Chapter Thirty-Seven Hudson
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Hudson
Twenty days until Daytona, but the countdown isn’t the only thing on my mind.
This damn letter from Oxford stares back at me from my desk, a silent accusation. The rich, cream-colored parchment with the golden embossed logo—it reeks of prestige and opportunity. But all I feel is dread.
Five schools have gotten back to me already. Five acceptances to five of the top Classics programs in the world. It should feel good, but instead I just feel torn.
It would be incredible to keep things going with Ella.
To be with her at Oxford, and to say goodbye to our self-imposed expiration date.
But the cost of living there is ridiculous.
My tuition would be covered by a fellowship—great—but what about everything else? Rent, groceries, books for a full year?
I shove the Oxford letter into a drawer, trying to pretend it doesn’t exist. I don’t want Ella to leave here without me. And I don’t want to miss out on what could be the best year of my life. But what other option do I have?
I need time to think before I drop the bomb on her that I won’t be going. That despite their acceptance of me, I’m too broke to afford a life there with her.
With a quick pat on Sourdough’s head, I leave the house, hoping a jog might clear my head. It’s a few days still until spring officially hits, but Nashville’s already shedding its winter coat. The air is crisp but with a hint of warmth, promising better days ahead.
As my feet pound against the sidewalk, I try to drown out the noise in my head, but it’s no use.
We’ve been so focused on the immediate future that I’ve pushed next year aside.
Ella will be going back to Oxford in just a few months, and I need to be practical.
The other schools I’ve applied to—those in California, Illinois, Michigan—are more reasonable in terms of housing and day-to-day costs.
Not to mention the paid TA position I was offered at U Mich.
That offer keeps circling back in my mind—University of Michigan.
It’s not Oxford, but it’s still a great school.
I could get the same degree and even save up some money along the way.
I imagine myself there, less pressure, more time to breathe.
But then I see Ella’s face—those wild hazel eyes—and it’s torture to picture life without her.
As I round the corner onto the quieter, tree-lined street near campus, I spot Ash jogging toward me from the opposite direction. His blond hair bobs with each stride, and his athletic frame is powered by the same determination that makes him such a rock on the mat.
After completing a month of physical therapy for his wrist, he’s finally been allowed to return to full activity levels. There’s not nearly enough time left for him to train with us for Daytona, but his spirits seem high as he waves me down with a broad smile.
“Hey!” he calls, slightly winded. I slow my pace and come to a stop, allowing him to catch up. “Where’s my girl?”
I raise an eyebrow. “If you’re referring to Ella, I’d suggest you find something else to call her.”
“Touchy today?” He chuckles, falling into step beside me as we resume our pace. “I only ask because you two are attached at the hip lately. Gabi says she’s practically moved into your place.”
“She’s over a lot, yeah. Just easier that way.”
He smirks. “To practice your routine, right?”
“Exactly that.” We run in silence for a while, heading onto campus through the trails that run parallel to the intramural fields. “You know, I am sorry, man. About taking your spot. It really fucking sucks you got injured.”
He’s quiet for a while before shaking his head, sweat glistening on his brow. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you planned it or anything. Besides, you’ve stepped up and done a damn good job. Ella’s lucky to have you as a partner.”
“You’re a bigger man than I’d be in your situation.”
He pats me on the back as we pick up speed. “Yeah, Fox, no question I’m bigger.”
I snort. “You know, last term, when you were teasing me about Ella. You weren’t actually into her back then, were you?”
“Thought that was my secret to keep.”
“Well, circumstances change.”
“I guess they do.” He glances at me, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Maybe I was a little into her, but who wouldn’t be? She’s got that thing about her, y’know?”
“Yeah,” I say. She’s got everything.
We finish our run, breaking off at the same tree-lined street where we first met up, and I head back home alone. Levi’s pacing in our living room when I first walk in the door. He’s dressed in slacks and a blazer, hair styled in a way I’ve never seen before.
He has a pre-draft meeting with the Titans in a few hours, and he looks like he’s about to tear his own head off. A rare sight if I’ve ever seen one.
“Hudson!” he calls out when he sees me. “I need your help. Is this outfit okay?”
He spreads his arms wide, the blazer barely containing his bulk. It’s a good fit, but the nerves make him look uncomfortable.
“You look fine, Levi,” I say, still catching my breath. I drop my keys onto the coffee table and grab a water bottle from the kitchen.
“ Fine? ” he echoes. “I need to look fucking perfect , immaculate, like I belong in the league already.”
“You’re overthinking it,” I say, twisting the cap open and taking a long, cooling sip. “You’ve got the skills, the stats—they’re already impressed with you. This is just a formality.”
He sighs heavily, adjusting his tie for the tenth time. “It’s not just the skills, man,” he mutters. “It’s the whole package. Presentation counts.”
I nod, realizing I’ve underestimated his anxiety. “Okay, let’s work on it, then,” I say, mimicking a coach’s stance as I approach.
He stiffens his spine, eyes wide. “Alright, Coach Fox, tell it to me straight.”
I walk around him, examining every detail like a drill sergeant.
His shirt is crisp, the blazer fits well enough, but his tie—it’s all wrong.
The knot is uneven, the length too short, and it’s slightly askew.
I move closer, fingers deftly undoing and retying the knot, pulling it snug against his collar in a perfect Windsor.
“There,” I say, stepping back to admire my handiwork. “Now you look like a future Titan.”
He glances at himself in the mirror, finally allowing a small, relieved smile to break through. “Thanks, bud. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Definitely not get picked looking like that,” I tease, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, go knock ’em dead.”
He grins, the tension melting as he grabs his portfolio and heads out the door. As soon as it closes behind him, the house falls silent, and my own worries come flooding back. I sink into the couch, running a hand through my hair.
I should speak with Ella, sooner rather than later. Although perhaps it’s a conversation that can wait until after Daytona. Just a few more weeks until I burst our bubble.
It’s better that way, easier for us both to maintain our focus on the competition. After that, we can have a proper sit-down and figure things out. Maybe I can even come up with a solution by then, something more than just a disappointing truth and a half-baked plan for my future.
But for now, that letter from Oxford will have to remain out of sight, out of mind.
Nearly two weeks later, we’re at my place ready to head out for dinner.
Ella is sitting cross-legged on my bed with her laptop open.
There’s an anthro quiz on Monday, and then we’ll be heading straight to Florida with the rest of the team.
That means there’s only one week left until the first day of competitions.
We’ve gone full-out with the whole squad more than forty times, and our partner routine has been rock solid for months now. But even with all the practice, the hard work, there’s still a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. The gnawing worry about what comes after.
I excuse myself and go to the bathroom, hoping a splash of cold water will clear my head. When I return, I find Ella sitting on my bed, holding a piece of paper in her hands. It doesn’t take me long to realize she’s clutching that goddamn letter.
Her eyes are blown wide as she looks up at me. “I wasn’t snooping, I swear. I was looking for some paper to copy down this chart, and this was just … there. Hidden away in your drawer.”
I freeze in the doorway. My heart races, and a sense of déjà vu crashes over me, dragging me back to that morning after our first night together. The same room, the same bed, but an entirely different kind of tension. “Ella, I—”
“This is dated the fifteenth,” she cuts in, her voice rising slightly. “You’ve had this for two weeks now.”
I swallow hard, feeling the walls close in. “It’s not what you think.”
“ Not what I think? ” She stands abruptly, the letter fluttering to the floor as she does. Her eyes bore into me, confusion swirling in their depths. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been accepted? Because you thought I’d, what … try and convince you to come?”
I step closer to her, my hands raised in a futile gesture of calm. “It’s not that simple. I didn’t want to worry you. Oxford … it’s not exactly practical.”
“Not practical? It’s one of the best universities in the world! And—and I’ll be there. I thought you wanted this.”
“I do,” I say, frustration seeping in. “Believe me, I do. But it’s not just about getting in.
The money for tuition only covers a fraction of the costs.
Living expenses, travel, everything else—it’s overwhelming.
The other schools offered more comprehensive scholarships, and I have to consider that. ”
She shakes her head. “But why keep it from me? We’re a team. You could have told me that straight away.”
“I didn’t want to put more pressure on you, Ella. We’re about to compete at fucking Daytona. That’s been your dream from the beginning. Our minds should be focused, not muddled with added stress.”
She folds her arms across her chest, her posture rigid. “Thank you for deciding what I can and cannot handle.”
The sting of her words hits me hard. I want to reach out, to pull her into my arms and make all of this go away, but the look in her eyes stops me cold.
“I’m sor—”
“Please,” she interrupts, her voice trembling now. “Please don’t say you’re sorry. You should have told me when you got it. We could’ve talked it through. But you didn’t, and I understand why. You’ve decided you aren’t accepting your admittance, and you’ve already got one foot out the door.”
“I haven’t made any decisions yet,” I tell her. “That’s why I didn’t say anything. I’m still trying to figure it all out. I was going to talk with you about it as soon as the competition was over.”
“Once you’d already made up your mind.”
“No,” I say, but her gaze is still cold, chilling me to the bone. I can see the hurt in her eyes, and it twists something deep inside me. “I wanted your input, El. Truly. But I didn’t want it to distract us. Daytona is everything we’ve worked for.”
“Right,” she mutters, dejected. “And this relationship, once again, is temporary.”
Her words carve into me, leaving a hollow ache. “That’s not fair. I think we both know by now how much you mean to me.”
She stands, smoothing out the creases in her dress. “Sure, right. Well, onwards then.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Let’s tuck your letter away in the drawer and discuss it in a few weeks. Just as you wanted.”
“Ella, stop, please. Don’t shut me out.”
She looks at me. “I’m not shutting you out. You chose to keep me in the dark.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just … didn’t know how to handle it. I fucked up.”
“Yeah,” she says, “you did.” She turns, grabbing her purse before she heads for the door. “I’m getting an Uber home. Enjoy your dinner.”
I stand there, alone, the room feeling emptier with every step she takes away from me. There’s no use going after her now. She clearly wants to be alone, needs some time to process. So, when the front door clicks shut, I sink into the silence and let it swallow me.