30. Sutton
Sutton
The fireplace crackles, warming the living room. December slipped in quietly after weeks of recovery, trying to convince Hunter to rest, and holiday chaos.
Hunter’s shadow stretches across the window, back bent over some kind of project outside.
Not that I can see what he’s working on.
The man has every curtain facing the back of the property closed, and I’ve been instructed to “keep my ass out of the yard, or else.” I’ve only been tempted a time or two to find out what “or else” might consist of.
With his case wrapped up, Hunter took time off work for the rest of his light-duty sentence. I wish I could do the same, but I have a few more days of work until my holiday starts. Today, I’m heading into the office to play catch-up and finalize the open house.
Even though it felt like the universe was against me on occasion, everything came together. The remodel is done. And the open house is planned. With only a week until the event, I am crossing my fingers Hunter can finish whatever he is working on in the backyard before guests come tour our place.
“Hey, babe,” Hunter says, breathing hard and entering the living room from outside. He’s got a new pair of jeans on, a dark Henley, and a ball cap. No jacket in sight.
“You’ll catch your death out there.” I toss him his coat.
He’s moving slower than usual this morning. Sweat beads at his temples. And his cast is completely filthy. My stomach tightens with the sudden urge to make him sit. Make him rest. “Hunter,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “Do you really think you should be—”
“I’m fine.” Sweat dampens the area between his pecs, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The words shouldn’t make my chest pound harder, but they do.
I know I’ve been hovering since the fire, but it’s warranted.
My hands tighten around my coffee mug. It’s bad enough that after the accident, his chief let him continue the investigation and play a role in the raid.
He looks relatively fine, sure, but in my book, he should be doing nothing but rotting on the couch until his cast gets removed.
He enters the garage and comes back with a handful of brushes and a can of stain. I wince, thinking about all the work he’ll be doing with those. I try to shrug it off. He said he was fine. But my jaw tightens. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
He laughs that stubborn, infuriating laugh that usually makes me melt. But not today. Today it makes me mad. Why can’t he just, I don’t know, not be so Hunter all the time?
“I’m two weeks from having this contraption off.” Hunter taps his cast with a paintbrush. “And Doc says my burns are healing nicely,” he says with a smile. “You don’t need to worry too much, Sut. I’m okay.”
“I worry because I care,” I snap. “And caring doesn’t mean standing by while you get hurt.”
He pauses mid-step, glancing at me with that look he gets when his serious voice comes out. “I know you care. But you can’t control everything, Sutton. None of us can.”
Tension coils in my chest, and I stomp toward the back door, but he walks toward me and holds his hands to my shoulders. “Not so fast, woman,” he growls. “You’ll ruin my surprise if you go in the backyard now.”
“Who cares about your damn surprise?” My voice is too loud in my own head. “I am not trying to control everything. I’m trying to make sure you survive.”
“Survive?” He laughs a tight, sharp laugh. “So you think a little sawdust and sweat are going to kill me?”
“Yes! Because you’re barely healed.” I point to his cast. “And you’re out here acting like what happened is no big deal.”
He pulls me to him until our eyes line up. “I never said what happened wasn’t a big deal. I know it was. But I’m fine now. You don’t need to worry about what could’ve happened.”
“I can’t help it,” I say, softer this time, even though my heart is still pounding. “I can’t stop worrying. I finally have you in my life the way I want you, and I’m so worried that the very next moment I might lose . . .”
He cups the back of my head and presses me to his chest, surrounding me with his warmth.
“Every time something goes wrong, I keep thinking it’s the start of losing you. Like everything good in my life eventually gets taken away.”
“Sutton,” he says, voice low, almost gentle, “I get it. I really do. But worrying doesn’t fix anything. Controlling every aspect of your life won’t stop bad things from happening.”
I know he’s right. I’ve just never known how to stop.
We stand in silence for a beat, me wrapped in his arms. My frustration fades, and I pull back. Hunter’s smile is gone, replaced with a careful seriousness.
I swallow. “Letting go isn’t easy for me.”
“I know it’s not.” He rests his hand on my neck. “But imagine all the good things you could experience if you did.”
“I’m just scared.”
“Then do it scared, babe.”
I grip the steering wheel the entire drive to work, Hunter’s words looping through my head.
Do it scared, babe.
Easy for him to say.
By the time I reach the office, my fingers are stiff from the cold, and I nearly drop my keys while unlocking the door. The heater hums softly as I flip on the lights.
Nat King Cole plays softly on the office speakers, but I barely hear it. With Hunter’s house finished, I’ve finally had time to tame the chaos my office became.
I try to focus on emails and the never-ending details for the open house, but the quiet office is suddenly too loud. Hunter’s voice still echoes in the back of my mind. My mind is too restless to be productive anymore. I grab my coat and bag.
“I’m heading out,” I tell no one in particular.
A few minutes later, I’m back in the car, headed across town. I need to see my girls. I send Greer and Navy a quick text.
By the time I arrive at Navy’s house, Navy is already standing on the porch, waving as if she’d been expecting me. Greer peeks around the corner with a grin, whiskey glass in hand.
“I’m surprised you could make it,” Navy says, mock stern. “We were beginning to think you’d been swallowed by your office again.”
“It’s been a day,” I say.
“That doesn’t sound great.” Greer pulls me inside.
I’m immediately welcomed with two little arms wrapped around my middle. “Miss Sutton, you’re here!” Rowan yells.
“I am! I realized there was no way I could miss out on cookie decorating with you!”
Navy elbows me in the side. “Don’t think you’re going to get away with not telling us about your day.”
“I hope it was a good day?” Greer asks, pulling out a tray of sugar cookies from the oven.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach. “It was a bit of both.”
We sink into the chaos of drinks, snacks, cookie decorating, laughter, and teasing. For a little while, the noise in my head quiets.
Later, we settle on the couch, blankets piled around us. Rowan drifts off halfway through a movie. Greer’s head rests on Navy’s shoulder while she scrolls through recipes on her phone. Rowan shifts in his sleep beside me, and I tuck the blanket close around his shoulders.
I stare at the glow of the Christmas lights across the room. My mind drifts back to this morning with Hunter.
Do it scared, babe.
My chest tightens as the truth settles.
Maybe the thing I’ve been afraid of isn’t losing Hunter.
Maybe it’s finally admitting I don’t know how to stop being afraid of losing the people I love.