Page 66 of Where We Left Off

I pause. Hudson’s dad is acop?

Tate rolls the muscles in his back and says, low and gruff, “Self-defence. He threw the first punch.”

My mind rewinds back to Tate’s predatory patience with Hudson, and I marvel up at the smooth caramel skin above the neckline of his shirt. So that’s why he was waiting him out – so that when hedidhit him back, he wouldn’t be obliged to stop. A warm sparkle spreads through my chest and I feel a primal sense of belonging, almost enough to make me smile, even in this hideous situation. But just as quickly as the little swarm of butterflies flutter in my stomach, a cold chill of premonition begins to still me, trickling slowly down my body.

How does Mitch know who Hudson’s dad is?

Worse still, how does Mitch know whoHudsonis?

I don’t have time to process this information as my mom incredulously spins to Mitch, a dry laugh choking out of her. “‘They’re just kids’?” she repeats, her voice deadly calm. “Maybe your son isjust a kid, butmy daughteris anything fucking but.”

I squeeze Tate’s hand in mine as his arm grows rigid with tension, and he manages the tiniest little press in response. I peer around his shoulder to look up at his beautiful face and its intentional blankness makes my heart constrict painfully.

My mom whips around to face me as soon as I come back into view. “Please tell me that I’m wrong about this,” she demands, her brow raised into a venomous arch.

I have no intention of saying anything in front of Hudson so the only word I say is, “Mom.”

She’s shaking her head. It’s worse than disbelief – it’s disappointment.

Why is the one thing that I want the most, the thing that my mom wants for me the least?

Mitch exchanges an unspoken dialogue with his brother, and Jason retreats up the driveway, heading to the garage. Mitch looks between my mom and me, his authoritative big-dick calm apparently here to save the day. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. River’s a great kid, very smart, I know. I meant that they’re young and they have a history-”

“Ahistory?” My mom’s eyes are electrocuting. Mitch flinches and looks away from her, his hands shoved in his pockets. She spins back to me. “What the hell does he mean, ‘ahistory’?”

Hudson stifles a guffaw and suddenly I wish that Tatehadurinated on him.

My mom turns back to Mitch, her voice far too controlled. “Why are you so calm about this?” she asks. Mitch looks down at her narrowed, searching eyes and his responding gaze is hard. She tilts her head as if she’s navigating her way through his brain and then she crosses her arms, her brow softening. “Tell me you didn’t know about this,” she says, her tone so unnervingly gentle that even I wince. “Tell me that you weren’t aware about what your son was doing to her.”

Doingto her? I recoil. The irony of my mom demonising Tate, especially when he’s stood right in front of Hudson, is not lost on me.

“It’s not like that,” I say, no longer in control of the words coming out of my mouth.

“Don’t talk,” my mom snaps.

“Hey,” Mitch barks and he moves to stand in front of her. If Tate wasn’t so tall, Mitch would be blocking my mom’s view of both Tate and me completely. “Enough, alright? They aren’t doing a damn thing wrong. There’s no need for you to be going in on her like this, because these are two trustworthy kids-”

“You want to talk about trust?” she replies, her voice cold.

The silence grows and grows until I’m suddenly aware of how freaking freezing it is out here. I look at my hands wrapped around Tate and I’m ghostly. When I exhale through my mouth a dove-grey wisp billows and evaporates into the clear black night.

My mom steps to the side so that she can see me behind my wall of Coleson men. Her eyes are disappointed but I know that there is a maternal sentiment in there. “Get inside and pack your things,” she tells me. “We’re going back to ours for a little while.”

My breathing pauses. We are literally at the housewarming party for her and her boyfriend, and she wants us to move back into her old housenow?!

Tate’s hand is suddenly a vice and I’m not sure that I could pry myself away from him even if I wanted to.

“Now,” she shouts, with more severity this time.

“You should let go of her Tate,” Hudson burrs, dawdling along the curb so that he can catch my eyes. I absolutely refuse to look at him, and I inch further behind Tate. “Don’t want me calling my dad out here, do we?”

The threat would seem embarrassing for a nineteen year old to be throwing around if I hadn’t just become aware that Hudson’s dad is a cop, but something about the insinuation behind his words has the dip between my shoulder blades prickling. Why did he say it like that?

My mom twists her head to appraise Hudson and she cocks an eyebrow. “Exactly who are you?”

Hudson grins at her and then looks back at Tate. “Yeah, Tate. Whoexactlyam I?”

Mitch folds his arms across his pecs and glowers over to Hudson. “Shut up.”

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