Page 44 of Lost Then Found
And I don’t know what that means. If she gets it. If it made a difference or if she’s just done with this conversation already.
Finally, she nods again, more to herself than to me. “It was twelve years ago,” she says flatly. “We’re not the same people anymore, right? Different lives. It’s easier to leave the past where it is.”
It lands wrong. Like she’s drawing a hard line in the dirt, pretendingwe’re strangers just because we’ve changed. Like none of it ever mattered.
I hate how final it sounds.
But before I can say a word, she’s already moving on. Clearing her throat, looking up at me again. “What do you want to do about Hudson?”
I swallow around the lump in my throat, forcing my thoughts to catch up. “I want to spend time with him. Get to know him. Bring him out to the ranch.” I look at her. “Figure out a schedule that makes sense.”
She studies me, nods once. “Monday through Friday, he stays with me. It’s easier. His school’s close, he’s got practice, and I’m five minutes away if something comes up.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Makes sense.”
She hesitates, tapping a finger once against the desk. “But…if Hudson’s okay with it, we can ease into weekends. He should get to decide that.”
I keep my expression steady, but my chest goes tight.
“Thanks,” I say. “I know that’s not easy.”
Lark crosses her legs, arms folding across her chest. “There have to be rules, Boone.”
“Name them.”
“He calls or FaceTimes me when he’s with you. Just a couple minutes, but I need to hear his voice.”
“Done.”
“No late nights. If he stays over, you don’t let him stay up until three watching highlight reels.”
I huff. “Twelve years old and he’s already pulling that?”
She gives me a look. “Every chance he gets.”
“Noted.”
“No junk food,” she adds, eyes narrowing. “He eats real food at my place. Try not to undo that.”
I nod. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t starve on kale and quinoa.”
Her mouth twitches, but she doesn’t bite. She’s quiet for a second, then says it softly. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
That one cuts.
“I won’t.”
She watches me, still guarded, still waiting for me to prove I deserve to be here.
“Anything else you want to know?” she asks.
I shift in the chair, thinking. “Favorite baseball team?”
“Dodgers.”
Smart kid.
“Favorite player?”
