Leaving the food in her car for the moment, she got out and walked up the front steps. Testing the door gingerly, she found it locked.
Maybe he had come home and gone to bed early. At six forty-five? Not likely. Then what was the explanation for the fact that the house was in total darkness? Again, her mind went to the other-woman theory. If Hutch had brought someone home with him, they could be upstairs.
With her chest tight, she took a deep breath and let it out. Hutch would never sleep with two women at the same time. If he met someone else, he would do the honorable thing and tell Simone face-to-face.
Even so, she had a bad feeling about this. Something was definitely amiss. Had the blackmailer chosen now as the time to reveal Simone’s secret? Was Hutch pondering how to boot her out of his life?
She had to make herself walk around the porch. The easy thing would be to run away. But she had to be sure Hutch was okay.
The end of her search was anticlimactic. She found him sitting on the top step, slumped over, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hand.
“Hutch?” She crouched beside him, alarmed. Something in his body language kept her from touching him. “Why didn’t you answer my texts?”
“Go home, Simone.”
She froze. His voice was monotone, gruff and raspy. “Have I done something to offend you, Hutch? Talk to me. I can’t fix it if you don’t let me know what it is.”
He stood up, forcing her to do the same. His eyes were the dull brown of fallen leaves in the late fall. Yet somehow, a tiny flame in them seared her. His body language spoke volumes. “For God’s sake, Simone. The whole damn world doesn’t revolve around you. Not everything I do or don’t do is about you. Grow up, damn it. I don’t need you hovering every minute of every day.”
Fourteen
Simone gaped at him, her heart imploding in shock and bitter hurt. Never, even in their most painful days before he left for Sudan, had Hutch lashed out like this. He’d always possessed a maturity beyond his years. Hutch was never cruel.
Apparently, people changed.
She could do nothing about the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Stepping back awkwardly, unconsciously putting distance between herself and the furious, aggressive male, she held out a hand. “I shouldn’t have come. My mistake.”
Hutch only stared at her.
Everything crumbled in slow motion. The faux happiness that had helped her ignore their problems was a sham. She’d been living in a dream world.
One last time, she tried to get through to him. “I brought dinner. Chinese. Your favorite. I’ll grab it from the car.”
“I’m not hungry. And I’m not in the mood for company.”
“I see.” She didn’t. Not at all. But she wasn’t stupid. “Okay, then.” Embarrassed, humiliated, hurt and angry, she gave him a curt nod. Without another word, she fled.
It took her three tries to put the car into gear. She was crying so hard, she couldn’t see. At the end of Hutch’s driveway, she stopped. She shouldn’t operate a vehicle in her condition. Resting her head on the steering wheel, she wept.
* * *
Hutch had taken a bad day and made it worse. In the midst of his burning guilt and regret over what had happened at the hospital, he had added the poisonous taste of shame. The memory of Simone’s face galvanized him into action.
Racing around the side of the house, he inhaled sharply when he saw her car still parked in his driveway. He jerked open the driver’s-side door and felt like the lowest kind of scum when he realized she was crying too hard to make the short trip home.
“Oh, hell,” he groaned. “Come here, baby. I’m a bastard. Let me hold you.”
He scooped her out of the car without a struggle. Bumping the door closed with his hip, he strode back to the house.
Inside, he wasted no time. He carried her up the stairs and sat down with her on his bed. “I’m sorry, Simone. My bad temper had nothing to do with you. Please forgive me.”
She had cried so hard her face was blotchy and red. And she couldn’t stop. He held her tightly, unable to stem the flow of tears.
It was a hell of a time to figure out he was still in love with her.
The bolt of truth was a knife to his gut. Was this something new, or had his feelings for Simone lain dormant all those years in Sudan? Maybe deep down, his guilt over Bethany’s death wasn’t so much about not being able to save her as it was knowing he had never loved her the way he should have.
Bethany had given her heart and her trust to him. Had he unwittingly offered her far less in return?