Chapter Eighteen Hudson
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hudson
It’s been two weeks since that conversation with Ash, and here I am, sitting on the team bus as it hums along the highway. The window next to me offers glimpses of the passing landscape, but my thoughts aren’t on the scenery. They never are when a match is looming.
We’re headed to Lexington for an away game. Their campus, three hours from ours, will host us this weekend. The cheer squad is coming along, too. That’s not always the case, but for rival games like this, they make the trip.
It’s important; their presence lifts the spirits of the players and the small section of students who make the journey to support us. But the fact that Ella’s along for the ride this time has my pulse skittering.
My mind’s been busy running through a million different scenarios of what this weekend might look like. A blatant distraction, but for once, it excites instead of unnerves me.
The bus is filled with the usual pre-game energy, chatter, and the occasional burst of laughter, but my thoughts are elsewhere, circling around what Ash threw at me, Levi’s constant jabs, and Ella herself.
Ella, whose presence has become a constant in my life. Ella, who’s only here until the end of the year.
I’ve been to a few more open gyms over at Skyline, and it’s been more of the same. A rush, a thrill, a much-needed escape. A chance for me to butt heads with the girl I’ve been obsessing over.
But everything is still so complicated. There’s a rule that says we’re not meant to mess around. Though it’s not just that—it’s me, too.
I’ve spent years building walls because I need to control everything around me.
After what happened with my dad, after the fire, I learned how quickly things can spiral.
Letting someone in feels like losing that control, and risking that is scary.
But the truth is that I can’t stop thinking about her.
Can’t stop wanting her.
Now, with the weekend ahead, we have a real chance to spend time together away from Skyline and the prying eyes of our peers. The hotel stay, the downtime before and after the game—it feels like an opportunity to tell her I’ve reassessed.
I’ve thought about it, long and hard, and I know we could both benefit from … exploring our connection further. She’s leaving at the end of the year, anyway. If it’s not permanent, it doesn’t have to be so terrifying. Here for a good time not a long time, right?
If I can convince her that skirting around the rules would be worth it, then we could make things work. As Levi would say, what our coaches don’t know won’t kill them.
Nashville soon fades in the rearview mirror, and my teammates keep up their loud chatter. But I’m zoned out, too caught up in planning, in wondering, in waiting for what might happen later tonight.
We pull into the hotel parking lot just as the sun sets. I grab my duffel and follow Levi as he pats an erratic drumbeat against my shoulder, and almost skips ahead of me toward the lobby.
My best friend is always hyped before a game; he thrives on the rush of anticipation.
I’m the opposite. I’m the man who can’t help but be in his own head.
It’s more than just simple introspection; it’s an internal dialogue that never quite shuts off.
Every action, every decision, gets analyzed and reanalyzed.
It’s exhausting at times, this tendency to overthink, to constantly question not just my actions but my motivations and feelings. But it’s a part of me I’ve learned to accept over the years.
“Hey, bud,” Levi calls out from a few paces ahead. “If there’s only one bed in our room, I’ll let you have the window side.”
“If there’s only one bed,” I say, straight-faced, “we’re rebooking.”
He chuckles while he waits for me to catch up. His is the kind of carefree energy that’s contagious, momentarily lifting the weight off my shoulders.
At the check-in desk, we get our key cards, and then head to the team meeting in the conference room.
The coaches give us the final pep talk and run-through of tomorrow’s game plan, emphasizing the importance of a good night’s rest, no alcohol, and no late-night escapades, especially not with the cheerleaders.
After the meeting, we go back to our room. There are two double beds and a chain-link lock on the door. Coach still monitors the rookies at night, sticking a piece of tape over the crack to see if they leave their rooms. The veterans, though, are off the hook.
He made the rules clear enough at our meeting, although my plan does require bending them just a little. Levi eyes me curiously as I grab my phone, shake out my hands, and wipe them down the front of my jeans.
“What’s with you?” he asks, a frown creasing his brow. “You were jittery downstairs, and now you’re acting like even more of a weirdo.”
“I’m just cooking up a plan,” I say, my thumbs tapping on the screen, ordering enough food to feed a small army—or one hungry football player. “Do me a favor, go chill in Harlen’s room for a bit?”
He eyes me suspiciously. “Why? You planning some secret rendezvous?”
“Something like that,” I reply distractedly.
“This isn’t about … you needing alone time , is it? Because—”
I throw a pillow at him, missing by a mile. “No, it’s nothing like that. I just want to talk to Ella.”
He gives me a sly smile. “Ah, so you finally took my bait.”
I wave him off. “Sure, man.”
“You’re welcome, by the way. You want to run the play by me?”
“I just ordered some food,” I start to explain. “A lot of it. It’s going up to Ella’s room on the ninth floor. When they give her my name, I’m hoping she’ll come down here to deliver. Then, we can talk. Just the two of us.”
“And what if she’s caught by Coach?”
I grin at the thought. There’s something about the idea of bending the rules that feels a little exciting. “She’s quick on her feet. It will be fine.”
He laughs. “Sounds half-cocked, but alright.”
“Look, I don’t want to just show up at her door. She’d be unprepared, might have other girls in the room. If I make her come to me, she knows what she’s getting into.”
Levi nods, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “Well, if you need the room, you’ve got it. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Right,” I say as he heads out. “That leaves me a lot of leeway.”
His footsteps fade down the hall, and I walk into the bathroom, turning on the cold tap. I splash some water onto my face and stare into the mirror. My eyes are a little too intense, my jaw set a little too tight.
“Calm down,” I mutter to myself, patting my face dry with a towel. “It’s just a conversation.”
Back in the room, I pace for a few minutes, then give up and flop onto the bed.
I grab the remote and flick through channels, settling on some sitcom reruns.
They should be mindless enough to keep me distracted, but I barely register what’s on the screen.
Instead, I glance repeatedly at the door, listening for any sign of movement outside.
Time fucking drags.
I check my phone every few minutes, but no new messages pop up. My food plan, which seemed clever an hour or so ago, now feels more like a setup for a letdown. I’m halfway through another episode, laughing mechanically at a punchline I didn’t catch, when there’s finally a knock.
I bolt upright, heart hammering. I mute the TV and hurry to the door, swinging it open.
And there she is. Ella, standing in the hallway, hands on her hips, dressed in pajamas—a pair of loose cotton pants and a matching shirt that looks sexy in an effortless sort of way.
Her dark hair is pulled back with a loose clip, a few strands framing her face in the soft hallway light.
It’s a nice change from her usual put-together self.
My grin slowly spreads as I take her in. But then I remember my grand plan—the food delivery, the conversation starter. I look down the empty hallway behind her, then back at her.
“Wait, where’s my food?” I blurt out, my tone a mix of mock accusation and genuine confusion.
Her brows shoot up, and then she bursts into laughter.
“ Your food? Oh, you mean the feast you sent to my room?” She steps inside, pushing past me lightly.
“Let’s just say it was well received. Sammy and Gabi send their thanks.
They were starving, and it seems you ordered enough to feed an entire squad. ”
I close the door and lean against it, chuckling. “So, you came down here just to thank me?”
She crosses the room and sits at the edge of the bed. “Partly. And partly to find out why you’d send a small banquet to my room without even a text heads-up.”
I join her. “Honestly? I thought it might … I don’t know, coax you out. Give us a chance to talk. Just the two of us.”
Her gaze fixes on me. “So, it was all just a bribe?”
“I mean, I thought you might bring me some,” I say with a sheepish grin. “At the very least.”
“Hudson.”
I sigh. “Fine, I’ll come right out with it. Take a page out of your book for once.”
She waves a hand, urging me on.
“Look, I know I said that we should be friends.”
Her expression hardens. “Right. A truce of sorts.”
“Well, I’ve reassessed,” I tell her. “Maybe a truce isn’t enough.”
“No?”
I inch closer, my voice lowering just enough. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Ella. About that night. The way you felt, the way you looked … I haven’t been able to shake it. I’ve tried, but it’s impossible. I’m drawn to you in a way I can’t explain.”
“Drawn to me?” she says, visibly flustered, her cheeks flushing despite her attempt to stay composed.
“We both know a real relationship between us could be catastrophic. We’re … fire and ice, aren’t we? And I have a lot of shit to focus on right now. So do you. But letting off some steam, playing into the obvious chemistry, might be the best option for us. No strings attached.”
“Oh my God.” She abruptly stands, arms folded tightly across her chest. “Thank you for the fuck-buddy proposal, but I’ll pass.”
The sudden shift catches me off guard. Her body language is defensive and her gaze cools into something I can’t quite read. I fumble, my mind racing to catch up.
Is this because she wanted something else? Something more?
Panic spins a tight coil in my gut. It’s not entirely surprising that I’ve messed this whole thing up. My brain circles back to all our past interactions, all the moments she might have been looking for something deeper.
“I’m sorry, El,” I say earnestly. “I didn’t realize you wanted more.”
Her eyes narrow. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I’m not looking for a relationship. Not with you, not with anyone.”
Well, fuck. “I’m … confused.”
“What else is new?”
I just stare at her, waiting, watching as she paces the room.
“Hudson, we sleep together, then you ignore me. I confront you, and we work things out. Or so I think. You proceed to stare at me from across the room at a party, acting like a jealous fool. So, like a fool myself, I try to give you another shot. But no, you don’t want it. Or, excuse me, you can’t want it.”
I awkwardly scratch the back of my neck, wincing. “Ella, I only said that because—”
“Let me finish.” She holds up a hand to silence me, pressing a finger to my lips. “After that, there comes a lovely offer of friendship. You invade my space, insert yourself into my life … and now, only now, you change your damn mind again.”
“Well, when you put it like that.”
“Insufferable,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s what you are.”
I work through a heavy swallow. “So, you think I’m full of shit?
Out of my mind to even ask the question?
And you don’t want to do this, at least not with me?
Because God knows, Ella, I can’t stop thinking about you.
It’s driving me wild. There’s this magnetism between us, this pull I can’t shake, no matter how hard I try.
I want you—badly. More than I’m willing to admit most of the time.
And I know it’s risky. I know it’s complicated, but I want to explore this, no matter the consequences—”
“Oh, would you just shut up for once?”
She clutches the fabric of my T-shirt and hauls me into her. Her arms loop around my neck, pulling me closer, and then her lips find mine. I’m stunned, frozen in place, but then her warmth seeps into me, grounding and igniting me all at once. It’s as if a switch is flipped and I’m suddenly alive.
I kiss her back, hard. It’s nothing like the cautious dance we’ve been playing at.
Instead, it’s urgent and fierce. She tilts her head, deepening the kiss, her movements bold and unapologetic.
My hands find their way into her hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as I pull her closer, needing to feel her against me.
Her hands slide under my shirt, palms hot against my skin as she traces the contours of my abs. In response, my own hands explore the curve of her back, the soft swell of her hip, in frantic movements.
Lost, that’s what I must be. I’m fucking lost in the feel of her, in the taste of her lips, in the sound of our mingled breaths.
But then, she pulls away and the room goes quiet. Panic flashes in her eyes—a wild, cornered look that I’ve never seen before. She quickly masks it with a practiced calm, but not before I catch the raw fear beneath.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, voice rough with concern.
She swallows hard, her gaze darting around the room before settling back on me. “Nothing,” she says, but there’s a tiny tremble in the word. Then, “Close your eyes and sit on the bed.”
I give her an odd look. “Ella, what—”
“Just do it, please,” she insists. “For once, don’t argue with me.”
So, I don’t. Instead, I close my eyes and sit back. At first, there’s something shifting in front of me, some light emerging from somewhere. After a few long moments of silence, I reach out, expecting to find her warmth, her presence, but my hand closes on nothing but empty air.
Confusion turns to concern, and I can’t hold back any longer. My eyes snap open, but the room is empty. Ella is gone.
The door is slightly ajar, the light of the hotel hallway seeping in. And I’m left sitting here, alone, trying to piece together what the hell just happened.