007. It was a little old, but it would probably meet Claire’s standards.
Skimming through the research, I came up with an answer of ten weeks. Almost three months. And what if the woman who broke your heart lived a single floor away? I doubted there was research to answer the question, but I couldn’t imagine proximity would speed up my heart’s recovery.
I clicked my phone off, setting it in my lap, then clicked it back on, opening the text app to prove what I already knew. Claire hadn’t texted. She hadn’t called either, and now I found myself sitting on a street corner in little downtown Bridgeport, which was very sleepy at 11:22 PM. I opened my rideshare app, which revealed another fact I already knew. The car would be here in four minutes.
I’d already been sitting long enough to search not only for how long it would take to heal from heartbreak, but also how long it took to fall in love. If studies on the internet were to be believed, it was too soon to fall in love and I’d be back to myself in three months. I couldn’t stop myself from memorizing the actual statistics in case I saw Claire again. I assumed I’d be doing that for the next ten weeks.
A car pulled up and I stood, opening its door and slipping in the back. “How’s it going?” the driver asked. He was very cheery considering his job had to mostly consist of driving drunk people home. “You’re headed to Cranberry Falls?”
“That’s right,” I replied. I couldn't stay at the Davis house another night, or in Claire’s room at the B&B, silent and cold, pretending nothing was wrong, but I also couldn’t find a way home. That was a job for the morning. So, for today, I was heading to a place I knew would always have me.
I hit the button on the doorbell at 12:07, and the answer, which came almost immediately, was tinny but familiar in a way that made my chest ache. I missed it more than I realized. “Hudson? Is that you? What the fuck are you doing here?” The questions came rapid fire, broken up only long enough to squeeze in a few irritated little huffs. It made me smile.
I didn’t have time to reply before the door swung open, and I was face-to-face with a scowling Sammie. “Hey, Sam,” I said.
“Get in here, you’re letting the bugs in,” she grunted, but she threw her arms around my waist as soon as the door clicked behind us. “Are you okay? Did that woman turn out to be crazy? I thought she might be crazy. I mean, who would invite someone they just started dating to travel with them? A crazy person.”
Sammie seemed to be handling both sides of the conversation just fine, so I didn’t interrupt. I gave her a hug, dropped my bag on the floor, and then watched her ramble to herself, my lips kicking up in a weary smile.
“Why are you not saying anything?” she demanded finally.
I shrugged. “Didn’t look like you needed my help.”
She punched my shoulder ineffectually. “Are you even going to ask why I’m home so early on a Saturday night?”
I glanced at my watch with a chuckle. “Is it early? I’ve gotten old.”