Chapter 43
Hutch
It’s after six and I haven’t talked to Ginger since yesterday afternoon. I know she’s probably got her hands full with the boys, but I consider texting her anyway. They’ve probably already had dinner, but maybe they’d all like to go for ice cream or come out for some s’mores and a fire.
I’m grinning like an idiot as I pull up her contact and shoot her a text before heading toward home.
Three weeks ago, I never would have pictured myself picking up a woman and her kids to take them all out for ice cream, but hanging out with Ginger—yes, hanging out with her, not just fucking her—is slowly becoming one of my favorite things.
Last night at dinner with her ex, I’d kept mostly quiet—too quiet, probably—but every time Peter brought up Seattle like it was a foregone conclusion, it made my jaw clench.
It was weird being mixed in with the four of them.
The more the evening wore on, the less of an outsider I felt, especially when the boys talked about the lake and watching Titan’s ballgames like it was something they enjoyed.
But there was still that undercurrent of awkwardness when it came to Peter and the way he kept bringing up Seattle.
It’s obvious to me that Peter loves his boys and wants what’s best for them, but I still can’t believe that has to be Seattle. And I’d told Ginger as much when I dropped them off last night.
She was quiet when I said it—sat there in the passenger seat, after the boys had gone inside, staring out the window like she was bracing for a storm.
But I told her the truth anyway: that she deserves to be happy too, and that Peter doesn’t get to be the only one who makes the rules.
She finally looked at me for a second, and there was something in her eyes—like maybe no one had said that to her in a long time.
If I’ve learned anything from watching my brother Hudson struggle the last few years from a thousand miles away, it’s that something can look good on paper and still suck ass.
I may never have had the chance to raise my own kid, but those boys—hell, every kid—deserves to have healthy, happy parents.
I have no right to it, but the thought of Peter convincing Ginger to trade what she needs for something he wants—especially since she’s done it for years—makes my gut twist.
Turning onto the private road leading home, I check the time again. Might as well grab a shower real quick. I’ll make me something to eat and hopefully by then I’ll hear from Ginger.
Oakley greets me at the door when I step inside, and I let him out to run off some energy while I throw together a precooked bowl of sweet potato and ground beef for dinner. I slice up an avocado, adding it to the bowl and eat standing up at the counter before heading for a shower.
I still haven’t heard back from her by the time I’m out and dressed in clean clothes, so I do something I’ve never done and call her.
It rings four times, and I’m sure she won’t answer when she finally picks up. Except it’s not her, it’s one of the boys. I don’t know either of them well, but I can guess by his upbeat, bubbly tone that it’s Jordan.
“Hello?” His little voice comes through the line.
“Hey, little man. How’s it going?” I ask, phone trapped between my ear and shoulder as I wash out my bowl from dinner.
There’s a beat of silence before he talks again. “Who is this? It says Bigfoot calling.” He giggles. “Are you really a yeti?”
I chuckle. Of course she’d have my number saved as that. I can just imagine the sexy little scowl she must have had on her face as she did it.
“It’s Hutch.”
“Oh, it’s you.” There’s a small grudging edge to the way he says it, not sharp enough to be rude but impossible to miss.
Jordan is definitely the more outspoken of the two, at least with me, and Tate is quieter. But I chalk up Jordan’s standoffishness to being protective of his mom. I get it. There are a lot of assholes out there.
I chuckle again. “Is your mom around?”
He sighs like the question annoys him, but his voice comes out tender, maybe even a little worried, and I wonder if I misjudged it. “She’s asleep on the couch.”
My brows come together, and I flick a glance at the clock across the room. It’s only seven-thirty. I take a seat on the couch and brace my forearms on my knees. “Sleeping, huh? She feeling okay?”
“She had a migraine.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay. What are you and Tate doing? You guys ok? Need anything?”
There’s a beat and I hear Tate in the background asking who Jordan is talking to.
“Yeah, we’re watching TV. I’m kinda hungry though.” He tacks on almost as an afterthought.
“Oh yeah? You guys eat dinner yet?” I ask, figuring if they haven’t I can stop and grab something then head over and check on Ginger.
“Mama made us a snack with carrots and cheese and hummus. But that was a long time ago. Before she went to sleep.”
I run a hand over my face. That’s unlike her. Even only having been around her with her boys a handful of hours here and there over the last few months, it doesn’t add up. Maybe she’s coming down with something.
“Okay. I’ll bring you guys some food. That cool?”
“Can you bring burgers?”
I grin like an idiot. Ginger might crucify me, but I mutter out, “How about burgers and fries with chocolate milkshakes?”
“Yes!” Jordan exclaims, the usual bounce back in his voice.
“Okay, I’ll be there in a bit. Do you know if Hayley’s home?” I ask, standing and going to the door to let Oakley back in.
“Mama said she was goin’ on a date.”
I nod again, swipe my keys up off the table near the door, tucking my wallet in my pocket. I make sure Oaks stays inside and lock up as I leave the shop. “I’ll be there shortly, okay?”
“Okay bye.”
I knock lightly with my foot, balancing the bag of greasy burgers and fries in one hand, a bendy cardboard tray of four small milkshakes, and the handles of the plastic drugstore bag around the wrist of the other.
I’m not sure if Ginger’s migraine is from being sick, but I didn’t want to show up empty-handed, so I stopped and picked up a few things before grabbing the food.
Just when I think no one will answer, the door creaks open slowly, and Jordan’s little face appears in the crack, fiery red hair messy and hanging over his forehead.
From behind him I hear Tate’s flat voice chiding him quietly. “You’re supposed to ask who’s there first, Jordan.”
“Just me,” I tell him.
His eyes widen as he takes in all the food in my arms. “You really brought milkshakes, too?”
“Didn’t think I’d keep my word?” I ask, still grinning at him. “You wound me, little man.”
He peers up at me. “What’s ‘wound me’ mean?”
I chuckle. “Nothin’. You wanna let me in?”
He nods, pulling the door open wide then turns and scampers through the living room.
As soon as I step foot inside, my eyes land on Ginger.
She’s laying on her side, red curls pulled into a loose, messy bun, her hands tucked under her cheek on a pillow.
She’s pale, and something in my chest pulls tight.
Her auburn lashes flutter a little when I push the door closed with my foot, but she doesn’t wake up.
Leaving her sleeping on the couch, I head into the kitchen and where the boys are already at the table, iPads on low, both watching a different show. I set the bags of food on the table and pull out first the fries, then the burgers.
I don’t know what they like, so I got them with ketchup and mayo, remembering that’s how Paige likes hers.
I grab the ketchup out of the fridge and stick it on the table for their fries, and hand them each a milkshake.
I take the other two to the freezer and set them inside.
I don’t know if Ginger will feel like it when she wakes up, but it’s there in case she does.
Then I unload the bag from the drugstore onto the counter.
I grabbed Gatorade, knowing from experience that sometimes headaches, especially migraines, can be a sign of low electrolytes, some pain killers—two types because the pharmacist said both work well depending on the person, an ice pack, and some chocolate.
I rip into the box with the icepack and stick it in the freezer next to the milkshakes, then make sure the boys don’t need anything else before heading back into the living room.
She’s still fast asleep, so I pull the blanket up over her shoulders and go back to the kitchen.
“Should we wake up Mama?” Jordan asks, mouth stuffed so full I can barely understand him.
“Nah,” I say, taking a seat at the table and swiping a fry from the bag of extras for Ginger. “Let’s let her sleep a bit.”
Jordan nods, and Tate eyes me from the other side of the table before taking a big bite of his burger.
“Your mom get migraines a lot?”
Tate speaks up after swallowing his food. “Not a lot, but sometimes. When she’s stressed out or when she’s getting sick.”
I nod. “Was she feeling sick today?”
Tate tilts his head. “I don’t think so.”
Jordan shoves a handful of fries into his mouth. “She was talking to our dad in the bedroom, and when she came out her eyes were red. I think she’s sad.”
Tate kicks Jordan under the table, piercing him with a look.
“Ow!” Jordan exclaims and tries to kick his brother back, but misses, smashing his knee on the edge of the table.
“Woah, guys…remember your mom’s asleep,” I say at a complete loss as to how to wrangle two almost six-year-olds. Scratch that. I don’t need to wrangle them; I just need them to stay quiet so their mom can sleep.
“Well, don’t be dumb, then. You shouldn’t tell people Mom’s business, Jordan.”
Jordan sticks out his tongue, covered in food. “Don’t call me dumb, weirdo.”
I hold back the chuckle that wants to break free.
“Don’t call me a weirdo, then.”
My gaze ping-pongs between them. I’ve only been here fifteen minutes and I’m exhausted. How the hell does Ginger keep these two from killing each other?
“Hey, guys, enough, okay? Finish your food.”
Jordan glares over at me, and Tate gives him a triumphant smile. Smug little shit. Gotta admit, the kid is damn mature for his age. No way my brother’s and I would have been that sharp at their age.
“What’s all that stuff you brought?” Tate asks.
“Some medicine and stuff for your mom.”
I explain about electrolytes and how I know from hiking a lot that it can help to get rid of dehydration and the headaches that sometimes come with it.
I also explain how the ice pack can restrict the blood vessels in the head, helping to lessen the headache too.
I don’t feel like I need to explain the pills, and when I’m done, Tate looks over at me thoughtfully.
“She likes you, you know?” he says before plopping a spoonful of milkshake on his tongue. Some drips out the corner of his mouth, and his tongue comes out to lick it away.
“Your mom?” I ask, handing him a napkin.
He nods, taking it from me and wiping his mouth. “Yeah. She never talked about a man like she talks about you. She mostly talks about work or things me and Tate like, but she talks about you. A lot,” he says matter-of-factly.
His statement surprises me. They’ve really only been in twenty-four hours. How much could she have talked about me?
Still, I’m curious. “Really?”
“Yep. She said you’re smart and funny, too.”
I crack a grin. Bet she’d never admit that to me.
“Do you like our mom?” Jordan says from my other side.
I shrug, sitting back to cross my ankles. “Yeah, sure. She’s great.”
And it’s not a lie. Ginger is amazing.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Tate asks, licking some ice cream off his finger, head tilted.
I choke on my saliva. I cough, pounding my chest with a fist. I swallow hard while Tate waits, eyebrows raised.
When I don’t answer, he presses. “So, do you?”
“Tate, Jordan?” Ginger’s voice carries from the living room, and thank fuck, I’m saved.
Sure, I could have told them no. But that doesn’t feel right. Ginger isn’t my girlfriend, but she’s definitely… something.
“In here, Mom!” Jordan calls out, louder than necessary, but one hundred percent boy.
“You guys finish up, okay?” I tell them, standing.
They nod, and I head into the living room to see if there’s anything Ginger needs.