Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Hudson
G one was the awkward twelve-year-old I left behind when my family moved to New Jersey. My father had gotten a promotion at another facility—too far to drive. I hated leaving Presley. Back then, we had something innocent, puppy love maybe. I’d wanted to ask her to be my girlfriend but never got the chance.
Now, sitting across the dinner table from her, it was hard to believe the change. Presley wasn’t a kid anymore; she was striking, the kind of beautiful that was hard to ignore. As our parents talked about business and tennis—two things I couldn’t care less about—I nudged Neil, who was sitting next to me.
“You play sports?” I asked, cutting through the dull conversation.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Presley’s moss-green eyes lift from her plate, lingering on me. I didn’t look directly at her but knew she was watching.
Neil shrugged. “Football. I’m on varsity, but I don’t get much playing time.”
“What position?” I probed, my tone light.
“Receiver.”
“Are you any good?” I glanced at Neil, but I could feel Presley’s gaze intensify.
He gave another nonchalant shrug. “I guess. I made varsity.”
Presley’s voice cut in, soft but firm. “He’s very good.”
I caught her eye this time, holding her gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Slowly, deliberately, I licked my bottom lip. Her eyes flickered to my mouth, and she sucked in a breath, her chest rising slightly.
“Is he?” I asked, my voice low, teasing.
Her gaze snapped back to her brother as if I hadn’t just unsettled her. Neil took a giant bite of his dinner roll, chewing noisily. Presley’s lips twitched, annoyed.
“Tell him,” she urged, her tone edged with frustration.
Neil swallowed thickly, barely looking up. “Yeah, I guess I’m good.”
I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “And what about you, Presley? What do you do?”
Her hand brushed across her neck, a nervous gesture that made me grin inwardly. “I cheer. We have a game tomorrow night.”
Neil snorted, a sound so dismissive it nearly made me laugh. “Cheering isn’t a sport. It’s just gymnastics in a short skirt and a tight sweater.”
Presley’s face hardened, a flush of irritation coloring her cheeks. “Shut up! It is a sport.”
Their father cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the tension. “No arguing at the table, kids.”
Presley dropped her fork with a clatter, her frustration barely masked as she pushed her plate away. “I’m full. May I be excused?” she asked, her voice clipped.
Her mother nodded, not questioning it. “Of course, dear.”
Presley stood, and I watched her, unable to help myself. The way her tight jeans hugged her as she moved—it was impossible to ignore. I’d had flings before, casual things, but Presley? She was different. She wasn’t going to be easy, and something about that intrigued me.
“You wanna head out?” Neil whispered, breaking my focus.
“Yeah,” I muttered, nodding.
We got permission to leave the table, and I followed Neil into the kitchen. Presley was there, her back to us as she loaded her plate into the dishwasher. Neil handed her his without a second glance.
“Just put yours on the counter,” she said to me, her voice distant, still not turning around.
Neil left, and the room grew quiet. I leaned against the refrigerator, crossing my arms, watching her every move. The tension between us hung in the air, thick and heavy.
“Why are you so hostile?” I asked, pushing off the fridge and taking a step toward her. “Is it because I caught you in a lie?”
Presley froze mid-motion, her hands gripping the edge of the sink. Slowly, she turned to face me, her green eyes burning with barely contained anger. The dish towel twisted in her hands like she wanted to strangle something—probably me.
“Excuse me?” she hissed, her voice low, dangerous.
I tilted my head, taking a step closer, the smirk never leaving my face. “You’re still mad. I get it.”
She slammed the dishwasher shut, the sound echoing through the kitchen. Her eyes locked on mine, and I could see the rage simmering beneath the surface, ready to explode. I almost welcomed it.
“You don’t know anything,” she snapped, her voice shaking slightly.
I raised an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to make her uncomfortable. “I know you sent those letters. And I never wrote back. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
Her breath hitched, and for a split second, I saw the hurt flash across her face. But before she could unleash whatever she was holding back, her mother walked in, completely unaware of the tension crackling between us. She glanced between us, a bottle of wine in her hand, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Everything all right in here?” her mother asked, her gaze flicking to my hand resting casually on the counter, far too close to Presley.
Presley stiffened, stepping back. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice tight.
Her mother gave us a quick look before turning to leave, but the moment she was gone, Presley’s eyes found mine again, darker, angrier before she stormed out of the kitchen.
“I won this trophy in seventh grade,” Neil said, holding up a dusty Most Improved Player award like it was something priceless. The pride in his voice was hard to miss.
“That’s cool,” I replied, letting the corner of his bed catch my weight as I sat down. His room was exactly what you'd expect from a teenage boy—posters of his favorite NFL players plastered on the walls, a gaming system wired up to the TV, and shelves cluttered with random trinkets.
Neil kept talking, his voice bright with enthusiasm. “I hope to get some more playing time next year. A lot of the seniors are graduating, including Evan—Presley’s boyfriend. He’s a running back.”
“Does he treat her right?” I asked, my voice casual, though I was fishing for more than just brotherly gossip.
Neil shrugged, his face twisting in uncertainty. “I guess. I’ve never had a girlfriend, so I wouldn’t know.”
He looked timid, like a freshman desperate to fit in with the older crowd. From next door, muffled voices broke the stillness—yelling, by the sound of it.
“What’s that?” I cocked my head, straining to hear.
Neil snorted. “Probably Pres and Evan going at it again. They argue a lot. He always thinks she’s cheating or something.”
A smile crept onto my lips. Perfect. Breaking them up would be a lot easier than I thought.
The minute I found out we were moving back to Asterdale, I’d looked Presley Rossi up on social media. She was popular, gorgeous, exactly the kind of girl you couldn’t forget. And that ape, Evan, he was all over her photos. Big, cocky, smug. I’d done my homework on him, though. His profiles screamed narcissism—most pictures were of him, either partying or flexing in his football gear. There were a few shots of Presley, but you could tell he treated her more like an accessory than an actual girlfriend.
“Then why does she stay with him?” I pressed, eyeing Neil as he spun lazily in his desk chair.
He sighed, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “I dunno, man. She was happier before they got together.”
“How long have they been dating?”
“A few months, maybe. Don’t get me wrong, Evan’s a good guy, but... I don’t think he’s right for her.” There was a softness in Neil’s voice, like he admired the guy despite his flaws. Typical. He was probably hoping for a seat at the cool kids’ table, and Evan was his ticket in.
“It’s her choice,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Neil just shrugged again, mumbling, “I guess.”
I couldn’t help but smirk at his indecisiveness. What could you expect from a fourteen-year-old?
“So, what’s there to do around here?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Wanna play Fortnite?” Neil offered, already reaching for his controller.
“Not my thing,” I replied, standing up. “I think I’ll go check on dessert.”
He didn’t even glance up, his focus entirely on booting up his game. As I left his room, I paused outside Presley’s door, which was cracked open just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her inside. She was sitting on her bed, scrolling through her phone.
I nudged the door open with my foot. She looked up, her eyes narrowing.
“What do you want?” she growled, her voice sharp.
I stepped inside, ignoring her irritation. “We should finish our conversation.”
Presley tossed her phone onto the bed with an audible huff. “I didn’t invite you in.”
I pulled the letter from my back pocket, holding it up like a taunt before letting the door swing shut behind me.
“Let me explain,” I said calmly, taking a step closer.
“I don’t want your explanation,” she hissed, her fists clenching at her sides.
I ignored her venom, scanning the room. The soft peach hues of her walls and curtains made the space feel warm, almost too sweet for someone as fiery as her. Pictures cluttered a giant corkboard, and books lined a shelf, surrounded by knickknacks she probably thought were meaningful.
“Nice room,” I muttered, breathing in the scent of apples and cinnamon. It reminded me of her—a mix of warmth and sharpness.
She exhaled loudly, crossing her arms. “Did you hear me?”
“Not really,” I said with a shrug, settling into a hanging chair in the corner. The swing creaked slightly as I leaned back. “You’re a lot more stubborn than you were when we were kids.”
Presley’s eyes darkened, her frustration palpable. “What can I help you with?”
“I already told you,” I said, standing up and wandering over to her bookshelf. I pulled out a copy of Crime and Punishment, flipping through the pages. “Getting ready to murder someone and hide the body?”
Presley lunged toward me, her eyes flashing with anger as she grabbed for the book. “I’ll start with you if you don’t give it back.”
I held it out of reach, grinning. “Relax. I won’t hurt it. I’m just surprised. This is pretty deep for you.”
She shot me a glare. “How would you know? Have you even read it?”
“Two years ago,” I said, still flipping through the pages. “I took a summer class on Russian literature at Blackledge College.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why would you take a class on Russian writers at fifteen?”
I smirked, glancing at her. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
I flipped open the cover and saw an inscription.
"Who’s Deke?" I asked, watching her carefully.
Presley bit her lip, eyes flicking toward the door. "A friend," she muttered.
I raised an eyebrow. "A boyfriend?"
“That’s none of your business,” she snapped, snatching the book from my hand with a sudden burst of energy. Her fingers gripped it tight, knuckles white.
A slow chuckle escaped my lips. "Did I hit a nerve?"
“Hudson, can you please get out of my room?” Her voice trembled with frustration, but I wasn’t going anywhere.
Instead, I wandered over to the shelves, picking up a small figurine, letting it roll between my fingers as I studied the photos pinned to her corkboard. She was everywhere laughing with friends, winning awards. Her popularity was not in doubt.
"Does the gorilla know you like to read?" I asked, letting the figurine drop back into place with a clink.
"Huh?" Her confusion made me grin.
"That big ape who was hanging all over you in the cafeteria. The one with the inflated ego and zero substance."
Her frown deepened. "That was Evan. He’s my boyfriend."
"No, he’s not." I turned to face her, folding my arms as I leaned against the shelf. "He’s a predator. He’ll fuck you, and once he gets bored, he’ll move on. Seen it a thousand times."
Presley shoved me hard, her palms pressing against my chest. “Who are you to say that to me?” she spat, fire flashing in her eyes.
I barely moved, catching her wrists for a second before letting them fall. "I’ve met plenty of guys like him. Big man on campus, gets off on the attention. He thinks he’s doing you a favor by dating you. Classic narcissist. How long has it been?"
Her laugh was sharp, biting. "Why, Hudson Evert, if I didn’t know you—and I really don’t, not anymore—I’d think you were jealous."
I reached out, brushing my knuckles along her arm. The moment I touched her, goosebumps peppered her skin. She tried to hide it, but I saw.
"I’m protecting you. The guy’s a jerk, Presley."
Her lips tightened into a line, and she shifted her weight. "You don’t know him."
My grin widened. I could practically see her wanting to stomp her foot. She looked like she was on the edge, ready to snap. I loved that fight in her. It was cute, in a way. Ever since I heard we were moving back; I’d been waiting for this moment. Presley Rossi—she was more than just the pretty girl from social media. And up close, she was stunning.
I reached for a lock of her hair, winding it slowly around my finger. "But I do know him. Guys like him, they’ve got insecurities so deep they spend half their time looking in the mirror, convincing themselves they’re kings. And you?" I let the strand fall and leaned closer. "You’re just arm candy. Once he’s in college, you’ll be nothing more than a footnote."
Her arms crossed defensively over her chest; her cheeks flushed with anger. "He doesn’t need reassurance, people love him, and he loves me."
"Keep telling yourself that," I said softly, my voice dropping an octave. "He doesn’t love you. He wants to fuck you."
Her whole body stiffened. She mirrored my stance—arms crossed; feet planted wide. Her cheeks were a deep pink now, almost embarrassed, but fighting it.
“How do you know we haven’t already?” she shot back, defiant.
I smirked. "Because if you had, he’d already be moving on to the next girl. Hell, it’s only September. He’s got plenty of time to rack up numbers before the year’s out."
Presley’s eyes flared as she stormed to the door, yanking it open with a forceful tug. "Get out," she hissed, her voice like venom.
I strolled toward the doorway, stopping just before I crossed the threshold. "What, no kiss?" I puckered my lips, mocking her, before sauntering out. The door slammed behind me with a satisfying thud.