Chapter 16 Ginger
Ginger
“No way,” I say, backing away from the edge. “Veto, veto, motherfucking veto,” I grind out breathlessly.
Hutch chuckles beside me as we wait our turn for the zipline at Crater Lake. Correction: he waits for his turn. There’s no way in hell I’m doing that.
The UTV ride up was great—breathtaking views, solid vibes. Even the practice run had been fine. The guides were thorough and made everything sound doable: here’s how to clip in and brake with the gloves. You’ve got this. I had this.
Right up until I watched the woman in front of me launch off the platform and let out a scream that sounded like pure, unfiltered terror.
Now? No amount of coaxing or sympathy is getting me to step off solid ground and trust a glorified clothesline to carry me through the forest. Absolutely the fuck not.
My stomach drops as Hutch takes my hand and guides me off to the side. A few people in line give me understanding smiles. One of them is a child—a literal child, maybe a year older than Tate. He has not a single ounce of fear on his face. The little shit.
Hutch lowers his voice as he leans down, meeting my eyes. “You can do this, California,” he says, his tone warm with encouragement.
I shake my head. “No, I can’t,” I say, looking up at him. I twist my fingers in front of me, hoping I’ll cut off the circulation enough that I won’t be able to grip the line and be forced to bail. “I hate heights and this is really high. I’m a mom, I have kids; this is so irresponsible.”
I realize I’m spiraling, but I can’t seem to talk myself down. My heart pounds out of control, and my pulse is like a kick drum in my chest that I can feel in my ears, too.
When Hutch had suggested this, I was all for it. That was until we got past the training, and I realized I actually had to go through with it. Every doubt in my mind came rushing to the forefront. I hated reacting this way, but I couldn’t stop.
Motherhood changed me, and not in the ways I thought it would. When I had the twins at thirty-three, I thought it would make me stronger, and in some ways, it did. But in others, it’s made me weaker. More anxious, less likely to take chances. Chances like this one.
“Hey, look at me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling dizzy.
“Relax,” he says, settling his large hands on my shoulders. It feels nice, warm, like I’m grounded, rooted to the spot where my feet should be. Not dangling one hundred feet above the ground like a crazy person. “Take a breath.”
I meet his dark blue gaze and force myself to focus on breathing, matching mine to the steady rise and fall of his chest. How does he do it?
How does he know exactly what to say to stop the wheels of my mind from spinning out?
Normally, the man drives me fucking crazy, all laid back confidence and panty-melting smiles.
Hutch both infuriates and somehow calms me in the easiest of ways. It’s maddening.
“That’s it. Just breathe.”
I let my eyes slide closed and exhale a breath.
The fear of letting go of control isn’t my only worry.
I crave spontaneity, passion, and feeling like I can do anything I want, be anyone I want.
I long to be the me that I was before kids.
I used to grab life by the balls, live every day to the fullest, and damn the consequences.
But it’s been so long since I’ve actually been her that I’m scared of what that looks like. Do I even know how to be her again?
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he says, voice low, tone soothing like speaking to a spooked wild animal, “but you can do it, California, if you want to. You have it in you.”
A new fear creeps in—one I don’t expect. Not the fear of trying and failing, but something sharper. The fear of disappointing Hutch.
Why? I couldn’t tell you exactly. It’s not about him thinking I’m weak or incapable. It’s not pride I’m worried about.
It’s his.
Somewhere along the way, I started wanting him to be proud of me. I crave his praise—his quiet, grounded approval—and I don’t even know when that started. But it’s there now, settled in my chest like a secret truth.
I don’t know much about the man standing in front of me, not really. But what I do know, I want. That freedom he walks around with. That self-assured independence that seems woven into his DNA.
Maybe it’s the steady rhythm of our breathing, the weight of his hands on my shoulders, the slow sweep of his thumbs over my skin—or maybe it’s this new, raw realization—but when Hutch glides his hands down my arms, I actually exhale. And for the first time all day, I relax. Just a little.
It only lasts a second before doubt creeps back in. “But what if—”
“Don’t think about ‘what if’. There’s too many variables to ‘what if’. There’s only a choice. Do it or don’t.”
I stare at him, willing my limbs to quit shaking and to stop being a little bitch. I swallow hard. “I hate choices, remember?”
His normally teasing tone overflows with sincerity and his eyes have a softness to them as he watches me. “I won’t force you, but you’re a fucking badass, you know that, right?”
Do I know that? Am I a badass or am I just a mom? Is it possible to be both?
Almost as if he read my mind, he goes on. “You keep two little gremlins alive on a daily basis, and you have for almost six years. That’s hard. This? This is a fucking cake walk compared to that. And you might even have a little fun.” That last word is punctuated by two pumps of his eyebrows.
“And we both know how I feel about that,” I toss out sarcastically, but bantering back and forth with him relaxes me more.
He smirks, and it’s so sexy. This sensual, cocky, infuriating man believes in me. It’s doing crazy things to my insides. Okay, that’s something I’ll have to unpack later.
He believes I can do it. I have to believe I can, too.
His gaze is intent on mine. “Come on, California. Live a little.”
He hits me with that panty-dropping grin, dimples popping, and eyes dancing with mirth. I swear to God someone should make him a sign to wear around his neck that says Beware of Dimples because I’m pretty sure the look on his face and those dimples are what finally convince me that I can do this.
“Okay, fine,” I say quietly and then poke a finger into his chest, “but if I die, I’m blaming you.”
He takes my hand. The touch of his skin on mine and the sound of his chuckle combined are rich and warm, like a balm to my frazzled nerves.
“That’s my girl,” he praises, and I’m so fucking glad he doesn’t seem to notice the hitch in my breath at his words.
Because I’m not his girl. Not even close.
But now I can’t stop thinking about what that would look like, how it would feel to actually be his.
Gone is cocky Hutch and in his place is a gentle, encouraging, and yes, still a stupidly good-looking man who has convinced me to hurl myself off into the great wide fucking yonder without so much as a bit of flimsy nylon between my legs, but he’s different like this. And I really, really love it.
“Ready?” one of the guides says as we approach.
“Absolutely,” Hutch replies and shoots me a wink as he gets settled into his harness and clips onto the zipline.
Hutch nudges me with his elbow, and I nod jerkily at her. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Hutch leans forward and whispers in my ear. “You’ve got this, California. I’ll see you at the end.”
And then he’s gone.
The woman, Tammy, I think her name is, gives Hutch time to get to where he’s going.
Minutes later, a voice comes over the radio clipped to her shoulder, letting her know they’re ready for another rider.
She turns to me with a smile and after getting me outfitted in the safety harness, she hooks me to the zip-line.
My legs feel weak and my arms shake as I reach up to grasp the metal.
“Ready?” she asks.
I nod, blowing out an anxious breath, and then I’m off with a nervous screech and my eyes clamped shut.
Holy shit, I’d done it. I’d actually done it. Well, most of it. I’d faced nine zip lines and two suspension bridges and am on my second and final descent section. This one will finally take me to the ground, and I am buzzing with adrenaline.
I don’t hesitate when the final guide tells me to take a step backward off the platform. Okay, I hesitate a bit, but it’s nothing compared to the times before.
The swoop of my stomach flying into my throat is electric. My feet drop out from under me and my whole body lights up like a live wire. My heart still pounds, but it’s not from fear—it’s from sheer exhilaration. I did it. And holy shit, it feels amazing.
A holler rises from the ground below, and when I glance down, I spot Hutch—arms in the air, fists pumping like I took gold in the damn Olympics.
A grin cracks across my face before I can stop it. He’s beaming up at me, pride practically radiating off him, and I feel like a little kid showing off that I finally learned to ride my bike without training wheels.
It’s ridiculous, I know. Hutch isn’t my dad, and I’m not six. But still, the feeling sticks—I did this. For me. Not because someone else wanted me to. Not because it was on a checklist. But because I wanted to prove to myself that I could.
And I didn’t back down. I didn’t make an excuse. I didn’t fail.
When my feet finally touch down—kicking up a puff of dry dirt—a cheer rises around me. I turn and realize that half the group from the top stayed to watch me finish. I spin around and smack right into Hutch’s chest.
His arms close around me, solid and warm, crushing me to him in a full-body bear hug that makes me laugh out loud. Then he lifts me off the ground, my toes dragging in the dirt as he spins me once.
“You made that zipline your bitch,” he says, grinning like an idiot as he holds up a hand for a high five.
I slap it and don’t resist when he pulls me back into another hug.
“How do you feel?”
I shake my head, still trying to catch my breath. “Shaky and overwhelmed, but in the best way.”
“You crushed it. Nice job,” he says, and when he holds me against him, it takes my breath away.
“Thank you,” I murmur against his shoulder, feeling suddenly choked up.
I blink a couple of times and sniff, willing myself not to cry.
I feel amazing, and the emotion running through me is at an all-time high.
Still, I’m not a crier, and the feeling is foreign.
Luckily, no one seems to notice, and I’m grateful for that.
The guide steps forward to help me out of the harness and I crouch down to retie my shoe that must have come untied while I was zooming around the tree tops.
When I stand back up, Hutch grins at me. “You hungry?”
I nod quickly, still smiling. Something about all that adrenaline makes you work up an appetite. “Hell yes,” I tell him.
“Alright, then. Let’s get you down the mountain. There’s a bit of a hike. Your feet okay?
I wiggle my toes in my now ruined Adidas. There’s a bit of pain on the blisters, but it’s nothing I can’t handle, a bit of pressure. “Yeah, I’m good,” I tell him with a nod.
“Good,” he says, then slings an arm around my shoulders, shaking me a bit. “Come on, badass. Let’s eat.”
I chuckle, and he lets his hand drop away, our arms brushing as we walk side by side.
One of the people in our group says something to Hutch that makes him turn to her with a laugh. I might not feel like a badass most of the time, but as I look back over my shoulder at the course I completed, I realize that right now, I feel pretty damn close.