36. Eva
EVA
I sit on Hudson's couch and feel oddly disconnected from everything.
When I first came here, the place felt empty and cold. Now it just feels hollow, just like me.
The TV plays in the background. A reporter repeats the same story that’s been on every channel.
"...police believe two rival motorcycle clubs engaged in a violent conflict late last night while the FBI executed a coordinated raid on the Trusted Saints headquarters as part of an ongoing human trafficking investigation."
Video plays behind him.
Flames consume my father's house.
Black smoke climbs into the sky.
Federal agents swarm the property.
These images should feel real to me.
I was there.
But somehow, they don't.
It’s like I’m watching someone else’s life fall apart on TV.
"Authorities confirm that the leader of the Trusted Saints, believed to be connected to large-scale weapons and narcotics operations, was killed during the incident. The estimated death toll now exceeds one hundred, making this the deadliest mass casualty event in the city's recent history."
My father is dead.
I still can’t wrap my head around it.
I don’t even know how I’m supposed to feel.
The reporter keeps talking until my own name cuts through the noise.
"Jonas Sorenson's daughter, Eva Sorenson, was reported missing several months ago by colleagues at her public relations firm..."
I just stare at the screen.
Missing.
I guess that’s what I am now.
A missing person.
A victim.
A daughter.
None of those labels feel right anymore.
I’m still trying to make sense of it all when the front door opens.
I glance up.
Hudson comes in, bringing a rush of cold air with him.
I can’t believe he still went to practice after everything that happened.
This morning, he mumbled about owing Nik and needing to show up while I was half asleep.
Now it’s early afternoon.
He drops onto the couch next to me with a tired grunt. His blond hair is still damp with sweat and melted ice.
I notice his familiar scent in the air.
"Not showering today?" I ask.
"Sorry," he says, “Didn't seem that important. I wanted to check on you first."
He looks me over right away.
"How are you feeling?"
"Honestly?"
I shift on the cushions.
"Better than I thought. The headache’s mostly gone. I walked a bit this morning. Just bruised and sore."
Lucian flashes through my mind.
His awkward smile.
His endless chatter.
The way he'd hovered around me during those first awful days.
I never got to tell him I actually liked the music.
It hits me painfully all over again.
He's gone.
Really gone.
I swallow hard, trying to push it down.
Beside me, Hudson sits very still.
I don’t even have to look at him to know he’s thinking about the same thing.
His jaw tightens. He stares at the screen but doesn’t really see it.
The silence drags on.
"I should probably call my team," I say. "Apparently, they filed a missing persons report."
A dry laugh slips out of me.
"My own father didn't."
Hudson snorts.
"To be fair, crime organizations generally don't file missing persons reports."
I roll my eyes.
"Good point."
A faint smile flickers at the corner of his mouth, but it fades quickly.
Grief sits between us, heavy and unspoken.
“Can we talk about what actually happened last night?” I finally ask.
Hudson chews on his bottom lip as he turns toward me.
“Maya’s coming. She’ll be here soon to take a look at you. Once she leaves, we can talk.”
I meet his eyes for a moment, then finally nod.
"Okay."
We sit and stare at the screen, our thoughts still lost in the wreckage of last night.
* * *
Maya arrives with a soft knock at the door.
The moment Hudson opens the door, she pulls him into a hug.
"I'm so sorry," she whispers.
Hudson’s face crumples for a moment.
"Lucian was a good kid."
He shakes his head immediately.
"I can't?—"
"It's okay," Maya says gently. "You don't have to."
“Yeah.”
He clears his throat hard and gestures toward me.
"Eva's over there."
Maya turns her attention to me immediately.
Her concern deepens when she sees the bruises.
The cuts.
The exhaustion.
“Mind if I take a look?”
I nod.
For fifteen minutes, she goes through every concussion test she knows. She asks questions, checks my memory, tests my balance, has me follow her finger, looks at my pupils, and gently presses the back of my head while I try not to flinch.
Hudson stays close the whole time.
He watches in silence.
Finally, Maya leans back.
"Okay."
That single word makes us both look up.
"Good okay, or bad okay?" Hudson asks.
"Good okay."
He breathes out in relief.
"I'm pretty sure you have a concussion," Maya continues. "Loss of consciousness. Vomiting. Head trauma. It checks enough boxes that I'm comfortable assuming that's what we're dealing with."
Hudson grimaces.
"How bad?"
"I don't think she has signs of a more serious brain injury."
He relaxes immediately.
"But," Maya adds, pointing at him, "that doesn't mean she's fine."
Maya turns back to me.
"No driving. No alcohol. No strenuous activity. No making major life decisions for a few days."
"That last one feels oddly specific."
"Trust me."
She gives me a small smile.
“You’ve been through a lot. If you want, I can recommend a good counselor. Someone you can talk to.”
“I’m okay for now. I’ll… let you know,” I say. “Thanks again for coming over.”
Before she leaves, she surprises me by pulling me into a hug.
“Hudson’s a good man,” she whispers. “Even when he doesn’t believe it. Maybe you two can help each other heal.”
My eyes start to sting.
“I appreciate it.”
Maya squeezes my arm one last time before collecting her bag and heading for the door.
Hudson walks her out.
I stay curled up on the couch and listen to their quiet voices in the entryway.
A minute later, the front door closes.
Then the lock clicks into place.
Hudson stands by the door, rubbing the back of his neck, then finally comes back into the living room.
He stops in front of me, studying my face.
“Are you seriously okay?”
He sits down on the coffee table across from me. The wood creaks a little under his weight.
“I’m…”
Tears come again, but I force them back.
"Not really. Physically, I’m okay. But everything else…” I shake my head. “I feel off, overwhelmed, and disconnected. I can’t really explain it."
“You don’t have to,” he says quietly. “I know that feeling. I've been there."
He looks away.
“Sometimes I wish I felt that now. It would be easier than this.”
“I can’t imagine what that was like…” I let my tears fall. “With Lucian.”
He closes his eyes. “I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t protect him.”
I reach out and take his hand. Our knees touch, and our fingers stay laced together.
“I didn’t kill your father or Baron. At least, I don’t think I killed Baron. We got into it when I came to get you, but I left him breathing. The feds got Jonas.”
“I don’t care,” I say, and I mean it. “I don’t care what happens to them.”
When I think about my father’s death, I feel nothing. No grief, no guilt.
Just emptiness.
“Thank you,” I add quietly. “For coming for me.”
Hudson sits quietly for a while, lost in his thoughts.
“I thought I was too late,” he says finally. “And I was…”
He lets out a painful sound, throws his head back, and exhales deeply.
“Hudson…”
“When Lucian died, all I could think about was my mother. I was so young, and there was nothing I could do to help her. I learned to live with that.” He shakes his head. “But this was different. I thought I could get him out.”
The pain in his voice leaves me breathless.
"I thought if I moved fast enough and got there in time..."
His jaw flexes.
Then he looks at me.
"And I didn't."
A heavy silence settles between us.
"I keep replaying it," he admits quietly. "Every second, every choice, trying to figure out where I could've changed the outcome."
His voice drops.
"All I know is he's gone."
The grief in his words hits me harder than anything else he’s said.
My chest aches.
There’s nothing I can say to make this better and nothing to bring Lucian back.
"I'm not going to tell you that you did everything right. You made mistakes, Hudson."
His gaze drops.
“But I know you loved your brother. I know you thought you were protecting him. And I know you went back for him.”
The words linger between us.
"You went back for me, too."
His eyes lift to mine.
"You saved my life more than once. That has to count for something."
He lets out a quiet huff.
It’s almost like a laugh.
"Now I have to run this fucking club."
"You don't have to become Martin."
I move a little closer.
"You get to decide what kind of leader you are. Or if you even want to be one."
He takes a moment before answering.
"You think walking away is that easy?"
"No," I say honestly. "I think it'll probably be awful. I just think you still have a choice."
The room grows quiet again.
"And you?" he asks after a moment. "What are you going to do?"
I stare down at our joined hands.
"I don't know,” I answer honestly.
Admitting it feels strangely scary to me.
"My dad’s dead. My job probably thinks I’m dead too. My apartment’s been empty for months." I shake my head. "I just feel lost."
Something softens in his expression.
"Then stay."
I look up.
His eyes hold mine.
"Stay until you figure it out."
The tightness in my chest loosens a little.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
For the first time, the future doesn’t feel so impossible.