Page 132 of Roughing It

His closed eyes flutter open. “Hmm? Oh, the campsite shit? It’s fine. You’re more important.”

My heart seizes. “What if you came with me to Austin?”

Hudson stiffens. It feels like hours pass before he speaks. “Blakely, I can’t. I can’t be happy there. And I have obligations.”

“Obligations.” I huff out a mirthless laugh.

He grabs my hands and pulls me closer. “Yes, obligations. To my brothers. My parents. My business. The town.”

“And what about me?”

I want to scream. Even with this man who is my person, I don’t make the list. Will there ever be anyone who?—

“You mean more than everything, so don’t let that shit twist in your head.” Hudson grips my hips. “But it’s not practical. And I’m sorry for that.”

Another damn wave of tears falls against his cheeks and lips. “I’m sorry, too.”

“There are other ways?—”

I cut him off with a shh. Do we need to talk? Yes. But it hurts too much. So we stay quiet, holding each other until the bathwater turns cold.

DAY TWENTY-NINE

I blink open my swollen eyes, hoping I imagined the entire ill-fated end of our camping trip and bath from the night before. But the dull ache behind my eyes and heart tells me it’s all too real.

Hudson coming with me is a pipe dream. He has a life here, a far more fulfilling one than what I have in Austin. If I’m too scared to give up that sham, I can’t be mad that he won’t give up the idyllic world he has here.

One day.

Tomorrow, I go back to Austin. Back to my picture-perfect apartment. Loud parties. Louder people. An empty, lonely existence. And away from him.

The awful throbbing in my chest grows, and my lungs threaten to seize. Doing my best to fight the impending panic, I run my fingers through Hudson’s hair. Then, I trace the outline of his handsome features, memorizing the shape of his lips, the universe of freckles, the lines of his nose, and the arch of his brow.

It’s funny—not funny, haha, but funny strange—how he can simultaneously be the cause and solution to my pain.

Warm green eyes open at my touch. “Morning.”

“Good morning.” I brush my lips against his.

Before I can deepen the kiss, Hudson stills me, taking myarms in his large, rough hands. “About last night and tomorrow—we need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“There’s no more time.” Hudson sighs and drapes himself over me, his head burying into the curve of my neck. “We have to talk. About us. About tomorrow?—”

“No.” I need one last day of happy memories. “Let tomorrow be the day the real world comes knocking. Today is for us.” My throat is thick. “Please.”

Hudson sighs, but cups my cheek and presses his forehead to mine. “Why can’t I deny you anything? You say please, and I lose all sense.”

I pull him down, loving the weight of his body. He always holds his full weight back. Even so, the heft of his solid frame comforts me. He’s like a living weighted blanket. I wrap my legs around his hips and press as much of myself to him as I can, drinking in his outdoorsy scent, the warmth of his skin, the scrape of his beard, the feel of his corded, finely honed body.

“Is this how you want to spend the day? In bed? Because I’m okay with that,” he whispers against my neck, his teeth grazing against my skin.

“For now, yes. I want to hold you, for you to hold me.”

“What else do you want?” he asks as he kisses my collarbone.

What do I want? More time. Him. To love him and to have no doubts about staying here. To take a chance.

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