Page 43 of Game On
“That’s not where my dreams lie now.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going for a Master’s in Classics. Actually, there’s a program at Oxford I’m applying to.” He says it casually, as if it’s not a huge deal, but his hands tighten on the steering wheel.
I kind of scoff, more out of habit than anything. “Well, good luck.”
“Don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Davies.” He casts a quick glance my way, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “My grades are damn good. Extracurriculars? I’ve got those in spades.”
“It’s not that.” My words catch slightly, choked by a mix of pride and a stubborn ache that’s hard to shake. I trace the leather seam of the passenger seat. “It’s just … there’s a lot of bureaucratic shit that goes on there.”
“You got in,” he says pointedly.
“Yes, but I had to fight really hard for it. It wasn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination.”
In fact, it was a miserable slog. Oxford is wrapped in so much red tape it could strangle you. It’s an institution built on politics and legacy; traditions so entrenched that they sometimes seem more like barriers than pathways.
Despite my family’s good standing now, my parentscame from nothing. There was no long lineage boosting my application, no golden ticket hidden in my past. Blood, sweat, and tears—those were the currencies I traded for my admission. Not just my own, but those of my parents, who had worked their guts out to make a better life for themselves, a life where their daughter could dare to dream about places like that.
“Good. I don’t like easy,” Hudson says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Beg to differ,” I counter, a wry smile playing on my lips.
He raises a brow, a curious tilt to his voice. “You … are not easy. Far from it.”
“That night, I—”
“That night, it was right place, right time,” he cuts in. His tone is casual, almost dismissive, as if he’s trying to simplify something that feels anything but simple to me. “The Oedipus of it all. That’s it.”
His words hit like a quiet sting, making me pull back a little. It’s not a full-on rejection, but it feels like a brush-off. I can feel my defenses rising, instinctively protecting myself from whatever comes next.
My eyes go wide as I try to control my reaction. “Oedipus? Like, killed his father, married his mother? That Oedipus?”
He laughs then, truly, deeply, as if the absurdity of the comparison has just hit him too. “Oedipus, like, you have your destiny, and you have the choice to fight it. But in the end, fate wins out.”
“Good Lord. That is not a favorable explanation.” I shake my head, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.
He shrugs again. “It is what it is.”
We both laugh, a real, shared laugh that lights up the cab of his truck until I’m cupping my warm cheeks, trying to soothe the stretch from smiling too wide.
As we pull into the curb in front of my apartment building, the laughter fades, replaced by an uneasy silence. It’s dark, the sparse streetlamps creating only dim circles of light along the pavement. My pulse quickens when I spot a familiar figure sitting on a bench outside the building.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Hudson’s voice cuts through the tension.
“That’s … Jamie,” I say in a whisper.
“Your ex.”
“Yeah.” My stomach knots as I watch Jamie sitting there, clearly waiting for me. He hasn’t noticed the truck yet. Hudson follows my gaze, brows skyrocketing.
“What is it?” I ask him.
“I just—I guess I expected some dweeb in a polo,” he says. “That guy is …”
“Very conventionally attractive. Muscular and built. The type who—”
“Alright, Ella, I get the picture,” he cuts in, a slight edge of annoyance in his voice. “I’m walking you up.”
