Page 35 of Lost Then Found
Wild and warm and fucking mine.
Sex with her had always been like that—intense, consuming, like she felt it just as deep as I did. No hesitation. No walls. Just heat and teeth and skin. Nails down my back. Her voice in my ear. Saying my name like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
And damn me, I still remember every sound she made. Every twitch of her hips. The way she bit her lip to keep quiet, like she didn’t want to give it all away but couldn’t help it.
Christ. I don’t have time to be thinking about sex with Lark.
Not when I’ve got a son.
A living, breathing, baseball-playing kid—and I’ve already missed twelve goddamn years of his life.
I sit there, hands braced on my knees, staring at the floor like it might give me some kind of answer. But all I see are the things I never got. Adozen birthdays. Christmas mornings. First steps. First words. First days of school. All of it gone.
I wonder what his laugh sounds like. If he snores. If he gulps down chocolate milk in the mornings or if he’s the orange juice type. I wonder if he hates math like I did, or if he’s got Lark’s sharp brain for it. I wonder if he knows how to tie a fishing knot. If he’s ever thrown a leg over a horse. If he’s got a favorite team or a glove he won’t let anyone touch.
Does he know I exist?
Has he ever asked?
Has he hated me?
I rub a hand over my jaw, trying to loosen the knot in my chest. It’s too big, too heavy—like it doesn’t fit inside me.
“Hudson.” I say the name out loud, testing it on my tongue. It hits hard. Familiar and foreign all at once. “His name is Hudson.”
I’d heard Lark say it like it was nothing. Like it was just another Tuesday. Like it wasn’t the moment my whole damn life split in two.
I have to take Hudson to baseball practice.
Just like that.
Like she hadn’t been sitting on the biggest thing she could possibly keep from me.
Sage leans back in her chair, exhaling slow, her eyes locked on mine.
Wren shakes her head, her disbelief turning sharp. “So she just…never told you?”
“No,” I mutter, dragging my hand down my face. “She didn’t.”
Mom’s fingers press into her temples, her breath shaky. “But why?” Her voice is lower now, rougher. “That doesn’t sound like Lark.”
Lark’s not just some girl I used to screw around with—she’s woven into this family whether anyone likes it or not. And I can see it in Mom’s face—she’s not mad. She’s disappointed.
“She could’ve come to us. She could’ve said something.” Mom shakes her head, her voice cracking. “We would’ve helped her. She and Hudson could’ve stayed here. Been safe. Been home.”
I shove back from the table, the chair scraping hard against the floor. “I don’t know, Mom,” I bite out. “I don’t know why she didn’t tell me. I haven’t had a real conversation with her yet.”
I run a hand through my hair, grip the back of my neck like that might settle the storm rolling under my skin.
Wren blows out a sharp breath. “Okay, so what are you gonna do?”
I glance her way. “What do you mean?”
She lifts a shoulder like it’s obvious. “I mean, are you gonna fight for custody? Partial custody, something? Where do you even go from here?”
I drag a hand across the back of my neck, the pressure of it all pushing down like a damn freight train. “Jesus, Wren. I just found out about him.” My voice is rough—gravel and exhaustion. “I haven’t even wrapped my head around it yet.”
She doesn’t back down. “Yeah, and Lark knew. She kept him from you. How is that even remotely okay?”
