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Hud considered him.
Harry met his eyes. “So, is this about the girl?”
Hud frowned at him. “What girl?”
“The woman on Insta a couple weeks ago. You two were looking pretty friendly.”
“You saw my picture on Instagram?”
“Derby, one of my teammates, saw it. She follows the Vikings after Dad was bragging you up at the office a while back.”
Hud stilled. “What?”
“Yeah. Dad works for Remington Ranch—Ty, the owner’s son, works at PEAK. Dad happened to be dropping off a truck for Ty, came in, and we chatted. I’m not sure how, but pretty soon he was pulling up your stats and talking about the championship game and how you were going to play against an NFL team and—”
“So that’s how it happened.”
Harry frowned.
“His wife, Brette, came over to interview me. Said you had told her about me and the game. And I met Ty.”
“Good guy. He’s a chopper pilot too, but he only works part time now. Goes to seminary, wants to be a preacher. He has quite a testimony—was lost for a long time but got it all sorted after a tornado that hit Minnesota a few years ago. Oh, there’s Dad.” He raised a hand—the place had filled up a bit.
Hud forced away the strange ache that always tightened his chest when he saw his father. Time and work had bent him, and he looked older than his sixty-two years. He always reminded Hud a little of an older Harrison Ford. A bit gnarled by time, a swagger to his gait, a handshake that could break bones, but a rare smile that said he was listening.
Now he flashed that closed-mouth smile at Hud, even while taking the hand of Hud’s mother, Evie. She spotted Hud and grinned, let go of her husband, and rushed around the tables to throw herself into Hud’s arms as he got up.
He picked her up, painfully aware of how thin she’d gotten, then put her down. She wore her dark hair short, too much gray streaked in it, a pair of jeans, boots, and a canvas jacket.
“Hudson. What a surprise!”
Yeah, for him too. Because when he’d gotten in his car yesterday morning, he hadn’t known exactly where to run. Just away from the brutal truth: Iris didn’t want him.
Not, at least, like he wanted her.
He shook his father’s hand, swallowing through the thickening of his throat. Oh, how his old man had aged, the lines around his mouth deeper, his body more bowed.
They sat down and his dad picked up his menu. But his mother took his hand. “So, tell me everything. What’s going on?”
“I was interrogating him about a girl he seems to not want to talk about,” Harry said.
“A girl?”
“It’s nothing, Mom. We work together.”
His mother raised an eyebrow. “Does she play football?”
He laughed. “No, she officiates football.”
Her mouth made a round O.
“And you’re not dating?”
He glanced at Harry. “No. We’re just…not even friends, I think. But I’ve been at her home in Minnesota for the past week and thought maybe, before I go back to Europe, I should stop by.”
“Montana?” His father put down the menu. “That’s a long way for dinner.”
He drew in a breath, then nodded.
