Page 37 of Abyss

Please say yes.

Hudson’s mouth opens, and I swear he starts to say yes. I’d swear it if it wasn’t mixed with the clearing of his throat. He shakes his head, briefly looking down at his phone. “Just bits and pieces. I don’t drink like that often.” He scans my face. “I hope I wasn’t unprofessional in any way.”

I weigh out his answer, deciding to take him at his word. Maybe he is telling the truth, given he isn’t in the habit of drinking. Maybe he really doesn’t remember much.

I force the images of our groins touching in the elevator and our breaths tangling over his bed from my mind. I give him a reassuring smile. “No, you were a perfect gentleman.”

He nods.

“Thank you for . . .” I clear my throat. “Thank you for spending time looking for apartments for me. It meant a lot to me, Hudson.”

“You didn’t want to lock any of them down, so it’s not like it accomplished anything.” He goes back to scrolling on his phone.

“Yes, but it still meant something to me,” I contend, watching his long fingers again.

I really need a life.

He’s quiet for a moment, the turn signal the driver just clicked the only sound inside the car. “Do you have friends here?”

“No.” I shake my head, chuckling. “I barely have friends at home, besides Madison, of course. She’s great.”

Something shifts in his demeanor, something I can’t quite read. “Why?”

Regretting my admission, I laugh, trying to lighten the mood that seems to be setting in like a gloom. “Why is your daughter great? Well, let’s see. She’s kind, thoughtful, funny, and beautiful, inside and out.” I feign a gasp, as if realizing something for the first time. “You know . . . I think she only getsoneof those qualities from you.”

I’m banking on the hope that he won’t ask which one, but I love the bored look that settles on his features, pretending like he doesn’t care.

Mr. Hudson Case. Dare I say, I might just be figuring you out.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He lets a silent beat pass between us. “Why don’t you have friends besides Maddy?”

It’s my turn to swallow, feeling the heat of an intense spotlight warm my skin. I hitch a shoulder up, aiming for casual. “You could say I have trust issues.”

My hands twitch on my lap as the memory of a cold, damp wall brushes my fingertips.

For a moment, I’m back, locked inside the tiny chamber in a muggy basement boiler room, left there for hours until I passed out from screaming.

Lifting my arm, I squeeze the back of my neck. My muscles often knot in that area when the musty undertones and a whiff of metal and lubricants clog my senses.

I adjust myself on my seat, hoping to avoid further conversation when Hudson’s voice catches me mid-neck-squeeze, pausing my movements.

“Are the trust issues the result of that scar?”

I release a shaky breath, dropping my arm and covering it with my free hand.

Hudson watches closely as I brush my hand over my arm, trying to hide the long, almost decade-old surgical scar—a reminder of the face of cruelty.

Giving up my effort to cover it, I drop my hand and fiddle with the silver band around my thumb. I had it resized years ago, though I’ve since lost my own. We’d gotten the same words engraved inside it—’98 and 3/4th percent guaranteed’—as a reminder of our first argument and a vow for many, many more.

“No,” I murmur, smiling wistfully down at my hands. “This scar is a reminder of my strength.”

Chapter Twelve

KAVI

10 years ago

The thunderous roars of two modified Dodge Challengers halt our conversation on the front concrete steps of Everbrook Bay Academy. My stomach sinks, beckoning my legs to move faster than they can.

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