The Hudson Boys

C H A P T E R 3 2

C H A P T E R 3 2

We ride home in relative silence, only the hum of the old engine filling the space between us. It takes us only twenty minutes to reach the ranch but I must have have been tireder then I thought because moments later we are parked in the driveway and Tate is shaking me awake.

"I fell asleep didn't I?" I mumble.

"Yup." He laughs and I chuckle too, unbuckling my seat belt and stepping out of the vehicle. Tate unlocks the front door with the key on his key ring, holding it open for me to enter the homestead before him.

"Go on upstairs and get changed." He suggests. "I'll make you something for when you get back."

"Okay." I shuffle upstairs slowly and down the short hallway to my bedroom. I quickly change into a pair of grey sweatpants and and old T-shirt that I had stolen off Jesse years ago. It is a little big and worn thin but it feels familiar and that is what I need right now. I make a promise to myself to call him later as it had been ages since I last spoke to him and I feel really bad. Of course we have text on and off but I have not called him in weeks.

Pulling my dark hair out of the plait I put it in this morning, I let the long locks fall around my shoulders as I walk back down the stairs to the kitchen. I find Tate sitting at the bench, a bowl and a mug sitting on the stone top in front of the seat beside him.

"You made me chicken soup?" I laugh up at him as I sit down and he blushes, a faint red passing across his cheeks.

"I did. It's just from a packet though. Nothing that fancy." He looks down at his hands, picking lazily at the hem of his shirt.

"Thank you." I smile at him and he slowly look up to meet my eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

I pick up the spoon, swallowing a large mouthful of the warm liquid.

"Is it okay?" He asks carefully.

"It's great." I assure him.

I now glance at the mug sitting in front of me. I recognize the dark purplish liquid instantly, and my heart constricts painfully. Not wanting to hurt Tate's feelings, I slowly lift the mug to my lips, taking a small sip of the sweet liquid.

It is just as I remember it. Warm and sweet, like liquid honey. Which is not exactly that surprising considering there is honey in it. A funny feeling passes through me, nostalgia and pain. Too many memories, pooling in the corners of my eyes along with the tears that have already formed.

"Oh no." Tate says from beside me, panic in his voice.  "Is it that bad?" I smile slightly and shake my head sadly.

"It's perfect." I look up his blue eyes.

"Then why are you crying?" He looks confused now. His lips press into a line, his eyebrows drawing together causing little crinkles to appear on the bridge of his nose. It is cute.

"Because I'm sad." I reply bluntly, but my voice is too soft to make it sound sarcastic.

"I can see that but why?" He looks at me carefully, his head tipping slightly to the side, his dark hair falling into his eyes and I have to resist the sudden urge to brush it away.

"It's the drink. Hot blackcurrant and honey." I smile into the mug, memories of previous sick days swirling across the surface. Days that I would spend sitting on the big leather couch, curled up in a fluffy blanket, reruns of Friends playing on Netflix and a hot mug of blackcurrant and honey cupped between my palms. "My Mum used to make it for me whenever I was sick." I look up at Tate, watching as the realization crosses his face, followed by sadness and regret.