Beyond Words: The Hutton Family Book 1 Read online

  Beyond Words

  The Hutton Family Book 1

  Abby Brooks

  Copyright © 2019 by Abby Brooks

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my Mr. Wonderful. Our life is a dream, punctuated by moments of perfect harmony. Thank you for loving me.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Wounded Sneak Peek

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Abby Brooks

  Connect With Abby Brooks

  Chapter One

  Cat

  Dearest Journal,

  Day 431… and the search continues.

  WHERE IN THE WORLD HAS MY ORGASM GONE?? You know better than anyone I’ve looked everywhere. Under the bed. In the fridge. I even cleaned out the trunk of my car (just in case). Nash sure seems to find his without any problem. So, why in the name of all that’s holy has mine gone M.I.A.?

  At this point I’m beginning to wonder if it’s my fault. Was it something I said? Please, if you’ll just come back, we can talk it out. I know we can. Please come back! Pretty please?

  If I wasn’t in a public place right now, I’d laugh.

  On second thought, maybe I’d cry.

  Nah, I definitely think I’ll stick with laughter. There’s too much real tragedy in the world for me to look at something like this as anything but a joke.

  On paper, Nash and I are good together. We’ve been good together and we’ll continue being good together. For the rest of our years. This is just a little bump in the road. He’s overworked and I’m…what? What am I?

  Bored?

  Uninspired?

  Those are big words for someone like me, even though I know I’m the one who wrote them. Someone with so much going for her she can’t help but breathe it in and sit back in quiet awe.

  But still…

  I miss the way it feels to lose myself. That molten feeling that starts low. A thrum. A throb. Then it begins to work its way through my body and next thing you know I’m panting and screaming and lost in bliss and…

  …I don’t know what else.

  It says something that I can no longer find the words to describe it properly. That it’s been so long I don’t even remember how it feels.

  I miss feeling beautiful.

  I miss feeling passion.

  I miss feeling.

  I need to feel like a woman made of fire and energy and possibility again. Not this empty body, filled with gray and ash and boredom. I miss that surge of adrenaline that used to spin and twist through my stomach when Nash looked at me. A tornado of love, setting my nerve-endings on fire.

  For that matter, I miss having Nash look at me, but that’s another thing altogether. He’s so busy with work and I respect that he’s building our future, but I sure as hell am bored in the present.

  He’s tired, I get it, but one smack on my ass and I’m supposed to be ready to go? He climbs on. Won’t even look me in the eye. No kissing. No touching. No connection. No foreplay at all. It’s just, I don’t know, clinical. A means to an end.

  My body is a tool, designed for his pleasure and his pleasure alone. And really, I wonder if he even gets anything out of it. I mean, he definitely finishes, so there’s that.

  But there’s more to sex than just the physical side of things, right? I know men and women are different, but there has to be more than a muscle spasm and some fluid and we’re set. Right? I mean, right? Everything in this world revolves around sex.

  Wars have started…

  Empires collapsed…

  Friends and family walk around with knives firmly lodged in backs…

  If it’s really all about a second-long dick sneeze, then I’m just ashamed about the human race in general. It has to be about the connection. About sharing something that intimate and that special and that personal with someone you love and cherish and adore. There has to be something spiritual to it. There just has to be.

  *sigh*

  I stopped believing Nash feels anything but annoyed and obligated to me a long time ago. Although…that’s not fair. That’s me being melodramatic. He works hard. I know he loves me. Things just fade after that first burst of new love.

  We’re in the Comfortable Zone now. Capital C. Capital Z.

  That’s just as good. Better even. I know him and he knows me and we don’t need fireworks to remind us we’re special to each other.

  Although I do miss the fireworks…

  And you want to know the real kick in the shins? I can’t even get myself off anymore. Believe me, I’ve tried…

  …and tried…

  …and tried…

  There’s just…nothing.

  It’s like I’m numb.

  Dead.

  Like all the feeling has been sucked out of my body and I’m just a shell of who I used to be.

  See? None of this is Nash’s fault, is it? If I can’t even do it for myself, it’s got to be something with me, not anything to do with our relationship. But honestly, I’m too young to face the rest of my life having to go through the motions of sex without getting anything from it. It’s messy. Awkward. Sometimes it hurts.

  Please tell me this isn’t all I have to look forward to.

  Please tell me there’s more to life and love than disappointment.

  I don’t want to spend the rest of my years surrounded by people and still feeling completely alone…

  Chapter Two

  Lucas

  My feet thumped against the sand as early morning light glittered off the ocean. Sweat dripped down my back and chest and I fought the limp in my left leg for as long as was healthy. A few more steps and I stopped, shaking out my thigh as breath ripped through my lungs. My doctors called the fact that I was running at all nothing short of miraculous, but I was annoyed that my body continued to betray me time and time again. I still had miles left in me, but my damn leg was done.

  I raked my hands through my blonde hair and stared out over the water, drowning in deep thoughts. My life wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to be here, drifting and useless. I wasn’t supposed to wake up panting, drenched in sweat, shivering and shaking in fear until I remembered where I was. I was supposed to be making the world a better place, not wasting time and taking up space and being forced to give up long before I was done.

  Everything I thought I was o
r ever would be, died back in Afghanistan. Every hope. Every dream. Every plan I had for the future. Before, I had purpose. Since the incident, I merely existed. Life was little more than a string of days to get through. Nothing more. Nothing less. With one last look at the waves rolling up to the beach, I turned and made my way back to my car, accepting my pace, walking slowly so as not to limp.

  The docs assured me I wouldn’t do any more damage to my body as long as I listened to the warning signs. Over the last year, I had learned that pushing past the pain would leave me in agony for the next couple days.

  So, time and time again, I walked right up to the pain, stared it in the face, and then turned around and sent myself home. Some days were better than others. Some were worse. But on the whole, I lasted longer than I used to, so I counted it as a win.

  As I approached my car, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I slipped it out and answered a call from my younger brother as gulls strutted in front of me, keeping a safe distance and a watchful eye in case I had food to toss their way.

  “Hit me with the good stuff, Wy-guy.” I yanked open the door and pulled out a towel to swipe over my face.

  “I have good stuff, and I have bad stuff. Whatcha want first?”

  I ran the towel through my hair and closed my eyes. “Let’s get the bad stuff out of the way.”

  “Alright. Bad stuff it is.” Wyatt paused. “Dad passed away last night.”

  And so, that was that.

  I had been waiting years to hear those words. For most of my adult life really. I knew for a fact all five of us Hutton kids wished our father would curl up and die more than once throughout our lives. Despite outward appearances, despite what the community thought about his philanthropy, despite the father he was when we were little, it turned out he wasn’t a nice man, after all.

  “And the good stuff?” I asked my brother.

  Wyatt huffed into the phone. “Dad passed away last night.”

  I bobbed my head in agreement…understanding…acceptance. The asshole had held on too long as it was. “How’s Mom?”

  “You know Mom. She’s taking it gracefully. Mourning the loss of the man she fell in love with while celebrating the loss of the man she ended up with.”

  I never understood why she stayed after things got bad. She said it was for us kids, but that never made sense. Mom was too smart not to see the effect it had on us once Dad started drinking. We scattered to the wind as soon as we could, all of us but Wyatt, who said he stayed to help with the business. What he wouldn’t admit, but what everyone knew, was that he stayed to keep Mom safe and sane.

  The scattering of the Hutton tribe was so complete, my sister couldn’t bring herself to make an appearance when I got hurt. Wyatt, Caleb, and Eli put their heads down and stood in stony silence next to Mom and Dad in the hospital room, but Harlow sent a text and a fruit basket and called it a day.

  Wyatt droned on about the funeral arrangements, which would be massive to sate the public’s grief. No one understood why most of us Hutton kids left the moment we were able. They called us ungrateful. Selfish. Spoiled.

  If only they knew.

  “Mom’s calling in the cavalry. It’s time to circle the wagons, brother,” Wyatt said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “I expected as much.”

  There was a pause and then, “I didn’t know whether or not to count all of us being together again as good or bad.”

  “It’s probably a little of both,” I said, though the thought of seeing my family sans Dad had me smiling. My siblings and I used to be close, before we learned how to duck and cover when Dad was around. When was the last time we were all in the same place at the same time? If Harlow had been there, it would have been when I was in the hospital. But she pulled the no-show, so the last time I could remember all five of us being together was right after I enlisted in the Marines. “Everyone coming?”

  “Far as I know.” Wyatt coughed, and the faint rustle of shuffling papers sounded in my ear. “Flights are being planned. Armor is being donned. Lines are being drawn.”

  “You make it sound like getting ready for war.”

  “Isn’t that what happens when all of us come home?”

  I closed my eyes and leaned against my car. Living with Dad had turned life into a battlefield. Now that he was gone, I hoped our family could heal. I said as much to Wyatt who snorted, but agreed. As the only one of us to stick around, he knew what Dad was capable of, better than anyone.

  “Mom has rooms set aside at the resort, by the way. You just need to get your bionic ass down here and it’ll be like old times.”

  “My bionic ass, huh?”

  “You’ve got so much metal in that backside, you might as well be Robocop.”

  I shook my head. Only Wyatt would turn his brother getting blown up in Afghanistan into a joke. He made it sound like I’d lost my leg instead of the pins, rods, and shrapnel embedded in my abdomen, hip, and thigh. I told him as much, but as usual, he didn’t seem to care, claiming it was so much more fun looking at things the way he did. We finished our call and I dropped my phone into the cup holder in my car. A gust of wind blew as I pulled my T-shirt over my head and breathed in the salty air.

  Dad was gone.

  After all these years, after all we’d been through and run from, the news was anticlimactic. The sun still shone. The ocean still roared. The gulls still squawked and circled.

  Life still ticked by for the rest of the world, their existence unaffected by our tragedy. While I fought for my life in a hospital bed in Germany, the Pats won the Super Bowl. Fans celebrated. Babies were made. No one but a small circle of people knew or cared about my struggle.

  As of last night, my mother’s life was shattered, my siblings and me dropping whatever we had going on to help her figure out how to move forward. While we scrambled, life kept on keeping on for the rest of the world. The realization, while sobering, also freed me from a shit-ton of anxiety. Even the most groundbreaking events of our lives were nothing more than blips on the radar. No matter how hard things seemed while we were living them, we would move past them and find better times. We all carried scars. We just had to learn not to limp.

  The thought of going home intrigued me. Some of my best and worst memories lived in the Keys, trapped in the walls of that old house. As much as I liked the thought of seeing Mom, Eli, Caleb, Wyatt, and Harlow again, I wondered how being around them would affect me. How it would affect all of us, really.

  Can you survive a war and return to the scene of the bloodiest battles without consequence? I thought of explosions. Of smoke. Of the bodies of friends flying through the air. Of pain spreading like ice and fire in my side, my leg, my hip. I pushed the memories away as I shivered, even as a fresh sheen of sweat broke across my brow.

  A car pulled up beside me. The doors opened and teenagers poured out, laughing and joking in their swimsuits and sun-streaked hair. They had so much in front of them. So much to learn. I sent a silent prayer to anyone listening that they learned more about the good than the bad.

  As they made their way over the sand, a gull fluttered to the pavement a few feet away, nearly tame after years of being fed scraps. He strutted around, watching me with his shiny black eyes. I dug through my bag and found some old chips to toss his way before unlocking my phone and checking for flights to the Keys.

  Chapter Three

  Cat

  My phone buzzed on the table in a crowded coffee shop, interrupting my journaling tirade about my lost orgasm. I jumped and almost knocked my iced coffee right off the edge. Thankfully, I caught it just before it fell and quietly congratulated myself on my quick reflexes. It had to be a sign. In a string of not so great days, this was sure to be a good one.

  Condensation coated my hand and I wiped it on my shorts before snapping my journal shut and answering the call, eyes lighting up at the caller ID. Christopher Magic—obviously not his real name, though he swore it was—the purple-haired bodybuilder who came out of the close
t two years ago and pursued his dream of therapeutic massage.

  “What’s good, Magic Man?” I asked into the phone. His name tickled me, and I used it as frequently as I could. I didn’t care if he made it up, it was fun and the world needed more of that.

  “Hey, Kitty Cat,” he purred in a way that could only mean he wanted my undivided attention for whatever he was about to say. Maybe it wasn’t going to be such a good day after all. The only thing Christopher Magic loved more than drama was being the one to drop the bomb. If he was purring, I was in trouble.

  I glanced at the time. “It’s only eleven. My first client isn’t until twelve, right?”

  “Oh, sweetie. I don’t think you’re going to be meeting clients today. Or any day soon, for that matter.” The lilt of his voice told me he had dirt to dish and dish it he did.

  I listened in shock as Chris explained what he found when he arrived at Utopia, the salon and day spa where we worked. Or rather, where we used to work.

  “Closed?” I asked when he finished. “Like, for good?”

  “Yes. Like for good. There’s nothing here. The door is locked. The lights are off. The place is empty. E. M. P. T. Y. Darla and I are just standing out here like assholes staring at an empty building.”

  I could imagine the two of them prancing and posturing in the parking lot, pretending to be put out when they were, in fact, thrilled to have something this big to complain about for the next month and a half.