Chapter Forty Ella
CHAPTER FORTY
Ella
Our squad is a collective bundle of nerves waiting on the sidelines. Whitland’s next on mat, and we’re tied with Wyler State based on yesterday’s prelims. That means today’s performance isn’t just another routine; it’s the ultimate deciding factor.
“We’ve got this, Whitland!” Coach Morgan bellows, her voice slicing through the haze of anxiety. “Keep your focus.”
“Whitland on three!” someone shouts.
“One … two … three … Whitland!” we roar, and the battle cry echoes off the walls. “Rise up, stand tall, we conquer all!”
Hands squeeze mine—on one side, Luke’s palm is clammy; on the other, Hudson’s grip is firm and reassuring.
I glance up at him and give a soft smile.
He looks strong, steady, perfect. His broad shoulders are squared, and his eyes are set with determination.
In them, there’s a silent promise—he’s here with me.
And no matter what happens, we’ll both go home with more than we came here for.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Always.”
We run onto the mat, hitting our marks. My heart is pounding, but I home in and focus on the opening stunts.
I climb into position, Hudson’s strong grips anchoring me.
The music blasts out, and I snap into the first high V, the crowd roaring in front of us.
We transition smoothly into high to high full-ups, and I nail the double down dismount.
Next is standing tumbling. We line up, and then launch into standing back tucks, followed by toe-touch back tucks and standing fulls. Coach Morgan’s voice echoes in my head: tight forms, strong rebounds, and we follow through.
There’s a quick transition to running tumbling next. I take off into my pass: whip through to a full. Sticking the landing, the mat hits firmly beneath my feet. I’ve never been the strongest tumbler, but I’ve put in the work, and the adrenaline helps me nail it today.
Partner stunts follow. I step to Hudson, and we execute a flawless hand-in-hand full-up. The crowd gasps as we hit our one-arm stretch. The dismount is a high double down, and air rushes past me as we spin. It’s a smooth catch, and I’m immediately prepping for the next transition.
The pyramids, of course, are my favorite part. My face splits into a wide grin as we form the base, and I climb to the second tier, then up to the top. The pyramid rotates, cheers building around the stage. As we hit the final structure, I throw my hands up, soaking it all in.
After, we scatter into our positions for a series of basket tosses. I step into the basket before lifting off, tucking into a kick double. I’m weightless, high in the air, before I land back in the cradle with a solid thud, swiftly moving into position for the next toss.
As the routine comes to a close, we launch into a high-energy dance sequence. Some of us move until we’re on our knees, others rise up on shoulders, and in the back, a singular pyramid forms with Claire at the top. She’s a sight to behold, I’m sure—as strong, radiant, and beautiful as ever.
Here, on the right, bolstered on Hudson’s shoulders, I’m grinning from ear to ear. This is the last time I’ll ever perform with Whitland’s squad. The exhilaration, the bittersweet nostalgia, have hit me all at once. It’s a memory I’ll never forget. An experience I’ll savor for the rest of my life.
When the music stops, it’s nearly impossible for us to tell as the noise of the screaming crowd drowns it all out.
I suppose if one thing is true about Daytona, it’s that the rush of performing is unlike anything else.
It’s no doubt one of the greatest feelings in the world—second only to that of Hudson telling me he loves me.
Or perhaps it’s a tie if I’m being wholly honest with myself.
We finally break formation, falling into each other’s arms, laughing and crying in equal measure. I turn to Hudson, and he wraps me up so tightly I can hardly breathe. “Fucking incredible,” he says as he pulls back.
“There’s nothing quite like it, is there?”
“This might be better than winning a football game,” he says, and I crinkle my brow in disbelief. “Okay, you’re right, it’s definitely better.”
I laugh. “We don’t even know our scores yet.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, tucking me under his arm. A warm embrace that feels like home.
We leave the stage, and the original Skyline crew—Gabi, Sammy, Luke, and Ash—rush over, pulling me into a group hug.
Hudson hangs back, a proud smile on his face, until Ash yanks him into the fray, too.
We’re all jumping and hugging, a tangled mess of joy and relief.
It’s the sweetest moment, one that will live on forever.
A few hours later, we huddle together on the main stage, hands clasped so tight I can feel Hudson’s pulse sync with mine. The judges’ faces are inscrutable, and time stretches for what seems like forever.
“Second place,” the announcer’s voice booms, “Wyler State!”
We exhale collectively, a gust of preemptive triumph. But we don’t erupt just yet. The title is still suspended in the air, despite the fact we know it’s ours. It has to be.
“First place …”
The whole universe narrows down to those two words, the seconds stretching on infinitely.
This is it, the moment I’ve been waiting years for.
The moment that’s taken blood, sweat, and countless sacrifices.
I know Hudson said it didn’t matter—win or lose—but I’ve always been a sucker for a first-place trophy.
“Whitland University!”
And just like that, the tension shatters. Cheers explode around us like a burst of fireworks, the joy too big to be contained. We’ve done it. We’ve won. The victory is sweeter than a fairytale, richer than any dream. It’s real, and it’s ours.
Suddenly I’m drowning in a sea of hugs. I’m laughing, crying, shouting—all at once—my emotions a tangled mess that somehow makes perfect sense.
Hudson’s hug lifts me off my feet, and I’m spinning once again. “Fuck yeah, Whitland! That’s how it’s done.”
A huge banner unfurls from above, and the trophy glimmers in the spotlight as it’s handed over to us. We hold it high, basking in the triumph that took everything we had to achieve.
“Beach! Now!” Ash yells over the crowd, and the idea spreads like a ripple effect.
My ears are still ringing as we sprint towards the ocean together, driven by a collective urge to baptize our success in saltwater.
It’s just a short dash from the stage to the shore and, as we reach it, my shoes and socks fly off first. The sand is warm beneath my bare feet, squishing between my toes and slipping away with every eager step.
“Come on!” I shout to Hudson.
I glance back to find Ash behind me, his shoes making their own arc through the air. Hudson is beside me now, his strides long and confident, a boyish laugh escaping him as he runs on ahead into the ocean, a bright, glittering expanse beneath the afternoon sun.
When I reach the water’s edge, the cold waves crash against my legs. Gabi runs up from behind, tackling me into the water, and we both go tumbling. We’re soaking wet, uniforms drenched in sand and sea. A salty residue that will probably never come out.
But it doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters except this moment, frozen in perfect time.
I look around at my teammates, each one a portrait of pure joy.
Ash is splashing Luke, who’s trying—and failing—to dodge the onslaught.
Claire’s dancing in the shallows, her curls bouncing with each wave.
Sammy and Gabi are engaged in a mock battle, shrieking at each other as the waves swallow them up.
And Hudson? He’s wading through the water to meet me, silhouetted by the sun behind him. My heart does a little flip of its own. There’s my gorgeous boyfriend, the man I love, striding towards me after the biggest win of my life.
“Would you look at that,” he says. “It’s our first trip to the beach together.” He gives me a little smirk, droplets glistening on his tanned skin.
“First of many,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing just below his ear. “We should fly out here again this summer, though. Do a little Orlando sightseeing before heading back to Oxford.”
He grins. “Mmm, or we could drive here.”
“Oh, God no. I don’t even want to know how long that might take us.”
“About eleven hours, darlin’,” he says, “give or take a few pit stops for Sour. Nothin’ much to it.”
I laugh, and he leans in then, pressing his lips to mine, salty and so sweet. The most perfect kiss on the most perfect day.