Speechless (Pier 70 #3)

by Nicole Edwards

  And that was how he’d landed himself right here, cupping Teague’s chin, desperate to kiss him, to let him know that he couldn’t handle him being with anyone but him. He was damn near ready to give Teague whatever he wanted, but Hudson knew that wasn’t how this would go. Even if he didn’t have the overwhelming desire to dominate Teague, to show him that a quick fuck wasn’t what it was all about, he knew that fucking the kid would take them right back where they’d started.

  Hudson wasn’t willing to go back there.

  But he wasn’t willing to stay here, either.

  Pressing a gentle kiss to Teague’s lips, Hudson pulled back, dropping his forehead to Teague’s. They were both breathing hard, both ready to come apart at the seams. Whether it was anger, frustration, or simple lust, they had to tamp it down. Hudson couldn’t allow himself to get out of control. He’d been down that road before, and it never benefited anyone. Over the years, he’d learned how to temper his frustration, to channel it into other ways. He prided himself on that self-control, and he wasn’t going to allow Teague to strip him of it yet.

  He grabbed his phone, needing to communicate with Teague with words. He didn’t move away, not giving Teague enough room to bolt while Hudson typed up a message.

  I’m leaving. You have two choices. Come with me and give this another chance. Or stay here and run away like you’ve been running your whole fucking life.

  A flash of anger ignited in Teague’s eyes as he read the text, but Hudson didn’t care. It was the truth. Regardless of what had happened in Teague’s life to make him the way that he was, he was still running from it. From himself. Hudson needed him to stop running. When shit got tough, when emotions were involved, running wasn’t the answer.

  Teague’s reply wasn’t what Hudson expected.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Hudson wanted to tell Teague that it wasn’t up to him. It would’ve been the smart answer. On the other hand, he knew Teague needed to feel needed right now, so he went with the truth, sending it via text message so there was no miscommunication.

  I want you to come home with me.

  “Why?”

  Hudson lifted an eyebrow, needing Teague to elaborate.

  “Why do you care so much?”

  That was easy. He typed his response quickly. Because you’re worth caring about.

  After reading the message, Teague nodded, and for the first time, Hudson realized Teague was fisting his shirt with his free hand. Teague gently tugged on it, as though the words gave him what he needed. Forcing himself to back away, Hudson separated their bodies.

  “My truck’s here,” Teague called out to him.

  Hudson texted him: Let’s give your keys to my brother. He’ll take your truck. We’ll take mine.

  It probably would’ve been fine to let Teague drive himself home, but Hudson didn’t want to be away from him for that long. He didn’t want to give Teague time to think about all the shit again, to get himself worked up and pissed off. If he wanted to hash it out, he could do so with Hudson beside him.

  Ten minutes later, after finding AJ standing by the door, ready to bolt, Hudson was behind the wheel of his truck with Teague in the passenger seat. AJ had reluctantly agreed to take Teague’s truck back to his place tonight and to bring it to the marina before work tomorrow.

  Surprisingly, Teague didn’t say a word during the thirty-minute drive back to the marina. He didn’t play on his phone, didn’t mess with the radio station. He sat and stared out the window, a deafening silence filling the truck’s interior.

  Once they made it back, Hudson parked and hopped out of the truck at the same time Teague did. He didn’t try to stop Teague when he made a beeline for his apartment; rather, he followed Teague inside before the door could get shut in his face.

  Hudson moved over to the arm of the couch and sat, making sure Teague saw that he wasn’t getting comfortable. He didn’t plan to stay for long, but he did want to make sure Teague was okay.

  Teague paced the floor, passing by once, twice… On his third time, he stopped and looked at Hudson, his brows furrowed as though he was deep in thought.

  “What caused you to be mute?”

  That was a question that had been a long time coming, but not one he would’ve predicted for tonight. For some reason, none of the Pier 70 guys had ever asked him that. Then again, a lot of people avoided it. And since it was what it was, Hudson rarely thought much about it.

  Hudson signed: Born this way.

  Teague nodded.

  Did he understand what Hudson had said? His next question confirmed he had.

  “So, you’ve never been able to speak at all?”

  Hudson shook his head.

  “What caused it?”

  Admittedly, most people accepted Hudson’s initial response that he was born this way. Rarely did someone—who was not a medical professional—want to know the reason behind it. Knowing it would be too much to sign, Hudson pulled out his phone.

  My vocal cords didn’t develop appropriately, nor did my voice box. I’ve been told that it was simply a gene mutation.

  Teague leaned against the wall, his attention bouncing between the phone screen and Hudson’s face.

  “So they couldn’t do anything to fix it?”

  Hudson shrugged. There’ve been cases where the vocal cords are repaired and there is successful sound produced to a degree. From what I know, what I remember, my mother never was concerned about it. I communicated via sign language, and since it wasn’t affecting me physically—no issues breathing, etc.—she left it at that.

  “I’ve never heard you cough or groan, either.”

  He again used his hands to explain: No sound.

  “And you don’t mouth the words, either,” Teague mused aloud.

  No, he didn’t. He shook his head, agreeing. For whatever reason, he had never tried to pronounce the words. Most people—unless they were deaf or hearing impaired in some way—didn’t read lips, so it never made sense for him to do so. It wasn’t something he’d ever given much thought to, actually.

  Teague nodded, then looked at Hudson again. “I was looking it up. Curious, I guess. One article said a doctor was able to refashion a voice box and vocal cords from one little boy’s own tissue.”

  Hudson smiled. He liked that Teague had been interested enough to do research. The only other person Hudson knew who had cared that much was AJ.

  There have been tremendous advances in medicine. But I’m thirty-five, Teague. The advancements weren’t all there back then.

  “Wait.” Teague’s eyes widened after he read the text message. “What? You’re thirty-five? Then why the fuck did Cam have thirty-one put on your birthday cake this year?”

  Hudson shrugged and smiled. He had asked himself the same question.

  Eighteen

  TEAGUE HAD NO idea why he’d become Chatty Kathy all of a sudden. During the drive back to the marina, he had told himself he would make an effort to be cordial to Hudson. By asking questions, he felt as though he was doing that. Only the questions he was asking, he honestly wanted the answers to. He was curious.

  And of all the things Hudson had told him about his mutism, the only thing he latched on to was Hudson’s age. Thirty-five. That made the guy almost a full decade older than Teague. It should’ve made a difference, but for some reason it didn’t. Perhaps it would have if Teague hadn’t been around Hudson all this time. Or if Cam, Roan, and Dare weren’t all several years older than him. He was used to being the youngest guy in the room, and it looked like he still was, only now there was a bit more of a gap.

  A gap that honestly didn’t matter.

  Some might say they had nothing in common because of that, but Teague knew better. He’d been around Hudson… They had quite a bit more in common than he’d thought they would.

  “Do you and your parents get along?” Teague inquired.

  Something passed in Hudson’s eyes and Teague knew he shouldn’t have gone there. But now he
wanted to know, so he waited patiently. It was hypocritical, sure. He had no intention of talking about his own mother, but he couldn’t help but wonder about Hudson’s family.

  My father left when I was two. Haven’t seen him since.

  “And your mother?”

  Hudson signed, but Teague couldn’t make out what it was. Nothing other than mother.

  Hudson turned to his phone, tapped something out, and then Teague’s phone vibrated. My mother took her own life when I was sixteen. She suffered from depression.

  Teague desperately tried to hide his shock. Seriously, what were the odds that they’d both lost their mothers to…? He decided it was time to drop the subject. No way was he going to talk about…

  He didn’t know when Hudson had gotten up, but Teague looked up to see the big man staring down at him. He wished he could read Hudson’s mind. He wanted to know what he was thinking, wanted to understand how he was coping with his mother’s suicide, but at the same time, he didn’t.

  Teague didn’t move when Hudson curled his finger beneath his chin and tilted his head more. He let out a low moan when Hudson’s mouth came over his. The kiss was soft, sweet. He shouldn’t have liked it, but he did. He allowed himself to get lost in Hudson’s kiss, wrapping his arms around him, digging his fingertips into the tense muscles of Hudson’s back while Hudson worked his tongue. He didn’t want it to end, but that decision was taken from him when Hudson pulled back.

  Hudson signed: Good night.

  Teague nodded, then signed good night back to him, stepping out of the way and allowing Hudson to leave. He watched the door for long minutes, wondering how he’d gone from angry to confused in the matter of a few hours.

  Glancing at the clock, he realized it was already after midnight, and he would have to be at work early because he was once again helping with the tours. After stripping off his clothes and crawling into bed, Teague stared at the ceiling for a long time, thinking about what Hudson had said about his mother.

  Looked as though they had more in common than he’d thought. Aside from the fact that they were both good with engines and they both enjoyed being out on the water … they both had mothers who had taken their own lives.

  What were the odds?

  More importantly, Teague wondered how Hudson had been able to so calmly relay that information. The guy had said he was sixteen when his mother killed herself. Maybe that was the reason. Maybe he felt as though he’d had enough time with her.

  Teague doubted that was the case. Hudson should’ve been more attached to her. Hell, his own mother died when he was three and Teague still didn’t forgive her for what she’d done to him. In fact, he hated her for it. Hated that she’d been so selfish.

  He remembered Hudson’s comment: She suffered from depression.

  Admittedly, Teague had done research on depression over the years, his curiosity getting the best of him. Depression was always the answer he was given when he tried to ask why his mother had taken her own life. Not that he was on board with that assessment, but that was everyone’s reason. They said it as though it made sense. A lot like: that’s the sky, the color is blue. She had depression, she took her own life. Like the two went hand in hand.

  That was stupid.

  He had wanted to know how his mother could’ve been so selfish, so caught up in herself that she would take her own life because some stupid asshole broke her heart. Teague wanted to know how she could’ve left him the way she had.

  Rolling over, he clutched his pillow, frowning. Why did it seem that Hudson had come to terms with his mother’s suicide? It was as though Hudson didn’t blame her, rather blamed the mental illness. The depression. Did he honestly believe that some mental problem had caused her to end her life?

  Closing his eyes, Teague tried to push it all away. He hated thinking about his past. Hated thinking about how his mother had abandoned him, how the world had given him the middle finger.

  He’d been dealt a shitty fucking hand, that was all there was to it. And he was doing the best he could. So what if he would never be truly happy?

  At least he was still breathing.

  For now.

  HUDSON STAYED AWAKE for a long time after he’d left Teague’s apartment. He hadn’t bothered getting into bed; his brain was running full throttle, so it wouldn’t have done any good.

  After popping a frozen pizza into the oven, Hudson shot a text to AJ. I assume you made it home okay?

  His phone buzzed almost immediately. I got out of there as soon as you did. Not my scene, no matter how good the music is. Guess you’re home safe and sound, too?

  All good here. Talk to you tomorrow.

  He wasn’t surprised that AJ had left when they had. The bars—gay or otherwise—had never been a place he or AJ frequented. They were more the outdoor types. When they were younger, the way to spend a weekend was a camping trip, usually just the two of them, sometimes a couple of their friends would come along. A tent, fishing pole, and time away from people was their idea of a good time. Damn sure not dancing or mingling in bars.

  For Hudson, his reasons were simple. Communication was difficult, no matter what social situation he found himself in. It was rare he would meet a random guy who knew sign language, which meant he usually had to have a wingman along for the ride. And first dates … those were nonexistent for Hudson. He’d been on a couple, but having a conversation via text message with someone you didn’t know while attempting to share a meal…

  In a word: awkward.

  However, he had met a couple of guys on the Internet years back. He’d even had one serious relationship in his early twenties. The guy’s sister had been deaf, so he knew sign language, which was probably the only reason it’d progressed. And by that, Hudson meant it had lasted more than two months, but three was his max. Long term had never really been his thing.

  Relationships were difficult for him. It wasn’t easy getting close to people, and he had a hard time trusting. He’d spent too much of his life being ridiculed for his lack of speech, and then when his mother had taken her own life, he was mocked about that. One group of bullies had tried to tell him that it was his fault she had died. According to them, his own mother couldn’t handle the fact that he was the way he was.

  Kids were cruel.

  It had been easier to keep his relationships limited to a couple of really good friends and his brother. He’d been lucky to befriend Calvin and Shawn. Neither of them had ever looked at Hudson as though he were a freak of nature. In fact, they’d seen him as no different than they were. It’d probably helped that Calvin’s mother was a special education teacher. At a young age, Calvin had learned to sign the alphabet, and he’d picked up quite a bit of sign language from his mother. When they’d become friends, she was the one who had helped Calvin and Shawn learn to communicate with him.

  All in all, Hudson knew that AJ, Calvin, and Shawn had his back. He’d learned over the years that those three people were all he could truly depend on. For the past few years, AJ had been focused on his career, which took him to California a lot, usually for weeks at a time. He owned a place about ten minutes from the marina, but he was rarely there. It was only recently that he’d started being around more. He’d mentioned they had assigned him a big account located in Austin, but Hudson was fairly certain AJ had manipulated that so that he could be closer to Hudson.

  But when AJ wasn’t around, Hudson’s interactions with people were limited. In a sense, it seemed he and Teague had the trust issues in common as well.

  After taking a shower, eating his pizza, then plopping his ass down on the couch, Hudson stared at the front door for the longest time, reliving the conversation he’d had with Teague a short while ago. He wished he would’ve had the nerve to ask Teague about his mother. After sharing the details about his own, Hudson had seen something in Teague’s eyes. A pain so deep he could only assume it was the root of Teague’s anger.

  And who are you? Dr. Phil?

  He smiled at himsel
f. Okay, fine. He shouldn’t be attempting to figure Teague out. He should’ve been content that Teague had come home with him from the club and he hadn’t had to knock any assholes out for touching the kid. But he wouldn’t deny wishing that Teague was there with him. When he’d kissed Teague before telling him good night, he had been tempted to take things to the next level. Not wanting to get Teague spinning out of control again had been his only saving grace.

  Now he wished he could go to sleep, let his mind rest for a little while. He wasn’t sure how things would play out tomorrow. With Teague, it was always a gamble. The kid had drastic mood swings. Unlike anyone Hudson had ever known before. He was angry one minute, subdued the next.

  He could only hope tomorrow would be one of Teague’s good days.

  Nineteen

  Friday, July 22nd

  BY THE TIME Friday night rolled around, Teague was a little less anxious than earlier in the week. It helped that Hudson was pretending that Teague hadn’t gone off the rails the other night. In fact, Hudson was acting as though nothing had happened at all.

  On Wednesday, Hudson had picked up sandwiches on his way back from the gym, and they had sat on Teague’s couch, eating and watching baseball. On Thursday night, Hudson had ordered pizza and invited Teague down to the restaurant pier. They’d managed to hold conversations, but it all seemed to revolve around Hudson teaching Teague more sign language. He was getting better, although he wasn’t anywhere near fluent. He could understand a lot of what Hudson said, but signing back was a little more difficult, but Hudson didn’t seem to mind.

  It had been at that point that Teague had realized Hudson was attempting to put Teague’s mind at ease. He was ensuring that Teague wasn’t worried that they’d end up falling asleep at Hudson’s place again. By avoiding his apartment altogether, it had helped.

  Except tonight, Teague was in the mood for something a little less friend-like. Although he would secretly admit that he was enjoying the friendship aspect of this thing between him and Hudson, he was seriously getting worked up, and he was damn near ready to explode. Sure, he’d bitched about the hand jobs and blow jobs, but at this point, he would take either—he didn’t have a preference—just as long as he got off.