At first, he researched online, trying to find toys for men like him—or anyone in situations like him.
Disabled.
Bodies that didn’t react or feel or function the same way everyone else’s did.
And there were a few, but there weren’t enough.
Now, two years later, he had an entire line of toys, a profit that made his previous job look like a hobby, and satisfied customers from all walks of life that were clamoring for more. His personal life had remained unchanged, but he hadn’t really expected it to be any different. Hudson had never been the friendliest person in the world, and his inability to bend to the whims of someone else made him difficult to date.
He and Austin had worked because Austin seemed immune to his storm-cloud bad days and blunt truth he refused to soften for anyone. In fact, Austin almost seemed to like it—to crave it. Hudson couldn’t say they were in love, not the way most people fell in love, but that worked for them. They were satisfied in other ways, and it was enough.
Still, Hudson couldn’t say he wasn’t lonely. Every so often when he made progress in PT, or came up with a particularly clever design, it was hard coming home to an empty place with no one to crawl into his lap and tell him how proud they were before letting him ravage their body.
It felt sad and pathetic, cracking open a bottle of wine to share with no one but himself and his little whistling conure parrot who—in all reality—couldn’t give a shit if he lived or died.
But he wasn’t going to twist himself into shapes to make other people happy either. He’d meet someone who took him as he was, or he’d die alone.
And with his vast array of toys, at least he wouldn’t die unsatisfied.
Pushing up onto his elbows, Hudson wriggled his legs beneath him until he was in a table position. He sat up in a kneel, his balance better than he thought it ever might be, and he was happy with it. He wasn’t going to show it on his face the way Dan was grinning at him like he’d just won a fucking marathon, but it felt nice.
“You want a hand up?” Dan asked.
Hudson considered the question honestly. He was always weaker in the hours after a long PT session, but today had been a lighter work-out.
“I think I’ve got it.” His walker was within reach, and he was using it as much as he was using his chair now at home. It made him feel old—not that he was some young spring chicken or anything at forty-two—but he had been hoping to prolong the whole metal contraption and tennis balls look for a few more years.
His was nice though—a sleek design with a bench that went through doors without problems. And the townhouse he’d just purchased was even nicer with its very even wood floors and accessible shower, which had been the selling point. The person who’d lived there before had been in his nineties, and Hudson planned to take advantage of everything he’d left behind.
The man had also died in the shower, or so his agent had told him, but Hudson had never been squeamish about the realities of human mortality. In the ten days it took to get his biopsy results back from his tumor, he’d checked over his will, planned his funeral, and even picked out a memorial play-list, and all with a straight face.
He was fairly sure that’s one of the things that tipped Austin over the edge. His ex had spent those ten days pacing and crying and raging at Hudson for not being more upset that he was about to make the man a widower.
Hudson found it almost amusing that Austin had already written him off, but it was likely the stress which had eclipsed the big, bright red flag Austin had been waving. He felt a little foolish about the whole thing now.
With a sigh, Hudson heaved himself up to his feet. After all these years of recovery, he could finally feel the blood rushing to his toes, which was always uncomfortable because the pins and needles sensation could take hours to go away. His legs still moved like he was walking through deep water, but the important part for him was that they were moving.
He was never going to run again, but he’d always fucking hated running anyway. There were better ways to get his cardio—even if he couldn’t hoist twinks up by their asses anymore.
“Hudson?”
Gripping the handles of his walker, he turned his head to face Dan because his tone was hesitant. Any unspoken question about what was going on was immediately answered when his gaze hit the window and he spotted her.
His mother.
She was walking around Hudson’s car like she was making sure it was his.
“Oh, fuck me. Get me my wheelchair,” Hudson hissed. Okay, he might have appreciated the ability to run now. He’d been no-contact with his mother for the last eight months, but she wasn’t taking it well—just like any narcissist. She’d taken to hovering in the parking lot while he was working late and filling up his voicemail inbox with screaming and sobbing and threats.
The week before, she’d trapped him in his office building until one in the morning, and he was on the verge of calling the cops before she finally got tired and left. When she’d popped into the PT’s office before, she had always just missed him.
Until now.
As he dropped into his chair and settled his legs, he fought the urge to roll out there and run her down with his wheels. This was the third time in as many months, and he was goddamn over it.
“She’s at it again?” Dan asked. His face paled and he made a quick shooing motion with his hand. “Go. She’s heading for the doors.”
Hudson could have won a gold in the fucking Paralympic games with how fast he made it from the floor to the changing rooms. His heart was thrashing in his chest and his lungs were heaving with panic and exertion as he rolled to a stop in the middle of the floor.