Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
The room’s small. There’s nothing except a small camera in the corner, a metal desk with three chairs, two of which are occupied by Arlo and me.
The last one is across from us, and the door’s behind it.
A big clock is above the door, and my eyes constantly flicker up, as if it will make the minutes pass quicker.
My fingers twitch on my lap, and I fidget with them, trying to play it cool. But the thought of finally seeing Hudson makes me anxious. Is he okay? Is he sleeping, eating, or having issues with other inmates?
The thought vanishes as soon as it appears, because I’m talking about Hudson fucking De Santis. Knowing the man, he’s running the prison, and everyone’s his little bitch.
Though, the worry continues to rest in the back of my mind.
After all, his cellmate is Paul Simmons.
The man, albeit now incarcerated, isn’t to be trifled with.
He has power, influence, and high intelligence.
The three main reasons he managed to do all of the dirty work for as long as he did — until I came along.
“Are you alright, butterfly?”
Arlo’s words are spoken in a hushed whisper, though the concern lingers. He takes his hand in mine, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. It helps soothe the aching nerves a little, but it’s not enough.
“I’m just… nervous to see him.”
Arlo nods. “I get it. But it’s Dad. He’s fine.”
“You don’t know that,” I sigh.
“You’ll see,” he mutters, but the way he squeezes my hand tells me he’s trying to convince himself first. My heart is beating in my chest at a rapid speed, and no matter how much I try to take my mind off things, I can’t. Being inside of the prison where my abuser is makes me uneasy.
He can’t get to me, not now, at least, but I know he’s aware I’m here.
He’s the man who was supposed to run for president, for fuck’s sake.
Of course he knows the girl who sent him to prison is here.
What’s odd is that not once did he try to send anyone to get rid of me.
If this case goes to trial — and it will — I’ll be expected to testify against him. He must be aware of that fact.
Which only poses a different kind of threat.
Because Blair Hawke is supposed to be dead. If I enter that courtroom under my birth name, I’ll be sent right back to prison as well. And if I go as anyone else, it won’t matter, because the other alias I’d use has nothing against Simmons. In fact, they’ve never crossed paths.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Arlo asks, rubbing the back of my palm with his finger.
“A lot of things,” I chuckle, but the sound lacks sincerity. “But we can talk about that later.”
Arlo’s eyes narrow; however, he doesn’t press further.
He nods, pulling my chair closer to him, the sound of metal scraping against the floor making the small hairs on my neck stand up.
But as soon as he wraps his arm around me, all of it melts away, and the thoughts of Paul hurting me disappear.
Arlo is like my shield, protecting me from all harm.
The safety he provides makes me want to be the best version of myself, only for him.
My thoughts wander off, but then the door opens.
Two guards enter, slowly uncuffing the chains from Hudson’s body — his wrists, ankles, and waist. One of them glances between the bag on the table, then Arlo and me before taking a step back.
“You have twenty minutes.”
They close the door, and my eyes fall on Hudson.
Fucking hell.
It hurts seeing him like this.
His physique is as good as always. He’s been working out and keeping up with his usual regime, if not doing so much more. His shoulders are broad, and the inmate clothing seems a size too small on him, making his toned chest visible through the fabric.
However, his face tells a different story.
His eyes are dull, and he’s dead on the inside. He’s clean-shaven, his hair cut shorter than what I’m used to seeing. The bags under his eyes are massive, and his knuckles are bandaged up.
His eyes fall on me, and a soft, sincere smile tugs on the corner of his lips. He doesn’t waste a second, reaching for me and pulling me into a tight hug. For a moment, I’m paralyzed on the spot before returning the embrace.
God, is this what it feels like to hug a dad?
He’s holding onto me tightly, inhaling deeply. His arms are wrapped around my shoulders, and I don’t dare to break the moment. Hudson’s the closest thing I have to a father figure in my life, and feeling the tightness of his embrace makes my chest swell with emotions I don’t understand.
Slowly, he pulls back, gently cupping my cheek.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I smile.
“You look good. Are you good?”
I chuckle. “I’m okay.”
“Good,” he sighs in relief, slowly stepping back. Arlo approaches him, and Hudson’s staring him down with a scrutinizing gaze. It’s like a game they’re playing — I’ve seen it happen before. They’re silent, trying to out-stare each other, which is hilarious to watch from the sidelines.
“Arlo.”
“Dad.”
Hudson loses it and hugs Arlo just as tightly as he hugged me a moment ago. Arlo chuckles, pats Hudson’s shoulders, and takes a step back. He doesn’t want to seem weak in front of Hudson, because he knows Hudson will continue to think about it while he’s all alone in here.
Instead, he puts on a brave face. Yet, I know him well enough to be able to tell just how much he missed his father. The respect and love he holds for Hudson is unmatched; he’s truly Arlo’s role model.
“Blair made you some lasagna,” Arlo says, taking a seat.
Hudson’s eyes snap to mine as he sits on his chair, clasping his fingers together on the table. A ghost of a smile is on his face, though he’s trying his best not to show it.
“You did?”
I smile. “Arlo helped. I’d be lost in the kitchen without him.”
Hudson laughs. “The boy always had a knack for cooking.”
As I sit down, Arlo wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me closer to himself. Hudson smirks when he sees it but chooses not to comment on it.
“How have you been, Hudson?”
His eyes soften at the question, and for the first time, I can truly see how worn out he is. “I’ve seen better days.”
I remain silent, not knowing what to say. What does one say to a man who’s in prison, without knowing when he’ll be released?
“I can tell,” Arlo interjects. “You look like shit.”
“I may look like shit, but I can still beat the shit out of you.”
Arlo looks thoroughly amused. “Can you?” He teases. “Because from where I’m standing, you don’t seem like you remember how to throw a punch.”
“You little,” Hudson hisses, then pauses, taking a deep breath and calming himself down. “Did you come all the way here to piss me off?”
“No,” Arlo drawls out. “We also came to bring you the lasagna.”
I push the bag toward Hudson, and he takes a peek inside, nodding in satisfaction. “Thank you. I don’t remember the last time I had homemade meals.”
“We have fifteen minutes left,” Arlo points out, and Hudson nods. “You know we’re not here to chit-chat.”
Hudson straightens up, putting the bag of food next to him. His expression is stoic, all amusement and happiness vanishing. He looks between Arlo and me for a moment, then speaks.
“Go on.”
“We’re taking out Woods tonight.”
Hudson sucks in a sharp breath. “Alright. What of Flint?”
“He’s next,” Arlo quickly responds. “Killing Woods will make Flint get sloppy.”
Hudson hums. “Yes, quite possibly.”
“How’s Simmons doing?” I ask, and both of the men turn to look at me.
The older De Santis pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing a fraction. He looks for the right words, and after a beat of silence, he responds, his voice low and slower than usual.
“Physically? Fine. I managed to deter everyone from harming him too much. They’re hitting him around just enough to get the point across. He’s always with two guards, who are, undoubtedly, his men.”
“Has he created any issues for you?”
Hudson lifts a brow. “Why do you think my knuckles are bandaged?”
Arlo snorts. “I don’t even want to know. But the main reason we came here today is to ask for your permission.”
“No, absolutely not.”
“You didn’t even—”
Hudson cuts him off, pointing a finger at him. “No, you two cannot get married while I’m in here.”
Silence that follows is deafening. My eyes widen in pure shock, unable to comprehend how he came to the conclusion we’d marry. We will, one day. But with everything going on, marriage didn’t cross my mind even once.
“That’s not what I meant,” Arlo groans, exasperated.
“Oh, do continue then.”
“They want to try and wake Mom up.”
Hudson’s shoulders get tense, his entire body going rigid.
He’s silent for a moment, staring into the wall behind Arlo and me.
He’s not with us — not mentally — and Arlo doesn’t press him for an answer.
He remains silent, though the way he tightens his grip on me tells me he’s terrified of Hudson’s response.
“No.”
“But—”
“I said no,” Hudson raises his voice, the coldness of the tone cutting through the tension in the room. Arlo’s jaw clenches, and he closes his eyes for a moment.
“It’s a chance for her to—”
“I don’t care,” Hudson interrupts for the umpteenth time. “You will not try to wake my wife up while I’m not there. If you do this without my permission, Arlo, I’ll never forgive you. Do you fucking understand me?”
Arlo doesn’t respond verbally, only offering a simple nod as a sign that he heard the threat loud and clear. Hudson stares at him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. Eventually, he nods back, and an uncomfortable silence falls over us.
I understand where Hudson is coming from. It’s his wife. Knowing the love and the bond they share, Noelle would be disappointed to wake up from a coma and see that the most important man in her life isn’t there.
However, I also understand Arlo. He lost too much already. With Aria’s suicide attempt and killing Luna, he’s scared of losing Noelle, too. He wants to wake her up because he needs someone of his own to be there, and all of this comes from a place of worry.
He’s terrified that the longer Noelle stays asleep, the chances of her waking up will become lesser and lesser.
I’ve no doubts in my heart that Noelle will wake up eventually. The woman is the strongest one I’ve met, and not only is she resilient, but she’s full of life, too. She wants to live, and she will live.
Hudson grabs the bag, stands up, and presses the small button next to the door. He turns to look at me; the expression softens yet again when he looks at me.
“Thank you for the food, Blair. I mean it.”
“No problem. I’ll bring you more soon.”
“Let me finish this first so we can see if it’s edible, alright?”
The teasing tone in his voice makes me roll my eyes, but I laugh nonetheless.
“Rude.”
He grins, and in this moment, I see the resemblance between Arlo and Hudson. Their smiles are identical, to the point of it being considered a tad creepy.
“Be safe,” I mutter.
“You too,” Hudson responds as the two guards reappear, chaining him all over again and leading him out.
And that sight of him being taken in chains like he’s an animal breaks my heart a little.