Page 114 of When It's Us
“Let me get this,” he says. “Least I can do for keeping you guys all afternoon.”
It hasn’t been all afternoon, but I don’t make a fuss. Hutch still hasn’t said much. But when we stand to let Tate out of the booth, his hand brushes my lower back—lingering, unintentional, but firm. Like he’s letting me know he sees me.
I look up at him. A knowing smile tipping up his full lips, but he doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t need to.
Hutch
It’saftersixandI haven’t talked to Ginger since yesterday afternoon. I know she’s probably got her hands full with the boys, but I consider texting her anyway. They’ve probably already had dinner, but maybe they’d all like to go for ice cream or come out for some s’mores and a fire.
I’m grinning like an idiot as I pull up her contact and shoot her a text before heading toward home. Three weeks ago, I never would have pictured myself picking up a woman and her kids to take them all out for ice cream, but hanging out with Ginger—yes, hanging out with her, not just fucking her—is slowly becoming one of my favorite things.
Last night at dinner with her ex, I’d kept mostly quiet—too quiet, probably—but every time Peter brought up Seattle like it was a foregone conclusion, it made my jaw clench. It was weird being mixed in with the four of them. The more the evening wore on, the less of an outsider I felt, especially when the boys talked about the lake and watching Titan’s ballgames like it was something they enjoyed. But there was still that undercurrent of awkwardness when it came to Peter and the way he kept bringing up Seattle.
It’s obvious to me that Peter loves his boys and wants what’s best for them, but I still can’t believe that has to be Seattle. And I’d told Ginger as much when I dropped them off last night.
She was quiet when I said it—sat there in the passenger seat, after the boys had gone inside, staring out the window like she was bracing for a storm. But I told her the truth anyway: that she deserves to be happy too, and that Peter doesn’t get to be the only one who makes the rules. She finally looked at me for a second, and there was something in her eyes—like maybe no one had said that to her in a long time.
If I’ve learned anything from watching my brother Hudson struggle the last few years from a thousand miles away, it’s that something can look good on paper and still suck ass. I may never have had the chance to raise my own kid, but those boys—hell, every kid—deserves to have healthy, happy parents.
I have no right to it, but the thought of Peter convincing Ginger to trade what she needs for something he wants—especially since she’s done it for years—makes my gut twist.
Turning onto the private road leading home, I check the time again. Might as well grab a shower real quick. I’ll make me something to eat and hopefully by then I’ll hear from Ginger.
Oakley greets me at the door when I step inside, and I let him out to run off some energy while I throw together a precooked bowl of sweet potato and ground beef for dinner. I slice up an avocado, adding it to the bowl and eat standing up at the counter before heading for a shower.
I still haven’t heard back from her by the time I’m out and dressed in clean clothes, so I do something I’ve never done and call her.
It rings four times, and I’m sure she won’t answer when she finally picks up. Except it’s not her, it’s one of the boys. I don’t know either of them well, but I can guess by his upbeat, bubbly tone that it’s Jordan.
“Hello?” His little voice comes through the line.
“Hey, little man. How’s it going?” I ask, phone trapped between my ear and shoulder as I wash out my bowl from dinner.
There’s a beat of silence before he talks again. “Whoisthis? It says Bigfoot calling.” He giggles. “Are you really a yeti?”
I chuckle. Of course she’d have my number saved as that. I can just imagine the sexy little scowl she must have had on her face as she did it.
“It’s Hutch.”
“Oh, it’syou.” There’s a small grudging edge to the way he says it, not sharp enough to be rude but impossible to miss.
Jordan is definitely the more outspoken of the two, at least with me, and Tate is quieter. But I chalk up Jordan’s standoffishness to being protective of his mom. I get it. There area lotof assholes out there.
I chuckle again. “Is your mom around?”
He sighs like the question annoys him, but his voice comes out tender, maybe even a little worried, and I wonder if I misjudged it. “She’s asleep on the couch.”
My brows come together, and I flick a glance at the clock across the room. It’s only seven-thirty. I take a seat on the couch and brace my forearms on my knees. “Sleeping, huh? She feeling okay?”
“She had a migraine.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay. What are you and Tate doing? You guys ok? Need anything?”
There’s a beat and I hear Tate in the background asking who Jordan is talking to.
“Yeah, we’re watching TV. I’m kinda hungry though.” He tacks on almost as an afterthought.
