Page 65 of Lost Then Found
His head snaps up. “No way.”
“Swear to God. Your mom went through this full-blown dinosaur phase. Used to carry plastic raptors around in her backpack.”
He groans. “That’s kinda embarrassing.”
“Don’t tell her that. She’ll hit you with a lecture and a National Geographic documentary.”
Hudson laughs, and it punches me straight in the ribs.
“What’s your favorite movie?” he asks.
I think for a beat. “Tombstone.”
He squints. “Never seen it.”
I pretend to be horrified. “What? What the hell’s your mother been teaching you?”
“Stuff that doesn’t suck,” he says, smirking like he knows exactly how to get a rise out of me.
I bark out a laugh. “Alright, we’ve got some work to do.”
He goes quiet again, looking around. His voice is softer when he says, “This place is cool. It’s different.”
I nod. “Yeah. It is.”
“Bet the stars look crazy out here.”
“They do,” I say. “No light pollution to ruin it. Just sky and silence.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, then glances up. “Maybe I can see them sometime.”
That one lands hard. I don’t let it show.
“Yeah, kid,” I say, voice low. “I’d like that.”
It’s not a promise, not really. But it’s something. And after twelve years of missing everything—his first steps, his first words, every damn milestone—I’ll take something.
We ride on. Springsteen keeps a steady rhythm, Hudson sitting a little taller the longer we’re out. I point things out as we go—the ridge line, the old oak where my dad carved his initials back when he was a kid. Hudson soaks it all in, his eyes moving constantly.
I don’t say it, but I hope like hell he sees what I see.
Hudson’s taking it all in—eyes moving nonstop, questions firing out like he’s trying to memorize every damn inch of this place.
And all I can think about is how I wish Jack could’ve seen this.
He should be here.
Riding right next to us. Teasing Hudson about his posture, giving me shit for getting soft. He should’ve seen the ranch.Myranch. The one I told him about a hundred times when we were lying on our backs in the dirt, out in the middle of nowhere, dreaming up lives we didn’t think we’d ever get to live.
I wish I could call him.
Wish I could pick up the phone at the end of the day, tell him Hudson saw the ranch for the first time. That he asked about the cattle and the soil and why the hell I haven’t fixed the broken gate yet. That he leaned into the saddle like it was second nature.
I wish I could tell him,he loved it, Jack. You would’ve loved it too.
I wish he could see this life I’m trying to build—this slow, quiet, real life we used to talk about like it was a pipe dream. A stretch of land, a good horse, a kid who looks at you like you might actually know what you’re doing.
But he’s not here.
