Page 46 of Lost Then Found
This is the door opening. It could be my only shot, and I sure as hell don’t plan on fucking it all up.
Chapter 5
LARK
I’m pacing the living room, my arms crossed so tight across my chest it feels like I might fold in on myself.
What thehellam I supposed to say?
What the hell am I supposed todo?
I glance at the clock. Not much time to figure it out. Hudson will be home any minute.
I run through the conversation in my head again, try to predict how this is going to go, what his reaction is going to be. Will he be excited? Confused? Angry? Will he shut down completely, the way he does when he’s stressed out?
I blow out a breath. I should’ve practiced this. Rehearsed it in the mirror or something. But there’s no preparing for something like this.
Before I can spiral any further, the front door swings open. Hudson steps inside, holding it open just long enough to toss a wave over his shoulder as Cade’s mom pulls away, his best friend sitting shotgun. I make a mental note to send her a thank-you text later for bringing him home.
Then I take a good look at my kid.
He’s filthy. His baseball uniform is covered in dirt, streaks of it smudged across his face, the kind that tells me he either slid into home or dove for a ball he had no business diving for. Probably both.
“Hey, Mom,” he says, kicking off his cleats and dropping his duffel by the door.
I open my mouth to tell him to take it to his room—the same thing I tell him every damn day—but the words don’t come out. The duffel bag is the least of my worries.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus. “How was practice?”
Hudson brightens instantly, his face lighting up like it always does when baseball is the topic.
“Okay, so—” He launches into a story, his words tumbling out in that fast, animated way he gets when he’s excited. “Cade was up to bat, right? And he swung so hard, he let go of the bat, and it went flying into the fence. Coach turned so fast, I swear he pulled something.” He snickers, shaking his head. “Then Kyle tried to catch a fly ball, but he lost it in the sun and it hit him right in the forehead. I mean, he’s fine, but he looked so confused afterward, like he forgot where he was.”
I can’t help but laugh, watching him tell the story with all the energy of someone replaying the best moment of their life. His hands move wildly, illustrating every detail.
I love watching him like this. Love seeing him talk about something he loves.
And for a brief, fleeting second, I think about Boone. About how he used to talk to me about baseball the same way, rattling off stats and plays and trying to explain the difference between a fastball and a slider like it was life or death.
It’s unfair, how time works. How one day you’re sixteen, lying on a baseball field under the stadium lights, listening to the boy you love talk about the game like it’s in his blood, and the next, you’re standing in your kitchen watching your son do the exact same thing.
“Ma?”
I blink, snapping out of it.
Hudson is staring at me now, his brow furrowed.
“What?” I ask.
He tilts his head. “What’s wrong?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why would you think something’s wrong?”
His eyes narrow. “Because you have that look.”
I scoff. “I don’t have a look.”
“You totally have a look.”
