Hudson was vibrating after his encounter with Reagan. He wanted her again; wanted her in all the ways he shouldn't. His strength had failed him, his resolve had flown out the window, and all it took was her seeking him out. He tried to remember why it was a bad idea to be involved with her, but he didn't want to focus on that. He would merely make sure they were never seen together, that was all. He didn't live that close to the campus, and nobody from the university lived in his complex as far as he knew. She admitted that she only wanted him for sex, and that was fine by him. It was perfect.

On Friday, he found himself at the grocery store after his last class buying the ingredients to make her a nice dinner the following day. He picked up a bottle of his favorite wine and then frowned, slowly placing it back where it belonged. She was only eighteen. He was picturing a long-term agreement full of no commitments, just sex, and there he was buying groceries and wine like it would be a relationship. He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts that suddenly filled it about how that wouldn't be a bad thing. He didn't need her to be his girlfriend to have fun with her or even to cook for her.

He checked out and went home, planning on putting the food away and cleaning the apartment. He wanted to wash the sheets and couldn't help looking at his furniture in a new light. His headboard was well-suited for some light bondage, for example. He was highly anticipating the next day.

A knock on the door as he was stripping the bed surprised him. He wasn't expecting anybody. He went to open it and then just stood there in shock.

“Hudson! I thought I’d surprise you since you live close to my apartment now.”

He stared in disbelief at his father’s form filling his doorway. He had an overnight bag with him.

“You could have called. My number hasn't changed.”

“Oh, nonsense, then it wouldn't be a surprise, would it? Your mother gave me your address. Did you know you’re only an hour from me now?”

Oliver brushed past his son, who was still standing there stunned. All of his plans for the weekend just went up in smoke. He tried desperately to focus on the senator as visions of Reagan tied to his bed flew out the window.

Oliver was tall; six feet and three inches to be exact. His hair was darker than his son’s, a deep chocolate brown that waved at his temples. Hudson knew for a fact that his father dyed the gray streaks to appear younger. He also sported blue eyes; Hudson had inherited his mother’s coloring in all things, but his father’s height and general build. Though it irked him to hear it, he also had his father’s domineering personality. Hudson didn’t want to take after Oliver Clark; he could barely stand the man’s presence.

“Why on earth would you want to stay with me?”

“Well, it’s mostly your mother’s doing.” Oliver set his bag on the white leather couch and looked around the well-appointed living room. “Camilla claims we don’t spend enough time bonding.”

Hudson raised his brows as Oliver turned back to face him. “Have you found my home to be up to your standards?”

“It’ll do.” Oliver clapped his hands once. “Now, let’s find a place to eat. I’m famished.”

Hudson’s jaw clenched, but he figured it was better to go along than to spend a useless ten minutes arguing when he knew the outcome. Senator Clark always got his way.

Hudson pulled his coat from the closet and grabbed his keys off the hall table before wrenching open the door. “After you,” he said with ice in his voice. He found his father’s detail in a dark limousine in his complex’s parking lot. There were men in the car as well as outside of it, supposedly keeping an eagle eye out for danger.

The next few hours were spent with his teeth grinding together and a tension headache firmly rooted in his skull. He drank more than he had in the entire time since moving to College Park, but the number one rule of dealing with his sperm donor was to keep a drink in hand. Oliver kept up a near-constant stream of one-sided conversation revolving around himself. What he was doing in D.C., who he was influencing, which policies he pretended to care about the most, and which he was hell-bent on keeping off the Senate floor. Oliver was paid handsomely by several special interest groups, something that rubbed his only child the wrong way. After years of trying to debate with his father and show him where he was going wrong, he’d simply given up. It wasn't that Oliver didn’t know he was crooked, it was that he didn't care. He was of the thinking that the end justified the means.

Though he enjoyed the meal—Oliver paid, of course—Hudson was eager to get home and find an excuse to go to bed early. He claimed he had work to do, and that was one thing his father understood above anything. Work was vitally important. After ensuring Oliver had what he needed in the guest room, Hudson stood in the doorway to his own room and stared at the bed.

The sheets were pooled at the foot of the mattress where he’d been in the process of taking them off before the unexpected visitor came to his door. Sighing, he moved to fix the bed so he could sleep in it. Images of Reagan in his bed were overshadowed by the presence of the senator. Nobody could make him feel as insufficient as his own flesh and blood. Nobody could reduce his accomplishments down to utter inadequacy quite the same way as Senator fucking Clark.

Since his desk was in the guest room, Hudson had brought his laptop into his bedroom. He sat on the now made-up bed and tried to find a comfortable position as he turned it on and brought up the latest tests he needed to grade. Time spent alone meant his headache eased and he found himself feeling worn out. He’d been right from the beginning; he needed to focus on work and advancing his career. Hudson could drive home his failures just the same as his father. He was a failure until he succeeded in earning tenure, period. Anything less was a weak excuse, less than what was expected of a South Carolina Clark. Growing up with the intense scrutiny placed on his family didn't make it any easier to deal with. It affected his everyday actions, his small decisions, and his major life goals. It permeated his psyche until he felt worthless without having something to show for himself. There was constantly someone one step ahead, someone with more accomplishments, more to boast about in regards to their career. Hudson hadn’t gone into politics, medicine, or law. He didn’t marry a debutante with the proper last name to strengthen the genes. He wasn’t what his father wanted him to be, and he would never live it down.

Eventually, he put away the laptop and tried to sleep. Oliver would be awake at six expecting breakfast. He didn’t know what to do with himself when there wasn’t staff of some sort around. Hudson wondered if the security detail had switched shifts in the night and which ones were allowed to go home and sleep and which ones had to stay behind to protect the life of his father. He doubted any of them had been tasked with making Oliver’s eggs in the morning. His thoughts made it impossible to fall asleep, going back over what had been said at dinner. His mother wanted him and his father to spend more time together. It hadn’t seemed important when Hudson was a child. There was no playing catch, no learning to ride a bike, no building a race car track. Not with Oliver, at least. Hudson had done those things with the hired help. Between nannies, private tutors, and finally prep school, he’d learned what he needed to survive, but he’d never thrived.

The only time he felt alive was when he was in control in the bedroom. He knew it was something that would be looked down upon in his family’s social circle, so he was always careful with which women he would shared his proclivities. Sometimes, he just wanted to stand up at the dinner table and announce that he was sick to death of being a Clark. All the pressure to be perfect, to be someone he was not, and never would be, was too much. Not being free to share himself with women in the way that he preferred, having to keep his pleasure a secret, was one more way he’d been suppressed. He should be used to it by that point, but he foolishly assumed that moving to a new state meant he’d gain some autonomy. Instead, he felt like the same teenage boy being told he would never add up if he didn’t follow in his father’s esteemed footsteps.

In the wee hours of the morning, he couldn't avoid sleep any longer. His dreams were filled with a strange combination of his parents, his colleagues, and a curvy blonde. When his alarm went off he groaned, realizing that he’d not only planned to sleep in originally but that he’d expected to be texting Reagan his address to spend the day with her. None of that would be happening. Hopefully, his father would tire of the charade of enjoying his son’s company and he’d be on his way before much of Saturday had passed.

Hudson went to the kitchen and started the process of making a full breakfast. He was lucky he had all the senator’s favorites. He didn't dwell on the fact that they were also his favorites, though he didn't have them every day. Eggs over easy, toast, and bacon went on china plates as Oliver walked into the living room.

“Morning, Hudson. You remembered.”

It was the closest to a compliment he would receive, and it was about the same as the staff was generally given. He poured coffee in two mugs and joined his father at the table.

“What are your plans for the day?” Oliver asked as he cut into his eggs, letting the yolk ooze onto a toast point.

“I was going to clean the apartment.”

“Maybe one day you’ll make enough money to afford to hire staff to do that for you.”

Hudson clenched his jaw and made an effort to loosen it enough to eat. Typical.

“I wondered if you’d give me a tour of your campus.”

“Sure, Father.”

It was exactly what he’d hoped he wouldn't have to do. Spending his day surrounded by a pompous asshole and no less than five security men.

“It’s not too much to ask, is it? After all, you’ve determined that this is what you’re going to waste your life on. You might as well show me what’s so special about it.”

Counting to ten and breathing deeply wasn't going to work this time. “It's not a waste, Father. It's what I want to do with my life. It is my life, despite your opinion to the contrary.”

“Don't raise your blood pressure, son. Eat your breakfast.”

The headache from the evening before popped back up and Hudson knew his day was ruined before it really began.