Page 118 of When It's Us
I nod, another slow roll of nausea hitting me. “Just until dark, though, okay, and stay in the back, alright?”
Tate nods and wanders off. A couple of seconds later, I hear the scrape of a kitchen chair and the back door opening and closing as both of my boys head outside.
I bring my eyes back to Hutch. I get the feeling this—caretaking—doesn’t happen often with him, and it makes my belly flutter getting to see this side of him. Because Hutch wasn’t supposed to be this guy. The one who touches me tenderly, with concern etched across his handsome features. Even and especially according to him, he was the guy who runs when shit gets too real.
It’s not just the pain in my head or the exhaustion—it’s the memory of doing this all alone, night after night. Holding it together for the boys. Pretending I’m fine when I’m anything but. And the man who runs shows up. With meds, Gatorade, and an ice pack like it’s just another normal day for him.
Sudden tears prick my eyes because it has been too damn long since someone has taken care of me; since I’ve been able to fall apart, and all at once they spill over my lashes and I can’t stop them.
“Hey,” he says, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my forehead. Then he’s up, moving to the couch, and pulling me into his arms. “What’s with the tears, baby?”
I let out a strangled sound, half laugh, half sob at his words, with my face buried in his chest.
He wraps one arm around my back and holds me in place against him before pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Why are you crying?” he asks softly.
“Oh God,” I mutter, my voice muffled by his shirt. I push up into a sitting position, and his hand finds the back of my neck. “I’m sorry,” I say, wiping at my face with both hands.
I can’t believe I’m crying like this.
“Hey, don’t apologize,” he says, the tenderness in his voice flaying my heart even further, and a tear slips down my cheek.
He brushes it away with his thumb, eyes scanning my face.
“I’m such a mess.I’m—”
“Stop.” The word comes out commanding, but gentle. “You don’t have to apologize to me for having feelings.”
I chuckle because—what? I want to ask him where Hutch Hayes has gone; the one with jokes for days and panty-dropping smiles. I want to ask: who is this caring, gentle, and sweet man? But I don’t because I suspect he’s been here all along, just unable or unwilling to show it.
“Peter called,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “He’s so adamant about Seattle…I lost my temper…” I trail off, meeting his eyes again. “I told him to back off. That I wasn’t going to be pressured into a decision to makehimfeel better about not being around.” I huff out a breath, frustration rising with the memory. “He doesn’t get it. He never has.”
Hutch’s brows draw together, but he stays quiet, giving me space.
“He keeps acting like I owe him something, like I’m being difficult. And for a second, I almost believed him again. Almost.”
I meet Hutch’s eyes, voice shaking now. “But I’m done letting him guilt me. I’m done making myself small just to keep the peace.”
I’ve been shrinking myself for years—around Peter, around his expectations. Always trying to make things easier for everyone but me. I’m so damn tired of feeling like the weight of every choice sits squarely on my shoulders. The boys need stability, and I’ve tried so hard to give them that. Even when it meant sacrificing parts of myself.
I’ve let Peter steer the conversation for too long because I thought that’s what was best for them. But now everything feels up in the air again. Rent. The future. Even this thing with Hutch. And I hate the thought of making the wrong call. Of disappointing them. Of losingmyselfin the process.
God, I feel stupid. He probably doesn’t want a play-by-play of my stupid confusing life.
“You know what, never mind,” I say, feeling a little ridiculous. I move to stand but he grabs my hand, holding me in place.
“Just relax,” he murmurs.
I immediately protest. “This is too much. The last thing you should be dealing with is a needy single mom. You don’t need to hear all my drama.”
“Hey. Look at me,” he says, his voice soothing, low and liquid, like warm water flowing over my skin. “You’re not too needy, okay? It’s not too much.You’renot too much. You’re allowed to need someone, okay?" He runs his thumb over my cheek before pulling me back to his chest. And I go willingly because how could I not when he says things like that?
“You’re allowed to want someone to take care of you when you need it. And you don’t have to apologize for needing that. I’m not overwhelmed by it, okay? I’m here; any time you need it. You understand that, right?”
I didn’t. I mean, I believe him. I just never expected him to care so much.
“You hearing me, California?” he asks, squeezing me gently.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out and nod against his chest. “I hear you.”
