Chapter Twenty-Five Ella
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ella
It’s one of those days where nothing seems to go right. Ash, Luke, and I are at Skyline again for open tumble. I’m frustrated—disappointed with the situation, with myself—and I can’t seem to hide it no matter how hard I try.
We’re supposed to be practicing for the Nationals, but instead we’re caught in an endless loop of missed cues and botched stunts. Luke, bless him, is trying his best to fill in for Ash as my base, but it’s like fitting a square peg into a round hole.
Luke is more of a power tumbler—graceful and explosive in solo flights but less versed in the steady, grounded strength needed for basing. His attempts are earnest, but each fumbled grip and shaky lift chips away at my already thin patience.
Ash, sidelined by his injury, is coaching us from his chair by the mats.
His right arm is encased in a cast, a harsh reminder of how quickly things can fall apart.
He’s calling out instructions, trying to guide Luke through the mechanics of each move, but his voice today has none of its usual commanding authority.
Instead, it’s tinged with something that sounds a lot like helplessness.
“You’re strong, Luke, but you’re not anticipating her movements. You need to get the grips perfect so she’s not so unstable,” Ash explains, gesturing with his good hand. Luke nods, sweat beading at his forehead.
We try the routine again. I run, jump, and Luke catches me for a brief moment before we wobble and have to abort the lift. My feet hit the mat harder than they should, a jolt of frustration shooting through me. We don’t have a spotter with us today, and this is bordering on risky territory.
“Damn it, Luke,” I snap, more harshly than I intend. Luke’s wince brings an instant surge of guilt.
“I’m sorry, I’m just not …” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to.
“It’s not you,” I say, my voice softer now. “I’m just … I’m not myself today.”
Ash tries to smooth things over with a joke. “Yeah, she usually only yells at me like that.”
I manage a weak smile, but it fades as quickly as it comes. It’s time for me to take a break—to cool down and reset—so I head outside to the front of the gym. The slight autumn chill is a slap against my heated skin, but it’s a welcome change from the stifling air inside.
I lean against the wall, and draw in deep, shaky breaths. My mind races—thoughts of Nationals, of Daytona, of what could have been with Ash as my partner.
I know sticking with Luke won’t lead to qualifying.
He’s great, but he’s nothing like Ash. This was supposed to be my shot, my only year on an American squad before I head back to Oxford.
Partner stunts were once a pipe dream, a bonus to my initial plans of training with the team.
But I experienced the rush, the anticipation of an individual competition, and I was hooked.
Finding someone like Ash, who just … got me, who matched every ambition I had on the mat, was more than I dared hope for. It was a dream that’s now slipping through my fingers.
I didn’t come to Whitland to face disappointment. I came here to thrive, to grab every chance with both hands and not let go. Yet here I am, holding back tears, feeling like every bit of bad luck in the universe has decided to focus its attention on me.
The sound of the gym door opening breaks my mental spiral. I don’t look up, not wanting Ash—or anyone—to see the tears threatening to spill over.
A gentle hand comes to rest on my shoulder. It’s Ash, offering me comfort when he’s the one who needs it most. I turn towards him, and without a word throw my arms around him, careful to avoid his cast. His embrace is tight, reassuring.
He doesn’t say it’s going to be okay, because we both know that might not be true. Instead, he just holds me, and his hand smooths down my hair as he lets me have this moment of weakness.
“It’ll work out, El,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble against my ear. “Maybe not how we planned, but it’ll work out.”
“I’m sorry for being such a baby about all this.”
He laughs. “Yeah, well, at least you’re a cute—”
A throat clears, and we both pull away as Hudson steps into view, his duffel bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. “Hey.”
I straighten up, hastily wiping my eyes. “Hey, I didn’t think you were coming tonight.”
I haven’t seen him since we watched Grease together at the Stardust. He took me there, bought me a comical amount of junk food, and then we sat together in the bed of his truck.
We didn’t hook up. We barely even spoke at all.
It felt strange, given our arrangement, but it was exactly what I needed in the moment.
A distraction. A silent comfort. A night where nothing else mattered but the screen in front of us and the presence of someone who cares about me. Someone who just wanted to make sure I was okay.
“Practice ran late,” he explains with a shrug. “Thought I’d see what I could do to help you and Luke.”
I scoff, the bitterness hard to keep out of my voice. “Well, we’re screwed. There’s no way we’re going to qualify, so I doubt it’s worth your time.”
Ash sighs. “I’d tell you not to be such a Debbie Downer, but God, Luke really is awful at this.”
Hudson’s eyebrows shoot up, and as he looks from Ash to me, an unreadable expression crosses his face. “I could try the routine,” he suggests casually.
“What?” I blink, unsure if I’ve heard him right.
“I could try the routine with you. See if I could nail it in the next couple of months before you have to submit. Be your stand-in.”
“And why would you do that?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
“Because I want you to win, Davies,” he says simply.
I scoff. This is a man who loves to argue with me. A man who makes a sport out of working me up and enjoys every second of it.
“When you’re playing against me, I prefer to come out on top. Otherwise …” He trails off, a playful glint in his eyes.
“Right,” I mutter, and every single muscle in my body goes rigid. “It wouldn’t work, anyway.”
“Why’s that?” He leans against the gym’s brick exterior, looking every bit the part of someone who’s not about to take no for an answer.
“You’re not on the team, for one. You have to compete with the person you submit with. Ash couldn’t step back in for Daytona, even if he’s fully healed. We’d have to be in it together from the beginning.”
“Okay.” He shrugs, as if the solution is easy. “So, we’ll talk to your coach. I’ll join the team and I’ll do Daytona, too.”
“Aren’t you too busy for this?” I ask.
“I’m finishing my last application at the end of this month. Our season will end soon. My schedule, fortunately for you, has just opened up.” He straightens, his gaze locking with mine. There’s a challenge there, and also an offer—one that’s just reckless enough to work.
The idea grows legs, kicks me hard in the stomach, and drives all the breathable air from my lungs. Hudson stepping in? It’s unorthodox, unexpected, and frankly a little ridiculous. But then so is everything else about this year. “You’re serious about this?”
“As I’ve ever been.”
I bite my bottom lip. “We should … I guess we could try it. See how things go tonight, and then worry about bringing it up to Coach Morgan later.”
“It might be the best option,” Ash says seriously. “He can read your body language, anticipate the way you move, and make the kind of micro adjustments that Luke can’t.”
“He’s right.” Hudson tips his chin, his eyes devouring me from head to toe. “I can read you perfectly, Ella.”
And there he goes, saying my goddamn name again. Right in front of Ash, too, so I can’t even protest without sounding a bit unhinged.
How does he manage to be so infuriating and yet so damn attractive at the same time? I want to argue, to tell him he’s overestimating his abilities, but there’s a part of me that wonders … what if he’s right? What if he can make this work, and I don’t have to compromise what I want in the end?
“Let’s just go try this before you get too cocky.”
His eyes bore into mine. “That doesn’t sound like the thanks I was hoping for.”
“Yeah, that comes later,” I say. “Once you show me it’s worth it.”
He gestures in a wide sweeping motion towards the entrance of Skyline, and then, “After you, darlin’.”
The gym is ours by the time we run through the stunts again. Everyone else has left, but the owner was kind enough to leave the keys for us. Ash has been coming here for years, which means he’s racked up some serious perks, including after-hours use of the facilities.
It’s late now, the kind of late that has Luke yawning every five minutes and Ash’s usual pep waning into exhausted murmurs from the sidelines. We’ve broken the routine down into chunks, practicing each element until it’s clean—no bobbles, no wobbles.
We’ve hit each stunt ten times, every one better than the last, and I’m buzzing with stubborn determination. I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow, catching my breath.
“Let’s take it from the top,” I say, voice firm, gaze locked on Hudson, who’s been the unexpected rock in this setup. “Full-out. I need to see if we can string this together smoothly.”
Hudson exchanges a look with Luke and Ash, both of whom shake their heads subtly. “Ella, we’ve been at this for hours,” Hudson starts, his tone cautiously firm. “We’ve made great progress. Maybe pushing through the entire routine tonight isn’t the best call.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “So, what, we just pat ourselves on the back for the small wins and call it? That’s it?”
Ash steps forward, trying to be the voice of reason. “It’s late, Ella. We’re all wiped. Let’s not risk another injury or burnout.”
My chest heaves with heavy breaths, my body on edge from fatigue and this sudden spike of irritation. “Fine,” I relent, my voice sharp. “You guys go. Thanks for the help, really.”
Ash gives me a sympathetic look before following Luke, who’s already grabbing his bag and heading for the door. They’ve done more than enough, and guilt pinches at me for pushing so hard.
Hudson lingers, his presence a solid warmth even as the gym cools with the night’s chill. “Come on, let’s lock up and get out of here. I’ll take you home.”
We walk to his truck in strained silence. My emotions are a tangled mess, and the clear night sky isn’t enough to soothe it. As he opens the passenger door for me, the frustration finally bubbles over.
“Is this how it’s going to be, then?” I challenge, crossing my arms as I lean against the open door. “You fighting me every step of the way?”
“Sorry?”
“I just don’t know why you volunteered if you weren’t ready to do what it takes.”
“We’ll get there, El.”
“It’s just … there’s no point in going to Coach Morgan before we’ve nailed the full routine,” I argue, on the edge of panic. “You think she’s just going to add a last-minute addition to the team, just like that?” I snap my fingers. “You’re a football player, for God’s sake.”
Hudson straightens. “I’m good enough. Much better for you than Luke was as a partner. You can’t deny that.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’m not.”
“We don’t need to rush this to Morgan tomorrow. We still have time,” he says, his voice calm.
“But what if …” I start, the litany of worst-case scenarios ready to spill from my lips.
“What if the stars fall out of the sky, huh? What if you fall through a hole in the ground?” Hudson steps closer, his voice low and compelling. “I’m familiar with what-ifs. I’ve lived most of my life by them. Don’t let them ruin this for you, too.”
His words cut through the frantic pace of my thoughts, and for a moment I’m speechless. And then, like a dam bursting, I’m closing the distance between us. My hands grab his sweat-damp shirt, pulling him down to me, and our lips meet in a kiss that’s all pent-up frustration and raw need.
It’s heated, desperate, as if I could find all the answers in the perfect slant of his mouth.
Strong, callused hands bracket my hips. He lifts me onto the seat, still kissing me as he does.
Soft lips trail along my jawline to the sensitive spot behind my ear, and my grip on him tightens.
His breath hitches, but he doesn’t stop.
Instead, he continues to press and nip and drive me wild with want.
I tilt my head back, allowing him more access to the skin of my neck. His lips are hot against me. His grasp firm, grounding.
“Oh, God,” I moan as he presses closer.
“I could fuck you right here,” he murmurs into my ear. “Make you come in my truck again. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I gulp. “Yes, but I—I …”
With that single moment of doubt, he doesn’t hesitate to pull back. “But … we’re both pretty beat. And you”—he rubs a gentle thumb across my temple—“have too much going on in that beautiful head of yours, don’t you?”
I nod and rest a hand on his chest. “I think you might be right about that.”
He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing my bottom lip this time. “Then let’s get you home. You need your rest,” he says. “But I want you to know that I can do this. We can do this. For once, would you just let the cards fall?”
“Yeah,” I say, breathless. “I can certainly try.”