One hour.

I’m giving up a nap, shower, and drawing. There’s no way I would have had time to do all three of those things, but I could be doing any one of them instead of sitting on the edge of a metal slide at a broken-down park.

Is Hudson worth it? Is he worth giving up an hour?

He appears before me like a gust of wind, suddenly and all at once. His overpowering stance looms over me, blocking out everything else in the world. He looks the same as yesterday, but his face is etched with more worry than before as if today had beaten him down. His black shirt matches his gloomy appearance, exposing his inner thoughts for anyone to see, but would anyone but me notice? Can anyone see the war waging in him in a split second? I don’t think so.

His hair sweeps across his forehead, resilient to move when a breeze swoops through the air. His eyes hold me like nothing else ever could.

He’s worth my time. He’s worth way more than one measly hour, and I selfishly wish I could give him more, but I can’t.

He sits on his skateboard at my feet, making him eye-level with my knees, and as I look down on him, he isn’t as intimidating with his shoulders slouched and head hanging.

I imagine my hand running through his hair, feeling the silk like strands slipping across the palm of my hand. I bet it feels as soft as cashmere.

I inwardly groan as I shove my hands under my legs to ensure they don’t accidentally wander into his beautiful hair.

He glances up at me with a forced smile on his beautifully rugged face, and I study him, wondering if he’s going to tell me what’s on his mind or play it off like it’s nothing at all.

“You smell like grease,” he states, lifting his chin to see me fully.

Ignoring it is.

“Perks of being a mechanic.”

“How did that happen? How did you end up a mechanic?” he asks, wondering the same thing all the other guys do, but I don’t feel annoyed by his question like I do when anyone else asks.

“My dad wanted a boy, and my parents never had another kid, so he was stuck with me. When I was younger, he made me help him when he worked on cars. I learned a lot, but I hated it,” I admit. “Long story short, I ended up working at Harry’s Garage.”

“Hmm,” he replies. Then he’s silent again, looking to the sky for answers as if everything he needs will wash over him, bringing him the comfort he’s so desperate to find.

“Is everything okay?” I ask stupidly because of course everything is not okay.

“Today’s the anniversary of her death–Chris’s mom—and it’s his birthday. Isn’t that cruel to do to a child? To have your birthday mark the same day as your mother’s death?” He lets out a strangled laugh as his eyes move back to my face. “Chris doesn’t understand, but I dread the day he does because he’ll blame himself, and he’ll hate the day he was born–the day she brought him into this world and she left it.”

My stomach drops thinking of a little boy who lost his Mom before he had a chance to know her. He’ll never know the undying love she would have had for him, and he’ll never know the comfort of her arms wrapped around.

I know how it feels to have a mother’s love, and I think that’s the worst part in losing my own Mom.

I push all that aside, focusing on Hudson, who seems to be fighting his own war.

“You know what you can be grateful for?” I ask, leaning closer to him, mere inches separating us.

“What?” he whispers, seeking answers about the fate of his little boy, but I can’t give him that.

“He didn’t have to watch her die. He didn’t watch her suffer and have to live with those haunting memories the rest of his life. She died before he knew her, so that leaves the story up to you.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “You can tell him all the wonderful things about her, or you can remind him that she died today. You can help guide his thoughts into something positive. Tell him she gave you him, and you’re grateful for that. Right now, all he’s going to remember is what you tell him.”

His eyes search my face before he says, “Are you free Sunday afternoon?”

“Umm…” My grip increases on his shoulder, and when I realize I’m holding on to him, I remove my hand, placing it in my lap.

“Chris’s birthday party is at one, and I’d like if you’d come.”

Is it bad that my body sags in relief that he wasn’t trying to ask me on a date? Don’t get me wrong, being with Hudson would be something out of a fairytale. A weird and twisted fairytale, but it would be my fairytale, and it’s safe to say any girl would jump up and down with excitement if he asked them out. But me? I’m a little weird because when that question came out of his mouth, my body locked up. If it hadn’t, I would have fallen in his arms and never looked back.

“There’s only going to be one other adult with me, and it would be nice to have someone else there besides ten screaming kids hopped up on sugar,” he explains, willing me to say yes and give into his request.

I chuckle, imaging Hudson attempting to wrangle a bunch of kids. “I’m free. I’ll be there.”

His smile is genuine now as it reaches his eyes, and a small amount of the gloom that was hanging over him clears.

“Tell me something,” he says, sliding back and forth on his skateboard.

“Like what?”

“Anything.” He ponders for a moment before he asks, “What’s your favorite pizza?”

I smile, glad to have something easy to talk about–something that doesn’t cause me to dwell on all the things I should be doing instead of sitting here talking to Hudson like I have all the time in the world. “Pepperoni.”

“Good choice, although I’m partial to the meat lovers.”

“Typical guy.”

“What can I say? I’m a growing boy.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re grown already,” I scoff.

“What? No way. Do you see how scrawny I am?” He stands, kicking his skateboard away, and holds out his arms for me to examine how ‘scrawny’ he is.

Hudson is the opposite of scrawny. He stands at over six feet tall with muscles on his body that make my knees go weak. His arms fill the sleeves of his shirt perfectly, leaving a small gap of space, so it doesn’t look like his shirt is too small.

His chest is wide and would engulf my small body, protecting me from harm. A chest I could lay my head on, fall asleep on, listening to the beating of his heart. A heart that has captivated me as much as his appearance.

“Yeah, I can see it,” I say sarcastically.

He smirks at me and moves to sit next to the slide I’m still perched on.

“How old are you?” I ask, trying to figure out how old he was when Chris was born.

“Twenty-three.”

Seventeen. I can’t imagine having to raise a kid at such a young age.

“You?” he asks, kicking the rocks at his feet.

“Twenty-one.” Twenty-one and on a path to nowhere. I wonder where I’ll end up five years from now. Will I still be working two dead-end jobs? Will my life ever amount to more than this? God, I hope so.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, notifying me it’s time to get to work. I don’t bother pulling it out because I don’t want the words on the screen to yank me out of this peace.

Get your head out of your ass and go to work.

That’s exactly what my notification will say, and I did it on purpose to remind me that this isn’t reality. This isn’t real. My real life is waiting for me in the form of a sick mother, drunk men, and lazy coworkers. That’s my reality.

Hudson? He’s just a dream. A dream that will never come true.

I push myself up from the slide, my legs peeling like Velcro from the metal. A breeze sweeps through the air, and I close my eyes, inhaling the scent of the air around me, needing to hold onto something to get me through another day as my hair flies across my face.

But the scent in the air changes from a scorching summer day to a welcoming musk of warmth and cinnamon.

When I open my eyes, I’m staring directly at Hudson’s chest as he stands less than a foot away from me. I tilt my head back to him as he hovers above me with his eyes closed, hiding the depth of emotion running through them.

He’s all around me, and I take it in, feeling like I’m a part of him.

“What makes you human?” he whispers, his breath engulfing me, transporting me to a place where we lead normal lives.

“I got a bonus today at work. I want to spend it on myself, but I can’t because I have to take care of my family. I can’t buy myself anything, and I hate it. But I shouldn’t because that means I’d rather be selfish than save my mom.” The truth flies out of me more freely than I thought it would. Thoughts I never expected to slip through my lips and to the ears of someone else.

“On this day every year, I’ve wanted to be the one who was buried instead of Chris’s mom. On his birthday, I wish I could give him a piece of her. I wish she was alive, and I wasn’t. But this year, I’m grateful I’m here with him–to have the good fortune of raising him. This year I’m glad she’s dead and not me.” His eyes open as he shifts his head closer to me. “What does that say about me?”

“That you’re human. We both are,” I say.

He slips his hand into mine, causing me to startle, but I latch on, holding him together while we both break apart.

“Everyone has faults, but not everyone is willing to admit it.” I let out a sigh. “Admitting the truth buried deep inside makes you perfectly imperfect.” I squeeze his hand, needing his strength as much as he needs my words. “It makes you honorable.”

“I’m not sure everyone would agree,” he says, full of doubt.

“I rarely think about anyone else’s opinion.” The only opinion that matters is your own. Screw what everyone else thinks.

My phone vibrates in my pocket again, alerting me that I’ll be late if I don’t get my ass in gear. Literally, that’s what the screen would say if I looked at it, but I don’t because I’m a hopeless idiot lost in Hudson’s orbit.

He inhales a deep breath before dropping my hand, leaving me feeling bare. “Let’s get going.” He nods his head toward the street and walks over to his skateboard, picking it up off the ground. He heads in the direction of my home as I stand in place, my body refusing to move. He eyes me over his shoulder curiously. “You coming?”

I let out a sigh and force my feet to move, needing to grab my bike and get to work. “Yeah,” I answer dejectedly.

And we leave, slipping back to reality.