Chapter 55 Hutch
Hutch
Bright light startles me awake, followed by the screech of my little sister’s voice splitting the air.
“Hey, asshat, wake up!”
I throw an arm over my face to shield my eyes as my bed jiggles three times, each punctuated by Hayley’s irritated grunts.
“What is that?” She doesn’t give me any time to respond before she’s yelling at me again, her voice demanding and more than a little disgusted. “It smells like asshole and self-pity in here.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble.
I do not need this shit. Not after a night spent alone playing a little game I like to call How Drunk Can Hutch Get, before finally passing out around three a.m.
“No.”
“How did you get in here?” I mumble.
“Uhh, the door was unlocked?” She barks the words out like a question, and even though I don’t lift my arm to look, I can hear her rifling through stuff across the room. “Is that mold?” Her voice moves closer, and she pokes my bare shoulder with a finger. “You’re growing goddamn mold, Hutch.”
I lift my arm and, with my eyes still clamped shut, I grope around blindly for a pillow. A half second later, I’m cramming it over my face, my voice coming out muffled when I speak. “Go away, Hayley.”
“No,” she barks out again, trying to wrestle the pillow away from me, growling like a baby jackal.
I grapple for the upper hand, swatting at her with my free arm. She finally relents, breathing hard.
“God, you stink,” she says, shoving her hand into the pillow covering my face. “Is that why Ginger won’t talk about you? Because your smell makes her eyes burn when you’re together, and she’s realized she could never live in your filth?”
I go still at Ginger’s name, and after a couple of beats, I lift the pillow—fractionally—and ask, “Have you talked to her?”
I know my voice probably sounds pathetic as fuck, but if the shoe fits.
“Yes, I talked to her,” she says, annoyance lacing every word.
I can’t see her face, but I imagine she’s looking at me like I’m an idiot. And she would be right. I am an idiot.
“Only she won’t tell me anything and Wren and Finn aren’t talking either, so What The. Fuck. Did you do?” She hits me with another pillow.
Obviously, it doesn’t hurt, but shit, she’s annoying.
Again, she doesn’t give me time to respond, not that I would know what to say even if she did. I already feel like shit. And hashing it out with my little sister isn’t going to change what is.
“This is exactly why I told you to be careful with her. Careful, Hutch.” She pauses to growl at me in frustration. “God, why are some men so fucking stupid?” she huffs under her breath, then, “Will you tell me why she’s mad at you?”
“No.” I’ve never been the feelings brother. That’s Hudson. I’m not—usually—a grumpy fuck like Hank, but right now I can honestly see the appeal.
“Hutch—" She trails off, probably realizing she isn’t going to get anywhere with me.
Fucking finally.
I sigh, letting out a long breath. “Just go,” I say, barely above a whisper. In fact, I’m surprised she heard me through the pillow still covering my face, my arm banded across it. “Please.”
“Will you at least tell me if you’re okay?” she asks softly, sounding on the verge of tears.
I’m not. Far from it. But if it gets her to leave…
“I’m fine, Hales.”
“Okay,” she says, sighing in defeat. “But I’m worried about her,” she hesitates before adding, “and you.” Another sigh. “Never mind.”
I hear her pad away and her feet on the stairs leading to the workshop below.
Why the hell is she so upset? I mean, yeah, I’m her brother, and Ginger is her friend, but hell, the theatrics are a bit much.
I lift the pillow, let out a long whoosh of air, and immediately squint. Ugh, she could have at least turned off the light. Grunting, I toss the pillow aside and throw back the blankets. Before I even swing my legs over the edge of the bed, I hear muffled voices from downstairs.
“Jesus fuck, it reeks in here,” Hudson mumbles, followed shortly by Hank’s gruff, “Holy shit, what is that?”
I groan, rolling my eyes before squeezing them shut. Why does my entire family have to be so damn annoying?
“Fuck off. All of you,” I holler loud enough for them to hear me down the stairs and across the shop.
“Not fucking likely,” Hudson calls out and I hear Hales say her goodbyes with a quiet ‘good luck’, the door clicking shut behind her.
Shoving my feet into the sweats I dropped there who knows how many days ago, I push to my feet, not bothering with a shirt. I’m going back to bed after I get some water, anyways.
I’m met with concerned stares when I hit the bottom step and my brothers turn to face me.
Hank is still dressed in his work clothes, dried mud on his boots like he came from the ranch, while Hudson looks perfectly put together for a guy with a six-day old baby.
His curly hair is styled off his forehead and he’s dressed in jeans, boots and a Rowdy Roxy’s T-shirt like he might be on the way to his bar for the night.
Except neither of those places is anywhere near here, so their concerted effort to check on me means it was one hundred percent unplanned.
Meaning Hayley roped them into it. Either way, they probably look miles better than I do right now with my matted hair, probably bloodshot eyes, and dry, chapped lips.
I pass them both on my way to the kitchen without a word, but I don’t miss the weighted looks they both give me.
“Goddamn, brother, when was the last time you showered?” Hudson asks, flicking a repulsed glance in Hank’s direction. “Or shaved? You look like Grizzly fuckin’ Adams.”
“Nice boots, douche nozzle,” I mutter, opening up the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “You polish ‘em before or after you flexed in front of the mirror and kissed your own reflection?”
Hank chuckles, feet planted wide, arms crossed over his chest, probably happy to not be the butt of my fashion jokes for once.
Can’t have that.
“Easy, Chuckles,” I quip, a little more awake now, eyes flicking over Hank’s dirty cargo pants and boots. “Your pants still got more storage than a U-Haul.”
“Well, at least we know he’s still got his sense of humor,” Hank murmurs when I push past them both on the way to the couch.
They share another glance as I drop down on the worn leather and try not to think about the fact that this is the exact spot where I completely decimated Ginger.
“Care to tell us what the hell is going on?” Hank asks.
I take another swig of water and recap the bottle. Without looking up at him, I respond, “Well, I was taking a nap until you two assholes showed up.”
Hank rolls his eyes, shoulders bunched in irritation.
What else is new?
“Why are you here?” I bite out. I don’t mean to be a dick, but I don’t have the stomach for this.
“Besides the fact that you haven’t shown up at a job site in days or showered recently, we know you and Ginger broke it off. We’re worried—”
I pin Hudson with a look, effectively cutting him off. “Can’t break something off that was never a thing to begin with,” I say, running a hand over my face. “Like I told Hales, I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you definitely look it,” Hudson says, deadpan.
“Eat a dick, Hudson.”
“Fuck you,” he shoots back.
“Jesus Christ,” Hank says, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “You,” he says, jerking his chin at Hudson, “go start the shower.”
“I’m not taking a goddamn shower like a five-year-old.”
“Yes,” Hank bites out, “the fuck you are and while you’re in there I’m gonna make you some food and then we’re going to have an adult fucking conversation about what the hell happened between you and Ginger, because my wife’s best friend is miserable, which means she is, and I know as sure as I’m standing here that you are the goddamn reason for it. ”
His words hit me like a brick to the face, and I hate myself even more because of them, if that’s even possible. Still, that doesn’t keep me from trying to defend my sorry ass.
“Ginger can speak for herself, Hank. She doesn’t need anyone making decisions for her.”
The irony that I did exactly that isn’t lost on me.
“Yeah, well, someone has to watch out for her.” He glares at me, jaw tight. “I told you to stay the fuck away from her, but per usual, you couldn’t fucking listen.”
I shoot to my feet, fists balled at my sides, bumping my chest against his. I’ve never wanted to hit my brother, but I do right now. Hudson takes a step forward, ready to get between us if need be. “I was fucking protecting her.”
“How do you figure?” Hank says, keeping his hands at his sides. He shakes his head. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? It’s one thing to fuck a million tourists, but it’s an entirely different matter when it’s someone we know. Don’t even get me started on her kids.”
“I was nothing but good with those boys, so fuck you, Hank.”
“That’s my point,” Hank grits out. “You walk around here like you don’t have a goddamn care in the world, sticking your dick in whoever you want without a thought to the consequences.
Kids like Tate and Jordan deserve better than that.
Who the fuck do you think they’re looking up to while they’re here?
Me? Hudson? No. They’re looking at you. The one their mom so obviously loves—though I can’t imagine why. And what do you think they see?”
My stomach bottoms out and I feel like I’m going to puke. Taking a step back from Hank, I force out a breath and scrub a hand down my face.
“Alright, Jesus, can we dial it down a notch?” Hudson says, gripping my shoulder.
I shrug him off. These two might think I’m an asshole for getting involved with Ginger, and sure, maybe it was a bad idea, given my track record with women and relationships. But regardless of what they think, no one feels worse about it than I do.
I take a deep breath. “I broke things off with her to protect her and those boys,” I tell them.
As much as I hate myself for it, what I told Ginger that night remains true.
“I’m fucked up. I’m selfish and I was scared.
I still am. I want to be what Ginger needs, what she and those boys deserve, but I don’t know how. ”
“You just man the fuck up and—”
“Hank,” Hudson cuts in, “let him talk.”