Page 25 of Frog Hog
“We are strangers. I don’t know you. You are a fucking stranger to me. So, yes. We’re doing it right here.” I point at the ground too hard and I wobble again.
“I’m not married!” Hutch yells. “If you’d turn it down for a second and let me explain, I would. Now I’m so pissed I don’t know if I want to tell you the truth.”
Shaking my head, I laugh. It’s not a real laugh though, more of a scoff, because tears are burning my eyes. I pinch my lips together to busy my hands and to keep from screaming horrible things. “I’m wasted,” I admit, shaking my head again as tears stream down my cheeks. “This is horrible timing.”
“You left me no choice!” Hutch exclaims. He reaches out to touch me, but thinks better of it. “It was this or stalk you down at home. I figured you would appreciate that even less. I’m not married, Valen.”
“Oh, fuck off,” I cry out. “You can’t lie anymore. I saw it. How happy you were. How goddamn perfect your family was strolling down the street without a care in the world. Without a second thought for your dirty little secret back here. I just want to know why. Why did you do this to me? You wanted a relationship. I wanted a night. It didn’t have to be this way.”
“She. Is. Not. My. Wife.” Hutch grinds out in between clenched teeth. The line to enter the club is long and now people are surrounding us on both sides. If I weren’t drunk I’d be mortified. “She is my ex-wife’s sister. That was my daughter.”
I fold my arms across my chest to war against the slight breeze. “What?” I shake my head to try to clear it, but only manage to stumble again.
“We’re doing this here. I can’t believe you’re doing this right now,” Hutch says, looking up to the sky. “Since you’re not letting me tell you on my time and terms we’ll start at the only valid point. My wife died, Valen. She’s dead.”
I’m aware that hands are on my back. Greer appears at my side and whispers in my ear that we need to leave. “I don’t understand,” I say, biting my lip. I can’t understand why, but my angry tears turn sad and they come more rapidly—a cascade of emotional grief.
Greer pulls me back, but Hutch steps on me now. He gets right in my face. “She was hit by a car while she was jogging. Our daughter was two. Her aunt takes care of her when I’m in a work-up getting ready for deployment and they live in Virginia Beach. I was visiting her because I wanted to tell her, in person, about you,” he says, his nose almost touching mine. His scent hits me in a wave that nearly drowns me. My mouth waters. “I was going to bring her to meet you while you were on your business trip. It was going to be a surprise and a baring of my soul moment. You flew back here early after making a fool of yourself in front of my daughter. That was a wasted trip. Turns out you’re an insecure child yourself.” He closes his eyes. “Goodbye, Valen.”
With that, he turns, shaking his head, and leaves with Baz. Greer’s bodyguard leads us back to the car. I break my heel on a sewer grate and have to continue the trek with bare feet and a scarred ego.
“Well, we didn’t read that one right. I’m not even sure what the hell just happened,” Greer whispers, holding me up by my waist before we get into the backseat of the dark sedan.
I know, but I’m not ready to admit it. His confession would be a lot to process sober, but drunk it’s almost like trying to solve a quadratic equation. “I’m too drunk to process this.”
“You’re too drunk to do anything. This was a horrible idea,” Greer says, pulling off her wig and scratching her head violently. “You should have talked to him right after you saw them together.”
“He should have told me the second he met me,” I say, sadly, replaying his face as he uttered those horrific words.
“You stink like high hell, by the way,” Greer says, rolling down the window.
I tilt my head against my car window, sobering up by the second. “Sorry.”
