Page 64 of Roughing It

“I d–d-don’t like f-fishing.”

Hudson tucks me closer, pressing kisses to my lake-soaked head. We dock, and he grabs me and crushes his lips to mine. Then he breaks away, throwing my blanket-clad body over his shoulder. “Gotta get you warmed up ASAP.”

“Hudson, p-put me down!” I may be in shock, but I still have my dignity. Or at least what remains after falling into a lake in the middle of a live.

Shit.

“No, it’s faster this way.”

“I n-need my phone.”

His steps falter. “Are you seriously worried about your phone?”

My tongue is like a dead slug and won’t cooperate. “Livestream. When I fell. Th-thousands of people. I need to l-let them know I’m okay.”

“Fuck.” He spins around, me still slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour, and runs to the boat.

Whenhe grabs my phone, the stream is still going.

“Tell them. P-please?”

I can’t see what he’s doing, but I hear him growl, “She’s fine.” Then nothing.

“W-way with words,” I grouse from my skewed vantage point.

“Yeah, I’m a real fucking wordsmith.” He squeezes me. “Stay with me, Spitfire.”

The next time I blink, Hudson’s anxious face hovers over mine. “You back with me, Blakely? You passed out for a sec there.”

I nod or do some sort of wobble while I place where I am—curled up on something soft and warm. I go to sit up, but firm pressure keeps me in place.

“You need rest.”

Again, I imitate a dashboard bobblehead. “Okay.”

My nose and throat sting, and my head pounds; maybe the nodding is too intense. What am I lying on? It’s so fluffy and cozy. I could fa?—

“Nope. Resting, not sleeping. Need you to stay awake.”

My eyes are like two bricks. “I’m tired,” I pout.

“That’s the adrenaline fade.”

The fireplace crackles to my left, close enough for me to enjoy the heat. My brain tries to puzzle everything out like the world’s worst word problem:If the bed is fifteen feet from the fire, but Springy the evil sofa isn’t stabbing Blakely in the back, how many gallons of water did she drink from the lake?

There’s a breath passing as a laugh. “Moved it.”

“Huh?”

“The mattress. You needed to be closer to the fire.”

“Oh.” I blink at Hudson. Twice. “Thank you.” It’s then I realize soft sheets graze every bit of my body. I peel the blankets back, and yep… I’m naked.

“Sorry.” Hudson chokes out the word, then sits by my feet, head in his hands. “I asked if it was okay, but you were out of it. I had to get those wet clothes off you, and you weren’t—” He swallows. “You probably think I’m fucking incompetent.”

I take in his defeated posture. This stoic, beautiful man. He thinks he failed me.

“Hudson.”

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