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 themoment. 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?”
