Chapter 13 Hudson
HUDSON
Ivy’s chatter filtered into my bedroom as she played with her dolls.
Good, she was preoccupied. I sat on the edge of my creaky bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the worn cardboard box resting in the middle of the mattress.
The one I hadn’t opened in years, save for shoving the marriage license Heather had left on the bed inside.
The one I’d thrown to the back of the closet and told myself never to look at again.
But I was desperate, backed into a corner by the credit cards that no longer worked and the number of bills piling up under me.
I ran a hand down my face, palms dry and calloused from the ranch work that barely paid the bills.
Not because Gray didn’t pay us fairly, but half of my salary went into restitution.
Every damn week, I was choosing which bill could wait, which meal needed stretching, what Ivy needed most, and what I could live without.
And still… I hadn’t touched the money.
With a slow breath, I opened the box. The musty scent of old paper and memories hit me hard.
The wad of cash sat neatly rubber-banded, just as it had been when it was given to me.
I didn’t have to count it. I already knew.
Ten thousand dollars. More than enough to hire a professional to fix the roof properly.
Pay a huge chunk of my credit card debt.
Pay for Ivy’s speech therapy with that new specialist.
But my hand didn’t move.
Not toward the money.
Instead, it shifted through the other things—the things I’d buried like bones. The wedding certificate I’d never looked at since signing it. Heather had made it clear our marriage was over the day she walked out and left it on the bed.
And then there was the ring.
A gold-plated band, dull and scratched. I’d refused to wear it from day one, but not because it was cheap.
I didn’t care about that. If Matty had tied a string around my finger four years ago, I would have worn it still.
But because the second that ring had touched my skin, I’d felt like I’d betrayed Matty all over again.
Worse than marrying someone else. It was the symbolic sealing of that betrayal.
A lie wrapped around my finger. So I’d tucked it into this box instead and gone ringless all my marriage.
I sat there staring at it all—proof of the worst choices I’d made, the person I used to be, and the man I was trying so damn hard not to become again. My eyes landed on the cash again.
Four years.
Four years, and I hadn’t spent a dollar.
Even when the electricity almost got cut off.
Even when I’d skipped meals so Ivy could eat.
Even when I was one grocery trip away from disaster.
Now I was drowning, and this money could be the raft. But I still couldn’t make myself reach for it. Not when I knew where it came from. Not when I remembered the folded note tucked beneath it. Elegant handwriting scrawled across cream stationery.
A bribe. Plain and simple.
To cut ties.
To disappear.
To walk away from the only real thing I’d ever had.
Matty never did go to Denver that summer like he was supposed to. By then, we’d been knee-deep in our affair, and he’d refused to leave me alone. He wanted to spend all the time with me before he went back to university to continue his studies.
His decision sparked a blowout with Gray big enough to send ripples across the entire ranch.
I’d figured out pretty quickly that Matty and his father were close—closer than most. They shared a bond rooted in sweat and soil, in early mornings and the kind of quiet understanding that only came from working the land side by side.
But that summer, Matty had drawn a line. Stood his ground not as Gray’s boy, but as his own man. He refused to be packed off like some kid on summer break to a parent who didn’t see him, not really.
His mother didn’t know what to do with a son like him—gritty, sun-browned, rough around the edges. She wanted polish. Compliance. She dragged him to city galas and luncheons like he was some trophy she could shine up.
I wasn’t the reason he didn’t want to go. But I was the reason he finally said it out loud.
Matty hadn’t even been back at the university for a full week when she showed up. Emma Magnuson. My boss’s high-society wife. Matty’s mother.
She found me at the bunkhouse, where I was living like a stray on the Magnuson ranch, doing whatever grunt work I could get. I wasn’t as used to farm work back then, but Gray overlooked my mistakes and was patient in teaching me. With Matty’s guidance, I was finally coming into my own that summer.
Then she came armed in her stilettos and perfectly pedicured nails. Not with kindness. Not with concern. With my past.
My arrest records.
The cheap, degrading porn I’d filmed to eat and keep a roof over my head after jail.
All of it, printed out neat in a manila folder, like a portfolio of shame.
She laid it down in front of me like a final judgment and said, in that perfect, crisp voice of hers, that I wasn’t fit to lick her son’s boots. That if I cared even a little, I’d disappear. She offered me ten thousand dollars to make a clean break with Matty.
And then came Heather’s news a few days later. Pregnant.
Emma had been right.
I didn’t deserve Matty, and he didn’t deserve to be dragged down with me.
I stared at the money like it might combust.
Ivy’s face flashed in my mind. Her laugh. Her trust. Her belief in me, undeserved as it was.
And Matty… God, Matty. The way he’d looked at me in the grocery store. Like he almost still believed in me too.
I shut the box. Not slammed. Not violent. Just a soft, final gesture.
No.
There had to be another way.
I stood, shoved the box back into the closet, kicked the door shut, and leaned my forehead against the wood.
This wasn’t the solution.
It couldn’t be.
Not if I wanted to live with myself tomorrow.
Not if I still wanted to be the kind of man who could look Ivy—or Matty—in the eye.
But fuck, it was tempting.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A quick peek at the screen unsettled my stomach.
Mom.
What the hell did she want? I’d sent her money, even though it arrived late. I’d explained my circumstances to her lawyer that medical bills were bleeding me dry.
I stared at the screen until it went dark again, my chest already tightening. I should’ve blocked her. Should’ve done it years ago.
The voice mail alert pinged a second later.
I should’ve deleted it. Instead, I swiped the screen and hit Play.
“Hudson, it’s Mom. I got your check. It was late—again—but it cleared. Better than the last one that bounced.”
I flinched. Like she’d smacked me through the speaker.
“My lawyer says you’re having a hard time.” Her voice softened in that way that always made me feel ten years old again. “You could just say so, you know? When are you going to stop being so stubborn and let me help you? All you have to do is ask.”
I clenched my jaw.
“I want to see my grandbaby. Hudson, please—”
I hit End.
Nope. Not today.
She didn’t get to ask about Ivy. Not after the way she and my dad turned their backs on me.
Would I be in this situation if not for them?
They expected me to be grateful. That their decision had saved me from the fast life that would’ve led to my ruin.
What they never understood was that the severity of their actions had destroyed me.
Plunged me into a life of selling sex to pay them back.
I crossed the hall, paused outside Ivy’s room, and poked my head in.
The ache in my chest dulled the second I spotted her.
Perched on the bed, legs swinging, her dolls lined up neatly in a row, each with the blanket tucked over their laps like they were attending some formal tea party.
Ivy held one of her picture books open on her lap and was reading to them from memory, making up the parts she couldn’t remember with confidence and flair.
“—An’ then da kitty said no-no-no, I don’ yike bwoccoli nee-ver.”
I let out a breath. The storm inside me, all that anger and shame and fear… quieted.
“Hey, Bug,” I said gently.
She glanced up and grinned. “Daddee, I readed ’em a story.”
“I heard. They’re lucky to have such a good storyteller, but it’s time for dinner, baby girl.”
She jumped to her feet and grabbed her favorite bear. “Tumbles hungwy too.”
“Guess you’ll have to share with Tumbles, then, won’t you?” I scooped Ivy up. She rested her head on my shoulder like she knew I needed her closeness even more than she did.
In the kitchen, the scent of garlic and seasoned chicken lingered. I’d managed a decent meal for Ivy—roasted thighs with mashed sweet potatoes and steamed carrots, cut into stars the way she liked. I’d made enough to last Ivy for a couple of days.
For myself? A bowl of instant ramen, half-cooked and limp.
I sat her at the table and tied on her plastic bib. “Let’s wash up first, huh?”
She nodded, and I walked her to the sink, helping her rub soap between her fingers, then rinse and dry them on a paper towel.
We sat down together, Ivy chattering as she picked at her stars. She was happy. Fed. Safe.
That was all that mattered.
I stirred my noodles with a fork and forced them down without tasting them. My stomach was too knotted with worry to enjoy the food, but I needed the energy.
Still, watching her munch her carrots and tell Tumbles to use her spoon made something in my chest warm.
This was why I couldn’t take the money.
This was why I had to find another way.
Because no amount of cash was worth losing who I was trying to become, for her.
A sharp knock startled me. We didn’t get many visitors except for Estelle, who dropped in with Tupperware of real food now and then.
Thick stews, roasted chicken, buttery mashed potatoes.
Meals I looked forward to more than I’d ever admit, especially on nights like tonight when I was staring down a bowl of overcooked ramen and trying to convince myself it didn’t taste like regret.
I put down my fork, hoping it really was Estelle. “Keep eating, Bug. I’ll check who it is and be right back.”
I opened the front door, and my mouth went dry. Definitely not Estelle.
Matty stood on my step with a brown paper bag cradled in his arms. He’d changed since I saw him last. Traded one soft flannel shirt for another, unbuttoned and hanging open over a plain white tee that hugged his chest, reminding me I hadn’t touched him enough when we fucked by the lake three days ago.
His jeans were worn, faded in all the right places, and his hair looked slightly damp, like he’d come straight from a shower.
I blinked. “Uh, Matt?”
“Where’s your kitchen?” He pushed his way past me into my home. My home.
I pointed like an idiot. “Straight ahead, on the right.”
He walked into the kitchen, and Ivy squealed. “Maaaah!”
I snapped out of my daze and ran after him. This obsession Ivy had with him wasn’t good. I had to nip it in the bud.
“Wait. What are you doing here?” The sight of him ruffling my little girl’s hair made my heart beat fast.
“I brought ice cream.” He set the bag down on the counter like he owned the place.
“Don’t say that—”
“I’cweam!” Ivy shrieked from the table. Her chair scraped as she bounced up, then squealed again. “Maaaah bought Ivy i’cweam, Daddee!”
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “Great. Thanks. Now she’s not gonna eat her veggies.”
Matty turned and smiled at her like it was the best thing in the world to be adored by a three-year-old. “You’ll eat your veggies, won’t you, Ivy?”
Ivy nodded eagerly, the brightest damn smile lighting up her whole face. She patted the chair next to hers. “Fee’ me?”
I opened my mouth. “Ivy, you can feed yourself, baby—”
“It’s okay.” Matty slid into the seat beside her like he’d done it a hundred times before. “I’ve got her.”
He handed me the ice cream without looking away from her, and I stood there a beat too long, staring at him like he might disappear if I blinked.
Oh God.
He was in my kitchen.
In my kitchen.
Where the cupboard doors hung crooked on their hinges and the paint was chipped from years of wear. Where the fridge groaned every time it kicked on, and the counter had scorch marks from where Heather almost burned the place down.
I swallowed hard and turned away, shoving the pint into the freezer like it might make all this feel less exposed. Less intimate. Less like a dream I hadn’t allowed myself to have in years.
Behind me, Matty’s voice was soft. Low. Encouraging. “Open wide, Bug.”
Ivy giggled, opened her mouth, and made a show of chewing exaggeratedly. She held up Tumbles.
I forgot to breathe.
“Maaah has to feed Tumbles too.”
Did he recognize the bear? Maybe he didn’t. Tumbles was worn and—
His eyes met mine across the kitchen.
Fuck.
This was Matty. Of course, he remembered the custom bear he’d given me that summer.
My face flushed. I looked away.
Shit.