Page 136 of Roughing 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’tmorning,I love you, or evenwant 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 acoffee. 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 sayturn aroundorlet’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. TheJeep 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.”

---