Page 96 of Lost Then Found
There was nothing behind them.
No warmth. No light. No trace of the woman who had once held me in her arms, who had brushed my hair back from my face and kissed my forehead before bed.
And I hated how time could do that. Strip the color. Leave only the outlines.
She had lived for twenty more years after she left me. Twenty years of birthdays, Christmases, school plays, scraped knees, late-night fevers, first days of school—all without me. And she never came back.
I’d wondered if she ever thought about me. If she ever picked up the phone and dialed our house number, only to hang up before it rang. If she ever walked past a little girl with blonde hair and wondered if she looked anything like me.
Or if she had simply made her choice and never looked back.
And now, I would never know.
I stop, pressing my hands to my hips, my breath coming too fast. My ponytail is damp with sweat, strands of hair clinging to my neck. The ache in my legs is a welcome distraction, something real, something tangible.
The sky is streaked in gold and violet, the last bit of daylight clinging to the edges of town. The Bluebell’s sign flickers in the distance, a pulsing reminder of everything waiting for me. The decisions I don’t know how to make. The things I can’t outrun.
I glance at my watch. I should turn back.
I drag my hands over my face, exhaling hard. Ishouldfeel better. Running always clears my head. But tonight, the weight of everything still clings to me.
Boone. The Bluebell. Wendell Tate.
I roll my shoulders back, trying to shake it off. I can’t solve everything in one night. I can’t untangle the past, or rewrite the mistakes, or make sense of the future in a single run.
But I can put one foot in front of the other.
So I do.
I keep moving.
I keep going.
Not with certainty. Not with grace. Only with the rhythm of someone who has nothing else to hold onto but forward.
Chapter 10
BOONE
“She’s gonna lose her mind,” Hudson mutters, watching me like I’m about to set the kitchen on fire.
I glance over from the stove, lifting a brow. “That a good thing or a bad thing?”
He shrugs, flipping a baseball card between his fingers. “She’s just not used to people doing nice stuff for her, I guess.”
That much I already knew. I’d seen it in the way she carried herself earlier, that tightness in her shoulders, the kind that comes from too many years of doing everything on your own. She’d looked tired as hell, and I figured the last thing she’d want after her run was to stand in this kitchen making dinner. So I beat her to it.
Not a big deal. Just chicken and dumplings. I’d done more for people I cared about with a whole lot less of a reason.
I shrug. “Maybe she should be.”
Hudson tilts his head, watching me like I’m a puzzle he hasn’t figured out yet. “So…you can cook?”
I glance back at the pot, giving it a slow stir. “Not bad at it.”
He smirks. “Huh. I just figured cowboys survived off beef jerky and coffee.”
I snort. “Right. And we sleep under the stars and wrestle cattle forfun.”
