Page 110 of Roughing It

“Hudson deserves better than spoiled trash.”

“Have you seen the pics her mom posted!? I’d delete everything and drop off the face of the earth if it was me.”

All the happiness bleeds from my body.

“Blakely, what the fuck? Is it always like this?”

I toy with the edge of the blanket and let my gaze wander over the trees lining the clearing. “No. I mean, some of those, yes. But,” I cough, trying to hide a sniffle, “things have been worse the past couple of days.”

“Why didn’t you say something? Was this what upset you before we went to Trail Creek and then again at lunch? Your conversation with Kirk? The afternoon of our date?” His brows furrow, and his jaw tightens.

Shit. “Something happened with my mom a couple of days ago.”

He nods, anger lacing his words. “Yeah. I got that.”

Guilt courses through me, and I find myself rushing to explain. “It escalated quicker than I expected, but I couldn’t ruin our trip into Trail Creek. And at lunch, things were going so well with Bo and Gray that, for a moment, I forgot. Forgot this isn’t my real life. When the truth ran me over—that this is just a month-long escape—I needed air.”

His eyes harden when I saymonth-long escape. I’m lashingout, and it’s absolutely at the wrong person. But I’m caught in my own bullshit spiral now.

“You found me after I read messages fromher.” I try to take a breath, my words spilling out faster than I can suck in air. “Then Kirk called. WhenBrandeedidn’t get what she demanded, she posted some unflattering pictures and details of my life. Then, yesterday afternoon, she struck again. And yeah, I should have told you. Talked to you. But all I wanted was to lose myself in you, Hudson. To forget to remember.”

“For a month.”

I wince, pain crackling through my heart. “I didn’t mean it that way. Being here with you…”

Hudson’s never held back from manhandling me—in a good way—and right now is no exception. I swear I’m airborne before landing in his lap, nose to nose, where seconds before my back was to his chest.

“Show me.”

“I—”

“Show me.”

With a weary sigh, I pull up the tagged posts. The first one features my mother: hollow cheeks, limp hair, smug sneer. There’s a manic light in her eyes, the only part of her that looks alive.

“All you little puppets following my daughter are idiots. Yeah, my daughter. She’s been passing herself off as some city girl. Her real name isn’t even Blakely Bradshaw. It’s Blake Lee Shaw.”Mom laughs, years of smoking, drinking, and who knows what else evident in her voice.

“I guarantee Blake thinks she’s better than this guy she met three weeks ago from the sticks. I’m not surprised she’s sleeping with him, though. She threw herself at every boyfriend I had. Always acting like her shit didn’t stink.”Brandee turns from the camera before holding up a grainy image.

My cheeks burn at my mother’s hateful, crass words. The picture is me at sixteen. I’m hugging my cute hatchback that I worked two jobs to pay for myself, with a bare foot arched behind me. It may be the only picture of me smiling. I was so proud of that car, even with all the rust stains and lack of air conditioning.

I scour the picture taking in the other details. The things I’ve changed about myself. No more gap and buck teeth. Or dull brown hair with frizzy curls framing an overly round face. Long gone are the days of ill-fitting jeans—somehow too short and too big—and tops with moth holes in the back.

Brandee’s boyfriend at the time, Dutch, took the picture on one of those disposable cameras, and my mom got so mad at him and me she locked us both out of the trailer for three nights. Dutch went to his brother’s. I slept in the lobby of a building I cleaned at night.

My eyes cut to Hudson; he glares as he watches my mother malign me. A shudder of revulsion has me fighting back bile at the thought ofeversleeping with any of the men she entertained over the years. How much of this does he believe?

“Is there more?” Hudson’s voice is tight and quiet.

I nod, wiping away the stray tears. I’m younger in the second picture. Twelve, maybe? Jimmy, the flavor of the month, has his arm over my shoulder and his eyes cut towards my non-existent chest. My arms are crossed, and my teeth clenched. There’s no smile or hiding my discomfort, even in a picture over two decades old. The peeling wallpaper and cracked plaster of the trailer are the background to this unwelcome trip down memory lane.

Seeing no sense in keeping the rest from him, I open my DMs. Hudson reads over the messages Brandee sent yesterday and this morning in silence, his jaw tensing.

Shaw_Babe: All you had to do was give me some money. Money you can afford, by the way.

Shaw_Babe: You’re such a selfish, spoiled child.

Shaw_Babe: I should’ve dumped you at the firehouse.

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