Roughing It

28. Blakely

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

blakely

DAY THIRTY

Like I knew it would, the sun rises on day thirty, and me with it. I don’t move. Instead, I lay still, my eyes fixed on the exposed beams overhead. The weight of my choice weighs on my head and my heart.

God, I love him. I can’t believe how much, but it’s only been thirty days. Is a month long enough to leave everything behind for someone I’m still getting to know? Even if I stay, I have an entire life back in Austin to shore up. An apartment to sell, my job… okay, so not an entire life.

I’ve been out of pocket for close to thirty days and not one faux friend has reached out to ask how I am. The blaring silence of the people waiting for me in Austin says it all.

Why am I such a chicken? Why can’t I be as brave as I was at seventeen? I started over once. I can do it again. Right?

As quietly as I can, I creep to the front porch, grabbing the antique quilt from the back of the couch on my way. The blanket smells like Hudson. Like the cabin. Wrapping myself up so I’m cozy, I launch the app where I have the most followers.

Several people sent me DMs with screenshots of Brandee’s latest posts. My nostrils flare in annoyance. Clearly, my asking once isn’t enough. I mass delete them, not bothering to read or reply.

Out of habit, I fix on my fakest smile, but as the countdown for my camera finishes, I drop it. No more faking it.

“Hey, BBs. I wish I had another month, or,” swallowing, I look up, trying to blink tears away, “year out here, but today is my last day in Trail Creek.” My voice catches in my throat, and I have to stop until I can compose myself. “This has been the most amazing experience of my entire life. Yes, Hudson plays a key role in that.” I let out a tiny laugh. “But beyond him, I’ve learned so much about myself and what I can do. I’ve learned I can build a fire. I can identify berries and found out the hard way that, in many cases, you need to cook them before you eat them.” Hearts are flowing in, more than I expected, given the early time. I was kind of banking on there being a small turnout.

“I learned how to shoot a bow and arrow. Gained a new appreciation for my GPS and discovered there are four thousand different knots, and they all have their own purpose.” My smile is real—no need to fake it now. “But more than that, I learned about who I am. Turns out I don’t need the glam squad—not that I don’t love them!” I blow a kiss and wink into the lens. “Turns out, I also like my thirty-three-year-old face without all the contouring, highlighting, and over lining. I’m stronger than I knew. More capable than I ever expected.”

Looking into the camera, I clear my throat. “The person you think you know isn’t who I want to be. Some may think this is in reaction to my mother, but it isn’t. It’s because of my time out here.”

I pan the camera around the clearing as the first rays of the sunrise filter through the trees. “On a serious note, please do not send me any pictures or information about Brandee Shaw. This is a line I can’t compromise on.” Sighing, I wipe away a tear. “BBs, I hope you book a trip out here. It’s amazing. The entire experience with Peak Adventures, with Hudson, has been truly life-changing.”

The rising pinks, oranges, and yellows wash over me as I end the live. A cough from the door tells me I’m no longer alone. I glance at Hudson and find him watching me in return. Today’s the day I break my heart.

Hudson joins me on the porch swing, and the first words out of his mouth aren’t morning , I love you , or even want coffee . No. They’re, “Don’t go.” As if he’s heard my stream and expects my answer.

Turning, I lay my forehead on his chest, arms slipping around him. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough to know you decided.”

“Hudson, I have to.”

He sits up, pulling away from me. “When?”

“When do I need to leave?”

“No, when did you decide? How long have you known you’d be leaving, no matter what I say?”

“J-just now. I—” I take a deep breath. “I love you.”

“But?” Hurt and confusion flicker across his face.

“But I can’t.”

With a grunt, Hudson stops the swing, his feet dragging against the porch before leading him to the cabin door and leaving my hands empty and reaching. “Pack your bags. We leave in twenty.”

A thousand knives to the heart couldn’t hurt more than his cold, detached words. It’s my fault. I did this to us.

He doesn’t speak while I pack, but he does make me a coffee. For a second, when he’s handing it to me—and our fingers brush, and our eyes meet—I think he’ll say something, but he doesn’t.

I want to yell. To pout. To throw things and demand he do the same. Force him to give me anything besides the chilly indifference.

So I press.

“Is this an apology coffee?” Nothing. “You could at least help me pack.” Crickets. “Have you seen my pink lace panties? They’re missing. They look like these, but pink.” I flash my hip and the red lace there. Zilch.

This isn’t my Bear. This is the man I met on day one.

Twenty minutes later, I’m hauling my haphazardly packed suitcases out to the Jeep. Hudson follows behind me, his hands in his pockets. He watches me try—and fail—to hoist the biggest bag into the cargo space. One of those work-rough hands—hands that have traced every inch of me—settles over mine, and a flight of birds takes off in my stomach. But all he does is guide me out of the way and jerk his head to the small suitcase.

Together, we load them. Together, we climb in the Jeep. Together, we are silent.

So many times, I start to say turn around or let’s go back, but then the fear takes over, and the words die on my tongue. Eventually, I give up, resigning myself to a silent trip to Trail Creek and an ugly ending to a beautiful month.

We’re making slow time, like the universe is colluding to keep us together—as if I don’t already regret my decision. The Jeep creeps down the not-a-road. The recent rain and cool night temperatures have turned the steep, narrow ruts and grooves into a muddy, slippery mess. We pass a handful of downed branches, limbs, and one actual tree. Which means an already difficult journey is now even more so. Like always, Hudson is vigilant, his eyes scanning the area, his speed steady.

The mood in the car, however, is fraught and charged. With each passing mile, the tension builds—a powder keg waiting for a spark.

Forty minutes in, everything explodes.

Out of nowhere, Hudson slams on the brake and throws the Jeep into park. His hand clamps onto my thigh, squeezing. It’s as if my leg is a tether, and if he lets go, we’ll both shatter. Desperation laces his tone as he says the first words he’s spoken since telling me to pack my bags. “Why Blakely? Why can’t you stay? What’s waiting for you back in Austin?”

Tears sting my eyes. “I can’t walk away from my life. I can’t give up everything I’ve worked for.”

“Why are you fighting this so hard?”

“It’s my life.”

In an echo of Kirk’s words, Hudson snarls, “What fucking life?”

“It’s lonely and fake, but it’s mine. I built it! All on my own. I came from nothing and turned myself into someone, and now I’m supposed to go back to being no one? A tiny dot in an even tinier town?”

“You were never no one. You were a scared little girl then, and you still are. And how do you handle what scares you? You run. You hide. You’re scared of us. Scared that we could be fucking fantastic, and you don’t know how to stay and face it.”

“Yeah, everything about this conversation screams fantastic.”

“Admit it, Blakely. You hate Austin, and you hate your job. Staying here means people to help you deal with your mother, a community around you, but it also means no more masks. And you’re scared shitless to talk about it.”

“A community? Hudson, I know what small towns are like. They’d sooner turn on you than help you.”

“Trail Creek is different.”

I scoff. “This isn’t a Hallmark movie where the small town is magic.”

The tendons in his neck strain, rigid and tense. “You want to say it’s not magic? That’s fine. But it sure as shit changed you. And up to today, I’d have said for the better.” He yanks on the gearshift, and we’re on the move again. Moving toward Trail Creek. Toward me leaving.

“You don’t get to decide I’m bad because you don’t like that I’m leaving.” My voice grows haughty, slipping back into my Blakely Bradshaw persona with surprising ease.

“I don’t get to decide anything.” His voice is flat. Distant. Done.

“That’s not fair. I asked you to come with me and you refuse, but I’m the one being unreasonable?”

“Yes.”

In a cartoon, this is the point where steam would be coming out of my nose. The one-word answers. The non explanations. “You can’t accuse me of running from the conversation when you do the same damn thing!”

His shoulders stiffen, and he tilts his chin toward me; it’s such a small movement that if my eyes weren’t locked on him, I would’ve missed it. “I’m not running. I’ve made it clear how I feel.”

“When?” I gesture wildly. “You said stay. I said go. You said no. Where’s the clarity?”

The long, frustrated breath he lets out is my only answer. My hand trembles as I caress his bearded jaw, but he turns out of my touch. “Hudson, look at me.”

When he gives me his attention, there’s a turmoil of emotions written in the furrow of his brow, the strain in his shoulders, the way his hands clench my leg and the steering wheel. Anger. Hurt. Confusion. Love. I see it all and know it’s reflected on my face.

Without thinking, I lean forward and kiss him, despite knowing it’s dangerous. I want to erase all the pain. Comfort him, pour my love into him. The Jeep swerves, and with a muttered fuck, Hudson breaks the kiss, jerking away as he straightens the wheel.

“Goddammit, Blakely,” he swears, eyes locking on the road. “You kiss me like that, but you’re still leaving! What the fuck am I supposed to think? Maybe I was right; this was all a ploy from the beginning. A fucking fairytale to boost your numbers. Maybe that vapid on-air girl was the real you all along, and the woman I fell in love with was the mask.”

His harsh words slice me, but I get it—it’s easier to lash out than to face reality, and I respond in kind, wielding my words like a whip. “And maybe the man I fell in love with was an asshole all along, and the one who said he could see beyond my mask was the liar.”

“Fuck, Blakely. I’m sorry. I—” He shakes his head, cutting off his apology. Then he presses his lips into a thin line. “Are you so afraid to admit that being here is where you belong that you’re gonna give it up? Give us up?”

“You don’t get to do that. Be mean then try to turn this around on me.”

“That’s not?—”

I cut him off before he can say anything else. Words pour from me like my mouth is a broken spigot. “Of course, I’m afraid. How can I not be? I already started over once before. With nothing. Do you know how hard that is? No, of course, you don’t. You’ve had your parents and brothers every step of the way. You have no idea what it’s like.”

“Don’t you fucking get it? It wouldn’t be that way this time. You wouldn’t be alone. You’d have me. Why can’t you see that?”

Everything is spiraling. This isn’t how our last day together was supposed to go.

“If I’m scared, so are you. You could come with me to Austin, but you won’t because you’re scared you’ll find out your brothers don’t need you. That the business can run without you.” I’m escalating things, and for a man like Hudson, these are fighting words. “How many times did you call them Hudson? Text them just to check in.”

The knuckles on his hand gripping the steering wheel turn white. His voice is hard. “I’m not afraid. I have obl?—”

“Obligations? To what? To your parents? To your brothers? You’re thirty-five years old. They’re twenty-nine and thirty-three, not seven and eleven. Your brothers can take care of themselves. They don’t need you to save them. Think of what you want for once!”

He slams his hand on the dashboard so hard I worry the airbag will deploy. “I am thinking of what I want! I fucking want you! Can’t you see that? For you to stay here with me where you fucking belong! So we can build a goddamn life together!” He roars the words, and for a moment, there’s nothing but pure silence between us. Mine shocked. His seething.

Hudson’s frustration-filled eyes flick to mine for just a moment. Less than a second. But that’s all it takes. Without warning, the world shifts. Hudson’s arm shoots out, bracing me, and he’s yelling my name. Tires screech and a rumble sounds like the earth is collapsing around us. Everything twists.

Turns.

Spins.

A blur of green, brown, and gold. Crunching metal. Snapping branches. Breaking glass.

Searing pain. Two loud pops.

And then nothing.