Chapter Thirty-Six Ella
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ella
We’re less than two months away from Daytona, and the pressure is cooking up a storm of nerves in my belly.
We’ve only gone full-out on our group routine three times so far, and the goal has been upped this year by Coach Morgan. She wants us to perform forty-five times before April. To complete the routine from start to finish with full energy and effort, as if it were the actual competition.
It’s hard work, grueling and relentless. It drills into our muscles, our hearts, our tired bones. But we push through it, again and again, because that’s what champions do.
Hudson and I have been working on our partner stunt for months now.
Our hands are rough and blistered, our bodies bruised in places most people might not even think about—sides, hips, shoulders, inner thighs.
But when I’m up in the air, when Hudson’s gray eyes are focused solely on me and we move as one, it’s a dizzying feeling. A worthy feeling.
It’s late after an extra practice at Skyline, the place we’ve spent most of our nights in the past few months. We’re both sweaty and tired, our clothes clinging to our bodies as we sprawl out on the mat. An average two-a-day training session doesn’t even come close to the level we’re at now.
“You did good today,” Hudson says. His voice is quiet, almost gentle.
“ We did good,” I correct, turning to him with a weak smirk.
But there’s something in his gaze that makes my heart skip. It’s that same look he gives me when talking about his dreams of graduate school, of traveling the world, or when he watches me from the sidelines during practice. It’s like he’s memorizing every detail, as if he fears he might forget.
As if he knows we won’t have this forever.
I realize only now that it’s a look I return more often than not.
When I watch him nail a stunt, when he taps me on the shoulder during lecture, when his head is down and buried in some old Greek classic.
Or when he cuddles up with Sourdough at the end of a long night, petting him with a tenderness that makes my chest tighten.
“This will all be over soon, won’t it.” Hudson’s voice sounds hollow, echoing my thoughts too accurately.
“Yeah,” I admit, my voice a mere whisper against the deafening silence of the gym. “But we can make the most of it while it lasts.”
His hand finds mine, fingers moving lightly over the calluses that have formed over the weeks and months.
“You know,” I start, tugging at the hem of my shirt nervously, “it’s strange. Jamie and I … we were together for nearly six years before he ended things. But you and me? We’ve been together for only a few months, and somehow it feels like a lifetime. Like it’s always been this way.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I think so. I mean, with Jamie … he was my constant, my safety. And then, just like that, he wasn’t.
” Hudson’s fingers stiffen around mine, but I continue anyway.
“I thought he was it for me, you know? That we would end up together because that’s how it’s supposed to go.
The childhood sweethearts who grow old together, never knowing a love that could make them question what they have. It was safe, predictable, in a way.”
I half-expect Hudson to pull away, to put up walls like he used to before. Instead, he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Life doesn’t always go the way we plan, Ella. I learned that the hard way.”
“Yeah,” I say, glancing at him with a sad half-smile. “It’s weird, though. It feels like it should be harder to let go of something that was such a big part of my life. But now, all of that seems so far away.”
His thumb traces the back of my hand, a silent promise that he’s still with me. “Maybe it is a dream,” he says softly. “Maybe this is too. Reality is …”
“Terrifying?” I suggest, looking at him to find some kind of confirmation.
He chuckles lightly, the sound comforting. “Maybe,” he concedes. “But maybe it’s less about fear, more about the acceptance of change. Life doesn’t pause for anyone.”
I exhale heavily, my fingers curling around his a little tighter. He’s right. As much as I want time to stop, to bask in this moment forever, that’s impossible. The world will continue to spin, and we’ll ride along with it—whether we like it or not.
“Takes some of the pressure off, doesn’t it,” I muse, looking at our intertwined hands. “Knowing that no matter what we do, change is inevitable, so we might as well embrace it.”
He smiles. “Okay, Davies, not so sure this level of optimism suits you.”
I move to sit on the mat and smack him on the arm. “You should talk, Mr. Doomsday himself.”
His laugh rumbles in his chest. “I’ve done a bit less catastrophizing lately. In fact, I’ve been letting go of control. I think we both have.”
“We have,” I say, “and it feels good.”
“Being with you always feels good.”
“And fighting with me?”
“Well, that feels a lot like a game. One I can’t ever seem to win.”
I laugh, nudging him with my shoulder. “You’re not meant to win, baby. That’s the whole point.”
“I like that,” he says, “you calling me ‘baby.’”
I gasp. “Did we finally find a nickname that Hudson Fox will tolerate?”
“Just might have. But only if it’s coming from you.”
We’re lying in Hudson’s bed, Sourdough nestled at our feet, purring into the quiet of the night. It’s a rare weekend off, and we’re soaking in the calm before the mounting storm. Daytona is looming—just thirty-eight days away now.
I’ve been talking to Hudson about my life before Oxford. I told him about my dad, and how he grew up working class. How he fought to give us the life we have now, but that he treats me as though he resents me for it.
When he asks about Mum, the conversation circles back to the single fact he already knows. That Louise Davies shares a heart condition with one of his favorite singers. That her tachycardia makes her overtired, overstimulated, and in her very special case, over-irritated to a fault.
I tell him how I used to worry about it all the time when I was younger, checking in on her, terrified that she might die. But that she never really showed any interest in me or my own life, only ever throwing money at me and sending me on my way.
“I don’t think my mum ever really wanted kids in the first place. I was an accident, they told me so. An unexpected surprise. It was easier, I think, for both of them to keep me at a distance rather than acknowledge their responsibilities as parents.”
Hudson’s quiet as he listens, gentle fingers tracing idle patterns on my arm. And somehow, it feels good to open up about it, to share the burden I’ve carried for so long. I don’t usually like dwelling on this stuff. But with him, it feels okay, like I don’t have to keep all of it locked away.
“Private school became my home from a young age, stuffing my time with extracurriculars I was never invested in. I saw my parents so rarely that they became like strangers to me. Inevitably, my mum would end up in the hospital, and they’d act like it was my fault that I wasn’t around.
Like I was the one who’d neglected her. They wanted me to pause my life and rush to her side each time.
As if it wasn’t them who had sent me off in the first place. ”
He just listens, his presence comforting and reassuring. It’s not pity I feel from him—just this unspoken understanding, like he’s letting me feel what I need to feel without needing to fix it.
When the conversation shifts to my time at Oxford, I tell him more about Molly, my loud and fun-loving best friend, whose energy could brighten any day. And Olivia, our bookish roommate, who was constantly buried in a good romance novel.
“There’s this little pub we all used to go to,” I say, picturing it in my head.
“The Blackbird. It’s all dark wood and copper.
They knew us by name and always played the eighties rock songs that Molly loved on this retro jukebox.
We’d spend hours there, laughing and drinking.
This one time, Ja—” I cut myself off, biting my bottom lip.
I don’t want to talk about Jamie again, not when I’m here in Hudson’s arms, our bodies tangled together.
“It’s okay,” he mumbles in my hair. “You can talk about your past, El. He’s part of it. I know it doesn’t mean anything.”
So, I do. “Jamie and I would go there a lot with our friends,” I continue. “Once, he got so drunk, he started singing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ at the top of his lungs and dancing on the table. Almost got us kicked out. It was embarrassing. And so unlike him.”
“He’s not usually a big drinker?”
“I meant the singing part.” I laugh. Jamie did love a pint. “He was always cautious. Worried about the fallout if he stepped too far out of line. But that night, it was like he didn’t care. Despite the embarrassment, it was still one of the best nights we had together.”
Hudson’s body stiffens beneath me. I quickly backtrack, trying to soothe whatever thoughts are racing in his mind. “Don’t worry,” I say, “I’m so glad it’s over between us. Long over, in fact. It’s been eight months.”
And the more that I think about it, the less I can believe we were together for as long as we were.
On paper, the two of us might have looked like a good pair.
But in reality, I was holding onto a ghost of a connection that was barely there.
Just two people who had known each other for a long time, perhaps mistaking familiarity for love.
Jamie breaking up with me has turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me. He could never understand my passion for sport, my thirst for more, my need to control and master and perfect—it was foreign to him. Hudson, on the other hand …
“It’s not that,” Hudson clarifies. “It’s just, fuck, he sounds a lot like me, doesn’t he?”
My brow shoots up. “Trust me, you two are nothing alike.”
He tries to smile, but his eyes give away his doubts. A knot tightens in my stomach and I turn to face him, cupping his cheek with my hand. “You are different. You’re not cautious to a fault. You take risks, you push boundaries despite your past. You’re the bravest person I know.”
He lets out a sigh, his eyes softening as he looks at me but says nothing.
“I mean it.” I lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Now let’s get some sleep, okay?”
He nods but I can tell he’s still uneasy. He kisses my forehead before slipping out of bed. “I’ll be right back. Just need to double-check the house.”
I watch him go, used to his nightly routine now. A way to ensure everything is in order, to calm his mind before we go to sleep.
In the silence of the room, I sigh and pull the blankets up to my chin. Hudson’s soft footsteps echo through the hushed house. I hear the faint creak of the back door as he verifies it’s locked, followed by the soft click of the kitchen-stove knobs being checked and rechecked.
He may be safe and cautious, but he’s not Jamie. Not even close. Hudson is thoughtful where Jamie put himself first. Hudson is strong where Jamie crumbled under pressure. Hudson is … everything that you could ever want in a man. No comparison this time.
When he returns, he slides back into bed, wrapping his arms around me. I nestle against his chest, savoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Sourdough shifts slightly, but settles back down, purring in that rhythmic way he does.
“Goodnight,” I whisper, my eyes already growing heavy.
“‘Night, darlin’,” he says, “sweet dreams.”