Page 96 of Game On
“I guess … I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“See you then.”
When he hangs up, I quickly book myself a ticket. The confirmation hits my email, and the soft ding of the notification brings a reluctant grin to my face. Despite the coiling tension, booking the flight feels like I’m stepping forward, not back.
Maybe it’s the thought of getting away from here, or maybe it’s just knowing that Hudson cares enough to ensure that I’m okay. That he cares enough to listen to me when I put my foot down. Either way, I find that sleep comes a bit easier now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Hudson
I scooped Ella up from the airport yesterday, a pint-sized runway servicing a pocket of Redwater Springs. This town, more a whisper in East Texas than a shout, seems even smaller when I try to see it through her eyes. The kind of place you miss if you blink while passing on the highway.
We’ve spent the past couple of days sinking into the slow, syrupy rhythm of things. Mom’s wrapped Ella up in a blanket of warm Southern hospitality, and Carter’s taken a break from his usual teen sulking to show her around.
She seems mostly content, but she’s still got that itch—the one that tells me she wants to dive back into practicing our routine. But I’ve made her promise to wait just a few more days. To relax and enjoy the solitude for once. Give herself a little break from our normal grueling schedule. For someone like Ella, driven and focused to a fault, it’s no easy task.
“Can we at least go for a run?” she asks me the day before Christmas Eve, pleading with those big hazel eyes of hers.
I glance at the sky, already softening with the pastel hues of dusk. “Alright,” I say, unable to deny her anything when she looks at me like that.
We lace up our sneakers and hit the trail that winds along the outskirts of town. It’s a perfect December evening in Texas, warm enough to forego a jacket but cool enough that we’re both comfortable as we pick up the pace.
As we run, the trail takes us through stretches of open fields and patches of sparse woodland. I’ve run this route hundreds of times during high school, each curve and dip familiar, but having Ella beside me casts it in a new light—it’s like sharing another secret part of my past with her.
We round a bend, and I pull up my shirt to wipe the sweat from my face, revealing a flash of abs. Ella’s gaze lingers a moment too long, and when I catch her eye, I smirk.
“Enjoying the view?” I ask, letting the fabric snap back into place.
She rolls her eyes, a flush creeping up her cheeks, but her lips curve in a reluctant smile. “Focus on the road,” she says.
We slow down as we finish the loop, coming to a stop at a small park at the trail’s end. The sky has faded into a deep blue by now, the last light of the day disappearing over the horizon. We stretch together in comfortable silence.
Under the fading light of Texas, she looks different. Her usually vivid hazel eyes seem darker, her hair taking on a hue more like caramel than rich chocolate. She catches me looking at her, and there’s an unfamiliar twist in my gut.
It’s an unsettling feeling, this deepening connection between us. The boundaries we’ve set for ourselves are becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. Every shared look, every accidental touch, feels charged with unspoken emotions.
I wonder if she feels it too—this shift in our dynamic since spending so much time in each other’s company.
She’s here with me, meeting my family for the second time, and it’s more than just a casual visit. It feels significant, like we’re on the brink of something more. But we haven’t acknowledged it yet. We’re both navigating this new territory, unsure of what it means or where it will lead.
With my season coming to an end, there’s not much else standing in our way. We have our own hang-ups, that’s for sure. And eventually, she’ll head back to England while I’m off at grad school. Distance isn’t kind to budding relationships. But right now, all I want is to be with her.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I quickly say, running a hand through my hair. It’s too heavy for this moment. Too complicated. It’s something we need to address eventually, but for tonight, I just want to enjoy spending time together.
She grins at me before turning her attention to a swing set nearby. “Race you there?” she asks, already taking off before I have a chance to respond.
Laughing, I give chase. Even though she has a head start, my longer strides quickly close the distance between us. Just as I’m about to overtake her, she lets out a squeal of delight, veering off toward the swings and throwingherself onto one. I skid to a stop beside her, trying to catch my breath.
“You play dirty,” I accuse, though the laughter in my voice takes away any real sting.
Ella just beams at me, kicking off and leaning back as she swings higher and higher. Her hair fans out around her like a halo, and for a moment, she seems almost childlike. Happy and carefree in a way I’ve never seen her before.
“What was it like,” I ask, joining her on the swings, “growing up in England?”
She glances over at me, stops pumping her legs. “Where I grew up was very … different from here. Beautiful in its own way, but different. I grew up in a town called Alderley Edge. A quite wealthy area. It’s gorgeous, but sometimes it felt like living in a postcard.”
