Page 51 of Lost Then Found
I turn toward the stairs. “Hudson! Dinner!”
There’s a pause, then the familiar thud thud thud of his feet pounding against the floorboards as he takes the stairs two at a time. A second later, he’s in the kitchen, his damp hair sticking up in places, his Nike sweatpants slung low, his T-shirt a little too big, like he’s mid-growth spurt again.
His gaze flicks to Boone, guarded but curious.
Boone clears his throat, stepping forward. “Hey. Your mom said she…um, talked to you.”
Hudson nods but doesn’t say anything.
Boone hesitates, then sticks out his hand. “I’m Boone.”
Hudson glances at me, then back at Boone, before reaching out and shaking his hand. “Hudson.”
Boone grips his hand, testing his grip. “Damn, kid,” he says, shaking his fingers out after. “Strong handshake. You trying to break my hand or what?”
Hudson cracks a small grin, eyes sparking with amusement. “I dunno. Maybe.”
Boone chuckles. “Alright, I’ll keep my guard up next time.”
And just like that, the air in the room shifts.
Lighter. Easier.
Something inside me unclenches, something I didn’t even realize I was holding onto.
We all settle at the table, and I keep my eyes on Hudson, watching him closely. Trying to read between the lines, to see if there’s any hesitation, any uncertainty hiding beneath the surface. But he just looks…normal. Like any other night.
Boone turns to him. “Your mom tells me you like baseball.”
Hudson snorts. “Likesis an understatement.”
Boone lets out a real laugh at that—unfiltered, unguarded. It takes me by surprise.
“Alright,” Boone says, resting his elbows on the table. “So, tell me—who’s the best player in the league right now?”
Hudson doesn’t even hesitate. “Easy. Mookie Betts.”
Boone raises an eyebrow. “Not Ohtani?”
Hudson rolls his eyes. “Ohtani’s obviously great. But Betts is more versatile. You can put him anywhere, and he’ll be one of the best players at that position. Plus, he’s got the best baseball IQ in the game.”
Boone nods slowly, like he’s considering. “Not a bad argument.”
Hudson grins. “I know.”
Boone leans back. “Alright, what about best pitcher?”
“Spencer Strider,” Hudson says immediately. “That fastball? Unhittable.”
Boone lets out a low whistle. “Alright, alright. Kid knows his stuff.”
Hudson smirks. “Told you.”
And I realize then that I’m smiling. Just watching them, something warm building in my chest.
We make it through the rest of dinner with Hudson and Boone talking baseball like they’ve been doing it their whole lives. Like this isn’t their first real conversation. Like there aren’t twelve missing years sitting between them.
I let them talk, let them build whatever this is, only cutting in to remind Hudson to actually eat in between all his talking.
