My heart feels like it’s breaking in my chest, and I wonder briefly if I need to move up my plan to quit. Ten months is close enough to a year. It would still look okay on my resume.
There’s no way that I can face him every day after sleeping with him. He can read me too well. He’ll know I’m in love with him, and then what? Will he look at me with pity? I couldn’t stand that. He might be able to pretend that nothing happened between us, but I can’t.
Nausea slams into me, and my legs shake as I gather my things. I’m about to tell Hudson that I’m headed home when he walks out of his office.
“Where are you off to?” he asks.
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “I’m not feeling good. I’m going to head home. Take a sick day.”
I must look terrible because he doesn’t question me. He scans my face, and I feel cold and clammy as I try not to reveal my thoughts.
Hudson steps closer. “Do you need anything?” he asks, reaching up to feel my forehead for a fever.
For a second, I think he’s genuinely concerned. Then I remember his attitude a few minutes ago. I can’t get sucked in with his hot-and-cold attitude. I need to ignore this, him, my feelings. All of it.
“I’m good. I just need to rest.”
“All right.” He looks at the other employees. “Get some rest.”
I head for the elevator, pushing the button. When the doors open, I step on and hit the ground floor button.
Hudson is standing right there, staring at me with concern.
“I can drive you home,” he whispers.
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”
He nods, but he doesn’t look happy. “Text me when you get home.”
“Okay.”
Thankfully, the elevator doors close, and I sag against the wall as I ride down to the ground floor. As soon as the doors open again, I make my escape, hurrying out of the building and down the sidewalk to my apartment. The tears start before I’m even inside. I slam the door closed behind me, locking it as I stumble toward my bed.
My heart is a broken, useless thing in my chest. I rub the ache, wondering how long I’ll feel like this. I fall onto my bed, crying harder when I smell him on my sheets.
What have I done?
And what do I do now?
SEVEN
Hudson
When Hazel doesn’t textme after half an hour, I get worried.
When I don’t hear from her by lunch, I’m in a full-blown panic.
I’ve tried to call her a dozen times, but she hasn’t answered any of them. My texts don’t even show that she’s read them. After sending my fifteenth message, I give up on working. I need to get to my girl. I need to make sure she’s all right.
I blow out of work, ignoring the confused looks from my employees as I head for the elevator. Once in my car, I drive toward her place.
I stop at a red light, impatiently waiting for it to turn green.
What did she say was wrong this morning?
I realize I didn’t ask what was wrong. She just said she didn’t feel good. She was holding her stomach.
Is she nauseous? Has she eaten today?