He knew, as much as it wrecked him to be a part of that tribe, too many of the male population were dicks, douchebags, cheaters, losers, red pills, Peter Pans or straight up motherfuckers.
But some men were just the men they were.Maybe too complicated.Maybe too simple.Maybe fucked up, and they needed to be seen.
Hutch was all of those.
He just hadn’t met a woman who was patient enough with any of them.
He remembered a woman he’d been seeing for three months when he was still in the Navy.He was falling for her.It was time.
So he started to tell her his history.
She’d laughed.
Right in his face, she’d laughed.
When she saw he was pissed, she said, “Come on, Hutch.You gotta admit it’s funny.You have to laugh at these kinds of things.”
He could not imagine a human in the world who would hear what he’d just told her and find it even vaguely funny.
He’d broken up with her that night to her tears and tantrums, but he did it thankful he hadn’t given her the whole story.
Now he had Mabel, who pulled up the inherent protective instinct that sent him to enlist in the Navy.That pushed him to go for SEAL training.That underlined the work he did with his pups.
And he had Mabel, who’d lived the life she lived, which was indisputably worse than his—even if his was a tangled mess that never got straightened out, any chance of that ending tragically with a shotgun shell—and the woman made sourdough bread, refused to crate a dog who’d been in a shelter, got a creepy note from her creepier neighbors, and kept on going.
On that thought, Hutch put his glass down, went out to see to the second feeding, made sure there was plenty of fresh water, came back in and poured another bourbon.
He took his glass to his living room, got his guitar, sipped, strummed, and found himself writing another song in his head.
And fuck him sideways, it was about Mabel.
It wasn’tuntil much later, while he was on his back in bed, his dog on the floor at his side, snoring, that three thoughts occurred to him.
The first, he needed a camera with an extreme telephoto lens.
Harry and Rus were going about it wrong.
They needed photos of the women.
If they weren’t there of their own volition, it would be the women who were missing.
Second, as soon as he got that camera, he was going back to the bluff.
And third, he didn’t actually have to sit on Mabel.
He could do the next best thing.
THIRTEEN
Misted Pines Art Center Opening
Mabel
Brett turned his gaze to the heavens.
I turned to look down to his kids.
“Okay, this is the deal.”
