Chapter 17-Tank
The snow’s coming down so hard I can barely see past the porch.
It’s a total whiteout.
I’ve done everything I can—hauled in enough firewood to last a couple more days, triple-checked the locks, even turned the faucets to drip to keep the pipes from freezing.
But the generator’s been coughing like a dying mule all afternoon.
And right now?
It’s silent.
Dead.
Which means—yep, there it goes.
The lights flicker once.
Then twice.
Then everything goes black, leaving only the soft crackle of the fire and the howling wind pressing against the windows.
I don’t panic.
Not really.
But my heart does clench when I glance across the room and see her.
Dani.
In that ridiculous oversized hoodie and thick socks, perched stiffly on her side of the bed that we’d already dragged in front of the fireplace, hiding behind that damn pillow wall again like she’s got something to prove.
And it makes me both mad and hard.
Because she’s so damn stubborn. And so damn cute.
I told her I’d give her space.
I meant it.
But she’s shivering now.
Small, uncontrollable tremors that make her teeth click as she hugs her knees tight to her chest, trying to make herself smaller.
“Come here,” I say softly, not bothering to mask the concern in my voice. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine,” she lies through her teeth.
“Dani—”
She tugs the hoodie tighter and tries to bury herself deeper into the cushions.
Like that’ll help.
Like stubbornness is warmer than body heat.
The pillow wall mocks me with its smug, fluffy indifference.
And I snap.
“I said come here,” I growl, reaching out and tearing the barrier down, hurling cushions to the floor like Godzilla tearing through the city on one mother of a temper tantrum.
She gasps, startled. But when I touch her, I swear, she sighs.
“Hudson, this isn’t a good idea—”
“Why not, Dani?” I bite out, dragging her across the mattress—not rough, but sure.
Certain. Into my arms where she belongs.
She fights it, just for a second.
A flutter of resistance, like her heart doesn’t know whether to leap or retreat. But she’s here.
She’s here and trembling against my chest, and I’m done pretending I don’t feel every goddamn thing for her.
“Because it’s easy? Because it feels right?” My voice is hoarse, filled with everything I’ve been holding back. “Because the second you let yourself breathe around me, you remember how fucking good we are together?”
Her breath stutters, shaky and shallow.
Her fingers fist into the edge of the blanket like it might hold her together.
“Because it won’t last,” she chokes. “Because it’ll hurt when it ends.”
The words gut me.
“Who says it has to end?” I rasp.
She shakes her head like she can’t even look at me, like if she meets my eyes this whole dam she’s built will come crashing down.
“That’s not how real life works,” she says, voice brittle and raw.
“What real life?” I demand. “The one where we pretend we don’t want what we want? That we don’t feel what we feel?”
“You know what I mean!” she snaps. “The sexy, perfect pro athlete and the nerdy, fat girl? Come on, Hudson. Be serious.”
“I am serious.” My voice is gravel now, anger and need scraping together in my chest.
“And first off, agree to fucking disagree. You’re not just sexy—you’re a goddamn knockout.
And nerdy? Are you nuts? Geezus, Dani. I do Calculus for fun.
I quote Shakespeare when I’m drunk and recite the Odyssey in Latin just to pass the time.
You wanna play nerdy? Bring it. I like smart.
I love you smart. And this body of yours?
It’s my fucking kryptonite. I covet this body, Sweetheart. ”
“Stop—”
“No. I won’t. You keep talking like you know how this ends, but you don’t. You’re not even giving us a chance.”
Her lip trembles, her arms curling into herself like she’s bracing for a fall.
“I’m giving us this,” she says. “This weekend. This storm. This bubble. But after that—”
I cup her face, my hands big and warm against her chilled skin.
“I don’t want just this weekend, Dani,” I murmur, voice breaking apart. “I want you. For more than a storm. More than a few nights on borrowed time. I want all your seasons. All your moods. I want every version of you, even the one that builds pillow walls and pushes me away.”
Her breath catches.
And I see it—that flicker in her eyes.
The war between fear and hope.
I lean in, our foreheads touching, breath mingling.
“I want to be your real life, Dani. Let me.”
She doesn’t answer.
But she doesn’t pull away, either.
So, I take that as permission.
I press her against me, curling my body around hers like a shield.
Her cold fingers slide under my shirt, searching for warmth.
Her breath catches as I tuck the blanket tighter around us and nudge her head beneath my chin.
Outside, the storm rages on.
But in here?
She’s letting me hold her.
Letting me keep her warm.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
But I’ll be damned if I stop there.