Chapter 3
HUDSON
Mornings always started slowly with Ivy.
I was up before the sun, feet hitting cold floor, brain already running through everything that needed to be done before I went to work.
I relieved my bladder, then poked my head into Ivy’s bedroom, a modest space that could only fit her princess bed, a chest of drawers, and the bookcase with all the books on mermaids that I could afford to buy.
Ivy had a fascination with everything underwater.
She was still fast asleep, tangled in her Flounder blanket, her brown hair fanned out on the pillow, and her well-loved stuffed bear clutched to her chest. Tumbles had soft, matted fur that had once been a warm buttery brown but now carried the faded gray of too many washes and too much love.
One ear drooped a little lower than the other, and the stitching along his belly had begun to fray.
His left paw had a little embroidered heart, pale pink and barely holding on, and near the back seam was a small satin tag that Ivy always rubbed between her fingers when she was tired or upset.
A soft snore drifted from the room, and an ache formed in my chest. Last night had been rough.
When she’d asked questions about when Mama was coming home, I hadn’t known how to answer.
I’d shut down her questions the only way I knew how.
Blanket fort. Snacks on the rug. A flashlight under the chin.
Our own little slumber party in the middle of the living room.
Now the place looked like a tornado had come through. I hadn’t had the energy to clean it up after bringing her to bed last night.
Leaving her bedroom door ajar, I made my way to the living room.
I stepped over a crumbled cracker, picked up her sippy cup from under the couch, and tidied up around the remnants of our camp-out.
Toys everywhere. The corner by the window still smelled faintly of damp, a leak I’d had to patch in the middle of the night.
Water had dripped steadily through a crack in the roof, soaking the carpet and leaving a bubble in the paint.
I needed to fix the damn roof. But when you were running on fumes, a tight budget, and a wife who emptied your bank account, priorities got shuffled.
I did what I could. What I had to. Always.
My back still ached from the long hours I’d been putting in on the ranch because every day Matty’s prejudice against me grew, and I couldn’t give him a reason to fire me. So I worked twice as hard to shut him up.
He could be such a fucking asshole. He was hard to recognize as the nineteen-year-old who’d pursued me hard. At twenty-five, I should have known better and shut him down, but it’d been flattering the way he’d come on to me with his whole chest.
For fuck’s sake, he’d changed my perception as to what my role was when I was with another man.
He’d poured care and time into showing me why I was a perfect bottom for him, and after a few times, I’d become desperate to feel him inside me.
It didn’t help that he had the perfect cock. Not too long, but damn, its girth…
There was just something different about lying under Matty, watching the muscles in his arms flex as he held himself above me, eyes dark with want, lips swollen from kissing me like I mattered.
Like I wasn’t just a quick fuck or a summer mistake, but something worth chasing.
He’d made me feel wanted in a way that went deeper than lust.
And damn if I hadn’t fallen for it.
I fell for something I should have known wasn’t meant to be mine forever.
That version of him—the sweet-talking, confident brat who knew exactly how to touch me, how to read me—was nowhere to be found now.
I moved around quietly, cleaning up with the same care I’d use fixing a fence or shoeing a horse. Small things mattered. They piled up. Just like the moments Ivy would remember.
I packed her bag while the kettle heated—extra leggings, the latest mermaid book she was obsessed with, the sun hat she always tried to leave behind but ended up needing because she loved being outside.
Her snack container was already prepped in the fridge: apple slices, oat cookies, and her yogurt.
I double-checked her allergy medication, slid the emergency card into the front pocket, then zipped it all closed with one hand while sipping coffee with the other.
Things should have been more difficult with Heather gone, but it felt like every other morning.
I always did all the tidying up so she could sleep in a little longer.
All she had to do was watch Ivy, and for that, I even had to pay her.
No men allowed in the house when Ivy was here.
The two times I’d caught her getting dicked in our bed, Ivy had been on playdates.
At least I was thankful that she knew bringing other men around my daughter was the one behavior of hers I wouldn’t tolerate.
I should have left her a long time ago.
But girls needed their mothers, didn’t they? She wasn’t the best at mothering, but Ivy loved her. How would she handle it when she realized Mama wasn’t returning home? All my calls to Heather last night went straight to voice mail. She’d either thrown away her phone or blocked my number.
Our home wasn’t much to look at, but everything I had went into Ivy’s care. Half of everything I earned went into her speech therapy. Once a week, every week, rain or shine, I took her into the city.
That meant skipping out on new boots when mine were worn to the soles, patching up the wear and tear around the house myself instead of hiring help, eating more canned stuff and less fresh.
Didn’t matter. Ivy was talking a lot more than when she’d started.
She was using full sentences. Not always clear. But it was so much better.
The house was quiet except for the click of the coffeemaker and the soft creak of old floorboards. I checked the time, then slipped back into Ivy’s room. Her eyes fluttered open, cheeks warm and flushed.
“Hey, Bug,” I said gently, crouching down. “Time to wake up.”
She blinked at me, bleary. “Tumbles?”
The bear had fallen to the floor. I picked it up, a lump forming in my throat.
“Daddy, gimme.”
I handed him over, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Here you go. You hungry?”
She shook her head, then gave the smallest nod.
I laughed. “All right. Let’s get you up and ready. Remember you’re staying with Aunt Estelle today.”
“’tay wi you.”
“I have to go to work, Bug.”
“’tay wi Mama.”
I swallowed, not sure how to respond. Was it okay to tell a child that her mother might never return home?
“When I get back from work, we’ll make hot dogs and roast marshmallows in the backyard. How does that sound?”
She clapped her hands. “Yay!”
Crisis averted, I picked her up and got on with our morning routine.
She refused to wear jeans, and I had to relent and dress her in soft leggings with her favorite mermaid shirt, the one with the sequins that changed colors when she ran her hands over them.
She cried while I brushed her teeth and needed a five-minute cuddle before she calmed down.
In the living room, I had her sit on the edge of the couch while I brushed out her hair.
“Braid?” she asked, her big brown eyes hopeful. From that angle, with her head tilted, she resembled her mother so much.
I sighed, crouching in front of her. “I know, baby. I’m tryin’.”
She sat still as a statue while I fumbled with her hair, but my hands weren’t built for this kind of work. Too rough, too clumsy. The braid fell apart again, and I let out a frustrated breath, fingers twitching with the urge to punch something. I hated seeing her mouth turn downward.
“I ain’t good at this, Ivy,” I muttered.
At least Heather had been an expert at this part. Ivy’s braids were always neatly done. She always dressed Ivy well and ensured she looked her best.
She looked up at me with that big, trusting stare and said, “Mama braids Ivy’s hair.”
I shut my eyes for a second, then forced them open again. “I know, Bug. But Mama’s not here, remember?”
Her lip trembled slightly. “Why?”
Jesus. That question could rip me in two. I reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear.
“Tell you what,” I said, voice low, steady, “we’re gonna find someone real good at braids, better than me. And when we do, I’ll take you to them, okay? Pinky swear.”
She lifted her tiny finger, and I wrapped mine around it like it was a sacred vow.
I managed to slick her hair back into a ponytail, then had her eat breakfast while I showered and got ready for the ranch. She made a mess, but seemed to have gotten most of it in her mouth. By the time we pulled up to Estelle’s, the sun was starting to warm the sky.
Ivy was more alert now, humming something tuneless under her breath, pressing her nose to the window as we passed Dough Re Mi, the bakery on Main.
She loved going there, staring wide-eyed at the rows of colorful sweets, even if she never actually ate any of them.
Said they were “too mushy” or “too yucky,” depending on the day.
Still, I always bought the same thing: a strawberry shortcake. Part habit, part excuse. Made me feel less like cluttering up their space just so my daughter could take in the smell of freshly baked goods, even though she didn’t want anything.
A few weeks ago, the owner, a silver-haired woman named Miss Loreen, had touched my arm and said gently, “You don’t need to buy anything, sweetheart. Just bring that baby in here anytime. She brightens up the place.”
I still bought the cake. I didn’t like feeling like I owed anyone, even kindness. But her words stuck with me, the softness of them curling in my chest in a way I wasn’t used to. This was the reason I’d made Bristlecone Springs home after losing everything.