Page 41 of A Pen Pal for Christmas

But as for the topic of Hudson being my pen pal… I still didn’t know how to feel about that. If Hudson was my pen pal, it would make sense in some ways. Maybe that was why wefelt a connection already. After all, we were actively building something on paper from the first days we were in town, and then continuing that connection in person.

But like I’d told the girls: they were almosttoodifferent. How could he not let any of the depth and pain from his past that I could see in his eyes bleed onto the page? Did that mean his letters were superficial and fake?

Then again, what did that say about me? It wasn’t like I’d opened up to my pen pal about the stuff going on with Dane. In fact, I’d avoided it. I’d talked about anything and everything I could that would keep things fun and sweet between us. Protect the escape that our letter exchange provided. I didn’t think that made me superficial or fake, so could I really think the same of him?

I shook my head as I reached my room. None of that mattered. We could be totally wrong. Get a group of women together with wine, candy, and gossip and there were bound to be theories running amok that made no sense. The last thing I needed was to pin my hopes on the wrong man, and the idea of Hudson and my pen pal being one and the same was almost too good to be true.

I pushed the door open with a sigh. The soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table greeted me, and for half a second, I let myself relax as I stepped inside, already looking forward to a hot shower and a book before bed.

But then, as I actually got a good look at my cozy space, my stomach bottomed-out.

I froze, staring at the wreckage before me. The bedspread was crumpled and half on the floor. My suitcases were overturned, clothes spilling out like someone had gone through them in a hurry. The nightstand drawer was open, its contents scattered across the floor.

And my books… oh, my poor books. They were tossed in every corner of the room, some of them laying open while others had been mercilessly ripped apart.

My heart pounded as I moved to the center of the room and turned in a slow circle. Who would do this? Why? It wasn’t like I had anything in here worth stealing. I didn’t keep cash, I wasn’t much for jewelry unless you counted the cheap kind that had a rocker edge, and my books—while cherished by me—weren’t first editions by any means.

And then… I saw it.

On the floor by the window was a piece of paper, the edges curled like it had been crumpled and then smoothed out again. The creases were torn a little on the edges due to being opened and re-folded so many times.

I bent down slowly, my fingers trembling as I picked it up. My eyes scanned the familiar handwriting, and my jaw dropped as I realized it was my own. This was one of the letters I’d sent to Dane while he was in prison.

I remembered writing this one, sitting on the fire escape of my old apartment in Philly, hoping my words would convince him to change. To be better. The naive hope in those sentences made me sick now. It was from two years ago, and though I’d never stopped to wonder if he’d kept them or thrown them away, I couldn’t wrap my mind around seeing it now. And yet, here it was. In my room, after someone had broken in and trashed the place.

My vision blurred as panic crept in, my chest tightening with every shallow breath. This wasn’t a robbery attempt. This had to be Dane. Had he left this letter on accident, or was it supposed to be some kind of twisted message?

How many times had I told myself Dane wouldn’t cross a line like this? How many more lines would he have to cross before I stopped pretending he was still the person I once cared about?

For the fist time, I had no urge to deal with my Dane problems alone. This was worse than anything he’d ever done to me—including the emotional warfare. Not only did I want help after this, but I had a feeling I needed it, and there was only one person I wanted to get it from.

My hands shook as I turned and bolted out of the room.

Crossing the hall in three quick strides, I banged on Hudson’s door with more force than I intended. “Hudson?” I squeaked out, barely above a whisper. I couldn’t manage anything louder. “Hudson, are you there?”

The door opened almost instantly, and there he stood, his hazel eyes sharp as they took me in. His expression shifted immediately, his hand shooting out to steady me as I swayed.

The concern written on his face made something in me snap, and I let out a shaky breath, holding up the letter as if it explained everything. It obviously didn’t, but Hudson didn’t waste a second. He grabbed my arm gently but firmly, pulling me into his room and shutting the door behind me.

Then he turned to face me. His whole body was tense and on high alert, his jaw set as he studied my face. “Sofia,” he said, his voice low and deadly calm. “What happened?”

CHAPTER 15

Hudson

The door clicked shutbehind us, and I kept one hand lightly on Sofia’s arm, guiding her toward the desk chair. She looked pale, her breathing shallow, and I could feel her trembling even through her jacket.

“Hey,” I said softly, crouching in front of her as she sat down. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Just take a deep breath for me.”

She looked at me like she wanted to believe it but couldn’t quite get there. Her breaths started coming faster and faster, and before I knew it, she was showing signs of an oncoming panic attack.

“Hey, do me a favor, okay?”

She managed a nod—or at least, I hoped that was what it was.

“Name five things you can see.”

Her brows pulled together.

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