Chapter Thirty-Nine Hudson
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Hudson
All the pairs from partner stunts have performed by now. Ella and I are standing together on the sidelines, waiting for the final announcement. Our hands are clutched tightly together. Hopeful, anxious.
Despite the uncertainty of our future together, and the run-in I had with Ella’s shit of an ex-boyfriend, the world still feels right as long as she’s beside me.
The judges call out the rankings, starting from the bottom. My heart pounds in sync with each pair of names they announce. Fourth place. Third place. They take center stage to accept their trophies. To bask in their achievement.
And then finally, “Ella Davies and Hudson Fox, Whitland University.” We’ve placed second overall in the competition, and, damn, it feels surreal.
The world tilts for a moment as cheers erupt around us.
Ella squeezes my hand, and I pull her in for a hug.
Her smile—so radiant, so perfect—lights up the whole fucking stage.
We’re still hugging, the crowd still shouting, as the speaker booms out the names of the first-place winners.
It’s Claire and Evan, who slid by us with a fraction of a point.
But Ella doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, she breaks away from me, her eyes blazing with satisfaction as she spots Claire.
With a genuine grin, she strides over to the winning pair.
For a split second, I think Claire might turn away, that old jealousy rearing its ugly head, but then something amazing happens: Claire wraps her in a hug.
I watch, completely baffled as they embrace.
The applause from the crowd is earsplitting and, from the elated look on her face, I can tell it all means the world to Ella.
She’s worked so hard for this, trained for it in a way that would break most people.
Now she’s here, making peace with Claire, standing on solid ground.
Ella is back by my side in a matter of minutes, her cheeks flushed. “I can’t believe we placed second,” she breathes out, eyes sparkling. “We really did it.”
“Congratulations, El. You deserve it.”
“You too.” She frowns. “Do you think—do we have time to talk now?”
“Preliminaries are in a couple hours. How about we wait until later on?”
She sighs, and I almost change my mind right then and there.
I do want to talk to her, but timing isn’t on our side.
It’s important that we do well later today.
This opening competition isn’t just a showcase of our routine.
The score will factor into our performance tomorrow, and it can impact the morale of the whole team.
Twenty-five percent of the total is nothing to scoff at.
But I can see the longing in Ella’s eyes. “I promise,” I add, softening my tone. “We’ll get some time. Just trust me for now.”
She nods, a hesitant smile creeping onto her lips. “Alright, I’ll hold you to it.”
The rest of the afternoon is a whirlwind of activity: practice runs, uniform adjustments, and strategic pep talks. The hours pass in a blink, and then we’re gathering for our final huddle before the routine. Coach Morgan steps into the center, her presence commanding everyone’s attention.
“Alright, team, listen up!” she begins, her voice firm but encouraging. “We’ve worked harder than ever this season. Every one of you has pushed beyond your limits, and now it’s time to show them what we’re made of.”
Ella glances at me as she takes my hand. In the same vein, I turn to Luke beside me, taking his in mine. This squad is a unit, a family, and it’s one I’m proud to be a part of.
“We’re here because we deserve to be,” Coach continues.
“We’ve earned our place among the best. Remember, it’s not just about hitting the stunts; it’s about heart, passion, and leaving everything on that mat.
When you step out there, you’re not just representing Whitland—you’re representing yourselves, your hard work, and your commitment. ”
Her eyes sweep over the team, making sure to make eye contact with each of us. “I know the pressure is intense. I know the stakes are high. But I believe in every single one of you. You’ve got this. Trust in your training, trust in each other, and, most importantly, trust in yourselves.”
She pauses, letting her words sink in. “And remember, no matter what happens out there, I’m proud of you. You’ve already proven your strength and resilience. Now, let’s go out there and show everyone that Whitland power!”
A collective cheer rises from the team: “Rise up, stand tall, we conquer all!”
We break the huddle, adrenaline pumping as we make our way to the performance area.
The music blares, and we start our routine strong.
The crowd’s energy feeds into our performance, lifting us higher, pushing us further.
My hands are steady, my focus unwavering, and I can tell that we’re all in perfect sync.
Mid-routine, there’s some noise from a flier in the back, but I’m too focused on my own performance to let it affect me. We push through, hitting our marks with precision. And when we execute the pyramid, the energy seems to surge with us.
The routine ends, and we gather back together offstage, breathless but exhilarated. The coaches and the rest of our squad members rush to congratulate us. And that’s when I hear Coach Morgan’s voice, slightly raised, comforting a crying Cove.
“It was a minor bobble, honey,” she reassures her. “Such a small deduction, hardly anyone will have noticed. We can clean it up and make it perfect tomorrow. Don’t let it get to you.”
Cove nods, tears glistening in her eyes, but she manages a brave smile. “Thanks, Coach. I won’t let you down.”
“You’ve never let me down,” Coach Morgan says firmly.
“Now, let’s focus on what’s ahead. You all did great out there.
” She raises her voice, rallying the squad.
“Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow the game is on, and we’re going to be winners, no matter what happens.
Don’t focus on how good Wyler State is. Keep your eyes on your own prize. ”
She’s right. There’s no use beating ourselves up before tomorrow. The only thing we’re in control of is our own performance, and you can be damn sure we’re gonna give it our all. Whitland’s got this, I think, and if not, well, at least we’ll go down fighting.
I need to find a way to politely ask Malik, my roommate for the weekend, to get the hell out of here.
I have to talk to Ella as soon as possible. The goal was to wait until after finals for this conversation, but her ex threw a wrench in that plan. If I hadn’t seen him this morning, if he hadn’t said what he did, I could have held this off for one more day.
But Ella and I have been taking turns putting off the inevitable, and it’s time we face it head-on. Championships be damned.
I clear my throat, prepping to ask him, when there’s a knock at our door. Malik answers. It’s a man from room service standing there with a note in his hand. “Special request from Room 213,” he says as he passes it over.
Malik takes the note, thanks him, and then quietly shuts the door. I stand there as he reads the first few lines. His eyes go wide, a grin lighting up his face before he turns back to me. “I think this is for you, man.”
I rush to grab it, fumbling slightly. Ella’s neat handwriting staring back at me: We need to talk. Meet me on the rooftop?
My pulse pounds as I grab my coat, heading for the door without bothering to explain.
“Good luck, I guess,” Malik calls out from behind me.
I hurry to the elevator and punch the button to the top floor. When the doors finally open, I step out into the humid night air.
Ella’s standing there, her back to me, looking out over the beach. Our hotel is close enough to the shore that you can hear the waves crashing, see the sparkling lights of the distant pier. I would say nothing beats the view from up here, but that would be a lie when Ella’s right in front of me.
My stomach does a double flip as I walk toward her. “Hey,” I say softly. “You know the words ‘we need to talk’ are enough to give any man heart palpitations, right?”
She turns to look at me, her expression warm, vaguely reassuring.
“I figured that’s why you got here so fast.” Her eyes flicker down to the note still in my hand.
She steps closer and slides a palm over my chest. “You can stop overworking yourself now,” she says, as if speaking directly to my heart. “Everything will be fine.”
I work through a heavy swallow as her hand drops back to her side. To our right, there’s an outdoor couch with a couple of throw pillows scattered on it. I gesture toward it. “Should we sit?” I ask, still cautious.
She nods, and then leads the way. As she walks, her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, catching the rooftop lights. A gorgeous halo of caramel and rich chestnut. A vision that leaves me breathless.
We sit side by side, thighs touching, unspoken words lingering between us. “Do you want to start?” she asks. “Or should I?”
“I’ll start,” I murmur, tentatively placing a hand on her thigh.
She glances down at my hand, then up into my eyes, a soft smile forming on her lips.
“I’m sorry for keeping the acceptance letter from you.
I want you to know that I didn’t hide it because of what you said before …
because I already had ‘one foot out the door.’ It’s the opposite, actually.
I desperately wanted to find a way to stay in it—in this —with you. ”
She reaches for my hand, her fingers warm against mine. “Is there a ‘but’ coming?”
“You know me too well.” I softly exhale. “I didn’t tell you, because I was scared. Not of staying or leaving, of being with you or being apart. But more so, of not being the guy that you deserve … no matter what choice I make. That maybe I am just some fatherless hick who can never measure up.”
She squeezes my hand tighter. “Is that what Jamie said to you?”