Chapter Thirty-Three Ella
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ella
We’ve been back from New Orleans for over a week. The disappointment from the Sugar Bowl has subsided, replaced by the thrill of something new.
Hudson and I both know that real feelings are at play between us now, the football season is officially over, and we’ve been spending every moment we can together. Soaking up the spare time between training. Enjoying the newfound freedom without the fraternization rule blocking us.
Hudson can show me affection when he wants, where he wants, for as long as he wants. And I can do the same. It’s exhilarating.
I’ve spent so much time keeping my walls up, trying to follow our rules so I wouldn’t get hurt again. But now? Things have shifted. I’m letting him in, and instead of feeling scary, it feels … good. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I have to control everything. I trust him.
We’re at the gym early today, setting up to film our qualifier video for partner stunts.
Coach Morgan is watching, clipboard in hand, her sharp eyes missing nothing.
“Alright, you two, full-out three times,” she calls, her voice echoing in the cavernous space.
“Then we’ll watch them back and pick the best one. ”
Hudson and I exchange a glance, a shared sense of determination. We’ve poured everything into this routine over the past ten days. There’s a relentless strain in my muscles, but it’s a good kind of ache—the kind that’s physical proof of our hard work.
We start the routine, our movements precise, flowing seamlessly from one stunt to the next. My body moves on autopilot, every motion ingrained from hours of practice. Hudson’s hands are steady, his strength a solid foundation beneath me, and we nail the routine.
When we’re finished, even I’m impressed.
Coach Morgan nods, a rare smile tugging at her lips. “Good. Again.”
We go through it two more times, each run feeling stronger than the last. By the end, I’m drenched in sweat, my hair sticking to my forehead, but I can’t help the smile that stretches across my face. Hudson grins back, satisfied.
“Let’s watch them back,” Coach Morgan says, leading us to the playback screen in her office. We huddle around, critiquing our performance, but it’s clear we’ve done well. The best run is obvious, and we all agree on the final cut for submission.
“Great job, both of you,” Coach Morgan says, her approval like a scorching heat that seeps into my bones. “You’re ready to submit.”
As we pack up our gear, Hudson and I are buzzing with excitement. We’ve put our all into this, and it feels good to see it pay off. But as we head out of the gym, we run into Claire and Evan, who are just coming in to film their own video.
“Good luck,” I say to Claire, offering her a genuine smile. She walks right past me without so much as a glance, her snub deliberate and icy. I’ve got used to her cold shoulder over the past seven months, but it still stings.
Hudson notices and squeezes my hand. “Don’t let her get to you.”
“I’m trying,” I say, frustration bubbling up. “But she’s been like this with me since day one. I don’t get it.”
“She’s competitive.”
“So am I,” I mutter. “But it seems like more than that.”
His brow furrows slightly. As we walk to the car park, he rubs the back of his neck, his steps slower and more deliberate. “Did you know that Levi and Claire used to be best friends?”
My jaw nearly drops. “You’re kidding.”
“I know,” he says, eyes narrowing. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? Levi said she’s always been a bit aloof, but she’s only grown colder since coming to Whitland. I think he might know why, but he’s never shared it with me.”
My head tilts. “He seems like a good friend.”
“One of the best.” He curves a hand around my waist, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Anyway, I think that’s just how she is. I don’t know her all that well myself, but it seems she keeps people at arm’s length on purpose.”
“I understand being a little cold, but I guess it’s just hard not to take it personally.
I still have to spend the entire spring term with her, including our competition season.
Plus, the other girls are friendly with her.
It stings that she won’t even give me the time of day.
Especially when I haven’t done anything to warrant it. ”
“I get that.” He gives me a sympathetic smile. “But try to focus on what you can control. You’re here to do your best, and you’re doing that. Don’t let her affect your confidence.”
“I’ll try,” I say, appreciating his support.
We reach his truck, and he swings the door open for me. I slide into the passenger seat, sinking into the worn leather. He takes his time walking around, lost in thought, before slipping in behind the wheel and switching on the engine.
“So, classes start in five days,” he says, pulling out of the car park. “You ready for round two of anthro?”
“We’re sharing another class?”
“It’s a two-parter, Davies. Haven’t you been paying attention?”
“You’re talking about Cultural Landscapes and Human Ecology?” It’s a class I’m taking as part of my study-abroad program, essential for understanding the broader implications of my dissertation. I figured it was a separate course, but apparently it’s part of a year-long journey.
“That would be the one,” he says. “A nice flow from Human Landscapes, isn’t it?”
“Wow.” I bite my bottom lip, slightly embarrassed. “Well, you’ve always been a bit more obsessive about the academic side of things.”
He gives a humorless snort. “Says the Oxford student who clawed her way there.”
I hide a tiny smile. “Whitland is just as challenging in its own way.”
“And you made it here, too. That’s double the prowess.”
I tilt my head, laughing. “Is that a compliment?”
“Oh, I’m done now,” he says. “Just wanted you to know that I can’t wait to sit behind you again.”
“Here’s a novel concept,” I say, nudging him playfully. “Why don’t you just sit beside me this time?”
“Couldn’t possibly,” he says. “It’d be much too distracting for you.”
“Full of yourself,” I grumble.
“Isn’t that why you like me?”
“Confidence is sexy,” I say, flashing him a grin. “Ego is another story.”
“You afraid I’m gonna fall in love with my own reflection?”
“How very Narcissus of you.”
He clutches a hand over his chest, the other placed firmly on the steering wheel. “Was that a Greek mythology reference? A woman after my own heart.”
I snicker. “Glad to know what gets you going.”
“Oh, baby, I can give you a whole list.”
“I think I’m doing just fine on my own, don’t you?” I shoot back.
“Yeah.” He licks his lips, turns his head to glance at me, and then his hand comes to rest on my bare thigh. “You’re doin’ more than fine.”
Spring classes have finally begun, and that fresh start-of-semester excitement is crackling in the air.
New coursework, new challenges, and, more importantly, Hudson’s first official day with the cheer squad.
He’s opted into all our competition practices until Daytona, and the thought of him being a permanent fixture in our routines makes my heart race.
As I enter the gym, my teammates are already warming up. Some are stretching while others chat in groups. And there he is, Hudson, fitting in like he’s been part of the squad all along.
“Alright, Whitland!” Coach Morgan’s voice cuts through the chatter, and we all snap to attention. “We’re gonna put this pyramid together today. Let’s get to work.”
As per, our coach puts us through our paces. Warm-up? Check. Stunt practice? Check. Choreography that’s filled to the brim with high-level acrobatics? Check, check, and check.
The NCA is known for valuing high-energy, fast-tempo performances with rapid transitions. And Morgan is set on amping up the level of complexity from Whitland’s previous year. If we can manage to perfect this, there’s no room for us not to place first at Daytona.
Hudson is acing his part in the routine—strong, precise, and solid as a rock. But then we move onto the pyramid, and I slip on the first run. We recover quickly, but not quick enough for Coach Morgan’s sharp eyes.
“Ella, focus,” she calls out. I nod, biting my lip and pushing through.
We continue, and a couple more minor wobbles occur—not just from me, but from others, too. It’s not unusual at this stage of practice. We still have two and a half months until the competition to perfect things. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that every mistake I make is under a microscope.
During a brief break, I notice Claire and Coach Morgan talking in the corner, their heads bent together. Claire’s eyes flick over to me, and a chill runs down my spine. It’s that feeling you get when you know someone is talking about you behind your back.
“Alright, let’s switch it up,” Coach Morgan announces, walking back to the group. “Ella, we’re moving you to the back of the pyramid. Cove, take her spot.”
“What?” The word slips out before I can stop it. “Why?”
“It’s just for today,” she says, her tone firm. “We’re trying it out.”
I swallow hard, ignoring the sting behind my eyes.
Hudson gives me a supportive look, but the idea of being demoted—even temporarily—has me seething.
I force a smile and a tight nod, moving to the back as instructed.
Now, I’m paired with a different base, and the change is bound to throw me off-balance.
Ash tries to reassure me from the sidelines with his “You got this” speech, but honestly it just frustrates me more.
He’s been relegated to an assistant coach position because of his injury.
The cast comes off in a couple weeks, but he still needs to undergo physiotherapy for another month before he can return to full activity.
It’s a sore spot for him, which makes his pep talks feel a bit hollow right now.
I manage to push through the rest of practice, but by the end I’m a bundle of anger and hurt, barely able to keep it together.
It’s not so much that I think I deserve the spot more than Cove, but I hate feeling like a failure at something I’m so used to excelling at.
And I especially hate feeling like Claire’s distaste for me is going to define my place on this team.
As soon as Coach Morgan dismisses us, I stomp back to Hudson’s truck, not caring if anyone notices my frustration. Hudson follows at a distance, giving me space to have my moment.
I reach the truck and lean against it, arms crossed, trying to steady my breathing. A few minutes later, Hudson arrives. “I’m sorry about what happened in there,” he says softly, unlocking the door. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay,” I snap, then soften my tone. “Sorry. I’m just frustrated.”
“I get that. Being demoted is brutal, no matter if it’s temporary.”
I give him a tight nod of acknowledgment, biting my tongue. I’m worried I’ll lash out at him rather than express my feelings properly. I’m too wired to think straight. So, we drive home in silence.
When we reach his place, we head inside, and I collapse onto the couch, curling up on one end. Hudson joins me, and I instinctively move closer, seeking comfort in his touch.
He smooths a hand over my hair and my frayed nerves calm slightly. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he asks gently. “Words, no words from me? Do you want to rant? Sit in silence? Grab dinner? Have a little treat?”
“No words,” I grumble, burrowing deeper into his side. “But a treat does sound nice.”
He stands, offering a warm smile. “How about I grab you some ice cream at the corner store?”
I nod, a tiny pout on my lips. He wraps a blanket around my shoulders, tucking it in to make sure I’m snug.
When he slips his shoes on, I call out, “Hey, Hudson?”
“Yeah?” he asks, lingering in the doorway.
“Can we make it a blue raspberry ICEE instead?”
He just smiles, eyes crinkling with warmth. “Hell, yeah, we can.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me tucked into a cozy bundle on his couch. And for whatever silly or selfish reason, I don’t feel so bad anymore.