Chapter Thirty-One Hudson
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Hudson
I scooped Ella up from the airport yesterday, a pint-sized runway servicing a pocket of Redwater Springs. This town, more a whisper in East Texas than a shout, seems even smaller when I try to see it through her eyes. The kind of place you miss if you blink while passing on the highway.
We’ve spent the past couple of days sinking into the slow, syrupy rhythm of things. Mom’s wrapped Ella up in a blanket of warm Southern hospitality, and Carter’s taken a break from his usual teen sulking to show her around.
She seems mostly content, but she’s still got that itch—the one that tells me she wants to dive back into practicing our routine.
But I’ve made her promise to wait just a few more days.
To relax and enjoy the solitude for once.
Give herself a little break from our normal grueling schedule.
For someone like Ella, driven and focused to a fault, it’s no easy task.
“Can we at least go for a run?” she asks me the day before Christmas Eve, pleading with those big hazel eyes of hers.
I glance at the sky, already softening with the pastel hues of dusk. “Alright,” I say, unable to deny her anything when she looks at me like that.
We lace up our sneakers and hit the trail that winds along the outskirts of town. It’s a perfect December evening in Texas, warm enough to forego a jacket but cool enough that we’re both comfortable as we pick up the pace.
As we run, the trail takes us through stretches of open fields and patches of sparse woodland. I’ve run this route hundreds of times during high school, each curve and dip familiar, but having Ella beside me casts it in a new light—it’s like sharing another secret part of my past with her.
We round a bend, and I pull up my shirt to wipe the sweat from my face, revealing a flash of abs. Ella’s gaze lingers a moment too long, and when I catch her eye, I smirk.
“Enjoying the view?” I ask, letting the fabric snap back into place.
She rolls her eyes, a flush creeping up her cheeks, but her lips curve in a reluctant smile. “Focus on the road,” she says.
We slow down as we finish the loop, coming to a stop at a small park at the trail’s end. The sky has faded into a deep blue by now, the last light of the day disappearing over the horizon. We stretch together in comfortable silence.
Under the fading light of Texas, she looks different. Her usually vivid hazel eyes seem darker, her hair taking on a hue more like caramel than rich chocolate. She catches me looking at her, and there’s an unfamiliar twist in my gut.
It’s an unsettling feeling, this deepening connection between us. The boundaries we’ve set for ourselves are becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. Every shared look, every accidental touch, feels charged with unspoken emotions.
I wonder if she feels it too—this shift in our dynamic since spending so much time in each other’s company.
She’s here with me, meeting my family for the second time, and it’s more than just a casual visit. It feels significant, like we’re on the brink of something more. But we haven’t acknowledged it yet. We’re both navigating this new territory, unsure of what it means or where it will lead.
With my season coming to an end, there’s not much else standing in our way. We have our own hang-ups, that’s for sure. And eventually, she’ll head back to England while I’m off at grad school. Distance isn’t kind to budding relationships. But right now, all I want is to be with her.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I quickly say, running a hand through my hair. It’s too heavy for this moment. Too complicated. It’s something we need to address eventually, but for tonight, I just want to enjoy spending time together.
She grins at me before turning her attention to a swing set nearby. “Race you there?” she asks, already taking off before I have a chance to respond.
Laughing, I give chase. Even though she has a head start, my longer strides quickly close the distance between us.
Just as I’m about to overtake her, she lets out a squeal of delight, veering off toward the swings and throwing herself onto one.
I skid to a stop beside her, trying to catch my breath.
“You play dirty,” I accuse, though the laughter in my voice takes away any real sting.
Ella just beams at me, kicking off and leaning back as she swings higher and higher. Her hair fans out around her like a halo, and for a moment, she seems almost childlike. Happy and carefree in a way I’ve never seen her before.
“What was it like,” I ask, joining her on the swings, “growing up in England?”
She glances over at me, stops pumping her legs. “Where I grew up was very … different from here. Beautiful in its own way, but different. I grew up in a town called Alderley Edge. A quite wealthy area. It’s gorgeous, but sometimes it felt like living in a postcard.”
I nod, trying to picture it. “It sounds nice.”
“It was,” she agrees, her voice softening.
“But it was also … stifling sometimes. My parents worked hard to afford to live there. But then, at the same time, they acted like I shouldn’t want to fit in.
That I owed them for all their sacrifices.
Like I had to live my life exactly the way they wanted, to pay them back. ”
She kicks her legs out again, sending herself higher into the air. “That’s why I loved cheer. It was mine, you know? Something I chose for myself. It didn’t matter what my parents thought or what anyone else expected.”
I watch her, feeling a pang of sympathy. “I get that. Sometimes, you need something that’s just yours.”
“Exactly.”
We sit there for a while, swinging in gentle silence, lost in our own thoughts. The sky continues to darken, stars winking into existence above us. It’s peaceful, and I’m grateful that she’s here—in Texas, in my hometown—with me.
I steal one last glance at her, something warm and undeniable blooming in my chest. And I realize, with a sudden clarity, that I don’t want this feeling to end.
We share a nice warm meal with Mom and Carter after our run, and then I suggest we go dancing at The Rusty Spur. It’s an old haunt not far from home, a place that’s seen more of my late teens than I sometimes care to admit. To be fair, there’s not much else to do in this old town.
I’ve only been there a handful of times since I turned twenty-one last year—mostly during quick summer drop-ins. But as we push through the swinging doors, it’s like I never left. A few heads turn, recognition sparking in their eyes.
Oh, the joys (and pitfalls) of a small Southern town.
“Fox! You back for the holidays?” calls the bartender, a burly guy named Dan who’s known me since I was ordering sodas.
“Exactly that,” I say with a grin, guiding Ella to the bar. “Can I grab a whiskey sour and a water, Dan.”
His eyes flick to Ella with that familiar small-town scrutiny before he fills the glass. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
“This is Ella,” I say. “She’s with me.”
Ella offers a polite smile, leaning in as if to brace herself against the wave of country music that barrels from the speakers. “Nice to meet you,” she manages over the din, her accent drawing a second, longer look from Dan.
“Lucky indeed,” he remarks, sliding over our drinks with a wink.
We snag a couple of stools, and I catch Ella scanning the room, her eyes wide. “So, this is what Redwater Springs has to offer, huh?”
“Wait till you see it in action,” I murmur.
Before long, the dance floor swells with couples, moving in that synchronized chaos unique to two-stepping. The music’s a lively mix of classic country and the sort of pop-infused tracks that make purists grumble.
Normally, someone leads a few line dances at the beginning of the night, but we’ve arrived late, and there are no leaders left.
I’m not much of a dancer myself, but I knew Ella would love it here.
A basic two-step isn’t too far out of my comfort zone.
Besides, I’ve been craving that carefree smile of hers I got to witness earlier at the park.
After her second drink, I tug on her hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“Are you sure?” She laughs, but I’m already pulling her toward the throng of dancers. “You know, this doesn’t seem like your kind of thing. Dancing in an old bar with the locals.”
“Despite what Levi says, I don’t always have a stick up my ass.”
She laughs at me again, and it’s a sweet sound that vibrates through my chest. “Alright, show me what you’ve got, Texas.”
We step onto the dance floor, and the small crowd moves in unison, boots stomping and hips swaying.
“Just follow my lead,” I say, guiding one hand to my shoulder and taking the other in mine. “Step forward with your left foot, then your right foot follows. Step back with your right foot, then your left foot follows. It’s quick-quick, slow-slow.”
She watches my feet and mimics my steps. “Like this?”
“Exactly. Just keep repeating those steps. Add a little sway to it.” We glide across the floor, our movements in sync. “Now, I’m going to spin you.”
“This is kind of fun!” she shouts over the music, stumbling the tiniest bit.
When she rights herself, I gently guide her into a turn, our hands never losing contact. She twirls gracefully, coming back to me with a beaming smile. “You’re a natural,” I say.
She laughs, cheeks flushed from the exertion. “Years of practicing routines, remember?”
“Right, of course. Should have known you’d be good at this, too.”
Her smile widens, and our eyes lock. There’s a spark there that I’ve come to know, come to appreciate all too well. Sweat glistens on her sun-kissed skin. As the song shifts to something lower, less upbeat, I pull her in closer.
Her hands find their way to my shoulders, fingers gripping lightly as I twirl her. I can’t tear my eyes away—the way she moves, the way she breathes. The way she’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
There’s something more here, more than either of us has been willing to admit. This isn’t just fun anymore.
The song stops, and before I can second-guess it, I lean in and capture her lips with mine. It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s fierce, hungry, driven by a need I didn’t fully recognize until now. Her hands are in my hair, my fingers tracing the curve of her waist.
Her tongue dips out, an invitation for me to deepen the kiss. To claim more of her. She curls into me, my cock swelling against her. And for once, I’m free from any thoughts that don’t involve this moment between us.
Ella has pulled me out of my shell in a way I didn’t think possible. I’ve spent months trying to keep her at arm’s length, and I’ve failed. I know I’m breaking one of her only rules here. I know I’m crossing a line she’s set, but I can’t bring myself to give a damn.
Not if it means I get to taste her whiskey-laced lips, feel the warmth of her body right here, right now. Exactly when I need to.
I pull back slightly, looking for any sign of hesitation in her eyes. And when I see it there—a tiny hint of confusion, of potential regret—it pulls me up short. I want more, I want everything, but I can’t push her. Not yet.
Instead, I rest my forehead against hers, and we stand there together. My gut is telling me to stay silent, to let the moment breathe. So, I do.
“You weren’t supposed to do that,” she eventually murmurs, her arms still looped around my neck.
“Do what?”
“Kiss me like that,” she says, and I wonder how one person can hold the entire universe in her eyes. “Kiss me at all, I mean, when we’re in public.”
“Yeah, darlin’, I know.”
“But you did it, anyway.”
“Sometimes,” I say roughly, “we have to break the rules if we want to win the game.”