Page 121 of Roughing It

“I got sent home from school today. The nurse says I need toshower more because there’ve been complaints from my classmates. Like I don’t wish I could bathe regularly. Of course, mom didn’t care. She didn’t even pick me up. Instead, she told me to find my own way home.”My mother pauses here, glaring into the camera. “Such a spoiled brat. As if I had time to come get her ass from school.”

Huffing, she reads more. “I tried to shower in the trailer, but Floyd is here, and I don’t want to chance it.”Her eyes roll. “Uppity little cow. My men never wanted her.”

I can’t watch anymore—mortification, grief, and the cramps from yesterday churn in my stomach. Muffling a whimper, I dart to the bathroom, my phone clattering onto the wood floor.

Dry heaves wrack my body. Not from the berries. No. This is pure Brandee. I wear myself out between tears and retching. A cool cloth eases my aching eyes and burning cheeks. A rough palm smooths back my hair before nimble fingers work it into a loose braid.

Hudson.

His familiar scent of pine trees, warm earth, and spice calm my frayed nerves. “Look, I’m not telling you what to do. But I mean it when I say these videos and posts—as shitty as they are—don’t reflect poorly on you.”

A weak snort is my reply. What does he mean they don’t reflect poorly on me? I’ve built an entire brand on a lifestyle and persona of luxury, indulgence, and fun. My followers know me for my beauty and clothing recommendations. Where to find the hottest Austin night spots, how to live the perfect millennial life. Not as the poor girl who was so smelly the school sent her home.

“Spitfire.”

How do I spin this? How do I bounce back? Is being out here reinforcing her story?

“Blakely.”

Should I go back to Austin and get with Kirk? Try to do damage control showing me back in my usual haunts?

“Blake Lee!” Hudson’s voice echoes off the bathroom walls, snapping me from my spiral.

“Don’t call me that!” I lash out with my reply before regret washes over me. He didn’t mean it as a dig. He’s not like Brandee.

A fresh round of tears well in my eyes, but I squeeze them shut before they fall.

“Nope. Open them.” I squint one eye at him. “Didn’t call you that to hurt you. Just needed your attention. You’re spiraling.” He scoops me up and carries me to the bed. ”It’s time for you to decide if you’re ashamed of your past or just sad.”

“W-what?”

“Are you ashamed of who you were or sad about the life you had to overcome?” When I don’t answer, he kisses me, lips featherlight on mine. “You didn’t ask, but if you did, my advice would be to face the bad head-on and acknowledge how far you’ve come. Because, baby, you’ve come a long fucking way.”

“I don’t…” I drop my head and kiss his collarbone. “Thank you.”

He buries his nose in my hair. “Whatever you decide. I’m here.”

For the next five days.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. When I say I’m here, I mean it. Today, tomorrow, thirty days from now. You have me.”

“Hudson, I—” I stop myself from spilling my biggest truth all over him.

“Come on, let’s feed you.”

I nod, but in my head, I’m screaming,I love you.

DAY TWENTY-SIX

Hudson stands with his back to me, pouring coffee into a mug. Then he turns, his eyes dropping to the half-eaten piece of toast at his feet. The toast that may have bounced off the back of his head.

“Need something, Blakely?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I cut my eyes to the ceiling, playing innocent.

He eats up the space between us in three long strides. “Are you desperate for my attention?”

Pouting, I bat my lashes at him. “You’re ignoring me.”

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