CHAPTER 2
Hudson wiped his hands off after he scrambled out of the crawl space connected to the water-heater closet in his customer’s house. “Everything’s taken care of, Mrs. Tennyson. You’ll be able to use the sink now, and everything’s draining fine.”
“And the pipe ...?” She was wringing her hands a little. “So I won’t need to call Kenny?”
Hudson hid his frown. Kenny was Marre Island’s only plumber—and a total dick, because he knew he was the only game in town. If you had any kind of plumbing emergency after the ferry stopped running, you were stuck, and he used that as leverage. He also knew that a lot of plumbers off island didn’t want to haul their shit out here, and the ones that did charged an arm and a leg. So Kenny charged just a little less—like a hand and a foot—and you were fucked.
Which was why, over the years, Hudson had gotten a hell of a lot better at plumbing and added at least the basics to his handyman services, stuff that didn’t require permits. It helped for small jobs like this, even if it was kind of miserable work, especially when it was cold. Or when it was rainy, like tonight.
“Nope. All good,” he quickly reassured the little old woman, who beamed. “Just don’t dump any more grease down the drain, okay? It’s not good for the septic, either, and that’s something I can’t fix.”
“Right, right,” she agreed, even though he had sincere doubts about how truthful she was being. Still, it’d take a while before he had to be out here again for a clogged pipe. He hoped. “Thank you, thank you! I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
We. Meaning the inhabitants of the island, where he’d lived his whole life.
Days like today, he wasn’t sure what they’d do without him, either, to be honest. He hauled up his tool bucket and box, feeling every ache from squirming around in the damned crawl space. When he’d started this business, he could put in a full day and still feel ready to head out to the city, drink, flirt, dance for a few hours, or pick someone up for some mutual fun. Now, at forty-two, he found that a long day crawling around in the tiny area between a packed dirt foundation and a house’s floor just hit different. He felt filthy, his arms ached, and all he wanted was to grab a beer and a shower— beer in the fucking shower, hell yeah —and maybe a sandwich after, then collapse into bed.
“Well, you have a good evening, Mrs. T,” he said, one hand on the doorknob. “I’ll send the invoice, okay?”
She waved him off, and he stepped outside. The storm was kicking up strong, so he was rapidly getting soaked, which basically made the dirt he’d gotten streaked over himself thanks to the mud in the crawl space just cake on more.
He hurried to put his tools in the back of his truck, then climbed into the driver’s seat.
Thankfully, home wasn’t too far away. (Technically, nothing on the island was that far away.) Despite having lived here his whole life, he knew to just drive slow and careful, because the storm was a beast, and he didn’t want to go off the road due to exhaustion and overconfidence and mud.
But before he could, his phone buzzed with a text, and he groaned as his shoulders squeezed together like they were in a hydraulic press.
“Please don’t be an emergency,” he muttered. He did not feel like running out and dealing with somebody’s generator failing or a tree branch crashing through somebody’s window. He’d probably still go, let’s face it. One way or another, they helped each other on the island. Not that anyone kept track, but just about every single person who lived there had gotten him out of a pinch at some point, and it seemed the least he could do to do the same if they needed it.
Instead, he saw “Jeremy” ... his son’s name.
He panicked briefly, because it was nearly midnight, and he didn’t care who you were—when your kid called at midnight, you panicked a little bit.
JEREMY: Noodle got loose again.
“ Fuck ,” he muttered, even as relief flooded his veins.
Not that there was anything wrong with dogs in general, or Noodle in particular. As far as Hudson was concerned, Noodle was a helluva a lot better than the goats Kimber was intent on collecting. But Jeremy and his live-in girlfriend had been fighting, and he’d asked if “the family”—meaning his grandparents and sister, and of course Hudson—could watch Noodle at the farmhouse until “things settled down.”
Hudson could’ve told him immediately that things were assuredly not going to “settle down,” because Jeremy and his girlfriend were like Mentos and Diet Coke, but the kid was twenty-three. Consequently, he knew everything.
Hudson smirked a little, shaking his head. God, I miss knowing everything.
Still, this was obviously a problem—and Jeremy knew his father loved dogs and his son enough to go out, late, in this shitty weather, to make sure the dog was okay and bring him home.
Before Hudson could text him back asking for more details, he got more texts.
JEREMY: This lady called me, said Noodle got into her garage
JEREMY: Can you go pick him up? I’ll bet he’s scared
Hudson groaned, wondering briefly, selfishly, if the woman wouldn’t mind hanging on to the dog until morning. But Noodle was a small-to-medium-size pit-boxer mix, with a bunch of other random breeds. He was also an escape artist, and he had a tendency to get into things as well as out of them. He was cute, so he usually got away with it, but who knew what this lady was like? It was a big ask. Also, if it was somebody from the island, Jeremy would’ve said so. There were some new people moving in, though. Maybe Noodle had found one of those.
He texted back: Where is she?
Jeremy answered with an address.
JEREMY: Looks like she’s our new neighbor. Moved into Ms. Caroline’s house?
At least it was close. He quickly texted back.
ME: All right. But you’ll owe me.
JEREMY: Cool thanks dad
Jeremy’s quick agreement meant he thought Hudson was kidding. He wasn’t. He just needed to think of a proper repayment. Maybe coming home and mucking the barn or something. Or dealing with the goats.
He started the truck, then put it in gear and cranked the wipers to high before starting down the slick road. This was going to suck, but the sooner it was done, the sooner he could get that shower and the beer, then go the fuck to sleep.