Chapter 32 #2
“No, you may not. You may call me Mrs. Anderson.” She squares her shoulders. “You might know my husband, Dr. Benjamin Anderson? I’d be surprised if you didn’t, considering you met with him last week to seek his financial support for your mayoral campaign this fall.”
Oof.
“It seems to me,” she continues, cool and composed, “that solving a crime rooted in bigotry and homophobia would make you look like a hero to this town. A flashy narrative, wouldn’t you agree? Certainly more exciting than something as simple as a stalker.”
Damn. Go, Mom!
Detective Whitfield’s mouth is hanging open like he’s trying to catch flies. Honestly, mine would be too if I just got verbally bitch-slapped by the five-foot-four powerhouse next to me. I should text Dad to bring her flowers and a cheesecake from Saunders Bakery as a thank-you for being a badass.
She doesn’t let up. “While I still have your attention, let me be clear. You may consider this a hate crime, but you will not dismiss other possibilities until you’re absolutely certain. Understood?”
He opens his mouth, trying to form a comeback, but one glance at her gives him pause. He’s seen the mom-eyes. The same ones that promise pain and swift retribution. I’ve been on the receiving end of those eyes, and no thanks.
“Yes, ma’am,” he surrenders, clearly choking on the words. This guy clearly has a fragile ego, and he just got destroyed by a woman half his size and twenty years younger.
And I am so here for it.
“Wonderful,” Mom chirps, all smiles now. “Let’s go over what we have so far and form a plan.”
Defeated, Whitfield sighs and pulls out a folder.
We go through the evidence, everything we know, and everything that’s been turned in.
By the end, there’s still no lead, no real direction, but he emphasizes that he wants everything we find, including notes, photos, suspicions, even gut feelings, brought to him or Officer Martinez.
He walks us back to the waiting area, hands us his card, and adds, “Please pass my number along to Hudson. I want anything that might be connected, even if it seems insignificant.”
“Sure,” I respond, shaking his hand. Mom does the same, then we walk outside.
Once we reach our cars, I can’t hold it in any longer. “Holy shit, Mom, that was fantastic! You shoved your foot so far up his—”
She clamps a hand over my mouth with her patented not in public glare. Then she laughs and pulls me into a hug.
“I just want you and Hudson safe.” She kisses my cheek. “And if he’s only willing to look down one path, he might miss the actual threat. I won’t let that happen.” She climbs into her white AMG GT and peels off down the road like a boss.
I hop in my truck and shoot off a text to Dad.
ME: Pick up flowers and a cheesecake from Saunders for Mom. She just annihilated a detective.
His reply comes fast.
DAD: Damn, I love that woman.
Same, Dad. Same.
I dial Hudson next. He answers before the first ring finishes.
“Babe? Are you okay? Where are you?”
The panic in his voice twists my gut. I should’ve answered his texts. But I’m still shaken and pissed, and that’s what’s driving my mood right now.
“I’m leaving the police station. Got a double whammy today.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, his voice shaky.
“You home? I’ll come by and explain.”
Hudson moved back in with his family yesterday, now that things with his dad are patched up. I know he loved staying with me, but he missed them too much to stay away. I’m glad they sorted it out. I hated seeing Hud so sad.
“Yeah, just got here. I’m the only one home right now.”
“Good. I’m just around the corner,” I say, jaw tight.
I hang up and take a deep breath. I don’t want to come in guns blazing, but I need answers. Why all the lies? And why does Ella always get to know first?
Why can’t Hud just be honest with me?
I pull into his driveway. He’s sitting in one of the black rocking chairs, scrolling his phone, a soft smile spreading across his face. I walk up the steps and settle into the empty chair beside him.
“What are you looking at?” I ask.
He tilts the screen toward me. It’s a photo of us dancing at prom—me, him, and Ella, all laughing.
“Who took that?”
“Archer. He just sent it to me.”
“Send it to me, too.” A second later, my phone buzzes with the image.
His smile fades. “Where were you? I got worried after you said to scratch meeting behind the field house.”
“I got another note in my locker.” It comes out flat, tired. “Right after I found out you’ve gotten eight more and didn’t tell me.”
Guilt flashes across his face.
“I was pissed about you keeping secrets—again—so I had decided to ditch the rest of the day. Guess what I found under my windshield wiper when I got to the parking lot?”
He doesn’t answer, just stares at me, breaths jagged.
“It was another picture,” I tell him, my knee bouncing. “This time of us in my front yard before prom… with my face scratched out.” I laugh, but there is no humor in it. “You could’ve warned me that this was escalating, but no. Just more secrets.”
Hudson leans his head back against the rocker and squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying to will the world away.
“How’d you find out about the letters?” he asks after a moment, voice rough.
I scoff. “Your bestie Ella made sure the entire lunch table knew.”
He flinches, and something bitter rises in my throat.
“I don’t get it, Hud. You tell her everything. She knew about your mental health first—that you were gay. You told her about the notes. Why can’t you open up to me?”
His head jerks toward me. “I do open up to you,” he snaps defensively.
“Really?” I shake my head. “Because it feels like I’m the last to know anything important. You promised you’d stop keeping things from me, but here we are again. And I can’t protect you if you won’t let me in—”
“Because I’m trying to protect you!” he explodes, flinging his hands out.
My stomach drops as a bolt of shock runs through me. Hudson rarely raises his voice, and seeing him snap like this rattles something in me.
“You’re not the only one who feels like they have to take care of someone,” he goes on, voice cracking.
“I want that for you, too. I want to be someone you can lean on. But I didn’t want you to see how bad things were getting.
I didn’t want to be the reason you were afraid.
So yeah, I kept things from you.” His voice splinters.
“I don’t want you to get tired of me. To look at me one day and decide I’m too much hassle. My dad was right.”
“Hud… no—”
“This is me trying,” he interrupts. “Trying to be good for you. To be strong for you. To be worthy of you. I’m trying to shield you from the fear. From the weight I carry.”
He stands like he’s done with the conversation, done with me.
“Baby, wait,” I beg, rising and stepping in front of him. “Why are you really mad?”
He stops. “Because, Cullen,” he snaps, my name sounding bitter.
“We talk about forever, but it’s not realistic.
You think you can handle all of me, but you’ve not seen the worst. I can’t protect you from me forever.
Eventually, you're going to get sick of the breakdowns, the panic attacks, the meds.”
I swallow, his words lies that his brain has made up.
“You’ll resent me. And now someone’s obsessed with me and dragging you into it. If something happened to you because of me, I’d die.”
He looks away, tension coiling in his jaw. “I’m doing the best I can, okay? I know I broke a promise, but I’m just trying to do right by you and take care of you the best way I know, for as long as I can.”
I reach for him, but he takes a step back, his face blank. His wall slams into place. Cold, distant, and familiar.
“I’m sorry,” he says, quieter now. “But I guess my good intentions always come back to bite me in the ass.” Then he turns and walks into the house.
I try to follow, but he slams the door, the sound of the deadbolt clicking into place stopping me cold. He’s shutting me out, and I’m afraid we haven’t even hit the worst of it yet.
I stand there, staring at the door like it might open again if I just wait long enough. But it doesn’t. And the silence on the other side is louder than any slam could ever be.