Roughing It

20. Blakely

CHAPTER TWENTY

blakely

DAY NINETEEN

I sit in Hudson’s Jeep, repeatedly laying on the horn. “Hudson, hurry up! I’m ready to go!”

Curled in Hudson’s arms this morning, I considered asking him to cancel the day trip into Trail Creek, but he woke up with a smile. Okay, not a smile, but not a full frown, which is practically beaming for him. No way was I ruining his good mood, even if my mischievous side likes him grumpy.

While I wait, only honking the horn every thirty seconds instead of every ten—I’m not a total brat—I pull up my socials and scroll through.

Though Hudson deemed yesterday a phone-free outing, I talked him into taking a picture of me from behind. In it, the tops of my shoulders and my profile are visible, along with the lip of the hot spring and the stunning view it overlooks. It’s a beautiful picture.

You always did put on airs .

The comment stops me in my tracks. Not because it’s particularly cruel, but because of who it’s from—my mother.

I’m not surprised she’s crawling out of the woodwork, given the way the fishing post—and each subsequent one—exploded. I bite down so hard my teeth clack together. Wonder how much she’ll ask for. It’s happened a handful of times since I first gained popularity. If I don’t want the world to know about Blake Lee’s pitiful existence, all I have to do is pay her off. Mother of the year, right there.

An echo of Brandee Shaw’s gaunt face sneers at me, accusing me of being uppity and too good for Hawthorne and her. A dry laugh huffs from my lips. As if wanting clean clothes, hair, and water, or a bug and asshole-free place to sleep is the same as putting on airs .

I shouldn’t give her my energy. It’s something I work on in therapy: not giving the woman who gave birth to me power, not letting her color my present or future. Keeping up the mental and emotional boundaries I’ve set for myself.

But I’m very much a work in progress.

Multiple message notifications taunt me. My thumb hovers over the little red number. Do I open them knowing there’s at least one from her?

Days like this—when the fear of people finding out about my pitiful past, when the stress of maintaining the curated persona and lifestyle and expectations, when the people who should love you turn against you—seem like the perfect time to quit and disappear from the public eye altogether.

My nerves were frayed before finding the comment from my mother, thanks to oversharing yesterday and despite hours soaking in the hot spring and making out. Now they’re in tatters.

So, I do what I do best. Closing out all my socials and locking my phone, I paste on a fake grin and hold the horn down until Hudson’s grouchy face appears.

“About time,” I holler as I lean out the Jeep door.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” I do my best to keep my expression neutral and my voice nonchalant.

Hudson rests both arms on the Jeep’s door frame and stares at me. Deep green eyes bore into my heart, seeing so much more than anyone else.

My gaze drops, but his thumb tilts my chin, refusing to let me look away. “What’s with the smile? Tell me.”

My mom is back from the trenches of hell, and it only spells drama and trouble. I’m scared shitless to go into town with you and hate it, or worse, love it. “Can we talk about it later?”

I expect him to push me. Demand to know what’s got me wearing the facade he’s worked to chip away. Instead, he sighs, knocks twice on the roll bar and walks around to the driver’s side.

“What took you so long?” I ask, grabbing the chance to change the subject like it’s my morning cup of coffee.

“Calm your horses. This is the first time in nineteen days you’ve been ready first.” He skims his fingers along my jaw. “Sure hope you aren’t trying to get away from me.”

Goosebumps pebble over my skin. No, I’m looking for reasons to stay. “I’m just excited to go into town and eat at a restaurant for the first time in three weeks.”

“You’re insulting my cooking? After that disaster of a meal you made? Maybe you should fend for yourself for a few days and see how you do.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Already, our bickering has my spirits up. I bat my lashes. “Plus, seeing a new face wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“And now you’re complaining about my face?” He gives me a smile, not a smirk or a lip tilt, but full teeth. Like a wild animal pouncing on prey, I lunge forward. He’s so damn sexy. Always. But especially when he smiles.

Our mouths connect, my tongue begging for entrance between his lips. The taste of him rushes over me. Mint, a hint of spice, and pure Hudson. I mean for it to be a quick kiss, but I crawl into his lap, all other thoughts, fears, and anxieties melting away.

He’s electric. Energy and emotions well in me, fed by his live-wire touch, until Hudson breaks the kiss. The quiet panting of our mingled breaths is the only sound. Hudson presses his forehead to mine. “If we start that, we won’t make it into town in time for lunch.” A beat passes, as if he’s as reluctant as me to separate, then he shifts me to the passenger seat, stretching across me to click my lap belt.

Now that we aren’t touching his words register. “We have reservations somewhere?” Hudson shrugs but doesn’t answer. Glaring at the side of his head, I ask, “What do you have in store for us, Bear?”

He flicks the end of my nose and throws the Jeep into gear. “You’ll see.”

I mentally tally the options. Is this a date? Am I meeting someone important to him? Oh god, his parents?

“Is it your parents? Because if it is, I have to change,” I jabber as I tug at my fitted long-sleeve tee and jeans.

“I wouldn’t spring them on you.”

Relief has my shoulders lowering. I’d love to meet the people who molded Hudson into the man he is today, but it’s too soon. And I’m absolutely not dressed for a parental first impression.

Crooking a knee under me, I take in the sights I missed on my initial trip out here, soaking in the passing scenery. The pebbled, rutted path—I refuse to call it a road—is steep and narrow, and in some places, the ground seems to drop away, leaving only the tops of trees poking up next to us. I’m kind of glad I couldn’t see it that first night. And now I better understand why Hudson rarely takes his eyes off the road.

I record a short video—no narration, no music—just the beautiful and slightly terrifying view. It never hurts to have extra B-roll, and this makes an amazing one.

As we make our way down the mountain, something small darts out from the rocks hidden in the treeline, and I scream and cover my eyes. “Stop!”

The Jeep jerks, the tires losing traction in the rusty dirt, making me scream louder.

“What?” Hudson barks.

“Did we kill it?”

“What?” Hudson repeats as he eases the car close to the side.

“The little furry thing that ran out, did we squish it?”

Large, warm hands settle over mine, pulling them away from my eyes. With a grimace, I meet Hudson’s amused smirk. “No, we didn’t kill it.”

“How do you know?”

“For one, there was no bump. Two, there’s nothing dead behind us, and three, he ran into the trees before you scared the crap out of me.”

“You saw it?”

Hudson’s chuckle lessens the tension in my chest and shoulders. “Yeah, baby, I saw it. Long tail weasel. They’re quick little shits.”

My head flops against the headrest and I exhale.

The steady purr of the Jeep’s engine starts up. “You good?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Heat rushes to my cheeks. I may have overreacted a little. Opening up to him about Hawthorne yesterday left me raw and exposed. My freaking mother is back on my chessboard. We’re headed into his tiny hometown full of small-town people, and I screamed at him.

There’s an awkward silence, Hudson staring straight ahead, me staring at him. Then a familiar weight rests on my thigh.

“Trail Creek has a great bookstore. You read?”

Bless this remarkable man. Hudson Brooks is making small talk because I need it. Nineteen days, and he knows me better than anyone in my life ever has.

After a solid hour in the adorable purple bookstore, Up a Creek Without a Book—seriously, this whole town is an influencer’s dream—Hudson drives us to a tiny restaurant.

He frowns at the overflowing parking lot. “Ava’s is the best.” But he makes no move to get out.

“The best is a good thing, right?”

He nods but still doesn’t move.

“So are we going in or…”

A heavy puff of air from his nose is my answer. I press my lips together to hide my grin. I adore his grumpy ass.

“Come on, Bear. You promised me the full Trail Creek experience.”

We step into the crowded entry, and I immediately regret coming to town. Two things I did not think through: one, Hudson is a local, so everyone knows him. Two, because he’s a local, everyone in town is following me to keep up with him.

The buzzy din drops to a dull roar and the weight of eyes burn doubts into my chest. Danger! Danger! I step back and into the firm wall that is Hudson. The sensation of his lips brushing over my ear drives the rising panic away.

“Give it a sec. They’ll go back to their business. They’ve never seen a celebrity before.”

I can’t help my snort. “I’m hardly a celebrity.”

He shrugs. “Close enough around here.”

A tiny woman with silver hair cuts through the busy tables. She stops now and then to scold someone, telling them to mind their own selves. When she gets to us, she wraps Hudson in a crushing hug, and despite his stiff demeanor, he seems genuinely happy to see her.

“Ava, you got a table for two?”

“You Brooks boys always have a table here.” She turns her lovely, laugh-lined face to me. “And for your beautiful lady friend.” She pats my arm and guides me through the restaurant.

Doing my best to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze, I examine the colorful murals on the walls, the gorgeous southwestern shades, and the tempting scents coming from all sides. Ava seats us in a large booth, and I sneak into the side facing away from the other patrons.

Hudson is right, of course. By the time Ava walked us through the restaurant, no one was paying us any mind, but I’d still rather not wake up to pictures of me stuffing my face.

“So.” I clear my throat.

“So.” He raises one eyebrow at me.

“The bookstore was amazing. Saul’s a trip, though.”

“He thinks he’s the fucking pope of Trail Creek or something, but he’s harmless.”

I smile and fiddle with my menu. The older man questioned me about my motives for coming to Trail Creek and if I planned to give the town a positive review. I tried to explain I’m not a travel blogger, but he didn’t seem interested in anything other than telling me about how unique Trail Creek is.

“Yeah, he seemed more concerned?—”

“We have company.” Hudson’s words cut mine off, and panic must be visible on my face because he adds, “It’s not my parents, and I swear I didn’t plan this.”

“Nice to see you again, Blakely!” Next to our booth stand two slightly younger versions of Hudson. Bo and Gray.

“How the hell did you two clowns find us? We just sat down.” He frowns at his brothers.

Gray crosses his arms. “Mistake number one?—”

Hudson groans. “Saul.”

“Yep. The gossip train started when our knock-off Taylor Doose spotted you.” The youngest Brooks brother winks at me.

There’s a low grumble coming from Hudson’s side of the booth, but I’m too stuck on Bo’s words about the gossip train to worry about anything else.

My therapist and I talk a lot about why I’m okay with being a minor entity online but hate the way small towns function. Together, we’ve worked through so many of my feelings about it, and I’ve concluded it’s because I can control the narrative of what I put out there when I’m online. And that comments, while hurtful, don’t affect my day-to-day life unless I give them power. She says the same is true about real-life gossip, but I like to remind her that real-life gossip did, in fact, impact my day-to-day life. I’m a gem like that.

Bo grins. “Aren’t you gonna invite us to join you?”

I fix my face and smile at Hudson. “Yeah, aren’t you going to invite your brothers to join us?”

Of course, my perceptive Bear sees through my mask, his eyes searching me over.

“Not yet. Why don’t you two go get us some sangria? ”

Bo looks like he’s ready to argue, but Gray nods and pulls him away.

Hudson’s hands settle over mine, his thumbs tracing random patterns over my knuckles. “Talk to me.”

“This is exactly like Hawthorne.” He doesn’t say anything, so I press on. “The way everyone stared when we walked in, that it took two stops for people to call your family. I can’t,” I swallow, my eyes darting around the restaurant.

The pressure on my hands increases. “What do you think people are saying?”

“I’m not good enough for you. I’m city trash. This is all pretend, a publicity stunt inside a publicity stunt. I’m a highfalutin hustler.”

“Highfalutin?” The creases in his brow deepen.

Despite myself, I smile. “Yeah. Highfalutin. As a former Texas boy, I know you’ve heard it before.”

“Sure, but no one but my Memaw and her quilting circle still use that word.” Then he gets serious. “Blakely, I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable right now. This is what you worried would happen, but my gut says none of those things you’re thinking are what’s being said.”

My counterpoint is on the tip of my tongue when Bo and Gray return.

“What did Saul say to you two?”

Both of Hudson’s brothers smile, and Gray answers. “He said it was nice to see our grouch of a brother happy for once, and if Blakely’s the one who turned your attitude around, she deserves a seat on the town council. And if we want to see it for ourselves, we better hot-foot it to Ava’s. Why?”

A weight falls from my shoulders. It’s only one person, but hearing something nice about myself from the town gossip… It’s an unfamiliar experience. And like he somehow keeps do ing, Hudson reads me, a hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not covering the bill.” He waves Ava over and politely requests additional menus.

“Blakely, get the stuffed sopapilla. It’ll change your life,” Bo says as he attempts to squeeze in next to me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hudson asks.

Bo looks to his left and right. “Sitting.”

“Not next to her, you aren’t.”

Gray and I watch as the other two bicker until Hudson all but hauls Bo out of the booth and slides in. His arm wraps around my shoulders and he presses a quick kiss to my temple.

“Now that that’s settled,” Gray snarks, “how about we give Blakely a menu rundown?”

“You said a stuffed sopapilla? Stuffed with what? When I think sopapilla, I think dessert,” I say to Bo.

“Ah, that’s your closed-minded Texan way of thinking. You need to broaden your culinary horizons.”

Hudson snorts. “You order the same thing every time.”

“Why mess with perfection?”

A short time later, a massive plate of food sits in front of me. The football sized sopapilla—somehow fluffy and golden despite being smothered in red and green chile sauce—is calling my name. Bo gives me a grin that I’m sure makes him a favorite of the Trail Creek dating pool and watches until I take a bite. A soft moan slips from my lips as the flavors of slow rolling heat, gooey cheese, and spiced meat explode on my tongue.

The coffee, the food, the books. How have they kept this town a secret?

Hudson’s hand settles on my thigh, and he whispers, “Those noises are for my ears only, Blakely. Don’t make me murder my brothers at Ava’s.”

I giggle as he shoots daggers at his brothers.

Gray tilts his head. “Still can’t believe you convinced this asshole to show his ugly mug online. We’ve been trying to get him in our videos and posts for a couple of years.”

“I bet I know how she did it.” Bo winks at me, then yelps. “Fuck, Hudson! That hurt.”

The easy back and forth between the brothers has me feeling more and more comfortable. To the point I forget I’m in a small town. Forget I don’t belong here.

For a moment, I indulge in the fantasy of what if. What if this could be my future? No more lonely city. No more fake friends and selling a curated version of myself online. Instead, laughter and love surround me. Years pass by, children play at our feet, the cabin grows, making room for a son, a daughter. Sixty falls, sixty springs, a lifetime in our little cabin in the woods.

“Food okay?”

Hudson’s voice drags me to the here and now, and I shake my head to disperse the lingering fog of memories that can never be. “Yeah, yeah, good. I, um, need to use the restroom. Please excuse me.”

Hudson stands, and I bolt from the booth toward the opposite corner. Stumbling into an empty stall, I sink onto the seat. I have to stop imagining a life with Hudson.

In a desperate act of self-sabotage, I open my socials and go straight to the messages.

And there, as expected, are several from my mother.

Shaw_Babe: Since you’re doing so good the least you can do is help your poor mother. Haven’t had electricity in the trailer for two weeks.

I scoff. She found access somehow. Three more messages wait, each time-stamped about thirty minutes apart .

Shaw_Babe: Don’t ignore me, Blake Lee. I’m your mother. You owe me. I raised you till you were grown, feeding you, clothing you.

Shaw_Babe: Once again you’re out here showboating and making the world think you’re better than me. You always did. But remember, Blake Lee, you came from nothing and you’re still nothing. No amount of expensive clothes will change it. You might’ve hidden that part of yourself from your city friends and this new man you’ve snookered, but your mamma knows. Blood always outs.

Shaw_Babe: I need $5000. Send it, or I start posting.

And there it is.

A soft knock on the door has me fumbling my phone and shoving it into my pocket.

“Blakely? You alright?”

I swing the door open and crash into Hudson, needing his arms around me. His grounding scent and warmth. The security he provides.

“Sorry. Needed a minute.”

Together, we walk to the booth and slip back in. Bo and Gray have the decency not to ask where I disappeared to or why I was gone so long.

“So, Blakely, what’s next for you when you leave here?” Bo has no idea how loaded his question is.

I weigh my words. “Maybe it’s being out here,” a flutter courses through me when Hudson’s grip on my thigh tightens and rises, “but I’m starting to think when this is over, I may take a sabbatical from social media.” Hudson’s teasing touches falter, and his eyes burn into the side of my head.

“No way. You’ve gotta be making damn good money. Ouch, fucking hell, Hudson, stop kicking me!”

The first giggle slips out. Maybe it’s the offended look on Bo’s face, the glower on Hudson’s, the bullshit with my mom, the stress of coming into town, the weight of being down to eleven days, but I crack. Laughs, loud, obnoxious, and unrelenting, shake my body until tears stain my cheeks and my sides ache.

All three Brooks men stare at me, matching open-mouthed expressions on their handsome faces. You’d think I grew a second head, but it just makes me cackle harder. The sounds bubble around me, too loud to not be drawing attention, but I can’t stop. Before long, Bo and Gray join, and eventually, the infectious giddiness is even too much for Hudson. He laughs out loud. Twice.

Finally, I calm myself enough to steer the conversation away from me and onto the brothers. I want to find out more about them, to know them.

As lunch goes on, I drink in their easy dynamic. They obviously care for one another, enjoy one another, love one another. Even Hudson has a half grin when he thinks no one is paying attention.

Gray shares stories about camping trips gone wrong, including one from when they were young and Hudson forgot to stake the tent. When they got to the campsite, it was upside down and thirty yards away. I learn that Bo accidentally packed butter spray instead of bug spray one trip, and they didn’t figure it out until they’d doused themselves in it. And that on one of the few trips their mother joined them on, her hammock ripped, and she landed flat on her back but never dropped her smore.

I listen to it all, absorbing as much as I can. I love hearing about Hudson. I love hearing about his life and his business. I love that these are his people, and he’s sharing them with me. I lov… really like him.

Hours later, we climb into the Jeep to head home. The cabin. A place that is more home than anywhere else I’ve ever lived.

As I ponder that intrusive little thought, I study Hudson’s handsome profile.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Busted. “Can’t a girl stare at her boyfriend for no reason?” I freeze at the bf word, but when the edges of his lips turn up, a rush of happiness floods my body.

“Did you mean what you said at lunch today? Are you thinking about giving up social media and the influencer life when this is over?”

Do I mean it? “I meant it when I said it.”

“But?”

“But…” The headlights flicker over the trees, casting eerie shadows around us. “It’s easy to say when things are going wrong.”

He glances over at me before focusing back on the road. “Is this about what happened earlier today and at lunch?”

“Yeah.” I reach out, holding his hand, and press his palm to my lips. “A year from now, if I ask myself why I quit—if was because it was hard or I was having a bad day, or for… some other reason—I need to be able to answer honestly. And I don’t want the answer to be because it was a bad day. If I walk away from my job, Austin, all of it, I need it to be for something better. Something real. Something lasting.”

In the dim cabin of the Jeep, an unreadable emotion flashes across his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. Maybe I imagined it.

But it looked a lot like love.