Page 143 of What About Us
Hutch sits forward, his bottle dangling between his knees once again. “Damn.”
When Finn left for the B&B two days ago, I thought if I gave her some space, we’d talk. I thought we’d be ok. But it’s been radio silence since she left. She isn’t returning my calls, and all but two of my texts have been left on delivered. I’ve driven past the B&B several times, but there’s always other cars there, and maybe it makes me a coward, but I can’t bring myself to stop. She asked for space and time, and as much as I hate it, she deserves that. Especially after learning I lied to her about her mama’s cremation. If she wanted to talk to me, she’d pick up when I called.
Finn’s words are a haunting echo in my mind.
Do you know how that makes me feel? That what we have is nothing like a real marriage?
“Yeah.” I lift my beer in a mock toast, then frown when I realize it’s gone. “So, if it’s ok with you, I’ll take you up on the moody asshole and beer.”
Hutch is quiet for a few minutes before speaking again. “You try talking to her?”
I scowl over at him. “She’s not returning my calls, and as far as I know, she’s not reading my texts either.”
This is such a mess.I’ma mess. I can’t picture a life without her in it. One where I come home to an empty house after losing my wife and best friend. But fuck, if it doesn’t feel even more impossible to fathom a life with her asjustmy best friend. How do I go back to that? How the hell do I see her every day, spend time with her without loving her? Without holding her, sharing a bed, a life? She’s everything to me.
Can we really come back from this? Can we really just be friends after everything we’ve been through? Every touch, every second I’ve spent inside her? Is that really possible? I’ve spent so fucking long fighting my feelings for her, and I swore I would never cross that line. And not only did I cross it, I goddamn obliterated it. How the fuck did Hank do this for nearly twenty goddamned years?
“Did you think to go over to Timber Haven? Make her see you?” Hutch’s words cut into my mind.
Like I wouldn’t have thought of that a million times already. Like I haven’t been doing everything in my power to fill the giant, gaping hole she left in my chest when she got in that car and drove away without a single look back. I’ve wanted to. Dozens of times over the last couple of days. Every night, I lay in that lumpy-ass, thirty-year-old twin bed in my childhood bedroom and fight the urge to drive over there and make her see me, make her talk to me.
I shake my head. “I’m trying to give her space.”
He nods. “I get that, but… You don’t think the money shit with Tristen changes things? Her leaving tomorrow?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, slowly straightening up to get another beer. “It’s what she wants.”
I sway on my feet and Hutch stands, too, guiding me back down into my chair. But instead of grabbing more beer, he crosses to the VW and pulls out a half bottle of Patron and a shot glass, before settling into the seat beside me.
I eye the bottle of liquor. “Patron? Really? Where’s the good stuff, fucker?”
He unscrews the lid on the bottle and fills it almost to the top, then leans forward and hands it to me. I throw it back.
“You really think I’m letting you shoot two-hundred-dollar Don Julio?”
I glare at him, then shove the shot glass back toward him in a silent bid for another. He obliges, taking it from me and refilling it. As he does, he goes on. “So, friends, huh? That allyouwant with her? You gonna be content just to hang out on nights and weekends, watching old action movies and drinking beer while you crash on her couch? Eventually, she’s gonna find someone and you’re gonna be standing there with your dick in your hand, wishing to hell you’d made more of an effort.”
I glare at him. “Fuck you, Hutch. You don’t know shit about the effort I’ve been putting in.” I move to stand, but stumble sideways, catching my ribs on the back of a neighboring Adirondack chair. I wince.Motherfucker.
He reaches out and shoves me back down again. “Sit the fuck down, you drunk bastard. I’m not done talking and you’re gonna fucking listen.”
I glare at him through watery eyes and rub my ribs. Fuck, that hurt.
“I was at her wedding, Hudson. I saw how much it killed you to watch her marry that arrogant asshole.” His expression is hard, his nostrils flaring a little as he watches me. “You gonna be able to do that again? You know it’ll happen. She’s got no one. You wanna watch her date someone else, andthen stand there while another loser puts a ring on her finger? You gonna walk her down the aisle to him, then go home and jerk off like a fucking twat while she fucks someone else?”
I grit my teeth against the thought of that. My eyes drop to the forgotten bottle in my hand before I launch it across the space. It shatters against a rock three feet away. “Fuck!”
Hutch pours again, handing me another shot. I immediately throw it back, grimacing. I know he’s baiting me, purposely throwing shit in my face to get under my skin. It’s working. He’s knows me well enough to know what pisses me off, what will get me to move my ass.
“Talk to her, man. Tell her how you feel. Especially with all this Tristen shit. Don’t be stupid.”
“That’s really helpful, asshole.” I gesture to the bottle again. He loads up another shot and hands it over. “I already told her. I can’t force her to want me.”
“You’re not forcing shit.” He takes the empty shot glass from me, loads up another, and throws it back himself. Then, he sets both on the ground next to his chair. “Listen, I don’t know what the hell she sees in you—God knows you’re annoying as fuck—but even on your worst day, that woman would walk through fire for you. She puts up with your childish bullshit and gives it right back. If you don’t talk to her and figure this shit out, it’s gonna be your biggest regret.”
I shake my head. “She’s also really fucking stubborn. What if it isn’t enough?”
He sighs with a roll of his eyes and a scratch to his short, cropped beard. “Jesus, Hudson. Do you want her or not?”
