Until You Loved Me (Silver Springs #3)(84)

“Hudson.” It was a statement that seemed to stand in for “we meet at last.”

Hudson dismissed his first guess about the stranger being a sports fan. This old man had a specific purpose in being here, and it wasn’t to get an autograph. “Yes?”

“My name is Cort—Cort Matisson. I’m sorry to...to surprise you like this, but...do you have a minute? I really need to talk to you.”

An impulse to back away and slam and lock the door shot through Hudson—which was odd, since this man had no chance of overpowering him and didn’t seem threatening in a physical sense. “I’m sorry. I’m not in the habit of inviting total strangers in. If there’s something you want from me, a donation or...or to ask me to speak at an event, you’ll need to reach out to my agent. You can find his contact information online. I go over all requests with him. That would be the appropriate way to handle something like this.” Not showing up, unannounced and uninvited, at his house...

The old man made no move to leave. “I don’t think you want me to contact your agent.”

A chill rolled down Hudson’s spine. “Because...”

He patted the front of his shirt, where he had what looked to be a pack of cigarettes. Hudson could tell he was dying to light up, but he wisely left those cigarettes in his pocket. “This is a personal matter.”

Hudson had the creeping sensation that whatever this man had to tell him wasn’t going to be something he cared to hear, and yet he said, “You’re going to have to give me some idea of what this is about, or we won’t be having that conversation. We won’t be having any conversation.”

The man seemed unsure about how to continue. He glanced back at the circular drive, where he must’ve parked whatever vehicle he’d driven, as if he wished he could just go. Then he grimaced and scratched his neck.

“Well?” Hudson prompted.

“I’m the one who left you under that hedge,” he said.





21

“How’d you find my house?” Hudson had let Cort Matisson in, but he hadn’t invited him to sit. They were standing in the living room, facing off over the giant ottoman.

Visibly uncomfortable, Matisson swung his keys around and around one calloused finger. “Wasn’t hard. I’ve followed you in the news. Saw the report when that pizza deliveryman turned you over to the authorities. Know every detail and stat of your career since you started playing ball. I even read about your volunteer work with the boys at New Horizons.”

“That’s how you found me.”

“Yeah. A year ago, an article came out that said you’d bought a place in this area, so I knew folks around here would be able to tell me where you live.”

Hudson couldn’t help feeling betrayed by the locals. This, when he was just getting comfortable in Silver Springs? When he’d tried to contribute so much to the school? “Why would anyone give you that information?”

“I told them you hired me to deliver a load of firewood, but I lost your address.” He hitched a thumb over one bony shoulder, gesturing at the driveway—if Hudson’s fireplace hadn’t been in the way. “Wood’s in the back of my truck, so it looked believable. Don’t be mad over it. The gentleman I spoke to was just trying to be helpful. He’s so proud to have you as part of the community.”

“In other words, you lied. You staged it all with that wood.”

“I deliver wood. That’s how I get by. But yeah,” he admitted. “I knew I’d need to think of something if I was ever going to reach you in person. I figured I was doing you a favor by lying, though. Figured you’d prefer the lie to having me tell the truth.”

If it was the same “truth” the private detective had given him in general terms—when the PI had asked, “Would you really want something like this coming out about you?”—Cort Matisson was right. “Who are you to me? If you’re really the one who left me under that hedge, why’d you do it?”

A pained expression appeared on the man’s heavily lined face. “That’s a long story. And not a pretty one. I can’t say I’m proud of who I was back then—”

“Spare me the regret and the justifications and just answer the question,” Hudson interrupted. If this man had done what Hudson had been told, he had no patience with his excuses.

“I panicked, pure and simple.”

So it was true. Cort Matisson might as well have slugged Hudson in the breadbasket. “I was your dirty little secret, so you tried to get rid of me,” he said, his words coming out in a shaken whisper.

“I didn’t know what else to do!”

This man—what he’d done before and after his visit to Bel Air that day—made Hudson sick. He was afraid he might throw up. “You’re telling me that you’re my father and my grandfather.” He spoke in a low voice because he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone overhearing, most of all Ellie, whom he respected.

Even Cort Matisson winced at those words.

“Isn’t that true?” Hudson demanded. “Didn’t you get your own daughter pregnant when she was only sixteen?”

He nodded. That was a yes.

“Then I’m the result of that filthy, reprehensible, heinous, criminal act.”