The guy smiled—actually smiled—and fuck, he was even more gorgeous than before. “Six two. Wouldn’t know it from here.”
“I think I had a pretty good guess,” Peyton said. He stood still a moment, then stepped up onto the concrete and offered his hand. “I’m Peyton, by the way. I don’t think we were officially introduced.”
The guy hesitated, then swiped his right hand on his thigh before pressing his palm to Peyton’s. It was calloused, dry, and very warm. “Hudson.”
Hudson.
It definitely fit. Peyton drew back, fighting the urge to find another excuse to touch him, and he turned his gaze out past the tall fence. Not for the first time, he wished he’d been rich enough to afford an ocean view, but the fact that he could hear the waves was good enough.
“How do you like it here?”
“I was hoping for peace and quiet,” Hudson told him, and when Peyton’s gaze darted over, Hudson had the smallest smirk playing at his lips. “I know, I know. I’m an asshole. Trust me, no one lets me go very long without being reminded.”
Peyton damn-well knew that was meant to be a joke, but there was the slightest tinge of hurt in Hudson’s voice that told Peyton there was more to his story. “I don’t think you’re an asshole. I know I can be…overbearing.”
“Eli—the guy you met—he wouldn’t agree. He’s been on my ass about being nice to you.”
Peyton bit his lower lip, then shrugged. “You ever get the feeling that there are too many people-pleasers in the world?”
Hudson made a soft choking sound, then pushed his wheels and rolled closer to Peyton. “Are you saying you’re not one of them?”
“Oh,” Peyton said with a laugh, then dropped down in spite of not being invited to sit, “hell no. Idefinitelyam.”
He stretched his legs out into the grass, then patted the concrete next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, in the dim porch light, he saw Hudson’s face journey. The guy looked like he wanted to tell Peyton to fuck off, but then to his immediate surprise, Hudson set his brake, used his hands to shift his legs past the footrests, and eased himself down in front of his chair.
Peyton was almost giddy, but he did his absolute best to try and keep his cool. “My brother and I were adopted,” he said, and almost laughed when Hudson’s brows flew up. “I know, I over-share. It’s a tragic flaw. Anyway, he’s super white. Like he fits right into their whole WASP thing they have going on, so no one ever assumed he had a tragic backstory.”
“Does he?”
“He was born HIV positive, but he tested negative by the time he was like six months old, I think? It was way before my time.” It was also something Linden wasn’t shy about, but rarely brought up. But it had sparked an almost obsession with health care which, coupled with his hero complex, set him right into the field as an EMT.
“And your backstory?” Hudson asked, sounding a bit more cautious.
“Normal, I guess. Though, I think every adoptee feels a little tragic from time to time.” He rubbed the back of his neck, toying with his bun, then shrugged. “My adoption was closed so I never did get to find out why I was given up. I didn’t even know what ethnicity I was until I was old enough to buy one of those DNA kits.” He reached between his knees and tugged at some of the grass absently.
“And that made you a people pleaser?”
Peyton snorted a laugh. “No, but being raised by the kind of people my parents were did. People have literally asked if I was, like, abandoned on the streets of Shanghai or something.” He turned to face Hudson with a grimace. “I had all this pressure to be grateful to my parents for ‘saving me’ from some tragic third world fate.”
“Yeah, like it’s so much better here,” Hudson said bitterly. “Where you can develop a tumor, lose the use of your legs, and all you get is a hospital bill big enough to bankrupt you, and divorce papers.” He seemed to realize he’d overshared because his face immediately went blank, and he looked away. “Please don’t ask.”
Peyton put up his hands in surrender. “Not a word.”
Hudson relaxed after a beat. “Sorry your parents were shitty.”
Waving him off, Peyton shifted and leaned his shoulder against the post. “They weren’t shitty. They were just woefully uneducated in how to handle adopted kids who’d eventually become adults with questions and, you know, trauma. Then you throw in a chronic illness and life-altering surgery…” He saw Hudson’s eyes flicker to his waist, and without really thinking, he pressed his hand over his bag, which was still empty. “…and shit gets complicated. And you forget how to react to things like a normal person.”
Hudson glanced away again. “My…um. Eli—my business partner—he follows you on social media. He mentioned he saw something about your illness.”
“It’s a stoma,” Peyton said, resigned. Not that it really mattered. A guy like Hudson wasn’t ever someone who’d take interest in Peyton, anyway. And maybe not having to do the whole big reveal thing with his neighbor was a blessing. “I developed Crohn’s about five years ago, and it was fine for a while. Then I got all this scar tissue and things came close to bursting. It’s not a pretty story.”
Hudson chuckled softly. “Yeah, I get that.”
Peyton realized he probably did get it. “Cancer?”
Hudson looked like he was debating about answering, then he shook his head. “It was a tumor, but it was benign. It was big enough that it was causing paralysis though—which ironically was also the risk of the surgery.”
Peyton didn’t need to ask what happened. That much was obvious. “It sucks, right?” He hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but when Hudson fixed sharp eyes on him, he just couldn’t stop talking. “It’s like, you finally get used to being alive—to figuring out all this adult shit in your professional and personal life. Then this big thing comes along and changes your entire body. And you think, whatever, I’ll just go to the club like before and it’ll be different, but it won’t matter.”