11. Hudson #2
The dress is gone. Instead, she’s wearing an old college sweatshirt; navy blue with a faded logo, the sleeves going down past her fingertips, paired with a pair of leggings that might’ve once fit someone taller.
Her dark hair is damp, curling at the edges, and her face is scrubbed clean of makeup.
She looks like the Ivory I know, not the made-up Barbie doll her mother turned her into for the gala. She seems steadier, too.
I guess that’s what a hot shower and almost being abducted will do to you.
She tugs the hem of the sweatshirt, glancing down. “I, um, found this in the closet. I hope that’s okay? I didn’t want to put that ridiculous dress back on.”
I shake my head, not able to keep myself from smiling. “It’s okay. That was my sister’s. Han went through a phase where she stole all my sweatshirts. This place is full of her junk.”
Ivory relaxes, and a real smile spreads across her face. “Is Han short for Hannah?”
I nod, surprised and a little thrown. “Yeah. Han. She’s… She’s my kid sister. Three years younger. Wild as hell.” I gesture to the table. “Sit. Food will be ready in a minute.”
She slides onto one of the chairs, tucking her legs under her, sleeves bunched at her wrists. For a few minutes, the only sounds are the hiss of the stove and the scrape of my spoon against the pot. I set a bowl in front of her, another for myself, and we eat in silence.
After a few bites, she asks, “Do you come here a lot? I’m assuming this is your family’s place.”
I shrug, stirring my food. “I used to. When I was a kid, we would spend summers here. My parents thought getting us out of Halo, out of the city, would make us decent people. Joke’s on them, I guess.
” I force a smile, not quite convincing.
“After my dad died, I would come up on my own for a while. Han too, sometimes. It’s the only place that’s ever felt, I don’t know… honest.”
She nods, watching me with those big green eyes, way too observant for her own good. “Tell me about her...your sister. What’s she like?”
I grin. “Han’s a pain in my ass. Loud. Smart mouth. Stubborn. Never shuts up. She does photography in her free time, but her job with the FBI is what pays the bills. We used to fight a lot. But she’s got a good heart.”
Ivory smiles. “She sounds brave. Free-spirited.”
I snort. “Yeah. She’s not scared of anything. Not like me.”
She looks surprised. “What? Mr. Bodyguard, scared? You’re lying.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “That’s what people think.
Truth is, I’m scared of a lot of things.
I’m scared Han’s going to get herself killed one day.
I’m scared I’ll end up like my old man: mean, broken, and only good at hurting people.
I’m scared I’ll never be more than someone who runs from his shit instead of facing it. ”
She looks down, tracing a finger along the rim of her bowl. “I know what that feels like. Being scared of becoming someone you hate.”
I want to reach across the table and take her hand, but I don’t.
She tilts her head, studying me. “You said your dad built this place. What was he like?”
I lean back, the old chair creaking. “A tough bastard. Worked with his hands and didn’t talk much unless he was angry or drunk.
Sometimes he’d just…explode. He built this place with the idea that we would always have somewhere to come back to, you know?
But sometimes things don’t work out that simple. ”
I stare at my bowl, jaw tight. “After high school, I joined the Marines. Got out, and…let’s just say I didn’t come back the man they hoped I would.
Things happened. Bad things.” My voice goes flat.
“I was dishonorably discharged. It was my fuckup. Civilians got hurt, some died. I blame myself every damn day. My old man never forgave me for it. He said I ruined the family name.”
Ivory’s eyes go soft, but she doesn’t interrupt.
I continue, “I didn’t handle it well. Started drinking too much, ended up with a felony on my record for putting some guy in the hospital during a bar fight.
After that, my parents pretty much cut me off.
My siblings, Han and Hardin, tried to stay in touch.
I…didn’t let them. Figured they would be better off. ”
I force a laugh, but it’s empty. “Guess I’ve been running ever since. I'm twenty-nine and don’t really know what it means to have a family anymore. Not the way you’re supposed to.”
She’s quiet, letting it all sink in. There’s no judgment, only patience. Ivory is the only person I’ve let see straight through to the part of me I wish I could hide.
“My brother, Hardin, he’s the oldest. He’s something else. Always was. The asshole loved to pick fights, and he stayed in trouble. We always had each other’s backs, though. I haven’t talked to him in a long time. He’s got his own bullshit he deals with.”
Ivory’s voice is gentle. “Do you miss them?”
I shrug, staring into my bowl. “Han, yeah. Hardin… sometimes. My mom, not really. We all got our reasons for running, I guess.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“I envy that. Having a place to come back to. A family, even with all the drama. It sounds… real.”
I look back at her.
She’s wearing my sister’s sweatshirt, curled up in the chair like she belongs here. For a second, I let myself imagine Ivory in this kitchen every morning, laughing with Han, arguing with me over coffee, filling this place with a life bigger than all my regrets.
“Was Hannah the kind of kid who’d drag you out of bed at sunrise to go swimming?” she asks, a shy smile playing on her lips.
“Every damn summer. She would sneak out and dare me to follow. I’d pretend I hated it, but honestly…I didn’t.” I smirk. “Sometimes I think her laughter haunts this place.”
“Maybe that’s why it feels safe here.”
I nod, something loosening in my chest.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
We finish eating, letting the silence feel comfortable. I clear the bowls and rinse them in the tiny sink, while she hums softly, a tune I don’t know. When I turn around, she’s watching me, her eyes soft.
“Thank you, Hudson,” she says quietly. “For trusting me with your story.”
I shrug, a little embarrassed. “It wasn’t much of a story.”
She shakes her head. “No. It was. It means something. You mean something.”
The words hit deep, settling in places I thought were long dead.
We curl up on the couch, and I pull her close. Letting the quiet wrap around us, still heavy with things neither of us said out loud. And for the first time in years, the ache inside me eases. It’s not gone, but it's quieter.
Maybe it is possible to start over.
Maybe a broken-down cabin, with a kitchen full of old memories and canned beans, is enough to start building something new.
I let the thought sink in.
And for the first time, I let myself want it.