11. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Hudson
I just dropped Paige off at the tiny community center for her first day of summer camp. After waving goodbye and watching her walk through the doors, I walk across the parking lot and attempt to get my head in the game before going to Hutch’s for the day.
I’ve been on edge since last night in Finn’s room. It’s not like we’ve never shared a bed before, but it’s different now. My feelings for her are most definitely not of the friendly variety anymore. The longer I laid there with my best friend pressed against me, the more my mind wandered to what it would be like to have that every night. It was torture keeping my hands to myself, when all I really wanted to do was turn toward her and bury my face in her hair. Or between her thighs.
My arm started falling asleep, so I shifted. Instead of moving away from me, she moved her head farther down my chest and let out a little contented sigh. When I gave her a little shake to wake her, she just mumbled something incoherent and threw her leg over mine. Trapped under her tight, little body, I’d resigned myself to a night of torture and wrapped my arm around her. Turns out, it wasn’t torture .
The morning wood I woke up with made it painfully clear that I am royally fucked. When I cracked open my eyes, she was laying with her back to me. Her thick curtain of hair was in my face, and her ass and back were pressed firmly against the front of me. I deserve a fucking medal for the restraint I showed, because it took everything in me to not rub my cock against her ass.
I totally lied to her this morning when she questioned me in the kitchen. Ok, well, not totally. I do miss my bar, and I do feel unsettled. And even though I know I’ll stay busy helping Hank and Hutch, it’s not for me. I feel a sense of peace helping my family, but I can’t do that forever. Eventually, I have to find something that will fulfill me again. I absolutely don’t want to fall back into old habits and lose precious time with Paige though. So, whatever I decide, I’ll have to work hard to find a good balance.
The real reason I’m out of sorts is Finn. I can’t stop thinking about her. I swear there is something going on with her medically, and I’m worried she isn’t taking care of herself. She thinks she’s slick, covering her dizzy spells and losing her balance as one-offs, but we’ve known each other half our lives and she isn’t fooling me.
Just as I’m about to climb into the cab of my truck, a female voice grabs my attention from across the lot. It’s been years since I’ve spoken to her, but the intonation of her voice is unmistakable.
Erin Parker and I started hanging out in seventh grade, and by high school, she was calling herself my girlfriend. No matter how much I tried to tell her I just wanted to be friends, she did not get the memo. She wasn’t psycho or anything, just really fucking clingy. She was pretty enough and fun, but she was always touching me, sitting too close, needing to have her leg pressed against mine, or hugging me for being such a good friend. At thirteen—hell, at seventeen—it was a bit much.
Our junior year, she was so jealous when I was paired up with Finn as lab partners. She brought me a cookie every single day for six months and would make a big show of it in front of Finn. Little did she know that Finn couldn’t have cared less who paid attention to me. It was ironic, really. Erin tried to make Finn jealous, when I was the one who was secretly pining for my best friend.
Erin waves aggressively, calling out my name from across the blacktop lot. I quickly duck into the cab of my truck, pretending I don’t hear her, then slam the door and crank the engine. In my peripheral vision, I see her pick up the pace, and fuck me, she’s fast. I’ll most definitely run into her at some point because Timber Forge is absolutely that small town. However, after the night I had—envisioning rolling my best friend over, spreading her legs, and burying my face in her cunt—a run-in with Erin Parker is not on my bingo card for today.
I quickly throw my truck into drive and try not to burn rubber when I haul ass out of the parking lot toward my brother’s place.
It’s not a long drive, and after stopping for coffee, I’m soon pulling down the private dirt road that leads to my brother’s property. Lined with towering pine trees, its secluded, and I’ve joked more times than I can count about how people probably think he’s a serial killer and this place is where he brings his victims. Of course, it’s not true, and nine times out of ten, he manages to make a joke about his dick needing space to spread out.
Dumbass.
It’s strange, because it’s not that far from town—maybe fifteen minutes—but it absolutely feels like another world out here. From the road, all anyone can see are trees, but through an “s” curve at the very end, there’s a break in the trees to turn off. The private road—which Hutch keeps gated and locked when not in use—leads around the back side of his property and comes out on the west side of a small lake.
When I roll to a stop next to a vehicle I don’t recognize, Hutch’s golden retriever, Oakley, comes barreling for my truck. I kill the engine and step out, giving him belly rubs when he drops and rolls over to his back .
“Where’s the coffee?” Hutch calls, emerging from the inside of his “house.”
I use that term really fucking lightly because his house is currently a bright orange 1980 Westfalia Camper van. Even though it’s completely restored, it’s still a fucking van. He literally lives like he’s camping every day. No idea how that shit is comfortable at six foot six, but he’s modified the bed, and he makes it work.
“In the truck, asshole,” I say and drop my attention back down to Oakley, who is currently pawing at my pant leg for more attention.
I glance up at my younger brother, who stands there, chest bare, in lace-up work boots and jeans with the zipper hanging open. A gangly brunette stumbles down from the van, her hair disheveled. She stops short when she sees me, her eyes flicking from mine to Hutch’s, then grins before wrapping an arm around his neck.
“Thanks for the fun, big guy.” She plants a kiss on his cheek, and he squeezes a handful of her plump ass in a pink dress that barely covers her cheeks.
“You, too…” he trails off and tips his head, eyes squinting in thought.
I shake my head because, of course, he doesn’t remember her name. I don’t know where he finds these chicks.
“Anna,” she supplies with a titter of high-pitched laughter, completely unfazed by the fact that he couldn’t conjure up her name if he had a gun to his head.
“You, too, Anna .” He shoots her a wink. Eyes on her ass, he watches her walk past me, before she climbs in her car and drives away.
“Where the hell do you find these women?” My brother hasn’t been in a committed relationship in years, but it doesn’t seem to keep him from getting laid. Often.
He reaches down to finish zipping his pants and buckling his belt. “They find me.” Extending his arms to stretch his chest, he flashes me a cocky grin .
He’s just back from a two-week road trip up the coast, and he’s tanned and relaxed. Not that I’ve ever seen Hutch anything other than relaxed. Even when he’s working his ass off, he has this unshakable air about him. He’s the complete opposite of our older brother, Hank, who has spent his entire life with a golden boy stick up his ass and almost everything pisses him off.
“No Paige today?” Hutch asks, rounding the back of his van. He opens the back door, fishing around just inside. He pulls out a faded henley and throws it on over his head, pushing the sleeves up his forearms. Then, he runs a hand through his slightly longer than shoulder-length hair before tying it up in a thick loop on the back of his head.
Hutch is a big motherfucker. He’s a good four inches taller than me, broad as hell, and covered in tattoos. He’s always been big—Mom’s biggest baby, even. He weighed something like, 10.5 lb. when he was born.
“She started camp today,” I say, turning to get the coffee that I picked up at my sister’s shop. “I saw Erin,” I say with a snicker.
“Took her long enough,” he says with an amused smirk, taking his coffee from me and walking back toward the firepit next to his van. “She bring you a cookie and try to jump you in the parking lot?”
I chuck my keys into the console of the truck and follow him to the chairs around the firepit. It’s where we all congregate out here, since he doesn’t have an actual living room. Well, that, and by the lake when we’re all swimming.
When I don’t respond, he barks out a laugh. “She did, didn’t she?”
“I didn’t give her a chance. But she almost broke her neck trying to get my attention, waving like crazy, and making a beeline for the truck. Thank fuck, I got out of there before she could make it over to me.”
“Mom told her you were single again,” Hutch says after a sip of his coffee.
I huff out a chuckle and take off the lid on my cup. “Of course, she did. ”
He looks me over, his appraising gaze one of distaste. “Bro, what the fuck are you wearing?”
I look down at my cargo pants, T-shirt, and boots. “Fucking clothes, dipshit.”
He bursts out laughing. “You look like a scrawny-ass carbon copy of Hank. The fuck you do, raid his closet?”
“Eat a dick.” I scowl. Like Hank would. Goddammit. I smooth out my expression. “You think I’m gonna wear a three-hundred-dollar pair of slacks to help your stupid ass?” He laughs like the asshole he is, but I can’t help but crack a smile.
“So, back to Erin.” He tips his cup up and drinks. “You should take her out,” he says.
I shake my head and sip my coffee. “Nah.”
“Why not? She’s decent looking.”
As if that’s all that matters. I shrug. We sit in silence for a couple of minutes, drinking our coffee and listening to the birds in the trees.
Hutch clears his throat, drawing my attention. “How’s it going at Finn’s?”
I sit back, prop my ankle over my knee, straightening the hem of the cargo pants I’m never wearing again over the top of my boot, and sigh. I meet his eyes over the rim of my paper cup. “It’s all right.”
He watches me and takes a drink before saying, “Just all right?”
“Paige loves her new room. She spends hours in there reading her books and playing with her babies.”
“It’s not awkward at all?” he asks, brows working up his forehead.
His question catches me off guard, and I narrow my eyes at him. “Why would it be awkward?”
He lifts a shoulder, but doesn’t say anything, just keeps his gaze on mine. It’s like a Jedi mind trick, though, because the longer he stares at me, the more uncomfortable I become. I never told him about kissing Finn, but after last summer, I’d confided in him, telling him how I felt about her. He didn’t say much. Kind of like right now. It pisses me off. But it doesn’t stop me from talking.
“If I could get her to actually take care of herself, that’d be great.”
He waits for me to elaborate. I swear he does this shit on purpose. He’s always been this way; he doesn’t even have to say anything, and people just talk.
“I don’t think she’s taking her insulin when she should, and she constantly forgets to eat. She’s been having dizzy spells. Last night, her CGM went off, and she was so weak that she couldn’t even make it to the bathroom by herself.”
“You ask her about it?
“No. She’s so independent, she’ll just brush me off and tell me she can take care of herself.”
He makes a noise, but I can’t tell what it means.
“What?”
Silence.
“You got something to say?”
“Unclench your cheeks, bro, I’m just looking at you.” He turns his head away from me and purses his lips, the smile he’s fighting evident from here.
“My cheeks aren’t clenched, dick.” I shake my head and tip up my chin in his direction. “Just ask the fucking question, Hutch.”
He lets out an amused sigh. “No question, Hudson. I just know you.”
“Bullshit. Spit it out.” Now I know how Hank must have felt when I was constantly grilling him about Wrenley.
He tips his head back and studies the trees like we aren’t having a conversation. It’s my turn to sigh.
“Christ, Hudson. You need to get laid before you really do turn into Hank. ”
I clench my jaw. “I’m not turning into that grumpy motherfucker. I’ve just got shit on my mind.”
“Such as?” he asks, that fucking cocksure smile ghosting across his lips again.
“A place to live, for starters.”
He shakes his head at me. “You just said things were going all right at Finn’s. What’s the rush?”
I pin him with a look. “You know what,” I finally say.
He laughs this time. “You two should just fuck already and get it out of your system.”
I groan and drag a hand down my face. “Trust me, I don’t think that’s possible.”
He smirks. “Which part, the fucking or getting it out of your system?”
I glare at him. He’s such a dick.
“I have to get out of that house before I end up in bed with her again, but there isn’t shit available right now.”
He nearly chokes on his coffee and his head jerks back, eyes wide. “Back the fuck up,” he says, swiping a hand over his shirt where he dribbled coffee. “You two already fucked?”
My mouth twists with another groan and I climb to my feet, pacing. “No, we didn’t. Just stop saying that.”
He snorts. “What?”
I spin to face him, hands on my hips. “Stop talking about me fucking her. She doesn’t see me like that.”
“We always talk about fucking. So, get over it,” he says dismissively.
“Not when it’s my best friend, asshole,” I argue. “We don’t talk about fucking my best friend.”
“Maybe we should.” He shrugs. “You do want to fuck her, right? ”
“Enough, man.” He’s starting to piss me off. He already knows I do, but it’s more than that. He knows that, too. Why does he have to keep saying it? “We’re just friends.”
His chuckle is condescending. “Whatever you say, snowflake.”
“Fuck off with that shit.”
He shakes his head with a dry chuckle. “You two are the only best friends I know who act like a couple but reap none of the best benefits.” This asshole uses air quotes, and I’ve never wanted to break someone’s fingers more.
Instead, I scoff. “No, we don’t.”
He tips his head back on a silent chuckle before meeting my gaze again. “The hell you don’t. You make dinner for her?”
“Yeah, so?” Becoming defensive, my shoulders hike closer to my ears.
He sits forward and starts ticking shit off on his fingers as he talks. “So, you live together; you cook for her; you snuggle on the couch like a couple of teenagers; you flirt, fight, bicker and bitch at each other like Mom and Pop; and, apparently, you’re now sleeping in the same bed. Sounds like an old married couple to me.”
“It’s not like that.” I shove my hands onto my hips and glare at him.
“And don’t get me started on you always having a hair tie around your goddamn wrist that just so happens to be big enough for her horse’s mane of hair. You play it off because of Paige, and you’re a good dad, but you can’t honestly expect anyone to believe it’s for her.”
“I do not always have a hair tie for her.” I scoff.
He lifts his chin in my direction. “Take off your watch.”
I huff a breath out my nose and flip him off, because he’s right. I do keep a hair tie on my wrist for her. I always have.
“You’re not a couple because you aren’t fucking. But you might as well be because you’re already doing everything else.” He tips his coffee back with another smirk that pisses me off .
“How the fuck would you know anything about relationships? When was your last one? Ten, twelve years ago? Last person I remember you being with—other than someone to stick your dick into—was Sarah Kesseler, and you were twenty-two.”
“Yeah, well, we aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you.” I know Sarah’s a sore spot for him. Though, he’s never told me—or anyone that I know of—why. Still, I don’t have any sympathy for the bastard when he insists on incessantly goading me.
I clench my jaw and chuck my empty coffee cup into the cold firepit. “Whatever. Are we going to work today, or are you going to Dr. Phil me all fucking day?”
He ignores me and asks, “Why don’t you just move back in with Mom and Pop?”
“And have them both up my ass? No, thanks.”
“You want to build?”
“Maybe,” I bite out and sit back down, bracing my forearms on my knees. “You up for it?”
“Crew’s pretty busy, but if you want to break ground this year, we can make it work.”
I blow out a breath and nod.
“All right, come on,” he says and chucks me a new pair of leather work gloves. I catch them and he calls over his shoulder, “Those will keep you from getting blisters on your pretty, little hands.”
“Piss off,” I say and follow him.