Five days after arriving home from Thailand, Hudson is still determined to ignore me. Today is the first day I’m alone in the house. Max and Bryce have headed into work to finalise the business arrangements in Thailand whilst Hudson has taken a trip to see Dr Salahan. I’m hopeful that when he returns there will be good news because the last few days have been hellish. Not because of any conversation or interaction I’ve had with Hudson, but because of the lack of it. What I said when we arrived home still remains. I am determined to find my way back into Hudson’s heart, but he is determined to stick to his promise. The two ideals have made for some uncomfortable living.

Trying to get rid of this jittery energy I’m holding inside at not being able to reach Hudson, I head down to the gym. Since I’ve lived here, I have decided to take care of myself a little better and whilst I have no real urge to lose weight, given I rather like the curves I have, I do want to feel healthy.

Flicking on the lights in the gym, I step up onto one of the three available running machines. Pressing a few buttons, the belt starts to move. I don’t bother with any music, preferring to run with just my thoughts. After a couple minutes of fast walking, the pace picks up and I start running. At school I had bunked off most P.E lessons, preferring the comforting warmth of the local library rather than the sweaty grip of the sports hall. Now, I find running freeing, a way to loosen the day’s troubles with the thrust of my arms and the pounding of my legs. My aim this afternoon is a five-mile run and I am three quarters of the way through when the door opens behind me.

Hudson is standing there, bare chested and in a pair of shorts and trainers, staring at me from the doorway. In the mirror I can see him trying to decide whether he should enter or run in the opposite direction. The irony is not lost to me, but I grit my teeth on the nervous laugh that wants to escape and instead press the button to make the pace increase. I try not to pay any attention as he fights his urge to get the hell out of the room. Instead, I look at myself in the mirror, at the fullness of my breasts encased in a tight crop top and the roundness of my hips covered in tight Lycra. Sweat drips down the centre of my chest, pooling at the material of my top. My face is flushed, and it isn’t just because of the exertion. I know Hudson’s eyes are on me, assessing me, watching me, deciding whether he can permit himself just a few minutes in my company.

In the end, he decides he can.

“Music,” he demands as he strides over towards the running machines. I find it interesting that he chooses the one next to mine. I don’t know whether it is a conscious decision or not, but either way I like it. It feels like a small victory, a hard fought one.

The smart system they have set up throughout the house responds to Hudson’s voice command and begins to play dance music. I watch him pull a face and mutter under his breath at the choice provided.

“Drum & Bass,” he demands and immediately a heavy, pounding rhythm blasts through the speakers. It matches his mood: angry and fierce. He doesn’t bother to warm up with a jog, he hits the belt hard, running full pelt. The anger he has is turbulent like a fierce wind ripping through a bank of clouds. A little fear hitches in my chest, not because I am afraid of him, but I fear the knowledge he has been given. He has just returned from Dr Salahan, after all. It can’t be good.

We run side by side, both lost in our thoughts. Sweat pours over my skin as I pick my pace up to match his. I am breathing hard, my face is flushed, my muscles scream at me to slow down, my lungs burn at the effort. When I look at Hudson, his eyes narrow. It’s as though he can read my mind, that this is a silent battle of wills. I won’t give up. If he wants to run from me, then I sure as hell am going to chase him. I’ve gone well over my five-mile target, but somehow, despite the exertion and screaming lungs, I find the strength to keep up the pace. This is a silent battle drawn by him and one I’m not going to lose. Sweat drips down Hudson’s defined abs and sticks his hair against his scalp as he runs at top speed. We remain like that, our feet slapping against the belts for long minutes. Then suddenly Hudson leans over and slams his fist against the red safety button on my running machine. It stops immediately, and I’m thrown forward from the momentum. Luckily for me, my reflexes are quick and I slam my hands against the dashboard of the machine, preventing myself from falling.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I say between pants. Anger bubbles up in my chest. “I could have hurt myself, you arsehole.”

Hudson slams his fist against the safety button on his own machine and turns on me, his finger jabbing in the air between us.

“What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are you doing? Look at you, you’re about to burst a goddamn blood vessel. You can barely breathe. Is this some ruse to get me to give you mouth to fucking mouth?” he shouts back, his chest heaving in anger. His eyes flash with it too, but there is something else beneath the anger that rings loud and clear. Lust. He wants me, and it makes me bold, brazen.

Still panting from exertion and from my own broiling anger, I get off my machine and step up onto his. My closeness forces him to take a step backwards in his haste to get away. It’s interesting, this turn of events. I recognise myself in him when we first met, constantly trying to get away from the way he and his brothers made me feel. Now it is my turn.

“What is it, Hudson? Why are you so damn angry? Do I really piss you off that much or are you angry at yourself for wanting me, even when you’re fighting so hard against it?” I say, firing each question in quick succession. He flinches as though I am slashing him with a knife. I don’t want to hurt him, I want him to feel, because if he feels then perhaps he’ll remember. That is my end game. This could go horribly wrong or perfectly right. I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t seem to help myself. I miss him, I miss us, and I want it back. “I see the way you look at me. I know you want me. What the hell are you so afraid of, Hudson?”

“I am not afraid of anything,” he retorts, but the tense way he holds his body tells me otherwise.

“You want me,” I push.

“I want most women,” he snaps back, surprised at my audacity, it seems.

“No. You forget I know you. Not so long ago you let me in here,” I say, stabbing my finger against his chest. I’m done with being kind and patient. I hadn’t realised until now how much his avoidance pisses me off. Together in this room we are like a tinder box about to catch alight.

“I don’t know you. I can’t do what you ask.”

“You let me in before because you fell in love with me. You let me in because we are so alike. I am in there still, you just have to take a chance and reach inside.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers, and I reach up to touch it. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t lean into my touch either. His eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments before snapping open once again. He moves his head sharply and my hand falls away.

“There’s nothing to reach inside for. I have no memories of you, in my head there’s none of the history you speak of. Everything you hold inside your heart is not reflected in mine, because there’s nothing there,” he half shouts. I don’t flinch. I don’t move.

“No. I refuse to believe that it’s all gone. I won’t believe it,” I say firmly. Bitter tears sting my eyes but I swipe them away.

Hudson’s face softens just a fraction before the shutters come down again. “Dr Salahan said that it’s highly unlikely I’ll get my memories back. That what is lost, is lost for good. So you see, it is hopeless. I can’t give you what you want.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head in horror. “How can this be happening?” I’ve been holding out for good news, convinced that it would be a matter of time before Hudson’s memories come flooding back. My hand flies to my mouth, covering the sob that threatens my lips.

“I’m sorry,” Hudson says, his shoulders dropping. This time he seems genuinely sorry.

“It isn’t your fault,” I say, all fight leaving me. I step backwards off the treadmill, suddenly feeling chilled. I wrap my arms around my chest and look at my feet, not able to look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I can see how much Bryce and Max mean to you. How much you mean to them. I can’t deny that I feel like a stranger in my own home. Outside this circle of… love you all have.”

My head snaps up at the vulnerability he’s showing me. It is like a gift, even if he doesn’t recognise it as one. I look at him, bare chested, naked. No, Dr Salahan is wrong, he wouldn’t look at me like this if there wasn’t something there.

“Hudson, would you do something for me?” He doesn’t refuse, so I take that as an agreement of sorts. “Would you spend the night with me? Just you and me…” My voice trails off at the expression on his face.

“You want me to have sex with you?” he asks, his mouth dropping open in surprise.

“I didn’t say that.” That’s kind of the plan, but he doesn’t need to know that. I gave myself to him as a gift before, I can do it again. I want to. Maybe if my words can’t make him remember, the joining of our bodies can. Our eyes lock. He is giving me a look crossed between incredulity and amazement.

“Just spend time with me. Get to know me. I’m asking for one night. If you feel nothing at the end of it, and I don’t mean getting back some memories, I mean if you don’t feel something,” I say, pressing my palm against my chest, “then I’ll leave you be.” I remain still, feigning nonchalance when really, inside, my stomach is churning, hoping he says yes. “Will you do this one thing for me?”

He considers me for a long moment then nods his head sharply. “Yes. I’ll give you one night.”

The relief I feel is immense. I let out a silent breath.

“When is this going to happen?” he asks me.

“No time like the present,” I say.