Page 41 of When It's Us
Shaking off the tight feeling in my chest, I ask, “And what do you want?”
She sighs, and it seems bone-deep and weary. Her eyes are tired, and she purses her lips when she meets my gaze. “Ideally? I’d like to not make any more decisions. Just for a little while. Especially ones of the life-changing variety.”
Something in her eyes hits me square in the chest, my heart thudding hard with the sudden urge to make her life easier. It’s always the selfless ones who need looking after the most—like they can’t help but carry everyone else’s weight, even when it breaks them down. And right now, I want to carry some of it for Ginger. I want to ease the load. But why? The thought shakes me, and I have to clear my throat and look away.
“You do realize not making a decision is still making a decision, right?” I say, a little amusement in my tone, hoping to lighten things up.
“You’re a lot of help,” she says, and I can immediately sense her walls sliding back into place. And for some fucked up reason, I really hate that.
It’s my turn to sigh. “Hey, I’m messing around. I know this isn’t a funny situation and that it’s a big decision.”
When she doesn’t answer and turns back to the window, I realize I’ll do pretty much anything to keep her talking. I hate the hot and cold she’s suddenly giving me.
“So, no decisions?”
She looks over at me, fatigue clear in her tone. “What?”
“You said you don’t want to make any more decisions,” I say. “So let me make them for you.”
She rolls those gorgeous blue eyes and chuckles. “Yeah, that sounds like a horrible idea.”
“Give me a little credit,” I reply, a small smile playing across my lips. “I might be a recluse fuckboy who lives in his van, but I’m apretty great judge of character, and I can tell you, if Wren wanted you to come on this trip, she trusts me. Why can’t you? Live a little, California.”
She watches me from the passenger seat, eyes narrowed. Something seems to change in her eyes, and she finally nods. “Okay,fuckboy,” she says with a teasing snark that I love, “but nothing weird. And I get veto privileges. I can tell you no anytime, for any reason.”
I wiggle my eyebrows and flash her a toothy grin. “Can you?”
A small laugh bubbles up out of her as she leans back. “You’re a child.”
Ginger
“Noway,”Isay,backing away from the edge. “Veto, veto, motherfuckingveto,” I grind out breathlessly.
Hutch chuckles beside me as we wait our turn for the zipline at Crater Lake. Correction:hewaits for his turn. There’s no way in hell I’m doing that.
The UTV ride up was great—breathtaking views, solid vibes. Even the practice run had been fine. The guides were thorough and made everything sound doable: here’s how to clip in and brake with the gloves. You’ve got this. Ihadthis.
Right up until I watched the woman in front of me launch off the platform and let out a scream that sounded like pure, unfiltered terror.
Now? No amount of coaxing or sympathy is getting me to step off solid ground and trust a glorified clothesline to carry me through the forest. Absolutely the fuck not.
My stomach drops as Hutch takes my hand and guides me off to the side. A few people in line give me understanding smiles. One of them is achild—a literal child, maybe a year older than Tate. He has not a single ounce of fear on his face. The little shit.
Hutch lowers his voice as he leans down, meeting my eyes. “You can do this, California,” he says, his tone warm with encouragement.
I shake my head. “No, I can’t,” I say, looking up at him. I twist my fingers in front of me, hoping I’ll cut off the circulation enough that I won’t be able to grip the line and be forced to bail. “I hate heights and this is really high. I’m a mom, I have kids; this is so irresponsible.”
I realize I’m spiraling, but I can’t seem to talk myself down. My heart pounds out of control, and my pulse is like a kick drum in my chest that I can feel in my ears, too.
When Hutch had suggested this, I was all for it. That was until we got past the training, and I realized I actually had to go through with it. Every doubt in my mind came rushing to the forefront. I hated reacting this way, but I couldn’t stop.
Motherhood changed me, and not in the ways I thought it would. When I had the twins at thirty-three, I thought it would make me stronger, and in some ways, it did. But in others, it’s made me weaker. More anxious, less likely to take chances. Chances like this one.
“Hey, look at me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling dizzy.
“Relax,” he says, settling his large hands on my shoulders. It feels nice, warm, like I’m grounded, rooted to the spot where my feet should be. Not dangling one hundred feet above the ground like a crazy person. “Take a breath.”
