Chapter 29 Don’t Fail Me Now
TWENTY-NINE
Don’t Fail Me Now
Mabel
On Monday, Hutch parked his truck behind my store.
We got out, me with Moxie in my arms, him going to the back cab to let Tonks out and grab the box of bags we picked up from my workshop yesterday.
We ran this errand, incidentally, while also running the errand of me packing nearly all my winter clothes, and Hutch packing all my perishable food.
Because, yeah…
On Sunday, at his brook-no-argument demand, I moved in with my FWB.
In other words, at Hutch’s decree, until Lars Enstrom and his gang of outlaws were caught, I was staying with him.
Him driving me around and crowding me, he assured me, will only, “Last awhile, babe. You gotta give me that until I’m less tweaked.”
And I could give him that, because I’d sat in his chair in his living room, watching him with a rifle waiting for a threat to descend, so I’d seen firsthand just how tweaked he was.
But the line was drawn about the living arrangements, and the way he communicated it, I didn’t argue.
This was only partially because, obvs, I too was tweaked.
It was mostly because he didn’t hide he needed it, and I’d long since passed the place where, if I had it to give, I’d give Hutch everything he needed.
See how fucked up this was?
Calamitously fucked up.
And I couldn’t even blame those folks at The Lion and The Lamb.
It was me who’d had the idea of what he and I should be.
This was all on me.
I juggled Moxie as I unlocked the back door, and Tonks ran in yodeling her greeting to Abigail, while I followed her and Hutch followed me.
I made it to the mouth of the hall that led to the store when I found my upper arms seized by Abigail.
She held tight, examining my face.
I dropped Moxie and she scampered.
“Like I told you on the phone yesterday, I’m fine,” I said quietly.
She yanked me to her and held tight, pushing out, “God.”
Word was spreading, no surprise, and as such, Abigail had called yesterday to ask if I was okay, even not knowing (as Sean told me no one would know) I was the one who instigated the raid on The Lion and The Lamb compound.
Once I told her, she lost her shit. There was a lot of me soothing her and then, when she informed Brett of what was going on while she was on the line with me, I’d had to hand the phone over to Hutch, so there was a lot of Hutch soothing Brett (dude style).
Evidently, I hadn’t soothed her as well as I thought.
I gave her a squeeze and said, “Let’s get out of Hutch’s way.”
She let me go but took my hand and guided me into my own store, looking over her shoulder at Hutch. “How you doing, Hutch?”
“All good,” he grunted (he’d been grunting a lot since it all went down). His gaze came to me. “Counter, babe?” (Yes, that was another grunt.)
“Yes, please.”
He took the box to the counter and dropped it.
Then he came to me, got toe to toe, tipped his chin, and he ordered, “Shop. Or town.”
I knew what this meant because I’d already received my briefing.
Unless he was at my side, I wasn’t to leave my shop, or the town (however, if I went somewhere in town, he wanted me to text him where I was going to be), even though I didn’t know what he thought I’d do, considering I didn’t have my truck.
Hotwire a car and go on a joy ride?
Since he was tweaking, I just nodded.
He kissed my forehead, dipped his chin to Abigail and stalked out.
Abigail and I turned to watch him go.
When the door slammed, and after we heard him testing it was locked, we turned to each other.
“Let me guess,” she began. “Mr. Alpha had his turf threatened, and he’s pissed.”
Abso-freaking-lutely.
“He’s a mess,” I shared. “He’s more of a mess than I am. I think he’s said two words since we got back from the police station Sunday morning that weren’t grunts.”
She linked her arm in mine and led us to the counter, humming, “Mm-hmm.”
When we got to the counter, I stowed my bag, scarf and jacket, and she started rummaging through the box.
I went to the tablet to get to the inventory list so I could log them in, and I did this talking.
And since I could multitask, freaking.
“I’ve all but moved in with him, Abigail.”
She was admiring the Chanel, but she looked at me when I said that.
I stopped bapping the tablet and held my hands up.
“I give. I’m not so proud and stubborn I can’t admit when I’m wrong.
So now, I’m going to admit I was wrong and you were right.
I’m in over my head. I think Hutch and I are both in over our heads.
” I drew in as much oxygen as I could to prepare to say my last, then I said it, “We are so not FWBs.”
She said nothing, but her face assumed a gentle expression.
Annnnnnd…more so’ing.
I so wasn’t fond of what that gentle expression might mean, I went back to bapping.
And talking.
“On Saturday night, before it all went down, I was drinking tea, staring at my fire, as mountain girls do, sorting all of this in my head and gearing myself up to talk to him about it. See where he was at. And now, since it all went down, I can’t say anything.”
“No,” she said carefully. “Now is definitely not the time to tell that man you’re cutting him loose.”
My eyes flew to her. “Cutting him loose?”
“Though I will, very, very cautiously say, your ex was an asshole. A lot of men are assholes. But all men aren’t assholes. And I don’t think Hutch is an asshole.”
She didn’t address my question, thus I repeated it. “Cutting him loose?”
She’d taken all the handbags out of the box and set the box aside, and now she was looking for our tags to price them, all while, clear as day, she was struggling with what to say.
“Abigail, you’re never at a loss for words,” I noted. “Don’t fail me now.”
She found the tags and turned to me.
“This is very sensitive. This is also very important. But it affects me only indirectly. What you decide, in something like this, it has to be all you.”
“It will be all me,” I asserted. “And I already know I have no choice but to discuss things with him. I don’t want to put you on the spot. You’re obviously uncomfortable. So brace for me putting you on the spot. You’re also my only good friend up here and the only one who knows Hutch at all.”
“Okay,”—she squared her shoulders—“I’ll start with saying, just be careful with him.”
I was torn between mad she’d think I wouldn’t be and confused as to why she’d say that at all.
She explained it.
And rocked my world.
“Because that man is head over heels in love with you.”
I stopped breathing.
Completely.
And I was pretty sure my heart exploded.
Could you remain standing if your heart exploded?
“Mabel?” she called.
I forced air into my lungs to say, “You think he’s in love with me?”
She appeared stunned. “You don’t know that already?”
My head swung to look toward the back hall.
When I swung back, Moxie had jumped up on the counter to inspect the bags.
I watched her do that. I then watched her inspect her counter cat bed. After that, I watched her dis her bed, jump down and saunter over to a leather chair I’d refurbished beautifully that summer. I’d thought it would go right away, but we’d been sitting on it for months (not literally).
It might be time for a price reduction.
Moxie jumped into the seat, inspected that, then sat and licked her paw to clean her ear.
“Cats are fascinating,” Abigail observed. “But will you come back to me?”
I looked at her. “It’s not mine to share, but arguably, in Hutch’s history with women, Bree wasn’t the worst of it.”
She flinched.
“Not by a long shot.”
She flinched harder.
“I’m falling in love with him,” I whispered. Yes, saying the words out loud, putting them out in the world, God help me.
Her face lit up. “That’s great!”
“He took Saturday off from us,” I shared. “He had a bro day.”
“Okay,” she said slowly.
“I think he did it to cool us down.”
“Or, maybe he did it because he needed a bro day. Guys need guy time just like girls need girl time. What did they do?”
“Trail running. Fishing. Gutting fish or whatever you do to them before you grill them or however you cook them. Eating them. And I’ve never seen Hutch scratch his balls, but metaphorically, they probably did that.”
“Do you trail run?”
“Lord no.”
“Do you fish?”
“Boring,” I sang.
“You have no balls, so who is he going to do those things with? Things he wouldn’t do if he didn’t enjoy them?”
I looked to the back door again.
“Honey,” she said, and I returned to her. “Just talk to him. Albeit give it a few days for this Lion and Lamb thing to settle down before you do that.”
“What if you’re wrong?” I asked. “What if he isn’t where I’m at?”
Her expression morphed to understanding.
“Marriages are marriages. People are people. It doesn’t happen often for me because my guy is the best guy ever.
My children are the best children to ever be born.
But I do hark back to the days where I was free and breezy.
When Emma’s snotty and cranky with the flu.
Or Liam adamantly refuses to eat his green beans and crosses his arms on his little boy chest, and I know the battlelines have been drawn.
I sometimes miss those days when it was girlfriends and going out for drinks and planning weekend trips to Spokane to get up to no good.
But one thing I don’t miss is how tough it is to like a guy and not know where he’s at. ”
Yeah.
I wouldn’t miss that either.
I wished I wasn’t experiencing it now.
“Though, the only way to know where he’s at is to talk to him.”
It stunk, but she was right.
And I already knew that, so that meant it stunk even more.
“I know it’ll take a lot to find the courage to do that,” she went on. “But I also know you will.”
“I think it’s safe to share that there were a lot of communication breakdowns with his previous relationships. So one way or another, I think he’d appreciate it.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Are you needing to prove you’re not them?”
“Oh, girl,”—I went back to bapping the tablet—“absolutely. When I say he was burned, I mean he was burned.”