Chapter 52 Hutch
Hutch
“When it’s us,” I repeat, heart hammering in my ears like those three words should mean something.
And they do. I mean, they did. Ginger said it like it was the truth. Like I earned that title. Hers. Us.
But I didn’t. And I never would.
“There is no us, Ginger.”
She jerks back a little like the words are a physical slap. When I get the balls to look at her, her expression is unreadable. I’d expected anger. Hurt. But she shakes her head.
“That’s bullshit.”
I shake my head, look down at my hands, bandaged and shaking.
“I’ve been single so long I don’t even know how to be in a relationship.
” A bitter laugh claws its way up my throat.
“I fuck around. I get bored easily. I’m not good for you.
Or anyone. Especially not long-term. I’m not cut out for this shit. ”
“This shit?” she echoes, sliding off my lap to stand. Her next words cut deep. “I knew you were scared,” she folds her arms tight over her chest, “but I didn’t know you thought what we’ve been doing is shit.”
I cross my arms too, but it’s more of a shield than anything. An effort to keep myself from cracking wide open and leaking out all over her feet, I sigh, regret twisting my gut.
“That’s not—fuck.” I scrub a hand down my face. “I didn’t mean this was shit, just…the situation. Me,” I mutter.
I say the wrong thing. I do the wrong shit. It’s just who I am.
I look up at her. Really look at her. I can see her heart breaking right in front of me, and it fucking guts me.
But shackling her to me would be worse. I’m not worth it.
“You think I don’t know?” I whisper. “I can’t even get out of my own head long enough to see how badly I’ve already fucked this up. For you.”
She opens her mouth, but I don’t stop. I can’t. If I stop, I’ll choke on it.
“And you want me to be someone’s stepdad? Someone’s future? I can’t even be my own damn person.”
Devastation twists her face. “I know you never expected your life to look like this—a single mom and two kids—but—"
“I don’t commit, and I like it that way.” My voice shakes as I interrupt her. I almost can’t get the words out.
She flinches like she doesn’t believe me. But I do, and I have to make her see it. I have to.
“You deserve someone who can give you all the things you want. Someone who’ll be there. For Tate. For Jordan. Someone solid. Someone who’ll show up.” I shake my head again, this time slower. “Not some selfish asshole who’ll choose himself every time.”
Her lips part like she’ll argue with me. And for a split second, I hope that she does. I want her to argue with me, fight me, and tell me I’m wrong.
And then she does.
“You mean how to take care of their mom when she has a migraine?” She tilts her head, tears welling up in her beautiful blue eyes. “Or how to be brave when they get a giant splinter in their foot?”
My gut twists.
“Or when you show up with takeout when they haven’t had dinner and I’m too sick to cook?”
Each word lands like a blow to the ribs. Every example is a memory I can’t escape.
I shake my head and swallow hard. “Those are things any man could teach them, Ginger. I’m a shit role model when it comes to things that matter. I’m no one’s stepdad.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but she doesn’t let them fall. Because she’s strong. Way stronger than I’ll ever be.
“Hutch, don’t do this,” she pleads, hands trembling. “You’re better than this. We’re better than this.”
Those boys—” I press my lips together, trying like hell to get the words out. “They deserve someone who can teach them to be stable. Reliable. Decent men.” I breathe through the ache in my chest. “And that’s just not me.”
She freezes for a second, like the words knock the wind out of her. I can see her pulling back, the way she always does. But this time, she doesn’t.
Her voice shakes, but she lifts her chin. “No. Don’t you dare do that. Don’t you sit there and act like you’re doing this for us when really you’re just scared. You’ve been showing up, day after day, for them. For me. You think that doesn’t count? You think they haven’t seen that?”
Her voice breaks, but she keeps going. “You want to quit? Fine. But don’t pretend this is about me or the boys. This is about you running.”
“I’m not running,” I mutter. “I’m just finally being honest. You and those boys deserve someone who doesn’t screw everything up the second it starts to matter.”
Her jaw tightens, and her eyes, Jesus, those eyes that looked at me like I was worth something seconds ago, flash with something else now. Anger. Hurt.
She shakes her head, just once, like she’s trying to shake me off. “You’re right,” she says, her eyes flashing with anger. “They do deserve better, and so do I.”
And there it is. The knife I just handed her. I thought it would give me the control to find my way out. To get her out. And she drove it right in. Clean. Final. And fuck, it hurts.
Standing, I pull the pin and toss a grenade in her direction. “You should take them to Seattle. It’s what’s best for them.”
Her blue eyes search mine for a heartbeat…and I hate myself for the sob that racks her frame. She’s the one person in this world who made me feel like I could be more than just the town fuckboy, more than just an endless stream of mindless hook-ups and stupid jokes.
And I broke her.
I crushed her; I cut her down with one sentence. But if she hates me, then maybe she won’t come back. It’ll hurt her now, so I don’t hurt her worse later.
Still, I reach for her as another sob shakes her.
She jerks her hand back.
“Go fuck yourself, Hutch. You think just because you’ve had your giant fucking dick inside me, you get to make decisions about my life?
About my boys’ lives?” Her voice cracks as she shoves me.
“But you don’t.” She shoves me again with another gut-wrenching sob. “Fuck,” shove, “right,” shove, “off.”
Her words turn into sobs, and with each shove, she barely moves me, her strength fading with every push.
I can feel the sting in her words, sharp and deliberate—like she’s using the one thing we shared to wound me as deeply as possible. It’s brutal, but maybe that’s what we both need right now.
Still, it doesn’t stop me from wrapping my hands around both her wrists to pull her into me.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Cal—”
“No,” she bites out, yanking out of my grasp, hot tears coursing down her cheeks. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.”
She spins and rushes for the door. Before she opens it, she looks back over her shoulder, and the look in her eyes just about kills me. “You think you’re protecting us? You’re not. You’re protecting you. You’re a coward.”
The door slams behind her like a gunshot. But she’s not wrong. Hell, she’s never been more right. I am protecting her. And her boys. But I’m protecting me too. Because if Ginger really knew the me that I do, she could never really love me anyway.