Page 137 of Roughing It

“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 screamsfantastic.”

“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 mutteredfuck,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.”

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