“You should know, though, that his mom is in Mitchellville. Has been there for a while.”
“Mitchellville? She’s there?” My heart raced and my blood went cold. Did I know her?
“He hasn’t seen her. Hasn’t been there. She’s been in and out. Back in as of nine years ago.”
“Drugs?” It was a guess, but a common reason why so many of them were there.
“The things she did to get money for drugs, mostly. Some of it violent, but yeah.”
I was thrumming with curiosity. Before I could stop myself and honor his earlier statement of not sharing a story that wasn’t his, I asked, “Can I ask who?”
“Helen.”
It took me a moment to place her because I had to think of Brandon’s last name. This was surreal. My soon-to-be boss’s mom in prison? Where I spent six years?
“She’s doing well,” I said, as I realized who he was talking about. Helen was in and out of rehab, even in jail. Someone always found a way to get her rehooked even if it was narcotics if she got in a fight. But for the last three years? She’d been clean. Worked in the kitchen. “Does he know?”
Hudson shook his head. “His life with her wasn’t easy.”
Because he was thirteen when he went to the Valentines. And that was well over ten years ago, closer to fifteen was my guess. My heart ached for him. Gave me more compassion than I’d originally had for him. He’d spent the first few minutes of our interview acting annoyed and hurried.
But if he knew where I’d been, that made sense.
“I won’t say anything to him if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I don’t know if it would do any good. But it could come out and I figured you should know, but yeah… Brandon’s my brother for all purposes. Legally, but also because he’s Brandon. He’s the best guy I know.”
Funny. I thought I was eating dinner with the best guy possible.
I shoved my last bite of lobster into my mouth before I threw that out.
When we were done with dinner, I helped Hudson clean up.
I was bent over, loading the last of the dishes when a dark chocolate box with cream lettering slid on the counter in my line of sight. My eyes widened to the size of saucers and my mouth fell open.
It was a box I would never forget losing.
“You didn’t.”
“You didn’t get your last desserts, figured I should make that up to you.”
I ignored the memory his statement brought, as well as the guilty look on his face.
“What happened that night wasn’t your fault.”
I reached for the box and opened it gingerly, immediately getting hit with the sugary sweet scent of dozens of cupcakes. Miniatures. There had to be four dozen of them. There were so many different varieties, I fell into a sugar coma before I picked the first one.
“If I would have driven you home you wouldn’t have been hurt. And I would have known where you lived so you wouldn’t have been blindsided.”
I didn’t particularly enjoy the reminder of my inappropriate tantrum I had in his office only a week ago.
I picked what looked like a chocolate cupcake with mocha frosting and unpeeled the paper. Without meeting Hudson’s gaze, I said, “You’re assuming you could have gotten me to agree.”
“I wouldn’t have?” True surprise colored his voice and I shook my head.
“You might be the guy who everyone likes and trusts, and you might be well known around here, but no. I wouldn’t have. Like I said that night, I meant it. I do fine on my own, and I’m used to it.”
“Maybe I don’t think you should have to be.”
“Still not your call to make or take, it’s mine to give.”
And for some reason, even while he was being so damn nice and while I was slowly admitting my own attraction to him, I felt the force of my words hit him like I’d physically shoved him away from me.
We sat in front of the gas fireplace, turned down low to provide more lighting than heat but I still had a blanket tossed over my lap I’d grabbed from the back of one of his couches. With my feet tucked under me, I leaned toward Hudson.
The tension I created during dessert dissipated as slowly as a helium-filled balloon. It’d taken a while, with thick silence and few words, mostly on my part.
“I’m sorry, about earlier.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Lilly.”
“I think I do.”
Hudson might have been the first man I’d ever wanted to open up to other than Josh. Even in high school, I was guarded, mostly around the guys because they all wanted to either know Josh or say they did.
“I’ve been on my own for pretty much my entire life. I spent most of my time growing up trying to avoid attention so I just took care of things myself. Being in Mitchellville only made it worse. But you might be right.”
“Might be?” He cocked his head to the side, one brow arching. His gentle teasing was so simple, I fought a smile.
“Might be,” I conceded. “It might not be a horrible thing to let others in, but it’s not something that comes naturally to me.”
And yet beside Hudson, there was Angie, worming her way into my life for whatever reason.
Hudson had one of his arms on the back of the couch, bent so he could rest his head in his hand. As I spoke, he ran a hand through his short hair. The move was so small, so innocent, and yet I still wondered what those fingers would feel like in mine.
If there would come a time when he would want to do that to mine.
He dropped his hand back to the couch. “Can I ask you something you probably don’t want to talk about?”
“Depends.”
“Inside… when you were…”
“In prison. Saying the words won’t send me back you know.”
My joke fell flat and he nodded.
“I know. But, really. When you were there. What did you miss the most?”
The most? That was easy to think of. But saying it out loud? The words tripped over themselves on their way out my throat. “Josh. My brother.”
“He’s in Illinois?”
“Yes.” Buried. It wasn’t a lie, although it wasn’t honest, either. I wasn’t allowed to attend the funeral even before I was charged. The entire city came out to show their support. All of his teammates. Most of UI mourned him.
No one wanted the killer in their midst.
While Hudson inferred he knew why I was in jail, I didn’t know how much of the specifics he knew. A part of me still wanted to ask and figure out why they bothered helping me in the first place.
The other part of me was just trying to remember to be thankful for what I’d been given.
“Now that you’re out and free—”
I held one finger up in the air. “Technically, I’m on parole.”
“Okay, free-ish. What do you cherish the most?”
“Gosh.” I blew out a breath and glanced at the fire. That was a tough one. When you spend most of your day surrounded by gray and white cement and very little time outside, every day felt exactly like the last. I spent hours, trying to remember what it felt like to be among the sights and sounds of daily life. The honk of car horns, the occasional car alarm. Slamming doors and little voices as they played in the neighborhood…