Chapter 20 Ginger #2
“Women in my family get married young, pop out babies, and then sit around for the rest of their lives bitching about their husbands while said husbands spend all day on the golf course. Women raised like me don’t have careers.”
He frowns at that. “But you did both. Career and marriage.”
I nod. “Years later.”
“Getting married must have made her happy.” It’s not a question, and I suspect he already knows the answer.
I laugh. “You would think, right? My mother never really approved of my marriage to Peter. Honestly, there isn’t much of anything I’ve ever done that she approves of.”
Something passes over Hutch’s features, and he shakes his head once before dropping his gaze between his knees. When he lifts his head and looks back over at me, his expression is soft, and his voice is slightly gruff. “I’m sorry that’s been your experience.”
I shrug. Honestly, it still stings that she still picks at me, but it used to bother me a lot more than it does now.
“I’m used to it. Distance helps. And my younger sister is a far less disappointing daughter,” I say, trying to inject some levity into the moment. Things feel a little too serious all of a sudden.
He chuckles, a bit brittle before tipping his bottle of water back. “That’s one way to put it.”
It’s the second time he’s made a comment like this about his family and I’m not entirely sure what he means, but I know from talking to Wren the little bit we have that Hutch isn’t as tight with the rest of his family as they are with one another.
But he and his brothers seem to get along well, and from what I know of his sisters, they tease him a lot, but it always seems good-natured.
The Hayes bunch are extremely tight-knit.
It’s a little strange, but also special.
They never have to wonder if they’ll have help when they need it or when they’ll see each other next.
As far as Wren said, even with her and Hank living where they do, and even Hutch, they still all live within fifteen to twenty minutes of one another.
Hutch’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “So, it’s just you and your ex in California?”
“Peter has a brother who lives about thirty minutes north of my place. But that’s it. And if Peter gets what he wants, it’ll only be his brother left.”
Hutch nods then meets my gaze, voice low. “And what does Ginger want?”
The question takes me by surprise. I typically operate from a place of necessity, especially since the boys are my priority.
The concept of doing what I want is pretty foreign to me.
At least acting on it, anyway. But it’s my name—not California—rolling off his tongue that makes me suddenly speechless.
Firelight dances across his features, shadowing half his face in darkness. His deep blue eyes are intense on mine, and I have to drop his gaze. But even as I do, I find myself wanting—needing—to open up to him.
I look back up at him and let my eyes bounce between his for a couple of beats. “Total honesty?”
“Absolutely,” he says. Something about how he’s looking at me has me opening my mouth and confessing the one thing I never thought I would.
“It’s taking everything I have to stay afloat.
I thought parenthood was supposed to get easier as they age, but it’s so hard sometimes.
Tate and Jordan are good boys, but Peter already works so much.
And now he’s out of state, has this whole new family…
I don’t know. It makes me wonder, you know?
Like, what the hell am I doing with my life?
Is this all there is? I mean, I have my work and the boys, but…
” I trail off, gazing out at the moonlit water.
“But what?”
I chuckle, but there is no humor in it. “I think I need a change.”
He pokes at the fire with the roasting stick, knees bent. “So, Seattle?”
“Nothing sounds more fucking depressing.”
“Florida?” he asks, and when my gaze snaps to his, even in the firelight, I can see he’s smirking.
“Funny.” I laugh, but I secretly love that he already knows living close to my parents and sister is the last thing I’d want.
“What about work?”
“Work is great. I love my work.”
“So then what is it?” he asks, going back to poking the smoldering coals.
“For most of the last six years… I don’t know, I think I’ve just been going through the motions, doing what I think I should, to be the best mom I could for those boys.”
“And now?”
I shake my head, unsure where I’m going with this, only that it feels really good to finally tell someone how I’ve been feeling. I could have talked to Wren, but she’s so busy with her own life with the twins and Hank, I never want to be a burden.
In this moment, with soft words spoken between us, I want to be brave and not anxious about every decision. And talking to Hutch feels good.
“I wish I could be like Wren,” I say, surprising myself.
“Just take off and say ‘fuck it’ and drop everything, like she did when she went back home. I wish I was a ‘fly by the seat of my pants’ person, but I’m more of a ‘sit in the same seat day after day and white knuckle that shit until it’s over type of gal’. ” I chuckle self-deprecatingly.
“I can definitely see that.” He throws me a wink, and the tightness that was building in my chest fades some.
I smile and shake my head at him, then go on. “I want to grab life by the balls. For once, I don’t want to worry about what the boys need or want.”
He’s quiet for a few minutes, and we sit together in silence, listening to the waves breaking on the shore. The fire is almost completely out.
“Got a pretty good start out here,” he reminds me, and I think back to the zipline. “You gotta find a way to keep it going. Give up some of that control you love so much.”
His voice and gaze are steady on mine, and I don’t miss the clear innuendo in his words; the heat in his eyes is unmistakable, even from the short distance between us.
“Yeah,” I say. “Anyway, thanks for listening. I think I’m gonna head in.”
He nods and watches me push to my feet. A sharp pull in my back makes me wince.
“You okay?” he asks, brows pulling together.
I let out a breath and chuckle dismissively. “Yeah. Guess I used muscles I haven’t in a while.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he nods. Then he hands me the package of marshmallows and the roasting stick. Our fingers brush, and our eyes lock. My heart thuds steadily in my chest, and his eyes drop to my lips.
He takes a step forward, his fingers brushing against my wrist before taking my water bottle.
I watch as he walks toward the water, presumably filling his and mine up to douse the hot coals.
As he walks away, his words stay with me.
Give up some of that control you love so much.