Page 147 of When It's Us
I’m swamped at work, but I have to do this. But a couple of days work missed isn’t much in the grand scheme of things.
I don’t know if she’ll even see me. Hell, she might tell me to get fucked and slam the door in my face.
And I’d deserve that.
But I have to try.
Ginger
Theboysarefinallyresting in their rooms after a long day at a local water park, and I’m back in the leggings I slept in, holding a lukewarm mug of coffee.
There’s a knock at the door. Firm and insistent.
I set down my mug on the coffee table and crack the door open halfway, expecting maybe a neighbor or a package delivery.
But it’s neither of those things.
Hutch stands there, looking like he’s been through hell. His hair is a mess, signature bun a little lopsided, shirt wrinkled, clutching a manilla envelope like it’s a lifeline.
He looks…wrecked. Like the weight of everything we did together, said to one another, the reasons he gave for pushing me away are written all over his face.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and rough.
I tighten my grip on the door. “Hey.”
He swallows hard. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”
I don’t move the door any wider. “Whyareyou here, Hutch?”
His eyes catch mine, and he stands there for a moment, like he’s trying to find the right words. Finally, he says, “I miss you.”
The words land hard. I want to tell him to leave. I want to close the door, but I don’t. I can’t.
“You look beautiful,” he adds, voice breaking slightly.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You said I deserved someone solid. Someone who wouldn’t let me and the boys down.”
I don’t know why I jump straight to that—maybe because it’s all I’ve been able to think about. He was so sure that day. So final.
So if that’s true, what is he doing here?
He nods, voice barely above a whisper. “I know. I was trying to be honest. I thought pushing you away was what you needed.”
He glances down at the envelope in his hands, then holds it out to me.
“I’ve been working on something.”
I drop my eyes to the rolled-up pages and take them from him, my hands trembling.
“It’s a cabin,” he says quickly. “Other side of the lake.”
My brows pull together. “A cabin?”
He nods again, swallowing hard. “I want to show you I’m trying. That I’m sorry.”
He takes a shaky breath, eyes searching mine.
“I know a cabin doesn’t fix what I broke. I was a coward, Ginger. I was scared—of failing you, of failing the boys. Scared of how much I wanted this. You. Them. And you were right; instead of stepping up, I ran.”
