Chapter 3
THREE
DALTON
“See. I told you the next time I’d see you, you would be one big motherfucker.” Hudson’s throaty laughter roars from his chest as he meets me halfway up the driveway.
I chuckle as Hudson’s arms wrap around my back in an effort to lift me off the gravel. His excitement quickly falters when he realizes I’m too big.
“Jesus Christ, man. What the fuck are they feeding you in the Marines?” he asks, standing back to study me for the first time in six years.
I slap his shoulder, and the enthusiasm that I was lacking earlier finally kicks into high gear. “It’s good to see you, too.” I chuckle.
Taking him in, I stand back and observe his sandy blond hair and athletic attire—my eyes landing on his embroidered track jacket with his name stitched in red. I reach out and flick his chest, my index finger landing on the D of his last name.
“Coach Davis, huh?” I laugh, still in disbelief that he chooses to be employed at a place we once wreaked complete havoc in. It wouldn’t be too far off to assume Hudson’s athletic abilities are the only reason that guy is allowed back in there.
Hudson smooths out the polyester, like he’s afraid of his jacket getting wrinkles. “Fancy, right?” The pride in his voice is apparent.
I snort. “Super fucking fancy. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Hudson throws his head back in a bellowing laugh. “Well, I mean, I’ve been a sports guy my whole life. What the hell else was I going to do? Some people just aren’t born with the dreams of being a soldier, you know?”
I shake my head, thinking about possible career options for Hudson, but come up empty. Hudson got a full ride to a Division I college in Athens right after high school, starring as their star pitcher for four years. I can see him not waiting to leave the limelight—he’s right where he belongs.
“Yeah, you got a point there, man.” I laugh. “I probably couldn’t picture you doing anything else.”
Hudson makes a sound of agreement. “Well, I mean, I could be a Marine. That shit doesn’t look too hard.”
A hearty laugh rolls from my chest as I slap his back.
Yeah, fucking right.
I don’t care how athletic Hudson thinks he is; he wouldn’t last a day going through the rigorous Crucible that I had to go through—he’s too soft. “Keep telling yourself that, buddy,” I scoff.
Our feet crunch against the coarse gravel as we make our way to his lifted F150. I hop onto the running boards, my boot steadying me as I pull open the passenger side door and slide in. Hudson climbs in after, his key slipping into the ignition, causing his truck to roar to life.
“So, what brings you back to the island finally? It was me, wasn’t it?” Hudson asks, winking from across the console and puckering his lips.
This fucking guy.
I give him a glare through my sunglasses.
“Ha. Ha,” I say dryly, as Hudson eases us down my mom’s country road.
“Unfortunately, no. My mom’s selling the house, so I came back to help her fix up some repairs before she puts it on the market.
Apparently, the realtor is being a damn stickler about it. ”
Hudson's eyebrows shoot up beneath his Ray-Bans, taking his eyes off the road quickly to assess me. “No shit? Damn, I didn’t know that. My mom never mentioned that Anne was selling.”
“Yeah, moving closer to my aunt in Charleston,” I say, watching the oak trees fade into palms as we make our way closer to the residential streets of Tybee.
“Well, damn, man. I’m surprised she didn’t hire out. How long did you take leave?”
A scoff leaves my mouth as I think about all the contractor quotes she’d said she received—their prices borderline criminal. I hesitate telling him the truth, hoping my timeline is pushed up with my impeccable work ethic. “Uh…three weeks,” I say, tugging at the brim of my baseball hat.
Hudson snaps his head my way, his eyes leaving the Atlantic that’s now come into view. “Are you fucking serious? You’re going to be here for three weeks?”
I tug at the collar of my shirt, suddenly feeling constriction around my throat.
Three weeks and hopefully not a second longer.
There’s a specific person I don’t want to see—places that I don’t want to go.
I hum, hoping that satisfies Hudson’s question about my time on the island.
“Holy shit. Think of all the shit we get to do. All the beers we get to catch up on,” Hudson says.
A warmth spreads through my chest, but then suddenly turns frigid when I think about how excited he is to spend time with me—even with how much I’ve distanced myself from him the last few years.
I rub the back of my neck nervously as I take in the fishing boats and wake trails in the distance. As we approach the Marina, I spot my dad’s old fishing vessel still tied off and docked under the slip. “Uh, yeah, man. Maybe.”
Hudson whips his head in my direction. “Maybe?” He scoffs. “Pathetic answer, Dalton. As a matter of fact, maybe is unacceptable after six fucking years.” Hudson flicks on his blinker, turning right at the stop sign—maneuvering his truck through the commercial district of the island.
As he passes a few of our favorite restaurants in town, I sit up straighter, wondering where the hell he’s taking me. “Uh, where are we going for lunch?”
“Oh. Well, all the beers we get to catch up on…” He chances a quick glance at his watch under his track jacket. “…starts now.”
“Now?” I look around as we pull into a dive bar parking lot next to a white Jeep Wrangler.
“Salty Sailors?” I say, shocked, my voice edging on repulsion. If my memory serves me right, this probably isn’t the place I’d choose to slap back a few cold brews in.
“Yeah. Don’t be so fucking hoity-toity, Dalton. This place has really cleaned up since you left. It’s under new management,” Hudson says defensively.
I raise my hands in defense. Jesus, I didn’t realize this guy was so invested in the business community around the island. Hopping out of Hudson’s truck, I match his pace as we get closer to the front door.
“Plus, Savanna works here now, and I bet she would love to see you,” he says, his hand reaching for the front door.
My steps falter against the busted pavement. “Your sister?” My voice cracks, afraid I heard him wrong.
“The one and only.” He nudges my elbow. “She’s a killer bartender. Maybe she will give you a free drink!”
I swallow hard. Numbness coats my throat.
Yeah, I wouldn’t count on that one.