Page 138 of When It's Us
She looks like she belongs here. The boys must be with Hales, or maybe at the ranch with Mom and Pop. It’s been barely forty-eight hours since the breakup, but seeing her here makeseverything feel tangled up all over again—like the wound hasn’t even started to heal.
Hudson sees me and waves me over. “Hey, get over here, man. Meet your nephew.”
I move stiffly, like my legs aren’t entirely sure they want to carry me forward. Huck’s wrapped up like a burrito; all I can see is a bit of Hudson’s dark curly hair and Finn’s olive skin.
I peek up at Finn. “Only one in there, huh?” I whisper, making everyone chuckle.
Well,almosteveryone.
“Thank God,” Finn breathes with a half-smile before gazing lovingly at Huck in Hudson’s arms.
Her eyes flutter back to mine, searching. “Do you want to hold him?” she asks.
I swallow, eyes locked on the baby, and nod.
Hudson tips his chin toward the sink. “Wash your hands first.”
“Right,” I murmur, moving quickly to rinse off. My hands shake as I scrub, nerves and something else I can’t quite name twisting in my gut.
By the time I turn around, Hudson’s sidestepping around Ginger—who still won’t look at me—and gently places Huck in my arms.
He’s fucking perfect.
“Hey, littlest gremlin. I’m your uncle Hutch,” I whisper and my eyes tear up. “I’m gonna teach you so many bad words your dad’s gonna wanna cut my balls off.”
Finn shakes her head with a smile.
“Just wait, brother, when you finally have one of your own, I’m gonna make sure his first word is fuck,” Hudson says through a laugh, and Finn gives him a light backhanded slap to the stomach.
Ginger doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at me. She moves toward the window, her arms wrapping around herself as she turns her back on the room.
Her shoulders rise with a sharp inhale, then drop, like the air’s been punched out of her.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
She’s so still, it makes my chest ache. I don’t know if I want to go to her or run.
She doesn’t look angry. She looks…done. Resigned.
Her fingers curl into the hem of her shirt like she needs something to hold onto. And even from here, I can see the tension in her neck, the way her jaw clenches like she’s trying not to cry.
I shift, about to say her name, when Wren steps in front of me.
“Please don’t.” Her voice is soft, but her meaning is ironclad.
I swallow.
My hands tighten around the baby, then slowly ease. With one last glance down at him, I hand Huck back to Hudson. I have to get out of here.
So I do. I walk out without a word.
And I don’t look back.
Hutch
Brightlightstartlesmeawake, followed by the screech of my little sister’s voice splitting the air.
“Hey, asshat, wake up!”
