Page 135 of Roughing It

“Iloveyou.” Her eyes close, as if that can make her disappear.

She loves me. She lovesme. This isn’t a sleep-and-sick-induced confession. No. This is her declaring it.

“Open your fucking gorgeous ocean eyes and look at me. I love you too, you beautifully infuriating creature.”

With her admission, those three words, I find myself hard again, hungry again. When she falls forward, her lips crashing into mine, I roll us and bury myself in her. This is no frantic fuck. This is slow, purposeful. Each thrust deeper than the one before. My goal? To fill her completely. To meld my soul to hers.

This time is different for more reasons than I can count.

When I come, I whisper how much I love her in her ear and hold her, not ready to pull out, to lose the physical connection or the emotional one. We lay like that, bodies locked together, sweat, breath, and cum mixing until finally, I press my forehead to hers and repeat my single plea. “Stay.”

“Hudson, I…”

At the welling of tears, I hold her tighter. I inhale, filling my lungs. She’s the sweetest scent I’ve ever known, and tonight has been just about perfect. The sunset, making love to her, telling her I love her. But it’s still not enough.

This conversation has been haunting us for weeks. And here it is. There are no more tomorrows. No more hiding from the truth. No more running. There’s only now. Yet, I can’t bring myself to continue despite my insistence on our need to talk. Not tonight. Not after she admitted she loves me.

She’s everything I never expected to find. A partner to share my life, to love, whose strength and spirit keep me from being so alone. With her, I can just be. Grumpy, direct. Content with my lot in life. She sees me and loves me.

Though I’m reluctant to let her go, I slip out of bed, grabbing a washcloth to clean her up. Then I gather a few blankets, and we make our way to the porch. She loves me; I love her. The choice should be easy. Right?

She curls up in my arms as though she’s always known them. I stroke her hair, let my fingers walk the curves of her body, and hold her.

Can I give up my life here? My family, my business, Trail Creek? Can I leave my home of the last fifteen years and go with her on a new adventure? I’ve answered that question with myself time and time again, but fuck if the idea of being with her doesn’t have me asking it again.

Or can she? Can she give up the city, money, bright lights, and bustle and be happy with me? Am I enough? Old doubts resurface.

“Rest.” My lips brush against her ear.

She deserves more. More than me. More than Trail Creek. But I’m a selfish bastard. And I can promise she’ll never find someone who loves her more.

Neither of us speaks; the only noises in the air are the rustling of trees and our breathing. Eventually, with a content sigh of my name, Blakely relaxes, the heavy tow of sleep too much for her to resist.

I stay awake hoping I can somehow will the earth to slowits spin for a night—however, time marches on, heedless of my plea. With a sigh, I let my head fall back on the swing. There’s no point in sitting on the porch all night. No. I’ll spend tonight in our bed, tangled in her glorious grasp.

Carefully, I pick her up and carry her inside, laying her on the bed we’ve shared for a month. I slip my fingers into her silky hair, smirking as I think about how she pouted and shouted her way into the bed after our first night. How our days were full of bickering, but somehow, each morning, we woke wrapped around each other. How she somehow wormed her way into every aspect of my life. This infuriating, petulant, wondrous woman.

And though it pains me, shatters me, I know. Deep down, I’ve always known what the morning will bring.

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 anentirelife.

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 myselfup 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.

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