Gibson Boys Box Set

Adriana Locke

Contents

Also by Adriana Locke

Crank

Craft

Cross

Crave

Crazy

More from Adriana Locke

About the Author

Copyright © 2019 by Adriana Locke

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.

Also by Adriana Locke

The Exception Series

The Exception

The Connection, a novella

The Perception

The Landry Family Series

Sway

Swing

Switch

Swear

Swink

Sweet—coming soon

The Gibson Boys Series

Crank

Craft

Crave

Crazy

Dogwood Lane

Tumble

Tangle

Trouble

Restraint- Coming Soon

Standalone Novels

Sacrifice

Wherever It Leads

Written in the Scars

Lucky Number Eleven

For an email every time Adriana has a new release, sign up for an alert here: http://bit.ly/AmazonAlertAddy or text the word adriana to 21000

Copyright (c) Adriana Locke, 2017

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to event, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Cover Art: Kari March, Kari March Designs

Cover Photos: Adobe Stock

Editing: Becca Mysoor, Evident Ink

Marla Esposito, Proofing Style

Books by Adriana Locke

The Exception Series

The Exception

The Connection, a novella

The Perception

The Landry Family Series

Sway

Swing

Switch

Swear

Swink

Sweet—coming soon

The Gibson Boys Series

Crank

Craft

Crave

Crazy—coming soon

Dogwood Lane

Tumble

Tangle

Standalone Novels

Sacrifice

Wherever It Leads

Written in the Scars

Lucky Number Eleven

For an email every time Adriana has a new release, sign up for an alert here: http://bit.ly/AmazonAlertAddy or text the word adriana to 21000

One

Walker

“I’m not taking you to the hospital.”

Peck teeters on the edge of one of Crave’s billiard tables. He sways back and forth, his sneakers squeaking against the cheap wood over the chatter of the patrons of the bar. “You don’t think I can land a back flip off here?”

The truth is I’m pretty sure he could. My cousin has the reflexes of a cat. The problem is he also has nine lives, and I’m sure he’s used up eight of them already.

“The question isn’t if you can land it. It’s how bloody the end result would be,” I say, taking a sip of beer. “And I’m not trying to splint a head wound. Can you even do that?”

“You could. Look at my arm.” He holds his left forearm in front of him, his watch catching the light from the new fixtures above. “This is some of your best work.”

Memories of splinting Peck’s arm with nothing but a belt, a bar towel, and a Playboy rush through my mind, as does loading him into the back of my truck for a quick trip to the emergency room.

“I really think I can do this,” Peck insists, working his shoulders back and forth.

Downing another drink, hoping I’m good and hammered before Peck attempts this disaster, I look across the table. My older brother, Lance, is watching me as he brings an Old-Fashioned to his lips. We exchange a look, both of us waiting for Machlan to catch wind of Peck’s antics and throw him out of Crave. Again.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Peck asks. “Another broken arm? I mean, I think I can get the rotation fast enough to not land on my head.”

“I think it’s your turn to take him to the hospital,” I tell Lance.

He coughs, choking on his drink. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Remember how hot that nurse was last time?” Peck asks, wiggling his brows. “Actually, that kind of makes me want to go for it now just in case she’s on duty.”

“She’s not,” Lance chimes in. “I think she was fired after the Hospital Administrator found her fuck-foundered in triage three the night of your broken arm.”

“Peck! Get your fucking ass down.” Machlan’s voice rips through the bar, booming over the crowd.

Everyone quiets a few notches, not quite scared of my younger brother, but not willing to test his boundaries either. His reputation as a man you don’t want to tangle with without a small army definitely helps his cause when it comes to managing his bar. Peck, on the other hand, just rolls his eyes.

“Just one jump, Mach! One. Uno. I got this.” Peck gives Machlan his best shit-eating grin before looking at me and Lance. “If he throws me out, I’ll be back in a couple days. Hell, he threw me out on Tuesday and I was back on Thursday for corn hole.”

“I think that just means you’re in here too much,” Lance offers.

Peck starts to respond but his attention is redirected as Molly McCarter saunters by. The dim lighting does nothing to hide the exaggerated sway of her hips or the way she licks her lips as her sight sets on me.

Bracing for what may come out of her mouth, I fill mine with alcohol.

“Hey, Walker,” she says, stopping at my chair. Her hands rest along the top rung, her fingertips sliding across the back of my neck. “Hey, Lance.”

Lance tips his glass her way.

“I was thinking,” she purrs, “my car is way overdue for an oil change. Maybe I could bring it to Crank sometime this week, Walker? Do you think you could fit it in?”

“I’m pretty full this week,” I lie, ignoring her thinly veiled offer. “See what Peck has available.”

A huff whispers through the air and she pivots on her heel. “Thanks anyway.”

“I can get you in …” Peck’s voice drowns into the Crave chaos as he follows her towards the bar.

He tails after her, all but drooling, as she slides onto a bar stool. Her gaze flicks to mine, her knees spread just a little farther apart than a lady ever should. Then again, no one has ever called Molly a lady.

“Ever fuck her?” Lance asks, downing the rest of his drink as he turns back to me. “I’ve been tempted to a couple of times and did get a decent blow job one Halloween when she was dressed up in this nurse outfit.”

“What is it with you and nurses?”

“Think about it: they’re smart, make good money, work a lot so you have free time, and they’re used to getting dirty,” he smirks. “It’s like a straight shot to my dick.”

“And they’re good with needles, have access to medicines that can make you lose your mind, and I’ve never met one who didn’t have a warped sense of humor,” I counter. “They set off my crazy radar.”

Lance laughs. “Did that radar just start working? Because I distinctly remember you getting balls deep with some psychologically-challenged women. One in particular.”

“Are you feeling froggy tonight? Because if you keep that mouth runnin’ like that, I’m about to knock those glasses off your face.”

I’m kidding. More or less. The problem is Lance knows it.

“Oh, go to Hell,” he laughs.

“Already there, brother. Already there.”

He takes his glasses off his face and places them on the table. “I usually look at your life and think I’d hate to have it. But after the day I had today, I’d trade you places.”

“What? Did the high school kids refuse to learn about the American Revolution?” I laugh. “You have such a cush job.”

“I’m a professional.”

“A professional bullshitter, maybe.”

He makes a comeback, but it’s swallowed in the roar of the crowd as a popular song blares through the overhead speakers.

Crave, an old brick building along Beecher Street, is longer than it is wide, and pulses with the noise of the crowd and music. Alcohol ads, high school sports schedules, and a giant cork board adorn the walls. The latter is a good read and filled with letters and notes from one townsperson to the next. Affairs have been called out, coon dogs found, marriage proposals made, and entire conversations about who is working what shift at the factory have taken place on that thing. It’s been a mainstay of the bar since our uncle founded it almost fifty years ago. When our younger brother, Machlan, took over Crave thanks to Uncle George’s failing liver, he extended the wall of corkboards all the way to the door.

“That’s new,” Lance says, moving over one seat closer to me. Motioning to the phallic design made up of yellow rubber duck Christmas lights on the wall between the pool tables, he laughs. “Let me guess: that’s Peck’s handiwork.”

“Naturally. Machlan wasn’t thrilled, but Peck rallied the masses and they convinced him to keep it.”

“It is nicely done,” Lance says, chewing on the end of his glasses. “I can see the art in it.”

“Fuck. I should’ve been an artist if that counts as art.”

“Apparently things didn’t go well with Molly,” Lance says, twisting in his chair.

“She’s never gonna give Peck a chance.”

At the sound of his name, Peck walks through the front door. He stops just inside, the glow from the exit sign giving his mop of blond hair a pinkish hue.

Peck makes a beeline for our table, a look etched in the lines on his face that sends a ripple of concern up my spine. After growing up with him and then working with him for the last few years, I can read him like a book. Something is wrong.

“What’s going on?” I ask, scrambling to my feet as he gets closer.

“Walker, man, you need to get outside,” Peck says. “Someone just bashed the front of your truck.”

“What?” I hiss, sure I misheard him. “Someone did fucking what?”

“Yeah, man. You need to get out there.”

Blood ripping through my veins, I plow my way through the bar. Machlan lifts his chin, sensing something is off, but I shake my head as we pass. I know he loves a good fight, but this one is mine.

Lance is on my heels as we make our way through the crowd. “Who did you piss off now?”

“Someone who wants to die, apparently.” My fingers flex against the wood of the door, the warm summer air slamming my face as I hit the sidewalk. “You sure you don’t want to stay inside? I think getting into a street fight is against your teacher code of conduct.”

“Fuck off,” Lance chuckles. “I’ll have Peck hold my glasses and I’m in.”

“You, my brother, are an intelligent heathen.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. I think.”

The top of my black pickup truck comes into view, sitting beneath one of the few lamps lining Beecher Street. There are two people standing on the sidewalk next to my truck.

“Do we know them?” I ask Peck through gritted teeth.

“I promise you we’ve never seen them before.”

“So it’s not …” Lance doesn’t finish his sentence. “Holy shit.”

The two women turn to face us and I think all of our jaws drop. The first is tall with jet black hair and a strong, athletic build. It’s the second one who has me struggling to remember why we’re out here.

Long, blonde hair with faint streaks of purple and the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, she assesses me in the hazy streetlight. She doesn’t make a show of looking me over like most women do, batting their eyelashes like some damsel in distress. There’s something different about her, a quiet confidence that makes her almost unapproachable.

Unapproachable, but still hot as fucking hell.

My gaze drifts down her ample chest, over the white lace fabric of the top that hugs the bends of her body. Cutoff denim jeans cap long, lean legs that only look longer next to the Louisville Slugger half-hidden behind her.

It takes a ton of effort, but my eyes finally tear from her body and to the body of my truck. Sure enough, there’s a rip across the grill and a broken headlight that looks an awful lot like a slam from a baseball bat. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed in my shop, but that’s not the point. The point is the disrespect.

“Either of you know what happened?” I ask, leaning against the hood. They remain silent. The only response is a dashed look between them.

Settling my scrutiny on each one individually, watching them squirm, I save the blonde for last.

“Did you see anything?” I ask, turning back to the tall one.

Her weight shifts from one foot to the other as she runs a hand through her shiny hair like we’re talking about coffee or having a beer later. “Me? No. I didn’t see a thing.”

“Really? You were standing out here just now and you didn’t see anything?”

“No,” she smiles sweetly. “Nothing at all.”

Peck steps between us and inspects the damage. When he turns around, he bites the inside of his cheek. “If I were a betting man, Walker, I’d say it looks like someone walloped Daisy with a baseball bat.”

The blonde lifts a brow, something on the tip of her tongue that she holds back.

“You got something to say?” I prod.

“You named your truck ‘Daisy’?”

Her eyes narrow, almost as if she’s taunting me. That she has the guts to challenge me combined with those fucking blue eyes throws me off my game. “I did. Got a problem with that?”

“No. No problem,” she says, twisting her lips into an incredibly sexy pout that I want to kiss off her goddamn face. “Just never met a man who named their truck after a flower.”

“Me either. Now, before I go calling the Sheriff about this, I’m gonna give you two a moment to consider telling me what happened. And,” I say, cutting off the blonde, “I’ll give you a piece of information before you decide what to say. Doc Burns’ office has cameras installed that will show everything. Just let that sink in a second.”

Their eyes go wide as they instinctively move together into a protective huddle. The tall girl points to the blonde who responds with a frantic whisper. She’s guilty as hell.

On one hand, I want to break her down and get inside her in ways she’s never dreamed. On the other, I can hear my brain issuing an alert to back away slowly.

The longer they confer, the more time I have to watch. The blonde controls the conversation, the other deferring to her as they talk amongst themselves. It’s hot as hell.

The light bounces off the wounded plastic of the headlight and draws my attention back to the fact that Daisy is damaged, and in all likelihood, one of these two did it.

“You really calling Kip?” Peck whispers. “He’s not gonna do shit about this, you know.”

“He might throw them in the back of his cop car and fuck their brains out. Especially the blonde,” Lance whistles. “Can you imagine her in handcuffs? Shit.”

The thought shoots a flame through my veins that catches me off guard. The vision of her bound up with one of these assholes at the helm irks me. Bad. “You two stay out of this. Let me handle it.”

The sound of metal pinging against the ground rings through the air. The girls jump, the blonde leaping away from the aluminum bat as it rolls across the sidewalk and lands in the gutter with a flourish. Her eyes snap to mine, guilt etched across her gorgeous face. “It was an accident.”

“How, exactly, does a baseball bat accidentally strike the front of my truck?” I ask. “Did it just hop over there and smash itself into my headlight?”

“Well,” she gulps. “I …”

“She was imitating her brother,” the dark-headed one says. “So we stop using pronouns, I’m Delaney. This is Sienna.”

“I’m Walker. That’s Peck and Lance.” I rest my attention on Sienna. She’s leaned against the grey car, her arms crossed over her chest. “So?”

“I was swinging the bat,” she says, “while Delaney puked over there and it slipped out of my hands.”

“I think we’re gonna have to see your swing,” Peck chuckles.

Sienna rolls her eyes. “You do not need to see my swing.”

Imagining her ass popped out, her body moving for our benefit, seems like a fair trade for the hassle of dealing with this tonight.

“How else do we know it was you? It could’ve been Delaney and you’re just covering for her,” I explain, loving the frustration on her beautiful face. “Gonna need to see the swing.”

“No.”

“Lance, call Sheriff Kooch.”

“Wait,” Sienna sighs. “It was an accident. I can cut you a check for the repairs but please don’t call the police. I … I can’t have a record. You don’t understand.”

Looking away, it takes everything I have not to laugh. The plea in her voice is so damn adorable it almost makes me give in. Yet, she hasn’t shown any remorse, and that’s something I can’t get to sit right.

Swiping the bat out of the gutter, I extend it to her. The air between us heats, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The contact is enough to have her eyes flicking to mine. The light above may be dim, but it’s bright enough to see the way her lids hood, her lips part just barely as she pulls her skin from mine.

A zip of energy tumbles through my veins and I remind myself I can’t tug on the bat and pull her into me. There’s no way I can cover her lips with my own, sliding my tongue across hers, making her attempt at resistance to this proposed swing futile.

Instead, I step back.

“Batter up.” Peck motions for her to go. “Let’s see it.”

“Are you really going to make me do this?”

“Did you really just smash the front of my truck?” I ask. “The answer is the same to both questions, Slugger.”

Her eyes narrow, but there’s a fire in them that turns me the hell on. She steps away from her friend, zapping all the power I held just a few seconds ago with the flick of her tongue. It darts out, rolling across her bottom lip as the bat comes over her head. Sticking her ass out, bending her knees, her eyes still locked on mine, she slices the bat through the air … and stops it at the last possible second before impact.

It’s everything I thought it would be.

“Any questions, fellas?” she asks, propping it up on one shoulder.

“I have one,” I say, forcing a swallow, trying to redirect my thoughts. “If you could stop it that fast, then why the fuck didn’t you do that the first time?”

“Very funny.” She tosses the bat into the back seat of the car and crosses her arms in front of her again.

“Can I ask why you have a baseball bat to begin with?” Lance asks. “Do you belong to some softball league or something? If so, I just took a huge interest in women’s softball.”

Sienna laughs as Delaney’s face turns red. “Delaney’s car is like a scavenger hunt. You can find anything in there. So while she got sick, I just rummaged around in the trunk, found the bat, and fooled around.” She looks at me, her eyes softening. “Are you going to be here for a while? I’ll go home and get the money. I didn’t bring my debit card with me tonight.”

It’ll cost fifty bucks to fix the damage and about an hour’s time. Definitely not worth her going out of her way tonight. But it is worth making her come around again and say she’s sorry. It might do her some good.

Might not hurt me either.

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, the motion driving me crazy.

“Come see me Monday morning at Crank. It’s two streets over,” I say, gesturing to the north, before I can talk sense in to myself.

“Smart,” Peck whispers behind me, getting an elbow to the side from Lance.

Her jaw sets, a glimmer of resistance clouding her baby blue eyes. “I have plans Monday. I can try on Tuesday.”

The nonchalant attitude cuts through me, like her fuckup is no big deal. I wasn’t set on Monday morning, but I am now. “Monday or I call the Sheriff. Your decision, but make it quick. I got shit to do.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “Monday.”

“Fine,” I mock. “See you Monday morning.”

We start back down the sidewalk, her gaze heavy on my back. I pause at the bumper of their car. “Peck got your license plate number, so don’t think about not showing.”

“I did not,” Peck hisses, catching another elbow from Lance as their car doors open and slam shut.

“What the hell are you going to do with that?” Lance asks once we’re out of earshot. “Because I have a list of suggestions if you need them.”

As we get farther away, the air clearing of Sienna’s perfume, I realize it’s not suggestions I need. It’s a heavy dose of self-control.

Two

Sienna

I didn’t even say I’m sorry.

Groaning, I roll over and toss the magazine I was trying to distract myself with onto the coffee table. Out of all the things that could’ve kept me up last night, it was my conscience.

Tossing and turning all night, my brain feels like it’s been through the wringer and my body through a fight.

Shutting my eyes, I see Walker’s face just like I have every thirty seconds since I saw him. His thick, shiny black hair and bottomless brown eyes stare back at me. The controlled demeanor and intensity that swirled off him like a tremor foreshadowing an earthquake make me unsteady.

Putting him in a box seems impossible. He relaxes me with a smile and then puts my defenses up with an asshole remark. He’s playful when asking me to swing the bat, yet demanding with his “Be there Monday morning or Sheriff.” It’s dizzying.

“Hey.” Delaney’s voice jostles me from my daydream. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. The neighbor decided to mow his lawn at the crack of dawn,” I say, omitting the whole Walker thing for now.

She yawns, stretching her arms high above her head. “I just started a pot of coffee. Had any yet?”

“Nope. I’m too tired for even basic tasks this morning.”

“Do you have a busy day planned or can you just chill out?”

“Well, since we wrapped up the project that would never end and decided to take a couple weeks off before jumping back in, I’m chilling out.”

She curls up on the chair across from me. “We needed this break. I needed this break.”

“Me too,” I admit. “My brain needs to reset. We’ve done great this first year, but there are so many ways we could go starting this fall. I read some articles I want to show you.”

Delaney nods, gazing into the distance.

The summer sun streams through the windows, a threat of rain rolling in from the west. Before we know it, it’ll be fall, then winter, and another year will have passed.

Thinking of it like that causes a swell of anxiety to bubble in my belly, a reminder that another year will have gone by and I still feel like I have nothing figured out about my life.

I’m only in Illinois because of Delaney. When she came up with the idea for Boutique Designs, I was all in and didn’t even mind moving up here despite my hatred of all things winter so she could stay near her family. But now our lease is almost up on the house we’ve been renting, and when I try to push forward on expanding our brand and getting a long-term plan in place, she drags her feet. I’m in this static state, unable to move.

“About all that…” Delaney says.

Sitting up, groaning as my back screams in distress, I push it aside and focus on my friend. “What’s up?”

“Um, well …” She takes down her ponytail and puts it back up. “I want to thank you for being such a good friend.”

“Okay …”

She takes a slow, deep breath. “Remember when I had dinner with my mom a few weeks ago and came home crying?”

“Yeah,” I say, utterly confused as to where this is going.

“Dad got a new contract at the farm.”

“That’s great,” I say, knowing her family had been struggling. “He must be thrilled.”

“He is. Mom too. It’s for production of organic dairy, which is all the rage, but there’s all this red tape involved …” She looks at the floor, avoiding my gaze.

Shifting in my seat, I try to figure out what she’s saying so she doesn’t have to come out and say it. I got nothing. “What does this mean for you?”

“They need my help. Full time.” She looks up at me, her eyes wide. “I couldn’t design with you and work for them. It would be too much to do both things.”

“Is that what you want?” I ask, my mind reeling. This would answer so many questions, explain her lack of motivation over the last few weeks.

“I don’t know,” she groans, getting to her feet. She walks a circle around the living room, kicking a gum wrapper as she goes. “I need to help my parents. I’m not sure they’ll make it if I don’t.” Her voice breaks, and when she looks at me, her eyes are watery.

“I get it.” Standing, I make my way to her and pull her into a hug. “Family always comes first, Delaney. I respect that.”

She pulls back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “You are the best person I know.”

“Oh, I am not,” I laugh.

“Yes, you are. You’re so kind. You want to fix everything and you’d give anyone the shirt off your back. You’re gorgeous and talented and—”

“Stop. You’re making me feel weird.”

She laughs too before taking her seat again. “I’ll have to move back to my parents’ property. Is that okay? I mean, I know you can afford the rent, but I feel like I’m abandoning you.”

“It’s fine. You do what you have to do.” Even as the words come out of my mouth, I can’t help but wonder what I will do. Where does this leave me?

“I didn’t even want to bring this up until we finished the Paxton Project and were on vacation. I’ve been a wreck.”

“Don’t be nervous about talking to me. Ever,” I tell her. “You’ll just be a half hour away. I’ll be fine here until I figure out how to navigate this little curveball.”

She sniffles before getting back up, her nerves getting the best of her. “Enough touchy-feely. I’m going to get coffee.”

“You do that,” I laugh, listening to her grumble about not being a baby as she walks out of the room.

Falling back onto the couch again, I rub my temples. As if I didn’t have enough stress with the truck issue, now I have this.

Looking around the place we’ve lived in for a year now, it suddenly feels less like home than it did ten minutes ago, and it didn’t feel particularly home-like then. With Delaney gone, it’ll be even worse.

A bout of loneliness creeps in to my stomach as I try to figure out what I’m going to do. Stay here? A place I know really no one but Delaney and a couple of her friends and a couple of guys I’ve seen here and there? Or go back to Savannah and feel like a failure for landing back there again?

What do I do with Boutique Designs? Can I run it on my own? Can I do the things I want to do as a one-woman show?

I bury my head in my hands.

“You’re okay with this?” Delaney asks, coming in and handing me a mug of coffee.

“I understand you wanting to help your family. Of course,” I tell her. “I hope someday you figure out how to follow your dreams in the process, but I get it. Truly.”

“Will you stay here or go back to Georgia?”

“I don’t know,” I say, sipping the brew. “That’s the beauty of our company, I guess. I can do it from anywhere.”

“I’d go back. There are all those sexy-as-hell brothers of yours.”

“Brothers, Delaney. They’re my brothers. They’re gross.”

I attempt a snarl, but it doesn’t come out that way. As gross as they are, I love them so much. Despite their overbearing and ridiculous antics, they are the best brothers in the world and have taught me so much.

Delaney smiles over the brim of her mug. “So stay here.”

“Probably not,” I laugh. “I’m definitely going somewhere warmer. Somewhere … inspiring.”

“You know what I find inspiring?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows. “We should go to the bakery over in Linton and get a donut and see if we can bump into anyone.”

The tension in my shoulders evaporates as the notes of her giggle work through the room and I see right through her plan. “Yeah, I’m sure the guys from the bar are having a croissant there this morning, Delaney,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Highly unlikely.”

“Probably not. But we might run into them at the gas station. Or …”

“We are not stalking random guys on a Sunday morning,” I laugh. “Even if they were totally cute.”

“Cute? They aren’t puppies, Sienna. They were stallions.”

“You’ve officially lost it.”

She grins, plopping down her coffee mug and tucking her legs up under her. The lightheartedness slips from her face as she clears her throat. “What are you going to do about the truck?”

The flip of my stomach at his smirk turns into a crazy knotted mess at the memory of last night.

Everything about last night was an epic fail.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do about it,” I sigh. “I’ve been thinking about it all morning. I don’t even think I said I’m sorry.”

“In your defense, none of us were prepared to be accosted by three men that good-looking at midnight in Linton of all places.”

“What do they put in the water over there?”

“Sex appeal. Straight into the pipeline,” she says, pumping a fist in celebration of our luck.

The lust dampens as my conscience takes over and guilt swamps me. “Now that I’ve had a second to clear my mind, I’m kind of embarrassed, Delaney.”

“It was an accident.”

“I know. But I messed up his truck,” I wince. “And I probably came across as an unapologetic brat.”

“No one uses the word ‘brat’ unless they’re eighty,” she teases. “And you are the least bratty person I’ve ever met.”

“That doesn’t mean he knows that.”

She considers this. “Okay. I see your point and I have a suggestion.”

Groaning, I set my mug on the coffee table. “I’m not sure I even want to hear this.”

“Sure you do!” she says, her eyes dancing. “Go over there on Monday and offer up a night with you in exchange for the damage.”

“I will do no such thing,” I say, shaking my head. But two nights …

“But you want to. I know you do.”

“That doesn’t matter,” I laugh. “I’m going over there on Monday to apologize and offer again to pay for the damage—with money. It’s the least I can do. And hopefully he won’t file a police report.”

“He’s not going to do that,” she tsks.

“We don’t know anything about them other than they’re cute. They could be total assholes, Delaney. I can’t risk it. Can you imagine Graham’s reaction? Or my father’s?” My eyes squeeze shut so hard my temple pulses. “I can hear them now. It would be a nightmare.”

“Fine. You’re right. Go see him Monday and say you’re sorry. But if he offers any other exchanges, follow through and give me details.”

My cheeks heat as I consider being in Walker’s orbit again. All night, I kept telling myself I imagined the weight of his gaze and the crackle of energy that passed between us as he handed me the bat. It will do me no good to create some infatuation with the sexy stranger. When I see him again, especially being a desecrator of his property, I need to have my wits about me in case I need to think straight. That means not fantasizing about him. Again. Too much.

Delaney hops off the barstool and rinses out her coffee cup. “If you won’t go to Linton, I’m getting a shower. Let’s do something this afternoon. We could get manicures.”

“Let’s do that.”

She flips me a thumbs-up and pads down the hallway towards the bathroom.

Gazing out the window, my heartbeat picks up at the thought of seeing Walker tomorrow. He was playful with his teasing, but there was a glimmer of seriousness buried in those deliciously dark eyes. Just pretending to feel them watching me has a rash of goose bumps flittering across my skin.

It may not be a bad way to spend a few nights while I’m still in town. Then again, something tells me spending even one night with Walker might be the worst thing to ever happen to me.

Three

Walker

“It was the alternator after all,” Peck sighs, wiping his greasy hands off on a blue towel.

“I’ll get a new one ordered. What about the tire for the Ranger? Did you get it on? David should be in this afternoon to pick it up.”

“Done, boss.”

Rolling my eyes, I push open the door to the office of Crank, holding it open for my one employee. “Why don’t you go ahead and get lunch?”

“Okay.” Peck tosses the dirty rag towards the hamper along the back wall. It hits the rounded top of the pile and spills onto the floor with an assortment of others. “That’s getting a little out of control, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “Maybe I’ll take them to the laundromat tonight.”

Glancing around the shop, I take in everything that needs to be done. Shit I don’t have time for. Shit I never thought about needing to do when I took this place over after my parents passed away a few years ago. I just saw the business that I’d wanted to have as my own since I was twelve and decided that being a bull rider might not be for me. Despite helping out here since I could walk, I never realized all of the little things that had to be done. I hate them.

Besides the shop rags, there’s a coffee pot that hasn’t been washed maybe ever. A bathroom with more discarded toilet paper tubes than actual toilet paper. Mud that was tracked in last week in the rain still dots the floor, and piles upon piles of receipts, work notes, orders, and shipping logs are scattered across the desk. And I have no time or energy to sort any of it.

“I’m going to head home and grab a bite to eat,” Peck says. “Nana made fried chicken yesterday and sent leftovers home with me.”

“The one Sunday dinner I miss and she makes fried chicken. Are you kidding me?”

“I think she was going to make meatloaf and then you skipped church. This was your punishment” he cackles. “Miss next week, will ya? Maybe we’ll get dumplings.”

“Get out of here while you still have a job. And bring me back some.”

“That’s the thing,” he says, calling out over his shoulder. “She only sent enough for me. Seems like she knew you’d ask that.”

His laughter trails through the room as the door snaps shut behind him.

Taking a quick look at everything I need to do, I do what I did all weekend and don’t do any of it. I can’t think of the last time I let things go like this. Normally when I’m stressed, I throw myself into my work and forget the world. Not this time.

A fog presses against my shoulders that hit me after the whole incident with my truck. It wasn’t the truck that bothered me so much. It was her.

Something about Sienna flipped me sideways and I haven’t been able to get upright. It, meaning she, has not been far from my mind since they pulled away from Crave. I can’t shake it, can’t escape this ripple in my stomach that keeps pulling me back to the memory of her.

Regardless, it’s made me sleep-deprived, blue-balled, and as confused as I am after a fifth of Hennessy. I have no time or business dealing with this. I just need to shake it and move on.

Glancing at the clock, it’s clear she’s not coming by. As much as I hate admitting it, I was hoping she’d actually show. Best case scenario would include her saying or doing something completely horrible that would put an end to the fascination that had me up so late Saturday night I missed church and Nana’s dinner. Something has to give because I can’t hack many more nights like that. Or mornings in the shower, squeezing one off in my hand while I imagine what the curve of her hip feels like beneath me.

Sorting through invoices, I force myself to be somewhat productive until the door chimes ring. Expecting to see Peck, I look up with a line on my tongue. Instead, invoices spill from my hands, scattering in a mess on the desk in front of me as I take her in.

A bright pink tank top showcases Sienna’s perfectly round breasts, drooping not quite low enough for her cleavage to be visible. Long gold earrings hang from her ears and her hair is a wild mess, held back only by a pair of oversized sunglasses. On her legs is another pair of cutoff jeans. Thankful I’m sitting so my cock won’t be visible, I try to keep my face passive. Hot or not, this is the girl who banged up my truck and ruined my weekend. “You’re late.”

She assesses me for a half a second. “That depends on who you ask.”

“I said this morning. It’s noon.”

“And I said I’d be here today. It’s still today.”

She saunters towards the desk with the confidence of a woman that usually gets what she wants. With every step she takes, I can almost taste the sweetness of her perfume, feel the silkiness of her hair wrapped around my fist.

Still, she knows she’s messing with me, and while it’s a turn-on to watch her almost stalk her way across the lobby, it’s also proving she thinks she can just flirt her way around this, the one thing I hoped she wouldn’t do. Maybe I hoped she’d be different and take this seriously.

“Why did you even bother to come by?” I ask, my tone even harsher than I intended.

“I came to tell you I’m sorry.”

The pen in my hand stops scrawling across the notepad in front of me, but I don’t look up.

“I mean it,” she adds. “I’ve thought about this all weekend, and I don’t think I even apologized to you.”

She waits for me to utter an acceptance of her apology, one I don’t quite believe because believing gets you disappointed. But when I lift my gaze, the complete somberness in her features has me giving her the benefit of the doubt.

Sitting back in my chair, I press my lips together. “You’re right. You didn’t apologize.”

“I’m embarrassed. I don’t know what happened to me …” Her eyes drop to the floor, a tiny smile gracing her shiny lips. “Please accept my apology.” She waits for my response, one I don’t give her. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she looks up at me. “So … you’re still really pissed?”

“You took a bat to my truck, Slugger.”

“Stop calling me ‘Slugger.’”

I can’t help but return her lopsided grin, despite my best efforts. I hate the way my anger is dissipating, the way my shoulders feel lighter than they have since Saturday night.

“You have one hell of a swing,” I note, remembering more about what her body looked like moving the bat through the air than the actual mechanics of the swing. “I bet your daddy is proud. Were you a college softball standout or something?”

“No. Just a good learner.”

I try not to frown. “Ex-boyfriend play?”

“Nah, just my brother,” she says with a shrug. “I spent half my life at a baseball stadium or practice field watching him do his thing.”

“Was he any good?”

“Decent,” she says. “I take credit for any success he ever had. I threw him so many pop flies growing up he owes me.”

“I’m sure he owes it all to you,” I chuckle.

She grins, the damn thing lighting up the room. Leaning against the desk, she bites her bottom lip. “So, about Daisy …”

Before I can respond, the chimes ring behind her. We jump like we’ve been caught doing something we weren’t supposed to be.

“Peck was right,” Kip says, taking off his brown Sheriff’s hat and purposefully not looking at Sienna. “And that’s all I’m going to say about that.”

“You called the Sheriff?” Sienna whips around, her eyes wide. “Damn it, Walker. I said I’ll pay for it. Don’t you believe me?”

“Sienna—”

“Let me introduce myself,” Kip says, extending a hand. “I’m Sheriff Kooch, the man in charge of this county. And who might you be?”

“Sienna.” She squares her shoulders and bats her eyes once for good measure. “I told him I’d pay for the damage. There’s really no reason for you to be involved. Don’t you have a lot of other things to take care of today? Things that matter?”

Kip doesn’t say anything, just turns to me with a slightly raised brow. He’s putty in her hands. If I don’t watch it, he’ll be writing me the ticket.

“Daisy matters,” I say, ignoring the rest for now.

“My legal footprint matters,” she shoots back.

“Yeah, Walker,” Kip adds in. “Peck told me what happened. Pretty silly to get the law involved in an accident.”

“No, the fact that a grown man named his truck after a flower is silly.” Sienna has a hand on her narrow hip and waits for my response.

“It’s not named after a flower, smartass. Ever heard of ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’?”

“I’m from Savannah. Of course I have. I didn’t know Yankees were allowed to watch it.”

Our gazes tangle together, heating the longer they hold. Her chest rises and falls, her bottom lip dropping just enough that I can see it. Instead of hurdling this desk and pressing her back against the wall in front of Kip, God, and anyone else who happens to walk in with not so much as a fuck given, I choose to break the spell in a different way.

“What do you say, Sheriff?” I ask, forcing a hot swallow down my throat.

Kip looks at me, then Sienna, and back at me. A smile slides over his face. “I say I just came in to tell you Nana is on her way over and she’s fit to be tied. Seems as if her favorite grandson didn’t show up to church yesterday.”

Sienna’s jaw drops. “You didn’t call him, did you?”

“If he would’ve called me and told me about you, I’d have been here a lot faster, sweetheart,” Kip laughs. A burst of static sounds through the air and instructions are doled out from the operator on the other side of his walkie-talkie. “I gotta go. It was nice to meet you, Sienna.”

He’s gone as quickly as he came, the rip of gravel sounding as he takes off to play hero.

As the chimes settle, Sienna slowly turns to face me. “You. Are. A. Jerk.”

“It’s been said.”

“Were you going to let me think you called the cops?” she snaps. “That’s not nice, Walker.”

“I never told you I was nice.”

She considers this as she leans against the desk, looking around the shop. “This place is a mess, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I do mind, actually,” I grumble, picking the pen back up.

“Forget it,” she says, digging in her purse and pulling out a wallet. A wad of cash comes from one of the compartments. “Let’s get this figured out. How much do I owe you for the repairs?”

“First of all,” I say, shaking my head, “you never show how much money you have. Haven’t you ever listened to Kenny Rogers, country girl? You don’t show your hand while you’re still dealing. You wait. Otherwise, someone will take advantage of you.”

Her tongue darts across her bottom lip, leaving a trail of wetness behind. The light catches it, my eyes glued to her mouth as she speaks. “Are you going to take advantage of me?”

Grimacing and cursing whoever is on the other end of the phone ringing in my pocket to the pits of hell, I retrieve it. My eyes not leaving hers, I answer it because if this isn’t a bailout, I don’t know what is. “Crank.”

The person on the other end talks, but I have no idea what they say. I can, however, recount every move Sienna makes in front of me.

I get off the chair, motion for her to give me a minute, and head into the shop area so hopefully I can concentrate on something other than taking deep, repeated advantage of this infuriating woman.

Four

Sienna

As soon as he’s out of sight, my whole body feels the void of his energy. My knees wobble, my breath whispering across my lips with a shaky sound. All this as I attempt to pull precious air into my lungs while searching for the filter for my mouth.

Are you going to take advantage of me? Did I really just ask him that?

Fanning my face, I watch him through the window. Delaney is right. Cute doesn’t cut it. He’s so far beyond cute that I’m not sure there’s been a word created to encompass it all. He’s not good-looking like the guys I usually date. Those guys are clean-shaven, hair gelled, politically-correct boys I’ve met at a fashion event or political rally. Walker is … not. He’s nothing of the sort.

His five o’clock stubble begs me to run my fingers down it, feeling the coarseness against my palm. His skin isn’t moisturized or evenly tanned, but rather rough and with tan lines that I can see around his watch. The words out of his mouth haven’t been chosen out of a list of words his private school teachers drilled into him. He doesn’t know me or my family, and even if he did, I bet he wouldn’t care.

There’s something raw and real about Walker. It’s the way he looks at me, the way I can’t quite tell if he wants to grab me and kiss the hell out of me or throw me out of the room. Either way, it burns my libido like it’s a forest hit with a hot match. My choice: kiss the hell out of me.

I could leave. I could leave a stack of cash on the desk that I took from the ATM this morning and skate, getting back to reality. Like I should. But that option, as logical as it is, seems so … plain. Boring. Predictable.

Is this what the start of an addiction feels like? A hankering for more, even when I know taking it in large doses might kill me? Being absolutely sure I shouldn’t be partaking, but not able to talk myself out of it either?

This place, this man, is a breath of oily-scented, testosterone-fueled air. It’s as foreign to me as outer space. It’s another planet, and while I was never the little girl who wanted to go to outer space, I’ll sign up for this ride just to see what it’s like.

The chimes ring and I spring around. An old man with a plaid golfer’s hat and worn blue jeans, a man I doubt has ever played golf a day in his life, stands in the doorway. “Seen Walker?” he asks, his voice gruff like there’s a pack of cigarettes in one of his pockets.

“He’s in the back,” I volunteer.

“I hope he doesn’t take long,” he murmurs, wincing as a hand goes to the small of his back.

He looks at the floor, the lines in his face so deeply etched that I wonder if he was born with some of them. Regardless, my heart breaks when he posts a hand on the wall and leans against it with a cringe, the hole in the toe of his shoe dark and unraveling.

“Let’s get you a chair,” I say, looking around. There’s none in the lobby, but I spy the one behind the counter. I bring it around and help him get settled.

He pats my hand. “You are a doll. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He seems unsure with his repeated head-to-toe scans of me, like he’s wondering if I’m an imposter taking over Crank without anyone’s knowledge. He’d be right, but for whatever strange reason, I don’t feel like I don’t belong here. I just feel like I haven’t figured it out yet.

“Is Peck around?” he asks.

“I’ve only seen Walker. Do you need something I can help with?”

“My truck. I need to meet my wife for breakfast. I should’ve been there an hour ago but my neighbor was late picking me up and all that jazz.”

“Where is your wife?” I ask.

“The nursing home.” He forces a swallow. “She’s been there two years now. I go by every morning for breakfast and I’m never late. She hates being late. That’s all I heard for the fifty-five years we’ve been married—if you aren’t early, you’re late.”

“Maybe she’ll cut you some slack,” I offer. “Especially if this is your first offense.”

His eyes drift from the window to me, a sadness written so heavy in his features that I feel it in my soul. “She won’t care. She doesn’t even know I’m there. Alzheimer’s is a son of a bitch.”

Nodding is all I can do because if I say a word, he’ll hear the lump in my throat.

“I walked into her daddy’s lumber yard when I was fifteen and she was up to her knees in mud. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” He dabs at his eyes with a blue bandana, the tip of his nose turning red. “Fifty-five years is a long time to sleep next to someone and then they don’t remember who you are.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, my own eyes watering. Placing my hand on his over his knee, I squat in front of him. “That has to be very hard.”

“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder than going to war, harder than losing our baby at three months old. It’s like having my heart cut out of my chest.”

His other hand, wrinkly and cool, settles on top of mine. They shake, his knee vibrating with his valiant attempt at restraining his emotions.

“She loves you,” I tell him, my eyes burning. “Remember that as you go to see her and think she doesn’t remember you. She does. She just can’t tell you.”

His tears flow freely, dripping down his hollowed cheeks like a floodgate has been broken. “Thank you, hon. I needed to hear that today.” As his face falls, his eyes sliding closed to the exhaustion riddling his old body, I turn away.

Heading to the desk, sensing his need to change the subject, I clear my throat. Discreetly wiping my face with the tail end of my shirt, I take a deep breath. “What kind of car did you have?”

“Black Ranger. I had a tire bust on me yesterday and Walker had a used one out back.”

The desk is covered in receipts and notes, candy wrappers and invoices. There’s no way anyone knows what’s actually here. The further I try to dig, the deeper the mess becomes.

I look up when the chimes ring again. A tall, dark-haired woman with a baby wrapped to her chest and another child holding her hand steps inside. She greets the old man and then looks skeptically at me. “Walker around?”

“He’s on a call,” I say as the baby starts to scream.

“Shhh,” she whispers, bouncing herself up and down. “Shhh, Gabriel. It’s okay.”

“Mommy,” the other one whines. “I’m tired.”

“I know, baby,” the lady tells him. “We’ll have the van in a second.”

“You walk down here, MaryAnn?” the old man asks her. “All the way from Washington Street?”

Over the wails of the baby and the whining of the child, she tries to stay calm. “I hit a deer in the van last week and Mike had to work today.”

“I still can’t believe you walked all that way,” the old man says. “That’s a couple miles.”

“The baby has a doctor’s appointment this morning. He’s having an allergic reaction to something and we can’t figure it out. It’s costing a fortune with co-pays, which is why Mike is still at work. He’s been working all the overtime they’ll give him.” She sags against the wall, patting the older boy’s hair. “It could be worse, right?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the exchange between the old man and the woman. It’s nothing more than a slight tip of their chin, but they understand each other on a level that I don’t. I don’t know what it’s like to be them, and to even consider it strikes a fear in me that I can’t shake.

I can’t imagine my sister-in-law, Danielle, walking two miles with Ryan because she didn’t have another choice. Especially in this heat with a sick baby.

“I’ll try to find your invoice,” I volunteer, feeling so frustratingly helpless. “What kind of car?”

“A maroon van. I have no idea what year it is,” she says, still bobbing the baby up and down. “I barely know what I had for breakfast at this point.”

Thrust into what my mom calls “do-er mode,” I scramble for something to do to make her day easier.

“Do you have your keys?” I ask, holding up a couple of random papers. “I found your invoices.”

“Walker always leaves them on the floor mat,” the old man says. “What do I owe him?”

“Well,” I say, forcing a swallow, hoping this doesn’t bite me in the ass. “You, sir, have no charge because the tire they used was going to be thrown away anyway. Right?”

“That’s what he said,” the man agrees, but doesn’t look convinced.

“And you, madam,” I say, hurrying along, “there’s something here about insurance and write-off’s, but Walker’s writing is crap and I can’t figure it all out. It just says zero with a circle around it,” I shrug.

“You’re kidding me.” A flitter of hope casting across her face. “I don’t owe anything? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Says it right here.”

Holding my breath, seeing if they believe me, I wait until they prepare to leave. The woman opens the door and grabs the little boy’s hand. “Tell Walker thank you,” she says. “I’ll send Mike over this week to double check. I just … I appreciate it.”

I round the corner and offer a hand to the old man. “Do you need help outside?”

Groaning as he gets to his feet, he takes both of my hands in his. “I’m going to be fine. Have a blessed day, sweetheart.”

“You too. Enjoy your breakfast.”

“It’s the best part of my day.”

I take a quick step and open the door for him. As he heads to his truck, I move to the window and watch him make his way off the stoop and through the gravel. Rummaging around the floorboard, he retrieves his keys. He hobbles into the front seat, adjusts his hat, and pulls out.

“Was someone here?” Walker asks from behind me. “I thought I heard the door a couple of times.”

Giving myself a moment to adjust before turning around, I scramble for an angle to talk myself out of this jam. I’m sure he’s not going to be thrilled with this bit of news, but I’m just as sure I didn’t have a choice other than to help them both.

“I was going to ask you,” I say, turning around. “How much would a used tire cost for my car?”

Furrowing his brow, he shrugs. “Depends on what size you have.”

“Um … the size of a Ford Ranger, I think.”

Walker crosses his arms in front of him, the muscles in his thick forearms flexing. “Funny. I didn’t have you pegged as driving a Ranger.”

“Funny. How do you know me well enough to know what I would drive?”

“I don’t,” he admits. “I’d say that a used tire would run you thirty-five bucks or so.”

He moseys across the room and stands next to me, so close I can barely think. He’s a step from my personal bubble, his cologne knowing no bounds and filling it with his heated, working man scent that has me shivering despite the heat.

“Looks like I need to call Kip,” Walker notes.

“Why?”

“Someone stole Dave Cooper’s truck. A Ranger,” he adds, watching me carefully.

Gulping, I take a step away. “I have another question. What would it cost to repair a car that hit a deer?”

He’s not amused. Storming across the room, he swings open the door. “Where is MaryAnn Maylor’s van?”

“Well, she was here,” I say, taking a couple of steps to the corner. “And so was Dave …”

His face doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even make an attempt to speak, just stares at me in a mixture of disbelief and disdain.

“Can you add their bills onto my tab?” I cringe, waiting for his eruption.

“You let them take their cars without paying?” he booms.

“No, I didn’t. I mean, I did,” I correct. “But it’s okay. I’ll pay for them.”

He walks in a circle, shaking his head. “Dave’s tire is about thirty-five bucks. But MaryAnn’s van was about fifteen hundred.” He stops and looks at me. “You have that in your pocket?”

“No, but I’ll get it.”

He flashes me a glare before heading back to the desk. One look at it and he’s back to me. “And I suppose you just messed this up too?”

“Oh, no. That was a mess before,” I shoot back. “I looked for the invoices, trying to do you a favor—”

“I didn’t ask you for a favor. I asked you to come by and apologize for fucking up my truck, not waltz in here like you own the damn place and cost me another two grand.”

“Fifteen thirty-five,” I correct, hoping for the best.

I think he’s going to explode. He turns away, his back heaving as he fills his lungs with air. The sound of it whooshing out of his body gushes through the room.

“What was I supposed to do?” I ask when he turns to face me.

There’s a weakness in his glare, one that tells me I can make him see the light. I see this in my brother Graham every so often when he’s trying to nix some idea I have. It’s an opening, a small window of opportunity to appeal to their humanity and get them to come around.

I stand in front of the desk, game face on. “I felt sorry for them. Dave needed to go have breakfast with his wife who has Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t even know he’s there every day. How sad is that? And MaryAnn walked all the way over here and it was like two miles with two babies.”

This seems to weaken his resolve.

“Why didn’t she call? Peck would’ve gone and picked her up,” he says, the irritation in his tone a little less prevalent.

“I don’t know,” I rush, trying not to lose momentum. “But she was stressed out, her husband’s working doubles, and they have a sick baby. So sue me for having a heart if you’re that much of a dick. But I’ll pay for all of it.”

He fiddles with the papers in front of him, the lines on his forehead melting away with each passing second. The room settles, the only sounds the beating of my heart and the papers he’s pretending to deal with.

“Don’t act like you know what any of that is,” I kid.

“It might look like a mess, but I actually do know where everything is. Most everything, anyway,” he grumbles. Retrieving two pieces of paper, one missing the bottom corner, he holds them in the air. “These are the invoices you were looking for.”

“I’ll take care of them.”

He sets them back down and leans on the desk. His brown eyes are filled with something I haven’t seen before, something that makes me feel like everything over the past few days comes down to this moment, like if I fall, I may never recover. Only it’s not a fall from a ledge or a fall from grace, it’s a fall into those chocolatey eyes. It’s a delicious and yet uncomfortable feeling and all I can do is shift my weight from one foot to the other and hold on tight.

“How am I supposed to take your money when you won’t take anyone else’s?” he asks.

“One is not dependent on the other.”

He looks over my shoulder and laughs. “Brace yourself.”

“Why?”

“My Nana is two seconds from walking through the door.”

The chime hits on demand and the entire feel of the room shifts.

“Walker Elder Gibson, what do you think you’re doing?” The door latches closed as she sees me. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. Are you busy?”

“No, Nana,” he says, his chin dipping with a shy smile. “I’m never busy. I just come here to hang out all day every day.”

“Don’t give me that …”

She’s in her mid-sixties, if I were guessing, wearing a white dress with tiny blue flowers. Her hair is gunmetal silver and set in a way that makes me wonder if she still visits the beauty shop on Saturday morning like the little old ladies in Savannah do. Her belly is round and in her arms is a wooden picnic basket.

She pauses in the middle of the room, giving me a quick once-over with the finesse of a professional. “I didn’t mean to walk in on the middle of anything,” she alludes, smiling at me. “Should I come back another time?”

“Stop it,” Walker hisses before I can respond. He crosses the room and plants a kiss on her cheek. “Did you bring me lunch? I heard you made fried chicken yesterday.”

“And you would’ve known that yesterday had you had your fanny in a pew at Holy Hills like you should’ve,” she sighs. “I wasn’t going to bring you any, then I prayed about it and thought maybe you had a good excuse.” She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, a grin tipping up the edge of her lips. “She’s awfully pretty, Walker, but she’s no excuse to miss out on Jesus.”

“Nana!”

Before I know what’s happening, my laughter fills the room. “You tell him, Mrs. Gibson,” I say, then cover my mouth with one hand.

“First, call me Nana,” she corrects. “Second, don’t cover your mouth. Women around here have to speak up or we’re never heard. Remember that.”

“I will,” I say, relieved.

“And you are?”

“I’m Sienna,” I say, offering a hand her way. She gives it a firm, yet gentle shake. “It’s nice to meet you. But, for the record, I’m not his excuse for missing church.” Peering over my shoulder, I give Walker a little smile. “How could you disappoint this woman and miss church?”

Licking his lips, he’d say something altogether different if Nana weren’t standing here. That I know for sure. But she is, so he cocks a brow. “You better stay out of this, Slugger.”

“Now, I didn’t mean anything by what I said,” Nana says, either not paying attention or choosing to ignore the look her grandson and I are exchanging. “It’s just that I don’t ask nothing of this boy, or any of ‘em, for that matter, except they get their behinds to church on Sunday and come over for dinner most of them. That’s it. I’m not gonna be alive much longer and I—”

“Oh, you are too,” Walker sighs, cutting her off. “And I’m sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t feeling good.”

“You seem to be feeling better now,” she points out.

“Yeah, well …” He looks at me through the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a man. “I’ll be there this week. Promise.”

“You better.” She hands him the picnic basket. “If I’d known you had company, I would’ve brought you extra. Speaking of which, is this your girlfriend?”

“Nana …”

“Oh, no,” I say hurriedly, not wanting her to get the wrong impression. “I’m just here to settle up some business.”

“He’ll be fair and he does good work,” she says, smiling proudly at Walker. “He’s a good, good boy.”

Walker’s cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as he switches the basket in his hands. “Let’s get back to the chicken. There’s more you didn’t bring? What are you saving it for?”

“For my grandsons who show up to church,” she winks, heading to the door. “Sienna, make sure he shares with you. I’m not known around these parts for my fried chicken for nothing.”

“Will do. Nice to meet you, Nana.”

“Same here, honey.”

“See ya, Nana,” Walker calls after her.

He sets the basket on the counter. There’s a sudden awkwardness, a void that needs filled and I don’t know with what or how. I can’t decipher the look on his face or the way my stomach is all twisted in knots. Despite not really wanting to leave, it’s the only choice. It’s the responsible choice. It’s the one I don’t want to make but do anyway.

“Let me pay you what I have and I’ll bring the rest by later,” I say.

His brows shoot to the ceiling as he fiddles with the edge of the basket. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I’m going to worry about it.”

“The damage is done.”

“And I want to fix it,” I insist.

“Are you still arguing over Daisy?” Peck, the light-haired guy from the other night, comes from the garage bay, a huge grin on his face. “Just take her money and give it to me.”

“Fuck off,” Walker laughs.

“Ah, Nana brought you lunch after all,” Peck notes, knocking on the top of the basket. “It’s sickening how favored you are.”

The two of them spar back and forth, neither of them serious but both of them trying to win the argument. Walker fills him in on the Dave and MaryAnn drama and Peck continues to just give him shit about it. It’s hysterical and reminds me a lot of my brothers back home. I didn’t realize how much I missed this feeling of camaraderie, this sensation of family.

“I have an idea,” Peck says, bringing me back to the present. “We have a lot of shit that needs done around here. Since y’all can’t agree on money, why don’t you just stick around and help out some?”

“Because she’s not a fucking maid and that’s what we need,” Walker barks immediately, scowling at his cousin.

“Wait,” I say, looking between the two. Walker isn’t going to let me pay him back and I know he can’t afford to be out that much. I can’t live with costing him that much either. “That’s not a bad idea, really. I mean, I’m not your maid and I’m not cleaning that filthy bathroom.”

“That bathroom hasn’t been cleaned in years,” Peck sighs.

“I can believe that,” I say, scrunching my nose. “But I wouldn’t be averse to sweeping some of this mud up and maybe organizing that desk, because it’s driving me nuts.”

“It’s not necessary,” Walker says.

“It’s totally necessary,” Peck counters. “We were just talking about it before you got here. Well, the cleaning part. Not the you part. Although …”

Walker looks at me, the pools of chocolate dragging me in just like they did the other night. I’m not quite sure if he likes me or loathes me, but either way, I can’t look anywhere else.

“I’m technically on vacation for a couple of weeks and am probably going to leave town after that anyway. I’m going to have some time on my hands,” I point out. “I really don’t mind working off what I owe. Heck, it might even be good for me and I know it would be good for you.”

“I want it to be good for me,” Peck deadpans.

Walker rolls his eyes at Peck. “You sure?” he asks me.

“I mean, if you don’t want me …”

“We want you,” Peck jumps in, standing between me and Walker. “We. Want. You. I want you, anyway. If he doesn’t, I do. Let’s make that clear.”

Walker shoves Peck’s shoulder, making Peck laugh.

“If you want to, that’s fine,” Walker says, once Peck makes his way back into the shop bay. “But I’ll pay you. You aren’t helping out around here for free.”

“You aren’t paying me,” I toss back. “This is to work off the damage and today’s freebies. What time do we start?”

He twists his lips into a hesitant grin. “I have a feeling you’re going to show up whenever you want, so we open at eight. The rest is up to you.”

It would be so easy to stay, to linger beneath his lopsided smile. I could pull up a chair and fix us both plates of Nana’s fried chicken and listen to this gravelly voice tease me, grumble, whatever he likes, all day. Sometimes, though, the right option isn’t the easiest one. Sometimes, it’s the hardest.

“See you then,” I say.

Before he can get in the last word, I head to the door. Without looking back, I tug it open and make myself walk away from Walker Gibson.

Five

Walker

Papers flutter against the cork board, held in place by various thumbtacks, nails, and an occasional toothpick with the foil at the end that Machlan uses in Crave’s famous cheeseburgers. There’s nothing particularly interesting tonight. A coon dog that went missing out by the lake and a carpenter from Merom looking for help. Otherwise, it’s just a bunch of jokes, shift schedules for the factory, and some pictures from when a couple of the Illinois Legends football players were in a while back.

Mach works behind the bar, wiping down the bottles that line the counter below the oversized mirror. He’s the youngest out of us all. He shares my dark hair and a little above average height, but he’s more like our sister in that he can be a hard nut to crack. Things are right or wrong with Machlan, and he’s not above doling out justice when it’s deserved. A time or two this has put him into spots with Kip since he took the position of Sheriff.

As if on cue, Mach leans against the bar across from me. “Blaire called this morning.”

“Why?”

“She wanted to make sure I got my bartender license renewed. Apparently it was on her calendar as a ‘to-do’ item,” he grins. “How does our sister even know when it renews? I mean, I wouldn’t have known if my accountant didn’t remind me last week, but I pay her for that shit.”

“You know Blaire,” I say, peeling at the label of the beer bottle I just finished. “She just likes holding it over our heads that we need her. It’s her way of feeling relevant.”

“I think that fancy corner office in Chicago should make her feel relevant.”

“But to us?” I ask. “If she wasn’t our older sister, would we even give a fuck that she’s a lawyer with some hotshot firm? What do we care about law degrees?”

“Lance cares. He’d love to find some chick who could moan eight-syllable words as she got off.”

Laughing, I lean back in my chair while Machlan heads down the bar to refill a customer. He pauses long enough to have a quick conversation, making the guy I haven’t seen before feel welcome, but doesn’t hover.

No one sits at the far end of the bar to chitchat. They’re not even really there for the beer. They’re there to get away from something, maybe even everything. Then again, maybe the majority of people in a bar are there for that purpose.

I mean, I am.

Crave was my last-ditch effort to rid myself of a certain woman with the most aggravatingly irresistible vibe. A woman I’d love to fuck until she can’t respond with her quick comebacks anymore. Until all she can say is my name.

My phone glows on the bar-top. Swiping it on, I lift it to my ear. “Were your ears burning?”

“Should they have been?” Blaire asks.

“Machlan was saying you called him today and now my phone rings. Are you missing us, big sister?” I tease.

“Hardly,” she scoffs. Despite the gruff, I hear her smile. “Just thought I’d check in with you guys. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“That’s because you’re too good for us these days.”

“Damn right I am,” she jokes. “I had a case end today that I thought was going to kill me. I might sleep for a week now.”

“You will not.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I just took on another case this afternoon.” She unloads a slew of put-downs in a very ladylike fashion, the words muffled as a car honks in the distance. “Sorry about that,” she says, coming back to the line. “Some asshole didn’t understand how crosswalks work. So what are you doing?”

“Drinking a beer.”

“Do you ever do anything fun?”

“All the time,” I deadpan.

“You’re a liar.”

“Don’t start on me, Blaire,” I warn, resting my elbows against the counter. “I don’t want to hear your shit.”

“You have to hear it from someone, and Lord knows neither of our brothers is going to give you sage advice.”

“Who said I needed advice?”

“You did when you just told me you’re drinking a beer on a Monday night,” she sighs. “Look, Walker, you need prodded along. I know you’re all ‘I’m fine,’” she says, mocking me, “but you’re not. You’re bored as hell. You’re grumpy. You’re stuck in a cycle that—”

“Blaire.”

“What?”

“Stop it.”

“This has gone on long enough, Walker.”

I know where this is going, and I’m not heading that direction. “I swear I’ll hang up on you.”

She groans in the line. “If Mom were here, she’d tell you the same thing.” With the reference to our mother, the octave of her voice drops and you can almost hear the mortal side of her that we don’t see often.

“But she’s not,” I almost whisper.

“I miss them, Walk.”

Blaire’s admission makes me gulp. Of course she misses our parents. We all do. None of us expected them to not come home that Fourth of July. We didn’t know they’d be hit in their boat and capsize, losing their lives on Lake Michigan. I know she misses them. I do too. But to hear her, the stoic one, the real badass of the family despite Machlan’s attempts to prove otherwise, say it out loud throws me for a loop.

“I thought of her yesterday,” she says, a lump clearly in her throat. “There was a woman her age with the same long, black hair in the courthouse. She laughed a high, almost singing sound, and my stomach hit the floor. I couldn’t stop looking at her …”

“It’s almost her birthday,” I say softly. “Dad would start bugging her right about now, asking her what she wanted.”

“And she’d say she already had it.” Blaire sighs into the phone. “I gotta go. I’m meeting a client in twenty minutes and I haven’t even found a cab yet.”

“It’s ten o’clock at night, Blaire.”

“So it is,” she sighs again. “Talk to you later.”

“Be careful. Love ya, sis.”

“Love you. Bye.”

The phone slides across the counter, hitting the napkin dispenser before stopping. The stranger takes another long draw of his drink, his fourth since I got here. Maybe I’m just not going at it hard enough.

Picking at the label on the bottle in front of me again, I allow my mind to go to the place it wants to go every time I stop purposefully focusing on something else—to Sienna.

I can’t make heads or tails of this woman. She’s too easy. Too sweet. Too confident. I’ve never seen a woman with the guts she has to do things like she does. I just don’t know what to do with her.

The money is one thing. There’s no way I can afford to go in the red on that kind of cash on a regular basis, although I see why she did it and I kind of love her heart for it. I wouldn’t have charged Dave anyway and MaryAnn’s husband would’ve worked off whatever their insurance didn’t pay. But I’m still on the hook and can’t afford to be out this much again. My customers’ money keeps the lights on.

All of that is fair enough, but not the reason I try to shove it out of my mind. I try not to think about it because as much as I tell myself to be angry with her, I can’t. Every time I tell myself to find a way to get a hold of her and tell her not to come in tomorrow, I don’t. Each attempt I make to convince myself she’s a potential thorn in my life that I really don’t need right now, I fail.

The proposition of her coming into Crank to help is idiotic and driving me mad. Will she come? Will she not? Will she be even more impossible to shake off or finally bare some flaw I can’t overlook? All afternoon, it’s been a series of questions, of “what-ifs,” of the dumbest fucking scenarios that I have no business toying with.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, tipping the rest of the beer back. It slides down my throat with ease, the cool liquid pooling in my gut and joining the churn.

“Fuck what? Actually, let me guess. Peck gave me a head start,” Machlan snickers. “Seems as if you’re gonna have a helper in the shop.”

“Not my idea,” I point out. “It was Peck’s.”

“He said you weren’t exactly against it. And I can’t see what there is to be against if he painted the picture accurately.”

Ignoring his leading, I keep things factual. “She owes me a lot of money,” I explain. “And it just seemed …”

“… like a good idea. You don’t have to admit that out loud because I might tell somebody, I get it. Lips are sealed.”

I motion for another beer and wait until he places it in front of me. “It’s a terrible idea. There’s nothing good that can come out of this,” I say more to myself than to him.

“Well, based on Peck’s description, I can think of lots of good things to come out of that,” he grins.

“You know what I fucking mean.” I stare at him, hoping he drops his angle.

Blowing out a breath, he nods. “I do. I get it. You get her in there helping out and then you like her and God forbid you like someone. That would totally ruin your reputation as the loner.”

Glaring at him, I swipe my phone off the counter and jam it in the pocket of my jeans. “I’d hate for people to confuse the two of us.”

“I was going to suggest letting Peck take a shot at that, but I can see that wouldn’t go over well,” he jokes. When I don’t budge, his lips frown. “Fine. Moving on … Let me toss an idea by you.”

“Shoot.”

“The two lots behind the bar are for sale. I was thinking about trying to buy them.”

“For what?” I ask, half in the conversation, half wondering what Sienna is doing.

“I have lots of ideas. We could build a room for meetings and wedding receptions and that shit. We could build a couple of apartments and rent them out.”

Machlan’s talking too fast, his eyes darting around too much to be telling the truth.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re really thinking?” I ask.

“That is what I’m thinking.”

“Sure.” Standing up, I snag a twenty from my pocket and toss it on the bar. “Go get into wedding receptions. Seems right up your alley.”

I wait for him to give in, but he doesn’t. “Have it your way. See ya tomorrow,” I call out.

Stepping out into the late summer heat, I stop and breathe in the warm, humid air. It reminds me of nights at the lake with a girl in my arms and barbecues and homemade ice cream. All things that annoy me to pieces.

Six

Sienna

Flipping down the visor, I silently curse the yellow light illuminating my face. Taking a calming breath, I remind myself I don’t need to look my best. I’m just going in to work off a debt. That’s it.

“Why did I agree to this?” I whine. “You know why you agreed to it. It’s the right thing to do.” Snorting as I run a hand over the top of my head to smooth out a bump in my ponytail, I laugh. “Yeah, it has nothing to do with how sexy he is. Don’t lie to yourself.”

Stomach sloshing as I pick apart my appearance, I set aside the excitement building in my gut and focus on the reflection in the poorly lit mirror. My skin is decent, except for the pimple that decided to spring up during the night. My makeup is light and casual to go with my strategically ripped jeans and short-sleeved red and black plaid shirt with a lacy white cami underneath that took way too long this morning to choose.

“Stop,” I chastise myself, working a strand of hair from the center of one of my large hoop earrings. “You’re here to do the right thing. Walker doesn’t even like you anyway.”

Gathering my phone and lip gloss from the passenger seat, I slip them into my purse and open the car door. If this happened in any normal situation, I would’ve already paid him back by now. But if I tossed him some cash, I think he might actually be offended. Still, knowing enough money is tucked in my wallet to pay for the damage if things go south is a little balm to my uneasiness.

Confidence is one of my best qualities. I can walk into a room of political powerhouses or professional athletes and hold my own. It’s a regularity of my life in Savannah, how I was raised. So why am I walking into a mechanic’s shop in the middle of Illinois and feeling like I’m naked in Times Square?

Ignoring the roiling in my stomach, I take the handle and yank the door open. The chimes I’m already starting to hate ring as I step inside. The air conditioning is a welcome reprieve from the heat. It’s almost as nice as the view sitting at the desk.

A tight black t-shirt grips his muscled frame as Walker sits in the chair and clicks around on a computer. He knows I’m here; there’s no way he doesn’t. But he doesn’t look at me.

I wait a few seconds before finally clearing my throat. “Hello?”

“Hi.” His head doesn’t turn, his eyes unmoving from the screen. He couldn’t pretend to be more bored with my arrival if he tried.

I pick at the hem of my shirt, silently begging him to have mercy on me and just speak. But after almost a minute, it’s obvious he’s not going to.

“Good morning to you too,” I say flatly.

Readjusting my purse on my shoulder, I wait for him to respond. He continues doing whatever it is that he’s doing, and I’m two seconds from walking back out when he shoves away from the desk. The sudden burst of movement startles me. Large arms cross his chest, and his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them before as they settle on me.

“I didn’t expect you to come today,” he says simply.

“I’m a woman of my word.”

A hint of a smile plays on his lips, but never quite breaks free. I want to ask him why he’s so constrained, why that sentence amuses him, why he didn’t expect me—but I don’t. Instead, I just stare back at him, giving as good as I’m getting.

He gives nothing away with his steady gaze, two-day stubble, and wild hair like his hands have been in it all morning. My heart strums in my chest, each moment that passes without any sort of break in the standoff giving me way too much time to examine him for all the wrong reasons. To smell him. To almost taste the energy spiraling off him in waves.

If I stand here much longer, I might start to pant.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask.

One corner of his lips lifts, catching on to my unintended innuendo, before he rolls his mouth around like he’s tasting a sip of wine.

Blushed, I clear my throat. “Where do you want me to start?”

“How do I know?” he asks, his voice low and grumbly. “This wasn’t my idea, if you’ll recall.”

“If you’ll recall,” I start back, “it’s your business and you agreed to this. I assume you want a say in how I work off my debt.”

“I can make suggestions,” Peck laughs, coming out of the bathroom. “Wanna hear them?”

“Get to work.” Walker shakes his head as Peck walks by. “The fuel injector came in for the car in the back. Can you get that thing on so we can get it out of the way?”

“Yeah. Got it.” Peck leans against the door to the garage bay. His boyish grin is adorable, a dimple set deeply into his right cheek. A mop of blond hair sticks out from under a navy blue cap. “Nice to see you, Slugger.”

“Go on, Peck,” Walker rumbles as I release a little giggle that only seems to annoy him more.

Peck’s chuckle remains a few seconds after the door swings shut, leaving us alone. Walker scoots his chair back and stands, sending a whiff of a woodsy cologne through the room. “There’ll be a delivery this morning from the auto parts store. Just sign for it if you happen to be out here, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Easy enough.”

Moving around the desk, he stops just a few inches from me. I tilt my head up to look him in the eye, breathing in the masculine scent that I’ve already committed to memory. He’s close enough that I could touch him, could run my hands down the sides of his face or trace the lines of his shoulders pressing against the cotton of his shirt.

His eyes narrow, his lips part slightly, as he takes me in. There’s no uptick in his breathing, no tell-tale sign that he’s thinking anything remotely like what I am. There’s just a hint of intrigue buried deep in his eyes that only fuels my need to make him react.

“Anything I should or shouldn’t do today?” I ask, a little kiss on the words to hopefully drag some sort of response out of him.

“Don’t give anything else away.”

My shoulders fall. “Really? That’s your answer.”

“Yup. That’s my answer.”

“Fine,” I grumble, sidestepping him. I don’t mean to brush against him as I turn the corner of the desk. I don’t really even know how it happens because I move far enough out of the way to not make any contact at all, yet it happens.

Ever-so-lightly, my arm slips across his as I move. Not-so-slightly, a shiver rips through my body as his sturdy body doesn’t flinch. It doesn’t give at all. It’s as if it needs the contact as much as mine in its refusal to get out of the way or at least recoil as any normal person would when touched.

He’s hard and steady and I imagine him enveloping me with both arms.

My eyes flip to his immediately and are rewarded with the faintest glimmer of desire. It’s there, just masked with a look of annoyance that is more tolerable knowing the other emotion lies just below the surface.

His nostrils flare, almost a taunt for me to press the issue. Like he’s asking me to verbalize whatever the hell that was that just sparked between our bodies so he doesn’t have to.

I almost do. I almost give him the opening I think he wants, but think better of it.

“Where can I put my purse?” I ask, gesturing towards the desk. Again, I wait for a response I don’t get. “I’d be happy to figure it out if you’ll get out of my way.”

He cocks his head to the side, twisting his lips together. “Why is it that when you come in here, I feel like you forget who’s in charge?”

“Because I think we both know who’s the calm, level-headed one here.” I toss my purse on the desk.

“You?” he bursts, the word floating on a laugh. “The one who bashed my truck with a baseball bat?”

“That’s a poor example. I was thinking more like the way you stomp around and try to snarl all the time.”

It’s a gamble calling him out, and I hold my breath while I wait for his response. I’m shocked when he laughs, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all morning. “I don’t stomp.”

“But you do snarl,” I wink. “So, purse?”

He hesitates, his features smoothing as he resolves himself to some decision I’m not apprised of. Closing the distance between us, he stops when he’s beside me. Reaching across my body, his arm intentionally brushing my shoulder as it passes, he lifts my purse up with two fingers.

Boxed in between the wall and his forearm, roped with a mass of veins and muscles, I keep my vision pinned on the calendar taped to the desk. As he drags the purse towards him, his bicep swipes against me again, stealing my breath.

He leans close, his lips a hair’s breadth away from the shell of my ear. “It wouldn’t be wise,” he says, his voice a few decibels above a whisper, “to leave your shit lying out and getting stolen.”

When he pulls back, it’s like oxygen is freed up in the room again.

“You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?” I ask, my cheeks heating. “From the truck to the stuff yesterday to this—you think I’m just a stupid girl who doesn’t know anything.”

He doesn’t answer, just holds my canary yellow purse in his hand.

“Well, I’m not. The truck thing was kind of stupid,” I admit, “but I didn’t mean to do that. I just …”

Scrambling for words, completely thrown off by the mixed signals from Walker, I snatch my purse from his hand. He watches me, a confused look etched on his face.

“Let me just pay you and get out of here,” I say, searching for the bank envelope.

“I’m not taking your money.”

“Why? I owe it to you.”

“Because I’m not.”

The finality in his voice startles me and I look up. He runs a hand through his hair, the spikes changing position but still sticking up. The irritation doesn’t leave his face, but it changes—from what and to what, I’m not sure. All I know is that the hand holding my purse drops to my side as I wait for him to find the words he’s so obviously searching for.

“I, um …” He forces a swallow. “Put your purse in the cabinet back there. No one can get into it but me and Peck, and while he might be a dumbass, he’s not a thief.”

“Okay,” I say quietly. There’s a shift in the air, one that swirls between us and leaves us both a little wobbly.

“Otherwise, just, um, do whatever you think needs done. There’ll be a few customers coming in this morning. Just knock on the window and Peck or I will come in and take care of it.”

“You trust Peck over me?”

“Damn right I do,” he replies.

“So I should just assume I’m not to take any payments or deal with invoices?”

His attempt at biting back his chuckle fails. “No. I can’t afford to get behind anymore.”

If I couldn’t tell he was playing, I would be pissed. But the way his lip curls on the side dissolves it before it gets started.

“My business skills are on fire,” I tell him. “You’re making a mistake, Walker.”

“I’m confident in my decision-making abilities, Slugger.”

“Your loss,” I shrug, heading towards the back cabinet. I lay my purse on a box and close it. When I turn around, he’s still there. “You gonna work today or watch me?”

Shaking his head, he heads towards the door to the garage. “Behave.”

***

Walker

“Are ya even listening to me?” Peck bumps my shoulder as he walks by. “I get it. She’s hot as hell. But we still have to get shit done.”

“Shut it.”

“Just speaking the truth,” he cracks. “You’ve managed to make it two hours without going back in there. I’m impressed.”

Tossing a wrench into the toolbox with more force than necessary, I glare at my cousin. “This was all your idea.”

“And a damn good one at that.”

I pluck a screwdriver out of the container and head back to the SUV we’ve been messing with all morning. My stomach growls as I remove the screws holding in the faulty part that’s taken two hours to get to. It falls into my hand with a heavy thud.

“Finally,” Peck says, taking it from me. “Now can I go to lunch?”

“Yeah, may as well. When you get back, maybe the new piece will be here.”

“Hell, at this rate, I’m tempted to go to the parts store in Merom and just buy the fucker. We’ve waited all day.”

“And we’ll pay double.”

He grabs his keys and phone from the rack by the door and makes his way out. I watch through the window. He stops and talks to Sienna, telling her something that makes her laugh. I move closer to the glass without thinking, wishing I could hear the sound.

It’s taken everything I have all day not to go back in there. It’s taken more than I knew I had not to look up every three seconds and look for her.

She moves with grace—her chin always lifted, her back always straight. It reminds me of the ballerinas who used to perform with Blaire when she was a little girl. Always poised, always performing. The only difference is, with Sienna, it doesn’t feel like a performance.

That’s the fucking problem right there. That’s the reason I can’t shake this girl from my system despite every attempt at doing just that.

There’s a confidence exuding from her that’s overwhelming. How can someone be that sure of themselves? How can she just blaze into my world, my business, and make decisions like she’ll just fix it if it’s wrong? Who does that?

I laid awake last night with her on my mind. I’ve worked all day today and had a stream of Sienna rolling in the back of my brain the whole morning as I tried to fix this fuel pump. She’s intoxicating, a drug foreign to me that I’ve somehow ingested and can’t purge from my body.

But I need to. Desperately.

“Hey.” Her voice sweeps through the garage, capturing my attention. “There’s a pump of some sort here. Peck said to tell you if it came in.”

“Thanks.”

She waits as I head her direction, holding the door open for me. I want to tell her to stop it, to stop making it so hard to dislike her, but I don’t. Instead, I listen to the door shut behind me and spy the box on the desk.

“What’s this for?” she asks.

“A fuel pump we’ve needed since nine,” I say, leaning against the wall. “We order everything from Standski’s, but their delivery has been shit lately. I don’t want to order from one of the online places, but they’re gonna force me to.”

“You should’ve told me. I could’ve called and spurred them on.”

“You think it would’ve helped?” I scoff.

“I can be really persuasive.”

That, I have little trouble believing. Instead of agreeing with her, I glance around the lobby. “Damn. You’ve done a lot today.”

You can see the cars in the parking lot, the trees lining the other side of the road through the now-clear windows. The floors don’t shine, but they definitely don’t have heaps of dried up mud on them either. And the desk is semi-organized with a handful of stacks of papers in a neat line on top.

“You like it?” She shoots me the brightest smile, one that hits something inside me it shouldn’t. “I didn’t know where to start, so I just started at the messiest place and moved on. I thought I’d take those rags to the cleaners when I leave.”

“To the cleaners?” I ask, lifting a brow.

“I’m not putting those greasy things in my washing machine,” she gags. “They stink too.”

“Um, fun fact, Slugger: you take those to a dry cleaners and they’ll laugh your ass right out of there.”

“Do you just throw them away then?”

“There’s about fifty bucks’ worth of towels. No, I don’t throw them away,” I say like she’s crazy. “We take them over to Suds N Spins and wash them there.”

“That’s a … what do you call it?”

“A laundromat? Haven’t you had to do laundry there before? When your washer broke or at college or something?”

“Um, nope. But I’ll take these there. What do I need to know?”

“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand. “You’ve never been to a laundromat?”

“No. So what?”

“So who even are you?”

Something crosses her features as a hand goes to her hip. “Do you want me to take them or not?”

There’s a laugh ready to expel, a reaction to how adorably sexy she is when she’s all riled up and challenging me back. Not because I’ve never been challenged, but because I don’t think anyone has ever given a fuck to actually help me and not gotten frustrated when it’s not easy.

I bite back the reaction and instead answer her question. “I’ll get to it.”

“Why are you so hard-headed?”

“Me?” I ask.

“Yes, you.” She points a white-tipped fingernail my way. “I’m trying to help you out. The least you can be is nonjudgmental.”

“I’m not being judgmental.”

“Yeah, you are.”

As I take a step forward, she takes one back. Then another. And another until her back is against the wall. Her chest rises and falls at a spectacular speed, her blue eyes sparkling in the sunshine streaming through the window. Just standing this close to her, feeling her body this close to mine, is enough to fray any sensibilities I’ve managed to hold on to.

With the most caution I’ve ever used, I drag the back of my hand down her cheek. Her skin is soft, the quiet intake of breath so perfect that I find myself forgetting where I am.

God, I want to give in. I want to dip my head down to hers and kiss the fight right out of her. She would be so perfect in my hands as I pin her to the wall, feel her body squirm against mine as our bodies press together and she moans in to my mouth.

“Damn it,” I groan, my voice more haggard than I wanted it to be as I drop my hand away from her face. “Why are you so frustrating?”

“I don’t mean to be.”

It’s not the words, but the way she whispers them that shoots through me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, forcing my feet backwards.

She sags against the wall, her fingers flexing against her sides. She searches my eyes, almost desperately, and my stomach sinks right along with her shoulders.

“What are you sorry for?” she asks.

“Nothing.” I twist around and snatch the box off the desk. “Peck headed to lunch. If you wanna go, Carlson’s Bakery has pretty good sandwiches. Tell Veronica I sent you over.”

I don’t wait for a response. I just hit the door to the bay and escape while I still can.

Seven

Sienna

The towel rubs along the steamed up glass, squeaking as it wipes away the moisture. After a few swipes, I can make out my foggy reflection.

Hair up turban-style, my body wrapped in a soft pink robe, the streaks of dirt and dust from Crank are only a distant reminder. My cheeks are still rosy, though, and I wonder if it’s from the heat of the shower or the fantasy of being pinned against the wall by Walker I just indulged while rinsing off the grime from the day.

My grin stretches from ear to ear, and with just me in the room to witness, I don’t try to hide it. There’s no point in pretending I’m not utterly perplexed by Walker Gibson.

Closing my eyes, the heat of the bathroom makes me remember the fervor zipping between us when he walked me back to the wall. There was an intensity etched on his face, lines dipping deep into his skin as he wrestled with whatever was causing the browns of his eyes to spiral like a storm. Each step towards me both a warning and a promise, a message that I couldn’t quite grasp.

I wanted him to touch me, kiss me, break this barrier he’s so obviously constructed between us. Most guys have no problem trying to see what they can get away with. Walker? I’m not sure I could beg him to.

As I take in my reflection again, the apples of my cheeks are even redder. The fabric tucked around my chest is unforgiving and I have to loosen it to breathe.

“Sienna?” Delaney’s voice sounds from the other side of the door. “I’m going to grab some takeout. You want anything?”

“No,” I say, blowing out a breath. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”

“When I get back, you’re gonna tell me all about your day. Right?”

“I’ve already told you everything,” I lie.

“Sure you have. Be back soon and then you can for real.”

Her steps soften as she heads to the doorway and end when the front door snaps shut.

Sagging against the counter, I really just want to go to bed. My body aches from all the mopping and wiping and sweeping. I did more cleaning today than I’ve ever done, despite the distraction Walker and Peck delivered through the window.

Peck, on his own, would be hard to not watch. He has this boy-next-door sweetheart thing going on and a personality like a magnet. But next to Walker, he doesn’t exist.

I open the door, letting the warm, wet air trickle into the rest of the house. Everything is quiet as I make my way to the living room and plop down on the chair. The blue and red plaid material is rough against my legs. I’ve hated this chair since Delaney had me help her carry it in from a swap meet when I first moved here.

A few boxes sit half-packed against the wall and reality bowls me over. In a few days, Delaney will be gone. I’ll be here. Alone.

Tears well up in my eyes as I take out my phone and pull up social media. My friends from back home smile from Tybee Island. My girlfriends are posting loop videos of themselves at dinner at one of our favorite restaurants there. Right before I click off, I see a picture my sister posted of her holding my father’s hand. It’s innocent with a text saying, “I love my daddy,” but there’s nothing in the picture that I recognize besides the scar running from his index finger down the top that happened one Christmas morning a long time ago. But there is the edge of what I suspect is a hospital bracelet and a blue and white checked fabric faded into the background that looks eerily like a hospital gown.

The longer I look at the picture, the more I can’t shake the fact that something isn’t right: Camilla posting something so intimate on social media. The odd location, the way the photo blurs and shows really nothing to the naked eye.

A chill tearing through me, I call Camilla. It rings twice, my heartbeat soaring with each tone, before she answers.

“What’s going on?” I ask immediately.

“Did Graham call you?”

“No. Why would G call me?” I spring to my feet, my heart in my throat. “What’s happening, Cam?”

“Calm down. It’s nothing or I would’ve called you already. You know that.”

“It’s something or we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”

My tone almost reaches the level of panic, a ball of tension taking root at the back of my neck. Every possible situation that could be wrong screeches through my mind.

“Dad didn’t feel well today,” Cam says gently. “Mom took him to the emergency room to be safe. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” I ask, aghast that she would downplay something as serious as a trip to the ER. The fact that he allowed Mom to take him has vomit threatening to spew from my mouth. “What did they say? Is he okay?”

“They said it was angina and he should make some dietary and exercise changes. He has to see a cardiologist sometime soon.”

Red-hot tears dot the corners of my eyes, a ball lodged in my throat making it impossible to talk.

“He’s going to be okay, Sienna.”

“Do I need to come home?” I say, my voice sounding all gulpy.

“No. We’d love to see you, but don’t race home because of this. He’s irritated tonight. Graham showed up and tried to tell Dad what he was going to do, so that went over well.”

“I bet,” I chuckle. “Who won?”

“Mom,” she laughs. “She told them both to settle down in that voice she keeps for the two times a year she actually gets mad.”

Imagining my sweet mother’s face angry, I’m able to catch my breath. When she goes into that mode, she gets shit done. She fixes the problem. It’s where my siblings and I get our need to step in and take care of things.

“So Dad’s okay?” I ask, taking a long, calming breath.

“He’s fine right now. If anything comes of it, you know you’ll be my first call.”

Slumping back down in the scratchy chair, the adrenaline from thinking there was a crisis starts to wane. “You had me scared with your vaguebook.”

“I didn’t vaguebook. Dominic took the picture and I thought it was nice so I posted it. I didn’t expect anyone to read that much into it,” she laughs. “I should’ve known you would.”

“Of course I would. So Dom was there?”

She chatters on about her new-to-the-family boyfriend, one who I knew about for almost a year before she told everyone. He’s a good guy—he treats Cam like gold and he and I get along great. I know I should be thrilled that he was there for her, for my mother, tonight, but I can’t help but acknowledge the jealousy that stems from him getting to be there and me not.

“He fits so well into the family,” she continues to gush. “I don’t know why I was so afraid of bringing him around. Ford loves having him work at Landry Security. Lincoln loves kicking his ass on the golf course,” she giggles.

“Sounds great.”

Stop. Biting my cheek, I have to remind myself that I’m not there because I chose not to be. I’m the one who opts out of living there. I’m the one who doesn’t want to end up in pearls and heels alongside my mother and sister. I don’t want to be a pawn in a world with reporters and security guards and paid drivers. I don’t want to be a piece of something. I want something I’m a part of. Something that I need as much as it needs me.

“It’s been great,” she admits. “But what about you? What’s happening up there? Tell me your good stuff.”

I consider telling her about Walker’s truck. I think for a brief moment about replaying my day in the auto shop, about Walker and Peck and Nana and all the things I’ve done over the past few days, but decide not to. She’d understand, probably even love it. But the follow-up questions would be too much, and besides, what’s the point? I’m leaving here soon anyway. There’s no sense in making this anything more than a distraction. Instead, I focus on facts.

“Delaney is going to work for her family,” I tell her.

“What does that mean for you?”

“Just that the business will be mine. I’m going to call Graham tomorrow and have him get the papers together for me,” I say, wondering how our brother will take that bit of news.

There is a part of me that hoped I could impress my brother by striking out on my own. I understand design and I understand the business behind it and somehow, by Delaney leaving, it feels like I didn’t keep it together.

“How do you feel about that?” Cam asks.

“She has to do what she has to do. It’s her family, you know? I’d do the same for you guys.”

“I was hoping you had happier news.”

“Well,” I start, an eruption of warmth swelling from deep within me. I can’t stop it. “I met a hot-as-hell car guy.”

“Oooh, car guys,” she squeals. “Tell me about him.”

“It’s not like that,” I warn.

“It is. I hear it in your voice.”

“It really isn’t,” I say, the seriousness in my tone not matching the grin on my cheeks.

“Then tell me about him that’s not like that,” she laughs.

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The words get jumbled on my tongue, the descriptions, the place to start gets fuzzy as I mentally jump from one thing to another. I don’t know where to begin.

Pacing the room, one foot in front of the other, I search desperately for words that I can’t come up with.

“Got it,” Cam says after a long pause.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“That’s how I got it.”

“Oh, shut up,” I say, rearranging magazines on the coffee table for a distraction. “There’s really nothing to tell. I just hit his truck with a bat and then—”

“Wait. You did what?”

“It was an accident.”

“I … I don’t know where to start with that.”

“Don’t, because that’s not where we’re going,” I tell her. “So he owns a car repair shop and somehow I’ve managed to spend a little time down there to pay off my debt.”

“Does he not take cash?”

“He does, but it’s a long and convoluted story, Cam.”

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, clearing her throat to hide the amusement laced in her tone. “You damaged his truck and are now working it off. Like, manual labor? You. My twin sister, Sienna Jane Landry, working in a car repair shop?”

Laughing, because it sounds even crazier hearing it out loud from someone else, I throw up my one free hand. “Basically. That’s it.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

“It’s crazy, right?” I say, Walker’s face now firmly affixed in my mind. “Thank God it’s only for a couple of weeks. Or, maybe it was just for today. I’m not sure, actually …”

The words no more than enter the world and I wish I could take them back. Even I can hear the way my voice dropped off at the end.

“Tell me about him,” she says easily, prying me for information in the most unobtrusive way. “What’s he like?”

Heading into the kitchen, I try, once again, to figure out where to start. As I try to come up with a good description, I grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and take a good, long drink.

Finally, after I’ve put the cap back on and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and stalled for as long as I can, I suck in a deep breath. “His name is Walker. He’s infuriatingly difficult. A total grump. Broody.”

“And …”

“He wears a plain black t-shirt almost every day. His eyelashes are the longest I’ve ever seen on a man. When he’s amused but doesn’t want me to know it, the left corner of his lip turns up.” The words come out in a rush and I know I’ve said too much but can’t stop myself from saying more. “Walker tries really, really hard to be an ass,” I say, rolling my eyes, “but I think he’s probably really kind. His grandma, Nana, makes dinner every Sunday like our mom does and expects him to show up, and when he doesn’t, she comes in and gives him hell.”

My laugh is free and easy, my downtrodden spirits now lifted. “He has a cousin named Peck. I have no idea why they call him that or if it’s his real name. The two of them remind me of Lincoln and Ford,” I say, thinking of my two brothers that can be oil and water. “They’re always nitpicking each other, but you can tell if someone messes with either, it’s game on for both.”

Cam gives me a second to catch my breath. “Sounds like you like them.”

“They’re … interesting.”

“Maybe they’re more than interesting.”

If Delaney had said that, I’d fire back with some reply as to how I’m not interested in Walker Gibson. But it’s not Delaney, it’s Camilla, the one person in the world I can’t lie to.

“They remind me of being in Savannah,” I admit, looking at the gold ring on my right pointer finger. It’s a thin band with a rustic teepee design. My brothers got Cam and I both one for Christmas. They blamed the whole thing on Ford who deflected any responsibility in getting his two baby sisters something so sweet for the holiday. In truth, I’d bet it was Barrett found the jeweler, Graham funded it, although I’d bet Ford probably did come up with the idea, and Lincoln probably picked it out. But we’ll never know. “They remind me of our brothers in a weird way, but without the expectations. They don’t care if I say the wrong thing, and if I came in with a new tattoo, they’d probably like it or at least find it interesting,” I say, finding a warmth spreading inside me. “They don’t know our last name, but if they did, I don’t think they’d care.”

“That’s hard to find,” she notes.

“Almost impossible, but I think I might’ve,” I say, feeling a swell in my chest. “They’re just easy, even though they’re difficult. It’s hard to explain.”

“Do you think you’ll stay there then?” she asks softly.

“No,” I scoff, running a hand through the air. “No way. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m not staying here. Have you ever seen an Illinois winter?”

“No. Can’t say I want to.”

“Exactly.”

“Maybe you’ll come home then?”

My mind settles back on my father and the image Camilla posted. “Maybe this time I won’t go as far away. Maybe I’ll look into Atlanta or Florida or something.”

“Can I ask you something, sis?”

“Sure.”

“Would it be that bad to come back? To settle down here. Meet me for lunch and go shopping and take yoga at Mallory’s …”

I imagine my sister’s face, all twisted in hope like she does when she’s afraid someone is going to tell her no. I sit at the table and feel my spirits drop with my body. “It wouldn’t be bad, Cam. It’s just not for me.”

“What’s not for you?”

“I just … Mom gave up everything when she married Dad.”

“She did not,” Cam says, defending her. “She had a role in Dad’s campaigns, in Grandpa’s campaigns. She’s spent her life changing other people’s through her charities and raised six kids.”

“I know that. But Mom could’ve rocked her own political career. Probably better than Dad. Think about what she could’ve done had she not stepped back and fallen into this other role. She could’ve ruled the damn world.”

“I think she does,” Cam says sweetly. “Her world is Dad and us.”

What Cam is saying is true. I know that. But it doesn’t negate what I’m saying. “Isn’t that kind of sad? That her world shrank to the size of the Landry Estate just so she could fill some stupid role?”

Cam sighs. “I get what you mean.”

“No, you don’t,” I scoff. “You’ve wanted to be our mother since we were little girls.”

“That’s true. I’ve always thought our mother was the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

“So do I,” I insist.

“But here’s where we differ,” Cam says gently. “I don’t think she gave anything up. I think she chose a role that could give her heart more than she ever could’ve gotten out of politics or business or whatever else. Look at what Dad accomplished. Look at Landry Holdings. But he never got to do the fun stuff with us, Sienna. He gave up a lot of things to create his legacy for them, for us, while Mom got to do other things. Important things, just in a different way.”

“Maybe …”

I see her point, but I still don’t agree. I watched her for years sit back with the answers to my father’s quandaries and only offer them up in the solitude of their bedroom after we’d all gone to sleep. I watched her friends jet off to Europe on vacations and go to see Broadway shows and she stayed behind, raising us. I don’t want that life.

I want ripped jeans, nights with whiskey slurring, and laughing with no regard to who is taking a picture. I want to experience Yosemite on a whim. To live my life without the constraints of someone else’s.

“I need to go, Cam,” I say, taking the towel off my head. My hair falls to the small of my back as I run my free hand through it. “Keep me posted on Dad, okay?”

“Okay. And, hey—don’t call out there tonight. He’s pissy that anyone knows at all. Lincoln showed up when I was leaving and I think the only reason Dad tolerated that was because he brought the baby. Mom has her hands full, you know?”

“Okay. I won’t call tonight.”

“Thanks. Talk to you soon.”

“Goodnight.”

Eight

Sienna

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I hiss as Delaney leads me down the sidewalk towards Crave.

“You put up little to no fight, my friend. Stop acting like you’re shocked you’re here.”

“You said you wanted to go out. That it would be one of the last times we got to hang out for a while.”

“And, here we are. Mission Hang Out is commencing.” She tugs open the door before I can say no. “After you.”

Sounds of the bar spill onto the sidewalk, as does the multi-colored glow of beer advertisements and signage. The air smells of salt and I’m turning on my heel when I hear a familiar voice inside calling my name.

“It’s the blond,” she whispers. “What’s his name?”

“Sienna! Get in here,” Peck lures me in from somewhere in the depths of the building.

With a deep breath and an eye roll, my nerves on high alert knowing that if Peck is here, there’s a decent chance Walker is too, I step inside.

It’s brighter than I imagine and not as busy as I would’ve thought. Delaney stands beside me as we get acclimated to the venue.

“Hey,” a bartender says. He has short, dark hair and wide, broad shoulders. A goatee dusts his chin, and with the five o’clock stubble spattering his face, he’s right up Delaney’s alley. “I’m Machlan. You must be Sienna.”

“This really is a small town,” I sigh.

“It is, but that one,” he says, nodding towards Peck, “is my cousin. Being that you are working with my brother, you can bet I’ve heard about you a time or two … dozen.” His lips part into a smile as his gaze settles on Delaney. “I haven’t heard about you yet, love. Wanna fill me in?”

“I’d love to.” She bats her lashes, taking a seat at the end of the bar. I nudge her in the back, in shock she’s leaving me alone, when she waves me off. “Go on. Go have fun.”

“I hate you,” I whisper. She fails to respond, too enchanted with Machlan’s smirk.

Peck, a beer in one hand, sidles up to me. “What brings you by tonight?”

“Her.” I nudge Delaney again. “I didn’t imagine I’d see you here.”

“No, right? So totally crazy and random. Why would we be here, the place we met you?”

I force a swallow past the lump in my throat. “You say ‘we’ …”

“Walker’s sitting back there by the pool table. Wanna come say hi?”

“No.”

Laughing, he motions for me to follow with his head. “Let’s go.”

“But Peck,” I whine.

“What else you gonna do, Slugger? And let’s be honest, you came here to see him.” He stops. “Unless you came to see me?”

“Peck …”

“That’s what I thought,” he sighs. “It’s never for me. Come on.”

Against my better judgement, but totally in line with my libido, I follow Peck through the small groupings of people. As we near the end of the bar and the billiards area comes into view, I see Walker. And he sees me.

There’s no indication of whether this makes him happy or pissy and all I can do is try not to let the spiraling anxiety swirling in my belly take over.

“Look what I found,” Peck tells him. “Just standing up there by the bar, waiting on Tommy to find her.”

“Who’s Tommy?” I ask as a flash of something fierce flickers through Walker’s features.

“You just get here?” Walker asks, ignoring my question.

“Yeah. Peck thought I should say hi, and in case you saw me, I didn’t want to be rude.”

He roughs a hand down his face. When he puts it back on his lap, rocking his chair on the back two legs, he averts his gaze to his cousin. “Get her a drink, will ya?”

“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll go up there and get one in a minute.”

“What’ll it be, lady?” Peck grins.

“Um, an amaretto sour?”

“Typical chick drink. Be right back.”

Peck dashes away. A couple plays pool on one side and another half-dances, half-copulates on the other beneath the dick-shaped duck lights, but we’re alone otherwise. Tucking a strand of hair out of my face, I wait until I can’t take the awkwardness anymore.

“I’ll go get the drink. It was nice to see you,” I say.

“Wanna sit?” he gruffs out.

“What? No, I’m fine.”

“Sit down,” he sighs, sitting on all four legs again. “I won’t bite.”

“I’m not totally convinced of that,” I mutter.

He leans forward, gripping a bottle in front of him with both hands. “If I did,” he whispers, “you’d like it.”

His tone dances across my skin, the words pooling in between my thighs. It takes every bit of self-control I can muster to remain unaffected—at least on the surface.

Walker’s attention rests with me, every blink, twitch, and gasp duly noted. The power, although never completely mine, is slipping away quickly and I have to get some of it back.

Sitting across from him, I let him wonder what my response will be before I finally give it to him. “If I didn’t,” I say, “that would be embarrassing for you, wouldn’t it?”

A slow smile plays on his lips before he lifts the bottle and drains whatever is left in it. It sets with a thud. “What brought you to Linton, anyway?”

“Tonight or in general?”

He shrugs.

“My friend wanted to come in tonight, so that’s why we’re here. She’s also why I’m in Linton at all, really. What about you?”

“Born and raised here.”

“I was born and raised in Georgia,” I tell him. “Went to school in Los Angeles. Ended up here for the time being.”

“How the hell did you go from LA to Linton?” He leans forward, his brows pulled together.

“Delaney had a business idea and I thought, ‘Why not?’” I say, lifting my shoulders and dropping them back down.

“What is it you do?”

“Design things. Clothes, merchandise, marketing material—whatever someone needs, really.”

He looks beyond me with a slight shake of his head. “Can you design Peck a brain?”

“Why?”

I turn around in just enough time to witness Peck bent on one knee in front of a brunette, a beer extended in the same way a person would a ring. “Who’s that he’s … proposing to?” I giggle.

“A girl who doesn’t deserve him.”

Lifting a brow, I can’t help but smile. He flinches.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he insists. “Peck is just way too good for Molly and he doesn’t even realize it.”

“I take it we aren’t big Molly fans?”

“She’d fuck a dog with two dicks, if you catch my drift.”

Not sure whether to laugh or vomit at that imagery, I just squeeze my eyes shut. “That is so disgusting.”

“Then you catch my drift.”

The rhythm between us slides into motion, calming my nerves and settling me down. His body relaxes too as we watch each other across the empty field of bottles on the table.

“Did you drink all of these?” I ask, motioning towards the maybe ten bottles lined up.

“Nope. I think I’ve had two.”

“I can’t drink beer. I don’t drink a lot at all, actually.”

A touch of surprise floats across his features as that sinks in. “Not even wine? Don’t all women drink wine?”

“Not me. I don’t care for the taste of it, to be honest. And I really hate the feeling of not being clear-headed. If I drink, I’m home with my friends or sister or something.” Biting my lip, considering how that makes me sound, I make a face. “Guess I’m not much fun, huh?”

He leans forward again, his cologne drifting my way. A shiver trickles down my spine as I sit under his heavy, wonderful gaze. “I think fun can be described a lot of ways. Alcohol usually takes a lot of that out of the equation.”

“What about you?” I ask, needing the focus off me for a moment.

“What about me?”

“Are you fun?”

He does this half-snort, half-chuckle thing that only increases my curiosity.

“What’s that about?” I poke, picking up one of the bottles and sloshing the mouthful or two left around.

“Why are you so full of questions?”

Placing the bottle in the middle of the table, I contemplate my choices. Sit here and let him navigate the conversation or walk away for a bit and let him come to me.

Decision made, I stand. “No more questions. See ya later.”

I flash a smile at his slightly puzzled reaction and walk away before I change my mind.

There are a few more people now than before, and by the time I reach the bar, I can’t spot either Delaney or Peck. Machlan is still behind the bar, wiping up a spilled drink.

“Hey,” I say, taking a seat on an empty stool. “Did Peck order me a drink?”

“Nope. What do you want?”

“Something colorful, light on alcohol, but fun?”

“Fun is my specialty,” he winks, heading off towards the blender.

His back flexes and pulls as he works the bar, grabbing bottles and scooping ice. He reminds me of Walker in a lot of ways, but lacks that mystery that drives me insane.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” I mutter, turning in my seat only to bump into someone beside me.

Blond hair, emerald eyes, and teeth so perfectly straight they have to have been designed by a dentist smile back at me. “Well, hello,” he drawls. “Haven’t seen you before.”

“Not from here,” I confirm, swinging back around in my seat.

This man is off-the-presses hot, and if I were a gambling girl, I’d say he’s modeled before. The way he moves his long, lean body is something that’s taught, not something you’re born with.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.

“She ordered one.” Machlan sets a glass in front of me with more force than necessary. “What can I get you, Tommy?”

The man I now know as Tommy looks at me as he answers Machlan. “I think I’m good right now.”

“Make sure you’re still good the next time I check on ya,” Machlan says, a warning written in every syllable. “Feel me?”

I slide away from the two of them, some unspoken pissing match firing between them. Machlan’s hand hits the bar, making Tommy flinch.

“I, um, I think I need to find my friend,” I say, climbing off the stool.

“What’s she look like?”

“It’s fine,” I say, unable to shake the feeling from moments ago. “I’ll find her.”

“I just walked through. Maybe I know.”

His hand touches the small of my back as he follows me towards the area I last saw Peck. It’s too heavy for someone who just met me, too intimate for anyone who wasn’t invited.

“Really. I’m okay. I’ll find her,” I reiterate, increasing my speed in hopes he’ll drop his hand.

As I feel the coolness return to my back, my sight is drawn to the billiards area. Walker is standing, his arms over his chest, a look of death aimed at Tommy.

“Where are you, Delaney?” I mumble, sorting through the crowd. With each step I take, I feel Tommy take the same one, his voice behind me, but I can’t hear what he’s saying over the music.

I don’t find Delaney, but do spy the red sign for the restroom. Tommy’s hand again on my back, I spin around. “Gotta use the little girls’ room. Thanks for your help.”

Before he can say anything, I’m off through the doorway.

***

Walker

“Why do you look like you’re two seconds from committing murder?” Peck’s question rings out from beside me.

“I’d say two seconds is a stretch. Probably more like six.”

My sight pinned on Tommy Jones, I follow that asshole through the crowd. He stops at various women, kissing their cheeks, grabbing a handful of ass, depending on what he can get away with.

“Where’s Sienna?” Peck asks.

“Bathroom.”

“She hasn’t met Tommy, has she?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, shit.”

I wonder, vaguely, how long you can have your blood pressure as high as mine without your heart exploding. From the moment he touched her—no, from the moment he sat down beside her—my veins have pulsed with a tempo that can’t be healthy.

I hate that motherfucker more than anyone on Earth. He’s a worthless, pussified cocksucker who tried once, only once, to pull his shit on my sister. He got some free dental work out of that encounter.

Sienna comes out of the restroom, her eyes darting around Crave. She’s tucking her hands into her pockets, not harboring that swagger of confidence that usually rolls off her. That alone pisses me off because I know it’s Tommy who took it. But when I see him head her way, my body vibrates in anticipation.

“Patience,” Peck warns. “You can’t just go over there balls to the wall.”

“I know.” And I fucking hate it.

Someone like her shouldn’t be in the same room with the rest of us. She’s a good chameleon, blending in with whatever environment she’s in, but I can tell she’s just that—a faker. She doesn’t hang out in shithole towns with shitty bars. You can see the little nuances if you watch for them, like the way she looks at what everyone’s drinking before she orders or how she’d have no idea what a place like this would even serve. It’s adorable, really, highly entertaining. And it leaves her vulnerable.

“I don’t think she likes him,” Peck notes as Tommy tries to step in front of her.

“Me either.”

She moves backwards, laughing, but the way her hands clench at her sides isn’t how she usually looks when she’s giggling. She’s not lifting her chin or cocking her head a touch to the left.

Tommy reaches for her arm, grabbing her just behind her elbow.

It’s one motion, one jerk of her arm away. It’s one moment of lip reading as she forms the word “Ouch,” that has me storming towards them.

I can barely see straight and it has nothing to do with the two beers I drank. My body shakes so fucking bad, ready to break this asshole’s face for a second time. By the time I get to them, they see me coming.

Sienna sags against the wall, Tommy taking a giant step away from her.

“You okay?” I ask her before I even get there.

“Yes,” she sighs, looking at me with wide eyes.

“You,” I say, turning towards Tommy, “are not okay.”

“I had no idea she was with you—”

My fist slams into his mouth before he can even get his excuse out of his trap. The explosion is a perfect cross, shoving all the way through until my arm is extended with his face at the end.

Sienna gasps, her hand flying to her mouth, but wisely stays to the side next to Peck.

Tommy is crouched on the floor, one hand tapping at his mouth. He swipes a trail of blood down the side as Machlan shoves through the crowd and takes in the scene.

My muscles flex, ready to lunge forward and hit him again. Machlan positions himself so I’d have to go through him to do it.

“What the hell did you do now?” Machlan looks down at Tommy with no pity.

“Your brother fucking hit me! Did someone call the police?”

No one says a word, the song on the radio overhead wrapping up the only sound. Tommy looks around, getting to his feet. As he realizes everyone is watching, you can see the anger and humiliation building.

“You’re going down for this one,” Tommy snarls. “I’m calling the police.”

“You do that.” Sienna steps to my side, her head held high. “Call them. I’d love to talk to the Sheriff about how you grabbed my arm.”

“You little bitch—”

He doesn’t get that one out either before I rock him back with a left hook. His body weight twisting him around with the force of the punch, he lands again on his feet like a fucking cat.

“Tommy,” Machlan booms, “I’m going to suggest you get the hell out of here while you can walk. Because if you open your mouth again, it’ll be the last time for a while.”

“Fuck you and this hillbilly town.” Tommy spits a mouthful of blood on the floor. “Fuck all of you.”

The crowd parts as he storms through it, the front door smashing so hard it sounds like the glass breaks. It’s the trigger that gets everyone talking again. Before I know it, it’s just me, Sienna, and Machlan.

As the adrenaline settles, the blood shining in the light, I realize what I’ve done.

“Fuck,” I growl, so many things floating through my head that I can’t make sense of any of them. The only thing that clears them for a brief moment is Sienna touching my hand.

“This is swollen,” she says softly, holding my hand in both of hers. “Can we get him some ice, Machlan?”

“I’m fine,” I grumble.

“You aren’t fine.” She lifts my hand to inspect it, her eyes full of concern. Watching her trying to get a plan together to fix me makes me forget about all the pain.

“I gotta get this mess cleaned up,” Machlan breathes. “You okay, Sienna?”

“Yeah. He just grabbed me. I think he pinched a pressure point or something.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” Machlan says before disappearing to the store room.

She’s right in front of me, her soft skin against mine. Kindness and worry about me, even though she was the one hurt, is all I see on her face.

Taking my hand away, even though my head screams inside not to, I lift her arm carefully. Her skin is smooth, a creamy white, and I’m relieved there are no bruises.

“I’m fine, Walker. Really.”

“It doesn’t hurt anywhere? You sure?” I run a hand down her arm, feeling for any lumps, watching for her to cringe. She doesn’t.

“I’m sure.”

Nodding, not trusting what will come out of my mouth, I place her arm back to her side.

“Thank you for doing that,” she gulps. “I don’t really know what to say. Just … thank you.”

“Yeah. No problem,” I say, exhaling roughly as the pain throbs up my wrist.

“I’m worried about you,” Sienna says, reaching for my hand again.

Letting myself give in for a split second, I touch the side of her face. She leans into it, her eyes filled with something I can’t put my finger on. Before I can do anything else, I flip her a nod and a tight smile and leave out the back door.

Nine

Walker

“That oughta do it.” Machlan takes a step back and examines our handiwork. “Looks good to me.”

“I think it’s sturdy,” I note, gripping the edge of the gutter and giving it a shake with my good hand. The other is still swollen from Tommy’s face. “Yeah. That’s solid as shit.”

We walk back to my truck and lay our tools on the bed. My brother fishes around in the cooler until he retrieves a bottle of water. Popping it open, he takes a long, leisurely swig before wiping his mouth with his shirt.

“You just left a smear of black shit across your face,” I say, nodding towards the line going from one cheek to the other ear.

“Yeah, well, I gotta get a shower anyway.”

The sun barely streams over the tops of the trees lining the back of Nana’s property. Deep purples and pumpkin oranges streak the sky as a flock of birds fly into the evergreens. I’m not sure what’s written on my face, but when I turn to look at Machlan, he’s smiling.

“What?” I ask, unlatching the toolbox bolted into the top of the bed of my truck.

“What’s on your mind tonight, Walker?”

“Nothin’.”

“I’m gonna have to call you out on that bullshit.”

Resting my forearms on the bed, I look at him like he’s a dumbass. Of course there’s a lot of shit on my mind. Even if I could stop thinking about Sienna, my throbbing hand would remind me every time I go to move it. But I don’t want to talk to him about that. “Now how in the world do you know what’s on my mind?”

“Because I’m your brother. I know you almost as well as I know myself.”

“You don’t know shit,” I tell him, picking up the hammer and screwdrivers and tossing them into the toolbox. They clamor as they land on top of a variety of other tools.

“So I can assume everything Peck said is false?” he asks.

“Don’t we always assume everything he says is false?”

“Not everything,” he insists. “Sometimes he’s right.”

“Like when?” I snort.

“Like when he said I should dump Janette because she was a whore.”

“I fucking told you that too. Peck doesn’t get credit for that when the whole damn town knew it.”

“Easy there, tiger,” Machlan says, wagging a finger my way. “Let’s not start talking about our history of whores. I believe you have—”

“Enough.” Flashing him a warning glance, I slam the toolbox closed. In typical brotherly fashion, he laughs again. Louder this time. More pointed this time. “Machlan, I think it’s time to call it a night.”

“I think we’re just getting started.”

“See,” I say, swinging the truck door open as my jaw sets in place, “this is where you’re wrong. You never know when to shut the fuck up.”

“No, I think I always know when you want to avoid shit and I force you to think about it.”

“You don’t force me to do anything besides want to punch your face in.”

“Well, by the look of Tommy’s face the other night, your skills seem to be pretty sharp. You might even be able to hang with me for a second or two.” He opens the passenger side door and looks at me through the cab. “You really like her, don’t you?”

“Who?” I deadpan.

“Come on, Walk.”

“You want to say goodbye to Nana or just get out of here?” I ask, deflecting his stupid fucking question.

Climbing into the cab, I ignore my brother as he takes his seat and buckles his seatbelt. I usually give him a hard time about strapping in like a good little citizen, but I let it slide this time. I simply don’t have the energy to rile him up. I expended every ounce of energy I could muster today trying to seem like I wasn’t paying attention to Sienna.

If it wasn’t her ass in those shorts as she stood on a chair and washed the windows, it was the way she chewed on her bottom lip as she sorted invoices. If I got really lucky, her laugh would float into the garage bay and I’d fight a hard-on while changing someone’s oil.

Sienna is organized. My customers love her. She got Standski to get parts to us within an hour all week. I can’t find a reason to dislike her no matter how hard I try.

The logical, maybe even compassionate, side of me wants to tell her to call it even. That’s what I should do. That’s the smart option for both of us.

The stronger side of me, the one that’s laced with testosterone, wants me to give Peck the day off, lock the doors to Crank, and just strip her down on the office desk. I’d start at her sweet lips, kissing my way down to her—

“You still here?” Machlan asks, nudging me in the side. “I mean, I’m happy to sit here all night, but let me know so I can get comfortable.”

Rolling my eyes, I start up the truck and pull down Nana’s lane.

“Guess that settles that,” he mumbles as we pass her house. “So, Peck says Sienna is super hot, which I already knew, but he also said she—”

“Peck needs to stop talking about her.” I say it too fast, with too much force. Keeping my gaze on the road, I don’t look at my brother because I don’t want to see the victory in his eyes that I know is there. “You, too, for that matter.”

“That’s hard, in more ways than one, if you catch my drift.”

He’s saying it to piss me off. It works. My knuckles turn white as they wrap around the steering wheel, imagining it’s Machlan’s neck.

“You can keep your thoughts about Sienna to yourself,” I say through clenched teeth. Just thinking about him thinking about jacking off to her makes me want to come undone. I hate this feeling of not being able to control my reaction to Sienna and having to listen to these assholes poke me about it.

“Well, if it’s nothing to you, I don’t see why it can’t be something to someone else. If she finds her way into Crave this weekend, you know what’ll happen. Every cocksucker in there will have his number in her hands.”

I don’t have to look at my brother out of the corner of my eye to know he’s pulling my chain, but I do anyway. When I take in his cheesy smile and arched brow, I cut the steering wheel hard to bounce him around in his seat.

Laughing, Machlan adjusts his shoulder strap. “I haven’t seen you like this in a long time, brother.”

“Let’s not go there.”

“I’m not going there,” he promises. “I’m just saying, it’s fun to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“She’s gotten under your skin.”

It’s a simple phrase, one I’ve heard used to describe people in songs and even, sometimes, in real life. But never have I truly understood what it meant until this very moment.

He’s right. She’s burrowed her way into my mind, maybe without even trying. Something about her just sparks a match deep inside me, one I can’t put out no matter how hard I try. In a perfect world, I’d ask her to dinner. I’d ask her about the little drawl to her voice and what the ring on her finger means. I’d ask her why she chose purple to streak her hair and why she always hums the same catchy ditty to herself.

But I don’t. Because that would be stupid. Because scratching this particular itch would only spread it. This isn’t a bug bite. This is poison ivy.

I take the final turn to Machlan’s house and pull up in front of the two-story brick home that was our parents’. The house where we all grew up.

Flicking the transmission into park, I look at him. “Thanks for helping me tonight.”

“Yeah. No problem. I’m gonna grab a shower and then head into Crave. Our orders for the week go in tomorrow and I don’t know what we have and what we don’t.” He grabs the handle, but stops. “Walker, look, I know I was giving you hell, but really … I think it’s good you’re finally starting to come around. You’ve done everything right, brother. But fuck it. You deserve a life too.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Let it—”

“Mach,” I warn, cutting him off. “Don’t. All right? Just don’t.”

Fists clenched at my sides, I look at the house and not at him.

“How long you gonna do this?” he asks. “Up until now, I get it. There hasn’t been anyone who’s worth a damn. But Sienna is different, Walk.”

“You getting out or what?” I ask.

Heaving a breath, he climbs out of my truck. “See ya on Sunday.”

“Later.”

As soon as the door closes, I peel out of the driveway. I should turn left to go home, but that would only make things worse. Instead, I take a right and drive aimlessly into the darkening night.

Ten

Walker

A rock song blares on the overhead speakers as I fish under a table for a dropped bolt. The tune is one of my favorites, one that I play when I need to zone out and focus on a job. After getting here two hours early and getting nothing accomplished, I tried my luck with music. Turns out, my luck is out.

My hand rolls along the cool concrete floor, grasping wildly for the errant piece. My mind is just as desperate for a resolution of its own.

The lyrics, lines I’ve heard dozens of times over my life, sound brand new this morning. I’ve never picked up on the innuendo or the suggestive undertones before. As the words thump through the room, my mind is drawn further and further away from the broken axel on the pickup in front of me and closer to the blonde who should be walking in the door at any minute.

The truck has been a headache, but Sienna is a fucking migraine. At least with the truck, there are procedures and handbooks and common knowledge that can be applied to solve the riddle. With her? It’s madness. There’s not a handbook besides the back of a whiskey label to fix this.

“Hey,” Peck says, breaking me from my spell. His head is stuck around the door, having just arrived. “Donaldson is in. Where’s his invoice?”

“Fuck if I know,” I grumble. “Sienna filed all that shit.”

“Where?”

“All I know is the folders were all sparkly. There’s still glitter on the floor back there. I’d just follow the glitter trail, Peck.”

“I’d like to follow that glitter trail,” he smirks.

Flashing him a look, my lips pressing together so hard they hurt, I watch as he laughs.

“I heard the guys at Crave talking about her last night. You have three calls on the answering machine right now with men wanting to bring their trucks in for basic shit they usually do themselves. You get what I’m saying?” he asks.

“Charge Donaldson fifty bucks. Get what I’m saying?” I ask, lifting a brow.

Peck laughs again, the sound cut off by the door closing. I go back to the truck and try to ignore the pain across the back of my shoulders. The lug nut is almost tightened when my hand falls from the tool. It dings off the concrete, making a racket, but I stay squatted down and wait. Within a few seconds, her laugh spills from the lobby and floods my ears.

The grin that settles over my lips every morning when I feel her presence does its thing, but because no one is here to see it, I let it go. I let my stupid body react while my brain screams at it to stop. It’s like I’m trapped in a madman’s world where the two parts of me are in a constant battle. My brain is right. My body is wrong. We all know it. It’s common with men. But the override button I can usually press on my physical reactions is broken and that’s why I’m fucked.

Angling my ear so I can hear her better, the faint pitches and dips of her voice as she teases Peck melt away a bit of my stress.

She showed up. Again.

Rocking back on my heels, I let out a breath before standing. As I turn around, the door is opening behind me and Peck’s dumb ass is whistling as he comes in.

“Good Lord almighty,” he cackles. “You need to go see that.”

“See what?”

“See what,” he scoffs. “I don’t know. That ass. Those fucking legs. Hell, even her purple hair is hot. But the best part is, she brought in blueberry muffins.” A hand clamps on my shoulder. “She cooks, Walk. She fucking cooks.”

“So what?” I say, rolling my eyes for his benefit. “I cook. Nana cooks. Veronica at Carlson’s cooks. It’s not a thing.”

“And as much as I love Nana, she doesn’t look like that.”

Heading towards the sink in the back, I use every bit of self-control I have not to look at the lobby window. “Don’t you feel guilty for mentally cheating on Molly McCarter?”

“Ah, don’t bring her up,” he sighs. “I saw her this morning at Goodman’s gas station. She waved at me.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little pathetic you have that look on your face because she waved at you?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little pathetic you have that look on your face because Sienna is standing out there and you’re too chicken shit to go out there and talk to her?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Flipping on the tap with more force than necessary, I rub my hands together beneath the freezing cold water with gusto.

Peck follows me and leans against the wall. “No one is going to think badly of you if you—”

“Is that what you think this is?” The faucet squeals as the water shuts off. “You think I’m worried what any of you will think?”

“Yeah. I do. I think you think we’re gonna judge you.”

A low rumble escapes my throat, the mountain of morning irritability now focused solely on him. “When have I ever given a fuck what anyone thinks of me, Peck? When I walked away from the football scholarship at EIU so I could help Dad out around here? Did I care then? Or when I beat the shit out of Tommy Jones for laying a hand on Blaire? Did I care that some people around here thought I was some kind of barbarian fucking up the golden boy of Linton? Because I don’t remember that.”

“I think this is a little different.”

“You would.”

Stomping across the garage, I glance quickly at the window but don’t see Sienna. A bit of relief runs through me that she can’t see my face. I have no idea how pissed off I look, but it can’t be any match for how pissed off I feel.

Fuck Peck for pushing in places he shouldn’t. To hell with him for insinuating this is anything but me trying not to twist up a girl who clearly doesn’t need wrapped up in my bullshit. As irritating as she is, Sienna doesn’t deserve this. And even if my life wasn’t such a fuck-up, there’s no way that girl, one I can’t figure out for the life of me, would be able to handle all the baggage I come with.

Glaring Peck’s way, I throw it all to the wind and fling open the door to the lobby. I try to ignore the legs and hair and scent of her pineappley perfume that’s as unavoidable as a category five hurricane. Marching around the desk, I fiddle with the mouse and wait for the computer to wake up.

“Good morning,” she chirps. Her voice is sunshine, a bright reprieve to my otherwise bland day. “Sorry I’m a little late.”

“You mean you actually have a starting time?”

She giggles, stepping off the stool she’s perched on, wiping at the window blinds. “I’ve tried to be here when you open every day. Haven’t you noticed?”

I’ve noticed a fuck lot more than that. “Yeah, now that you mention it …”

“Aren’t you going to give me a cookie or something?” she sighs. “I hate getting up this early.”

“We open at eight. That’s early?”

“No, but seven is.” She tosses a rag into the bin. “I don’t work on other people’s schedules often. You should be honored.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She hops up on the desk, her ass planting on a calendar I need to see. The way her back arches, her hair spiraling down almost to her waist, has me gulping. Her legs swinging back and forth, she watches me. “So, what’s happening today?”

“Work.”

The door chimes and two boys walk in wearing navy blue t-shirts with white writing on the front. “Hey, Mr. Gibson,” the one on the right says. “We’re here seeing if you’d like to help our science club.”

“What are you raising money for?” I ask.

“We want to go to camp in Houston this winter,” the one on the left says. “It’s an astronaut camp. It’s going to be really cool, but really expensive. That’s why we’re selling these.” He holds out a box of chocolate bars wrapped in gold foil. “They’re really good and they have a coupon on the inside for pizza. You really can’t lose.”

Grabbing at my wallet in my back pocket, I narrow my eyes. “So you want to be astronauts?”

“I do,” the right one says. “But he wants to be an engineer.”

“But camp would help me learn so much to do that,” the left one says earnestly.

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Eleven,” they say in unison.

Sienna watches from the side. She’s itching to interject, opening her mouth a few times, but closing it before she does.

“How many do you have to sell?” I ask, doing a quick perusal of the contents of the box.

“As many as we can,” the left one groans. “We have until Monday to finish selling this box but people don’t want to buy them. It’s chocolate! What’s wrong with chocolate?”

Chuckling, I open my wallet. “How much are they?”

“They’re a dollar a piece.”

“How many do you have?”

“Total?” the right one asks. He does a quick count. “There are twenty-two in here.”

“All I have is two twenties,” I say, fishing out the bills. “I’ll trade you.”

“We don’t have change.” The right one closes the box. “I could ask my mom to bring it by to you tonight.”

“Just use it for astronaut school,” I say, taking the chocolates. “And when you get to the moon someday, do a shout out to Crank for me, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” the right one says, his smile stretching from ear to ear. “Thank you, sir.”

“No problem.”

They skip out the door, high-fiving each other when they hit the parking lot. My eyes drag to Sienna. “What?”

“Nothing. That was just super sweet of you. I didn’t know you had it in ya.”

I shove my wallet back into my pants. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Want to tell me?”

“Nope.”

“Can I ask you something? About cars,” she adds.

Scooting the mouse away from the keyboard, I turn towards her. “Sure. What’s up?”

“There’s a light on in my car.” She sets off describing it in the most girlish terms I can imagine. She’s animated today, rambling on and on about calling the shop but wanting to know what it means so she can go in there armed to the teeth and not get taken advantage of. “Do you know what that is?”

“It’s your oil light. When’s the last time your oil was changed?”

She shrugs. “When I was in Georgia.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Last summer.”

My head falling back, I sigh. “You’re way overdue. You can’t let your car go that long.”

“Well, my light should’ve come on before now,” she insists. “I have an appointment after I leave here at the dealership. I just don’t want them lying to me. I usually have one of my brothers take it in and handle it. Or Troy.”

“Who’s Troy?” I ask, not sure I want to know.

“My brother Barrett’s guy.”

“Is he gay?”

She bursts out laughing, leaping off the desk. “That would be a no.”

She prances around the room, making a pot of coffee and wiping off the table where sugar appears to have been spilled. This is why I can’t start looking at her—I can’t stop. As she buzzes around the room, fiddling with everything she can, I don’t even get annoyed. It doesn’t even bother me. I’m too absorbed with a plethora of questions to pay attention to all the things she’s moving around.

Before I know what’s happening, she stops. “Something wrong?”

Looking at the floor, I shove around the desk and head for the garage. “Nope. Have a good day, Sienna.”

“You too …”

***

Wiping my hands on a towel, I push the door to the lobby open with my shoulder. My brain is calculating the quantity of line I need to order when I stop in my tracks. Sienna is standing beside Nana who has a half-eaten muffin in her hand.

“Oh, there you are, Walker,” Nana says, popping the rest of the muffin into her mouth. “I came in here looking for you and found this sweet girl instead.”

I look at Sienna out of the corner of my eye. Smug doesn’t even begin to describe the look on her beautiful face, like she won over Nana. Like that means something.

“I just got out to the garage yesterday and had a look at the work you and Machlan did for me. Such good boys, the both of you,” she says, patting the side of my cheek. “What would I do without my sweet grandsons?”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I say, feeling a little smug myself.

“If you come to dinner on Sunday, I’ll make a pecan pie.”

“Are you bribing me with pie?”

“Would you rather have cake?” Her hand drops from my face with a sigh. “I need your behind in a pew on Sunday, Walker. You can go out on Saturday and be friends with Jack and Jim, but I need you friendly with Jesus the next morning.”

Sienna bursts out laughing, the melody like a song.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“That Jack and Jim line. My mama would love it, Nana.”

Nana’s attention switches from pie to Sienna. “Does your mama expect you to attend services on Sunday?”

“Well …” Sienna blushes. “We go on Easter, Christmas Eve, Grandma’s birthday when she was alive. But not every Sunday, no.”

Sienna doesn’t know the pass she just gave me. As Nana heads her way, the pie all but forgotten, Sienna looks at me. I wink, watching her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink.

“Well, dear, I expect your behind at Holy Hills church on Sunday. Services start at nine and run just under an hour. Surely, you can find it in your heart to give an hour to God.”

“I … um …” Sienna looks at me for help. “I’ll try.”

Shaking my head, I cross my arms across my chest and watch her struggle against my grandmother. It’s a battle of strong-willed ladies, and I’m not sure who will win.

“It’s next to the library. Big ol’ cross in the front. You can’t miss it,” Nana says. “I’ll see you there. Both of you.”

“I’ll be there,” I tell her, watching her beam. “You know how much I love pecan pie.”

“Don’t come for the pie, Walker. Come for the lesson. Then the pie.” She turns towards the door, calling over her shoulder, “Your muffins were delicious, Sienna. I’d love the recipe.”

“I’ll bring it on Sunday?”

It’s more of a question than a statement, but it lights Nana’s face up all the same.

“You do that. Have a good day, both of you.” She sends me a knowing grin before fluttering out the door.

The chimes settle and the room draws smaller. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I look at the girl next to me.

Her legs are capped with a pair of navy shorts and a brown tank hugs her curves, dipping low enough to showcase the tops of her breasts. As if the roundness weren’t enough of a draw, she’s added a long, gold necklace with a heart at the end that snuggles just above her cleavage. It’s like a warning sign and an invitation all at once.

“You two seemed comfortable,” I note, trying to start us out on neutral ground.

“Who?”

“You and Nana.”

“Your Nana is a pistol,” she says, circling around the desk. She lifts a tray into the air. “Want a muffin?”

A muffin is the last thing I want right now. I know not to do it and the entire time my eyes draw up her arm, over her chest, and up to her gorgeous face, I tell myself to stop. Pleading with my brain to take over and force the rest of me to get in line, I continue to roam over her, committing each little curve and dip to memory.

I’m an asshole for doing this. I’m a complete dick for letting myself pretend anything with this girl is possible. Yet, when I settle on her bright blue eyes, they twinkle happily, which only makes me feel worse.

“Is that a no?” she asks. Setting the tray down, she watches me with a confidence that I want to fuck right out of her. Ignoring me as I start to speak, she snaps up the landline. “Crank,” she singsongs into the line.

Adjusting myself while she takes notes on a scrap of paper, I grasp for some equilibrium. I think I have it until she looks at me again, sending me off-kilter.

“This is Rusty Carmine. He said they have a welding issue at their warehouse. He said you usually send Peck out to fix it and that it’s urgent.”

“Yeah. Tell him he’ll be there,” I say, signaling for Peck. Before she gets off the phone, Peck is on his way to his truck.

Pouring a cup of coffee after finding the coffee pot that has been moved, I wait for her to finish the call. Once I hear the “goodbye,” I turn to face her.

“I’ve been keeping track of your hours,” I tell her.

“Good for you.” She ignores where I’m going and changes subjects instead. “What do you think of the place? Looks nice, huh?”

The floors aren’t quite as dirty as before. The place has a floral smell to it and there aren’t any towels spilling over the bin in the back. It looks nice.

“It’s okay,” I say, taking a sip.

“Okay?” she barks. “It’s more than okay! It’s a one-eighty from where it was.”

“I can’t find anything.”

“Because you don’t know how to look. Typical man,” she mumbles. “I clearly marked all the folders in here. You can find everything super easily.” She looks up at me. “I never thought I had it in me to like paperwork. Must’ve been buried deep in my genes.”

“I’d love to be buried in your jeans,” I say before I can think twice. Hoping she didn’t hear me, my gaze snaps to hers, but it’s obvious: she heard. Not only did she hear, she’s not going to let it go.

My blood hotter than the coffee in my hand, I pivot on my heel towards the garage.

“You would, would you?” she teases, her voice dangling in the air.

All I can think about is what she’d look like sprawled in my bed, her body pressed against mine, her breath hot against my flesh. Shaking my head, ridding myself of the delicious vision, I say, “I shouldn’t have said that out loud.”

“So you’ve been thinking it?”

“Come on, Sienna,” I sigh.

She leans against the desk, her bottom lip protruding. “Why are you so grumpy?”

“Grumpy?” I laugh, grateful for the change in direction. “What are we? In kindergarten?”

“No. But it’s the best word to describe you. Grumpy. You’re grumpy.”

“I am not.”

“See? And argumentative. It’s a wonder I even show up here.”

It’s my turn to lean against the desk. There’s an honesty in the way she speaks, and an edge of class or sophistication, that, at the end of the day, is both the worst thing and best thing about her. It’s what people respond to—Nana, Peck … me. It’s what she responds to in me that I don’t understand. I surely don’t give her much to go on. Most women are out the door by now.

“Why do you show up here?” I ask.

The levity from her features melts away and a somberness takes its place. “Because I owe you.”

“Is that why?” I press, not able to fight the hope swelling inside me that it’s not. “What’s your story, Sienna?”

Her story isn’t one I need to know, and if she responds, it’ll just fuck me further. I need distance from this chick, not her family history.

This is the problem I knew from the beginning: dipping even a toe into this pool will drown us both.

“There you are.” The door swings open without warning, causing Sienna and I both to exhale sharply. “I have a giant problem, Walker, and I need your help.”

“What’s up, Stuart?” I ask, clearing my throat.

“The tractor went down on me this morning. I hauled her up here, hoping you can take a look at it. I know it’s a huge job and you have other stuff happening, but I’ll pay you double. You’re the best and I need this fixed by tomorrow morning. Is there any chance you can swing it?”

The garage bay is fairly empty, just the truck and a van in so far today.

“How many appointments are there today, Sienna?” I ask. “Do you know?”

She looks at a calendar and lifts her eyes. “You have two. A van and a car this afternoon, although a bunch of people said they’re walking in.”

“Yeah,” I say to Stuart, leading him outside. “Let’s get it in the shop and I’ll start on it in a bit. What’s it doing?”

As he goes ahead of me, rambling about the problems I should be paying attention to, instead, I focus on what’s becoming the biggest problem in my life.

***

Sienna

I turn the key and my car’s engine roars to life outside of Goodman’s gas station. Getting situated in the driver’s seat, I buckle my seatbelt and get the radio set to a station playing upbeat and happy music.

Today was a good day.

Every time I think of Walker, I remember his little slip about my jeans. Giggling, I reach for the gear shift to put my car in reverse and stop.

The oil light isn’t lit.

It doesn’t come on when I put it in reverse either.

Peck comes out from inside the gas station where he was just buying a drink and sees me sitting in the parking lot. He heads my way.

I roll down the windows, the warm breeze making me even happier. “Hey,” I say to him as he gets near. “Did you change my oil today?”

“Nope.”

My back falls against the seat as I try not to act as giddy as I feel.

He leans against the door and takes me in. “What are ya thinking?”

“I mentioned it to Walker earlier and now the light is off. Does that mean he changed it?”

“Someone did,” Peck grins, “and it wasn’t me. Walker is a good guy. And I’m fairly certain he thinks a lot of you.”

“You think?” I ask, my hopes whizzing upwards.

“I do.” He taps the hood as he stands up again. “I got to get back to the job. Just came by for a drink. Be careful going wherever you’re going.”

“Will do. Thanks, Peck.”

“Later.”

I don’t pull out quite yet. Instead, I sit there with a huge smile on my face.

As much of a jerk as he can be, he can also make me feel like this. Between protecting me with Tommy to changing my oil, it feels really, really good.

Eleven

Walker

“Ah, fuck.” The tool slips out of my hand and clamors onto the floor two inches from my head. I’d jump—that’s my immediate reaction—but the steel hanging right above me as I lie beneath the tractor keeps me from it.

Blowing out a hiss, my eyes fall closed as the aches in my back from lying in this position for the last few hours start to compound. My shoulders throb from holding objects over my head, my eyes burn from the oil and gas fumes. It’s been a hell of a day.

Twisting just enough to get a glimpse of the clock on the far wall, I realize Peck isn’t coming back. The welding job took all day, and by now, he’s with the community center people helping the summer sports program. Annoyance that I’m still here, alone, now doing a job that would be so much faster with two people, would come easy except I know how much it means to Peck to give back to the program he credits for saving his life.

The massive piece of equipment straddling me is going to take all night, but I expected as much. Farm equipment is never a quick fix. But for all the headaches it gives, it also provides two things: a lot of money and an inability to think about anything else. Stuart coming in this morning with this giant pain in the ass was a godsend.

Cringing, my hand falls to my stomach as its rumbling sounds over the garage. Sienna left a couple of muffins on the desk when she left a few hours ago and I devoured them. That’s all I’ve eaten today, another by-product of this project.

Lifting the tool I dropped, I start to attack the problem again when I hear a sound across the room. A set of tanned legs stop just in front of the tractor.

The tool drops slowly to my chest. There’s no reason for her to be here now, just as the sun is starting to set. As my heart races so quickly I feel it pulse in my throat, I wait for her to speak. To explain. To leave again so I can breathe.

“Walker?”

“Yeah?” I croak, watching one of her legs bend at the knee. The light reflects off her skin, drawing me in like a fucking Siren.

“Why are you still here?”

“Working. Why are you here?”

She shifts her weight, a hand going to her hip. I wonder if she’s rolling her eyes and shaking her head like she usually does when I don’t just answer her questions, and if she is, I hate that I’m missing it.

“I drove by a few minutes ago and saw your truck and the lights on. I figured … I don’t know,” she says, clearing her throat. “Maybe you need some help?”

Chuckling, I slide myself out from under the tractor. Lying on the creeper, the heels of my work boots pressed into the concrete to stop me from sliding, I look up. She’s looking down with a soft, inquisitive stare that makes me feel more vulnerable than I care to admit.

Resting my hands on my stomach, I force everything out of my mind except the fact that she shouldn’t be here.

“Did you bring someone with you?” I ask.

“For what?”

“To help.”

The glare I fully expect doesn’t take long to come my way. “No. I meant I was coming to help you.”

She’s changed clothes from earlier today. I would guess these to be the clothes she doesn’t care if she messes up. A pair of black cutoff sweat pants that hit only a few inches down her thighs, a tight grey t-shirt with spatters of pink and white paint, and lime green flip-flops. I can imagine her stretched out on the couch reading a book or curled up in a chair watching a fire, two thoughts I have to force away.

“Slugger, you can’t work in a garage in flip-flops.”

“Why not?”

I lift a brow.

“Fine,” she sighs, turning to the table by the door. Motioning towards a plastic bag, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I brought you something to eat. Maybe you aren’t hungry, I don’t know, but I know you didn’t break for lunch and—”

“I am. Hungry, that is.”

Her chest falls, her shoulders relaxing, a soft relief smoothing her forehead. “When I saw you still here, I figured as much. I ran by Crave and Machlan made you a sandwich. I didn’t know what you’d like.”

“You’re on a first name basis with my brother?”

“He’s so sweet,” she coos. “And he adores you, Walker.”

“About as much as he adores syphilis.” I get just close enough to grab the bag. Peering inside, I count three burgers and fries. “Think I’m hungry or what?”

“One of those is mine. Machlan just put it all in the same bag.”

“Oh.”

She kicks at an invisible rock on the floor, the toe of her flip-flop squeaking against the concrete. “I wanted to tell you thank you for changing my oil today. And for the new wipers.”

Having forgotten all about that, I feel a weird sensation in my chest. It’s not guilt, but more like being caught. “It’s no big deal.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I didn’t mean for you to do it, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“No,” I say in a rush, not wanting her to feel guilty for my deeds. “I figured I’d just check it really quick so you didn’t break down, and the oil was filthy. Almost like syrup. So I just changed it. We have all the shit here to do it, no sense in you taking it somewhere else.” She starts to speak, but I know what she’s going to say, so I cut her off before she can. “And you aren’t paying me back for it.”

A shy smile covers her gorgeous lips as she looks at me, eyes shining. “And for the wipers. How did you even know they sucked?”

“It’s what I look for. Again, no big deal.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The bag ruffles in my hand, the sound the only thing breaking the awkward silence between us. I’m not sure what to do or say. What I want and what I should do are at such opposite ends of the spectrum that I can’t see through the fuzz to think clearly. Then I make the mistake of looking up.

Her hair is pulled on top of her head, the earrings and bracelets she usually wears are gone. If she’s wearing any makeup at all, I’d be surprised.

As she looks at me with wide eyes and a hesitation I can’t deny, I fight a smile at the realization: she was coming to help me.

The idea of this girl getting greasy and handling tools heavier than she is, is laughable. And the sexiest fucking thing I can think of.

Letting the testosterone swooping through my veins call the shots, I’m talking before my brain can tell my mouth to shut up.

“Want to eat with me?” I ask.

“Sure.”

Her smile has me forgetting all about how empty my stomach was a few minutes ago. She holds up a finger, asking me to wait a minute, and then disappears into the lobby. Every second she’s gone is a second longer for me to remember exactly why this is a bad idea. Busying myself with the task of washing my hands, I half wonder if she’ll come back and half hope she doesn’t. When she comes back with two large drinks, that all goes to the wayside.

“I brought the drinks,” she says shyly. “I couldn’t carry them in, so I left them in my car.”

“You thought of everything,” I say, unwrapping a sandwich.

“Not really. I was just going to drop yours by and take mine home.”

“Why were you over here, anyway?”

“Um,” she gulps, picking up a fry. “Well, to be honest …”

“Yeah?”

“I was worried about you.” She looks at the ground, popping the fry in her mouth. “I’m sure you’ve done this a million times, but you were in here all day. I hardly saw you at all. And I knew Peck didn’t come back …”

Resting my sandwich on the foil wrapper so it doesn’t fall from my hand, the corner of my lips lift to the ceiling as I try to wrap my head around the fact that she cares. Maybe not about me, per se, but about what I’m doing. I don’t really know how to process that.

“Really?” I ask.

“Of course,” she says. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m used to doing a lot of this on my own. It’s weird having someone looking over my shoulder.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to feel like that,” she pushes. “It’s not what I mean.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m, um, I’m not used to having someone pay attention.” I hold her gaze, my stomach twisting into a bigger mess than the tractor.

“Yeah, well, it’s what I do,” she says, dismissively. “I get it from my mother. My siblings are all like that. We try to fix everything. And I mean everything.”

“Like the Ranger?”

“Like the Ranger,” she agrees shyly.

Lifting the sandwich, I take a bite of Crave’s famous barbecue bacon cheeseburger and think about what she said. “What’s your family like?”

“They’re great. Nosy, all of them, and pains in the ass. But I don’t know what I would do without them.”

“You seem like you miss them.”

She considers this, leaning her head to the side as she focuses on a spot on the wall behind me. “I do. I miss them like crazy. It seems like the older I get, the more I miss them.”

“Are they like you?”

“What do you mean, ‘are they like me’?” she presses.

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

“How would you describe me?”

Beautiful. Sexy. Intriguing.

“Capable,” I suggest.

“Oh, gee. Thanks.”

“What?” I laugh before taking a sip of my soda. “Capable is a good word.”

“If you’re talking about a soldier!”

“Fine. You’re determined.”

“I think I’m taking my burger to go,” she laughs, tossing her half-eaten fry at me. It misses, hitting my cup and falling to the floor.

Setting my burger down, I focus my attention solely on her. “What about interesting?” I offer, more quietly this time. “Or classy? Or good-hearted?”

“You think I’m interesting?”

Her eyelashes bat together, the apples of her cheeks glowing. I want to show her just how interesting I find her to be, how her classy mouth sounds when it’s crying my name in the dirtiest way.

“A little bit,” I grumble instead, bundling what’s left of my burger up in the wrapper. Her gaze sits squarely on my shoulders and I know if I look up at her, she’ll be expecting an explanation. So I don’t look up. “I have to get back to the tractor. Thank you for dinner, Sienna.”

“Any time,” she whispers.

Turning to toss my stuff in the trash, we nearly collide. The scent of pineapples rushes across me, mixing with the heat of her body. It’s a connection I can’t break, the way my body wants to crash against hers. The way I don’t have to look in the morning to know she’s here because I can sense her walking into a room. There’s a definite link somehow from something in me to something in her, and even though I fight with everything I have to break it, I can’t.

“Do you need help?” she asks. There’s a twinge of hope in her tone that I can’t let go.

“What do you know about tools?”

“I know you think I’m a silly girl who’s never touched a hammer before, but that’s both sexist and not true.” Hand on her hip again, she throws her shoulders back. “If you don’t want my help, that’s fine. I’ll go.”

“So you know the difference between a socket and a screwdriver?” My question is quick, the desperation that she says yes thick — maybe too thick. I think she starts to read into it, but like me, tempers her hopes.

“Of course,” she huffs.

“Fine,” I say, turning away so she doesn’t see my smile. “Let’s get dinner cleaned up and get to it.”

Twelve

Sienna

“Can you grab me a wrench? Inch and a half.”

“Sure.” Nearly skipping to the back wall that’s lined in front by giant toolboxes, I’m relieved I actually know what a wrench is. The last two things he’s asked me for have sounded like he made them up. My quick online searches have provided me with proof they were real, as well as an image to reference as I scan the thousands of implements in Crank and retrieve the one he’s looking for.

Grabbing the wrench, confirming the dimension printed into the steel, I hand it under the tractor. His fingers rub against mine as he takes it, sending a pulse zipping through my veins.

“Thanks,” he says. Just like the last two times, I can hear he’s impressed that I got it. Just like the last two times, I feel my grin grow wider. “How do you know about tools, anyway?”

“Oh,” I say, darting around for some answer that’s not Google. “We have a farm. I mean, not lots of tools or farm animals anymore,” or ever, “but I have lots of brothers,” who know nothing about cars.

I try to imagine one of my brothers in their polo shirts working on a car in front of what we affectionately call the Farm. It’s nothing more than an old farmhouse that’s been in our family for ages and is the farthest thing from a place to do farm activities. It’s been the headquarters for my family’s political activities, held family Christmases, and was even photographed for a piece about Southern homes in a fancy magazine last year. But actual real-life farming? Nope.

“How many brothers do you have?” he asks.

“Four. They’re all older than me and my twin sister.”

“You have a twin?”

“Yeah. And, no, I can’t read her mind or feel it when she stubs her toe.”

His chuckle floats from under the tractor and wraps itself around me, making me light-headed. “Weird answer.”

“Everyone thinks that,” I say, taking the last sip of my drink. “Maybe some twins have telepathic abilities, I don’t know. But we don’t.”

“Hey, can you hand me a tractor pin?”

“Sure.”

Whipping my phone out as I head back to the toolboxes, I punch in tractor pin. An image pops up of a small stick with a key looking thing attached to it. Going from one box to the next, I look for anything similar.

My blood pressure shoots up as I near the final one. There’s nothing that looks remotely like what popped up online. I could tell him I can’t find it, but I’m three-for-three. Maybe I want to impress him in his realm.

“Find it?” he calls out. “I think Peck stuck them up against the side of the box on the right. Top drawer. Probably hard to see.”

Sighing in relief, I jump to the right box and retrieve the pin. “Got it. This is the last one, just so you know.”

“Yeah, we don’t use those much.” His hand is sticking out from under the equipment awaiting the pin. I place it gently in his palm, letting my fingertips touch him as I let it go. He snaps his hand closed, catching my fingers for a brief, sudden hold.

Neither of us pulls away for a long second, the feel of his touch, however small, is like the spark of a match on a dark night. It’s warm and bright and with it comes a flash of hope that may or may not pan out.

As I draw my hand back, white noise roaring past my ears, I fall back into my chair.

Fiddling with a straw, I watch him scramble around under the tractor. Before long, he’s adjusted his position and I can’t see him anymore. A part of me wants to walk around the equipment so I can get a glimpse of him again without him knowing, but I stay put just in case he’s paying attention. I don’t want to look thirsty.

“I heard a lot about you in Crave tonight,” I tell him. “There are some interesting stories floating around about you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yup. You were a football star.”

“Hardly,” he snorts.

“That’s what they say,” I sing-song. “You also had lots of girlfriends.”

A tool hits the concrete. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, come on,” I laugh. “That’s the one I believe. How would you not have a ton of girlfriends?”

“Who was telling you all this shit?” he asks, clearly annoyed.

“Machlan. Peck. A guy named Cross at the bar. They also said you once burned something in Merom’s football field before the big homecoming game.”

“That wasn’t me,” he laughs. “That was Machlan and Cross’s dumb asses.”

“Who is Cross?”

“Machlan’s friend. They’ve raised absolute hell together since they were kids. Cross owns the gym on the other side of town.”

The sound of his laugh, something I don’t get to hear often enough, makes me smile.

“Do you have any questions for me?” I ask.

“I have no interest in hearing about your dating life.”

“Good because I don’t have one,” I grumble. “My brothers made it terribly hard growing up. Dating is something that never came easy to me.”

“How would it not?” he scoffs. “Look at you. You could get any man you wanted.”

I don’t say anything, point out that the man I want is under a tractor and refusing to take the bait.

The sounds get louder from him banging on the tractor, so I sit in the chair and let my mind wander. I wish I could ask him all the questions I have, get to know him better, but he’s so locked up and I don’t know why. Even more, I don’t know why I’m so awkward with him. So unsure. So … not me.

“You still here?” he calls out.

“Yup.”

“Can you grab me the hayfork?”

“Sure.”

Hopping to my feet, I put the word in the search bar of my phone. A list of sites about real estate pop up. Shit! I add the word tool after it and stop in my tracks. The image it loads is of a shovel with prongs looking thing, something I can’t imagine him using under there.

“Find it?” he asks.

“I’m looking!”

“What the fuck?” I mutter, looking at the wall, scanning helplessly. The hayfork looks more like a gardening looking thing, not something for a tractor. Why would he even have one?

“Can’t find it?”

I jump, Walker’s voice just inches behind me. His hair is a disaster, flecks of dirt all over his face. He’s filthy, smells of sweat and oil, and is the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

My mouth waters as I try to look away, my face certainly flushing from the knowledge of how wet my panties are right now.

“What are you doing?” I exclaim. “How did you get behind me so fast?”

“Find the hayfork?” His lips twist, clearly entertained, as he crosses his arms in front of him.

“Um, no. Not yet.”

He looks at me, then my phone, and back to me again. “Let me see your phone.”

“No.”

“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. His palm is streaked with grease, beet red in some spots from grinding against the machine. “Let me see it.”

“Why?” I ask, my breathing getting shallow.

“You were looking up those tools, weren’t you?”

“What? I … Why would you think that?”

“You were, weren’t you?”

His tone is teasing, but there’s something else in his eye that tells me it’s more than a joke to him. It’s almost as if he’s angry or bothered. Either way, it makes me self-conscious.

While I’m trying to figure him out, in one abrupt move, he snatches my cell out of my hand.

“Hey!” I say, leaping for it but missing. “Give me that back!”

“Were you or were you not looking up those tools?”

His eyes narrow and I narrow mine right back. If he thinks he’s about to make me feel bad for trying to help him, he has another think coming.

“What’s it to you?” I ask, mimicking his stance. “Why do you care how I found them?”

“Just admit it.”

“Fine,” I all but growl. “I didn’t know what a pin was or lubricating oil or a socket. But I figured it out to help you, you asshole.”

He flinches, not expecting my tirade. Glancing at my phone, he quickly offers it back. I snatch it out of his palm without touching him.

“I don’t understand you,” I tell him, turning away. “You’re an impossibly frustrating man.”

Heading across the garage to where I set my things, I gather the garbage from dinner and toss it in the trash can. I feel his gaze on my back, the crackle of the energy between us as confused as I am, but refuse to turn around.

Instead, my phone goes into my purse, along with the paper and pen I was doodling on earlier. When I do finally turn around, I’m surprised to see him smiling. My head spins, one way with irritation, another with lust, another with confusion as to what he’s even smiling about.

“Thank you for helping out tonight,” he says. His eyes swirl with a softness to them that pulls at my heartstrings.

“Why do you do that?” I ask.

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re so hard, like nothing bothers you. So black and white. And then I see in your eyes that you might not be that way at all.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he dismisses me. Even as he says this, I know even more assuredly I’m right and that just eggs me on.

“Oh, I think I do.”

His jaw sets. “You think you have everything figured out, don’t you?”

“No, quite the opposite. I don’t think I have the first thing figured out about you.”

The silence is heavy, like a wet blanket, almost strangling us with its weight. We have a standoff, the wits of two hard-headed people going to battle and neither wanting to give in.

Grumbling under his breath, he stands straight. I’m not sure if he’s going to walk out the door or climb back under the tractor, but he surprises me. He walks towards me.

My breath catches in my throat, the bite of the metal table behind me scratching into my back as I lean away, needing distance between myself and this man stalking my way.

With each drop of his boots, I struggle harder to seem unfazed by his posture. Hooded eyes. Squared, flexed body. With each second he gets closer, I breathe faster. Gulp quicker. Feel the spot between my legs get wetter.

“Why do you keep coming around?” he asks when he’s standing right in front of me. The top of my head is just beneath his chin, his chest at eye-level. It’s rising and falling as quickly as mine as he takes over every inch of my personal space. With every inflation, a whiff of his cologne shuffles to my nose and my senses continue to be obliterated, completely consumed in every way by him.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It surely isn’t because of your award-winning personality.”

I think he’s going to laugh, but he doesn’t. Just like every time I think he’s going to resemble a normal person, he stops himself. “Then why?”

“You want me to stop? Is that what this is about? Because I was just trying to help you tonight, Walker.”

When he doesn’t answer, doesn’t flinch, I throw out an exasperated sigh.

“You win. Whatever game you’re playing with me, you win. I quit,” I say, reaching for my purse. “Figure out what I still owe you and send me a text. I’ll get you the difference on Monday.”

Just before I swipe up my things, his hand lays on my arm. I just stare at it wrapped around my forearm, his hand almost twice the size of one of mine. It’s cut and bruised and in desperate need of a little tender loving care, but I ignore all that and pull my eyes to his.

Big. Mistake.

I can almost see the guard being pulled down, the shield he erects being cranked back. All the confusing emotions that are usually present are still there, only en masse.

I can’t think. Can’t respond. Just remind myself not to reach out and pull him into me and give him the hug I think he needs, maybe even wants on some level.

“You think I’m fucking with you?” he whispers.

“Aren’t you?”

“Not a chance, Slugger. As a matter of fact, I’m trying my damnedest to not fuck with you at all.”

“Noted,” I say, a little snottier than I intend.

Sucking up my pride, I try to shake him off. He just squeezes my forearm firmly until its clear I’m not going to move. Then he eases up.

“I don’t mean it like that.” He moves himself so we’re face-to-face.

“I think you do. I’m beginning to think a whole lot of what I see sometimes is more hope than reality.”

“What do you think you see?” he asks, taking another step so I’m almost standing between his legs.

“Stop this,” I whisper, my voice as shaky as I feel.

“Why?”

“It’s confusing. I can’t read you.”

He catches my chin with his hand, lifting it so I’m looking at him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he forces a swallow, his delicious lips parting with a small sigh. “Can you read this?”

“Wha—”

His lips capture the rest of the words from mine as his mouth covers my own.

Thirteen

Sienna

The kiss isn’t kind. It isn’t sweet. There’s no consideration given to anything besides the fervor between us.

He moves forward until my back is pressed against the edge of the table, my face cupped firmly in his hands. His lips part mine, urging them open, until I give in.

My head is spinning, my personal space completely obliterated by Walker Gibson. His solid body is against mine, his scent flooding my airways, the taste of his mouth rocking through my veins and wanting, needing, craving more.

He wastes no time, dipping his tongue past my lips with such a strong, purposeful motion it verges on ownership. I taste his desire, feel the heat radiating off his body, experience the raw, unhinged lust he’s explaining without ever saying a word.

Moaning softly, my hands working their way into his thick strands, he holds me in place with the pads of his thumbs resting on my cheekbones. Each lick, each delve into my mouth, becomes more frantic. More heated. More on the cusp of spiraling out of control.

Moving so he’s straddling me, one foot on the outside of each of mine, I can feel his cock rest against my belly. The length presses against me like a steel rod ready to burst the denim covering it.

Releasing the tufts of hair laced through my fingers, I wrap a hand around the back of his neck. My palm lying against his uncovered skin, feeling the sweat beaded there, sends a full-body shiver racing down my spine. Working my hands down his back, each movement causing the thick muscles to flex and bend under my touch, I make it to the hem of his shirt and then down the backside of his jeans until they’re resting on his ass.

Taking my bottom lip in between his teeth, I moan into his mouth and jerk his body towards mine. My head is buzzing, my blood screaming, my pussy begging for relief.

Opening my eyes, I see his settled on me. He lets go of my lip and takes a step back, his breath as frenzied as mine.

His pupils dilated, his hair a wild, sexy mess, he sucks in a haggard scoop of air. “Does that feel like I’m just fucking with you?”

“You stopped, didn’t you?”

He starts to smile but stops himself. “I stopped for your own good.”

“I’ll put it to you like this,” I say, letting my libido do the talking. If he shuts me down, I’ll leave and never look back. “I need fucked. I’ll let you decide by whom.”

That’s all it takes. With a growl coming from deep within his throat, he stalks the short distance between us.

“I can always find someone else,” I say, my voice betraying me. “If you don’t wanna—”

“Stop talking.”

My mouth clamps shut, like it’s controlled by the man peering down at me. The heat of his focus warms my skin and my mouth opens again to drag a cool breath of air into my lungs. Only it’s not cool. It’s as heated as the stare firing down from Walker.

He grabs the edge of my shirt and yanks it over my head in one quick, unceremonious move. I have no idea what he does with it; I’m too busy watching him watch me.

My thighs clench together in a worthless attempt at quelling the incessant throb between my legs. I think he notices, the corner of his lip twitching in what I would guess is a halted smirk.

Biting down on his bottom lip, perhaps to avoid any further accidental giving-away of what he’s thinking, he hooks a finger in the waistband of each side of my shorts. The roughness of his finger running down my skin as he drags them to the floor causes my back to arch, a soft sigh escaping my throat.

As the fabric falls south, he bends along with it, until his face is level with my pussy. My shorts pooled at my feet and wearing only a faint pink lace bra and panty set, I gulp when he doesn’t immediately stand.

Crouched, he grips the table behind me with both hands, boxing me in. When he looks up, I almost melt. My knees threaten to give out as I take in the decadent smirk playing on his handsome face.

“The best part about this,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, “is going to be hearing you speechless for once.”

“I’m never speechless,” I lie. “You’re welcome to try though.”

A chuckle rumbles from his chest, the sound whispering over my bared flesh. I don’t even attempt to stop the quiver that comes as a result.

He places his hands on the globes of my ass, making me stutter a breath. His palms are splayed, his fingers covering my entire backside and kneading into my skin.

Before I’ve even processed this, before I can even wrap my brain around how we got here, his head falls forward.

“Ah,” I moan as his face buries into the crook of my legs. His breath is hot against my skin, his tongue working its way around the lace of my thong. “Walker …”

Instinctively, I begin to pull back, but I’m yanked forward and harder into his face. Catching myself on his shoulders, partially bent over his crouched position, he hums against my pussy.

“Oh, God,” I groan, threading my fingers into his hair as my eyes roll back in my head. As the warmth of his tongue slides down my slit and then back up again, I whimper.

“Words, Slugger,” he chuckles.

“Ah …”

The flat part of his tongue rolls against my clit, the swollen bud pulsing against him. He works it around and around, working me into a frenzy. I press his face against me by the back of his head, moaning as he slides one finger into my opening.

Widening my stance, wanting to give him as much access as necessary, I almost come when he inserts another finger.

“Walker,” I hiss, working my hips around. “Damn it. That feels so good.”

As if that was some kind of challenge, he draws them both out and then slides them in again, repeating this movement as I bury my fingernails into his shoulders. He tunes me like a car, making me hum like a well-oiled motor that revs only for him.

He sucks in my nub, caressing it with his warm, wet mouth until he feels my legs begin to shake. As my body nearly comes apart, my legs threatening to give away, he lifts me up and sits me hard onto the table. The tools sitting on the far end roll to the floor, clamoring about as they find the lowest point in the room to stop. All the while, Walker leans me back on the table, my legs dangling off the end as he fingers me relentlessly.

“My God …” I say, my voice bouncing with each thrust of his fingers. “Walker!” I shout as the sound of my wetness echoes off the walls of the shop.

“You’re still talking,” he laughs.

Despite the noise of the incessant strum of blood pouring by my ears, I hear the tear of lace as my panties break free from my body.

I don’t even look down. I can’t. All I can do is feel the heat of his mouth going in for the kill.

As soon as his lips hover over my clit, everything explodes. “Oh!” I moan, my knees pulling back as he laps up the juices that begin to coat my legs and the table beneath me.

His fingers work me every which way, a thumb hovering over the opening of my ass. I suck in a breath, only barely registering what he’s doing, but the pressure just adds to the chaos wreaking havoc in my overstimulated body.

The orgasm is so hard it’s almost painful, everything so sensitive it almost aches. As I land from the climax of my life, I open my eyes to see he’s watching me.

“Feel good?” he asks, slowing his fingers between my legs.

I only nod, my throat dry, yet my need for this man unquenched.

He grins at my reaction, an easy, free kind of smile that I’ve only seen him use with other people. If my face wasn’t already so red, I’d worry he would catch me blushing.

Narrowing his eyes as he undoes his belt, he licks his lips for my benefit. Not wanting to give up all the power over an orgasm, I pop up on my elbows.

“How do I taste?” I ask.

His hands falter for a moment before he nods his head. “Like a girl who hasn’t been fucked enough.”

“I’d say that’s true.”

The belt comes off with a snap. “It’s your lucky day then, Slugger. I’m about to fuck you into tomorrow.”

***

Walker

My boots, socks, and t-shirt lie scattered off to the side. Standing in front of Sienna in only a pair of dirty work jeans, the threads held together by the grease of the day, I watch her absorb the situation. Watch her absorb me.

I never know what to expect from this girl, the girl who I can’t shake. The one I can’t dislike even when I try, and damn it, how I try. I haven’t scratched this itch for fear the irritation would spread far too deep, only to come to realize tonight, as she threatened to quit and never see me again, that I’m already fucked in all the ways that matter. Sinking into her sweet pussy at this point is a side note.

She stands next to the table in nothing but a light pink bra that does nothing but hold up her full, heavy tits. Her nipples are obvious through the lace, dark brown buds peaked and waiting for me. The sight of her alone has my cock throbbing so hard it’s already ready to come.

“Come here,” I say, unfastening the top button of my jeans.

She takes the few steps between us, her cheeks the color of her bra. Standing before me, her hair swept up in a messy up-do she must’ve created while I was stripping, she’s never looked more beautiful.

Bowing my head, I press my lips to hers. One toned arm slips around my neck, tugging the kiss deeper. My hands grip her sides before grazing over her ribs and thumbing the tips of her breasts. She responds with a shudder and breaks the contact. It’s just as well.

“Take off your bra,” I instruct, taking a step back.

“Not before you lose the jeans, Gibson.”

“Oh,” I say, arching a brow. “You think you get to call the shots tonight?”

“I think you want my pussy as bad as I want your cock. That gives me a certain leverage, yes.”

Shutting my mouth before I say something and piss her off, I look her dead in the eye as I unzip my jeans. She seems pleased as she reaches behind her back and fumbles with the catch to her bra. As my jeans drop to the floor, so does the lace. Both are tossed aside together.

As she eyes my cock and does the math, figuring how all of it is going to fit inside her tight body, I grab the length and give it a stroke for good measure. A bead of pre-cum pools on the head.

With the sway of a goddess, she moseys in front of me. Knocking my hand to the side and off the shaft, she wraps her smaller hand around the base of my cock.

“What are you doing?” I groan, her touch alone almost setting me off.

“Just seeing if you really want me,” she teases. Before I can stop her, she’s swirling her tongue along the head like it’s a Popsicle.

“Sienna,” I groan, flexing my hips forward. “Stop.”

“Stop talking.”

“Well played,” I say, accepting my own words back at me as I fight the urge to fuck her mouth. She’s every wet dream and grounded hope I’ve ever had, all wound up in this gorgeous body. It’s almost too damn much to take.

Looking at me through her thick, black lashes, she licks up the length and then drops her mouth over my swollen head. As she starts to take me in again, I clasp my hands under her arms and tug her to her feet.

Walking away, feeling her silent objection behind me, I dig through a drawer in the back and retrieve a condom. Ripping the package open and rolling the rubber over myself, I’m ready to turn around when her hands wrap around me and lay on my stomach.

She strokes the lines in my abdomen, her touch soft against the harshness of her breath whispering against the middle of my back.

“I want you, Walker,” she says, pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades.

Knowing myself too well and that I’ll start tripping up if I allow those words to settle, I whirl around. “I know you want me. You just came all over my face.”

The sting of her smack adds to the flame in my gut that’s already burning entirely too hot.

“The nice thing would be for you to say you want me too,” she says, forcing a swallow.

“Come on,” I sigh, pointing at my dick. “Does this look like it wants you?”

“Of course it does. But do you?”

I can’t answer that. Instead, I sweep her into the air, her legs locking around my waist. I’m surrounded by her sweet scent, the pulsing of her pussy riding up against my dick. She’s wet, so damn wet, that she slides up and down my shaft with every movement.

Just this feels good, so fucking good, that for the first time in a long damn time I don’t care about anything or anyone other than the two of us in this room right now.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I breathe, my teeth nipping at her ear. She squeals and tries to move away, only giving our bodies more friction to work with.

Her heels locked at my back, her nails digging into my skin, I crash my mouth onto hers. She meets it with matching eagerness. Need and lust make me dizzy, blocking out everything but what comes next.

Spinning us around, her foot catching a tray of bolts and screws and knocking it to the floor, I scramble to find somewhere to sit her. Pin her. Lay her out for the taking because if anything is true, it’s that I’m gonna fucking take her.

Our breathing is ragged, her hands yanking on my hair to lift my chin for more access to my mouth. She kisses me like a starved woman and I’m the last oasis in the desert.

“Get. Inside. Me,” she begs between breaks in the kisses.

“Stop being so bossy,” I say, tugging at her bottom lip.

“You apparently need told since it’s taking you so long.”

Slamming her back against the wall, I pin her and dig between us, freeing my cock, and lining it up with her opening. It’s my intention to take it easy, to go slow and enjoy it, but the frenzy of the moment puts all of that aside.

With a slight twist of her hips, she sinks down. Taking me in with a sharp gasp, her fingernails biting into my shoulder, she arches her back and takes in as much as she can get.

“Walker!” she yells, a stuttered breath punctuating the final syllable.

“Is that hard enough?”

“Ahhh …”

“Come on, Slugger,” I tease. “Words or else I’ll think you’re speechless.”

“Never,” she manages to eke out as her eyes roll to the back of her head.

My hips flex, giving my cock to her with a brutal urgency. She groans, her eyes giving up and staying closed, as I press into her like I’ve wanted to since the first night I saw her.

She squeezes around me, the muscles of her pussy pulsing. Grasping under her ass, holding her up, she grips my shoulders and holds herself in place as I pound her into the wall.

“I’m not hearing anything,” I say through gritted teeth. “Don’t let me down now.”

“Can. You. Go. Harder?” she asks, her tone coated with a plea for more.

“You sure?” I slam into her so hard I think I’m going to break her.

“Yes,” she almost whines. “Like this.”

The clock to the right of her head bangs against the drywall with the rhythm, the metal table beside us clamoring with each thrust. It’s a dizzying staccato effect, an almost musical element to the situation. As she constricts harder, her moans getting louder and more urgent, I suck in a beaded nipple and feel her come apart on my cock.

Her body gushes over me, the force of the ejaculation almost shoving me out of her. I drive harder into her, nipping and kissing my way from her breast to her mouth, swallowing her pleasured moans.

As she goes limp, letting me hold almost all of her weight up on my hands, her head falls onto my shoulder. I have to move, change things up, before this is all I remember.

Gazing across the garage, I spot an old eighties Corvette Peck has been restoring for someone in town. The curves in the hood almost make a makeshift alley for a body. Walking over to the hood, my feet slapping against the cool concrete, I lay her down on the hood of the car.

Her eyes go wide as she squirms against the sleek carbon fiber material. “What are you doing?” she asks, cupping her breasts in her hands. They spill over her fingers, a decided difference from the flatness of her stomach. “Isn’t this someone’s car?”

“Yes, it’s someone’s car. And I’m going to lay you down on the hood and make you come all over it. Sound good?”

Her eyes roam my body, down my jaw, across my shoulders complete with the imprints of her fingernails, and down the lines of my abs. She flicks her gaze back to mine, her legs falling to the sides. “You going to start now or what?”

A victorious smile stretches across my face and it’s reflected on hers. Bending over, I press a kiss against her lips as I find the opening of her pussy and work my cock back inside. It’s tighter now than it was.

Grabbing her hips and pulling her down the hood, I position her calves on my shoulders. Her tits bounce as I drive into her. “You feel so good,” I tell her, my brain getting fuzzy as I get lost in the rhythm.

My balls slap off her ass, her body squeaking against the car as I deliver us both higher and higher towards climax. Her blonde hair with faded purple streaks looks like a halo against the black paint of the ‘Vette, her porcelain skin like an angel.

Digging my hands into the dips of her hips, I hold her in place as I drive into her pussy. Each thrust, each penetration into her delectable body, brings me closer to the edge.

“I …” she says, trying to warn me she’s going to come. But I know. I can feel it. “Ah …” She moans, lifting her hips even higher.

Stroking as deep as I can get, hitting the back wall of her body, I feel the gush of her orgasm just as mine hits.

Her legs stiffen against my shoulders, her back arching off the car. She shouts my name, along with a stream of unmentionables, as I unload into the condom.

The orgasm feels like it’s ripping me apart, decimating every cell in my body, yet the best part might be watching her fall to pieces. The way her full lips part, her cheeks flush, a gloss of sweat dots her forehead. Knowing the contented look on her face is because of me is, quite possibly, the best thing I’ve ever witnessed.

And then it’s over.

My blood still roaring through my veins, unable to find its equilibrium, I pull out with a gentleness so as not to hurt her. Still, she gasps, sitting up and looking mildly embarrassed.

I want to tell her not to be, that she just gave me the best orgasm of my life. That I’ll never look around this building and not think about the way she looked on the hood of this car. But I don’t. Because I’m a dick. I have to be.

Guilt hitting me head-over-fist, I know what I have to do, even if I really don’t want to do it.

“Need a hand?” I ask, offering her one.

She takes it and scoots off the car. Looking back at where she just lay, she bites her lip. “Can we, like, buff out where my body was?” she says, peering up at me.

“I’ll do it later.”

“I’d rather no one sees that, you know.”

Instead of telling her there’s no fucking way I’d let anyone see that, I shrug. “I’ll get it tonight. No worries.”

Sienna watches me for a long moment. “So, what now?”

“What do you mean, ‘what now’?” I ask, even though I know exactly what she means. I also know what I need to do. I have to turn away from her to do it. “Now you leave.”

I cringe as the words fall out of my mouth, hang my head as I say them. She doesn’t say anything and I close my eyes and wait for it.

“Well, okay then. Now I leave.”

“Sienna …” I swing around on my heel, my heart striking so hard I think she has to hear it. There’s nothing I want more than to pull her against me, hold her, tell her how amazing she is. But what good would that do? None. “Um, thanks again for helping me tonight.”

She smiles, but it’s not the sweet grin I’m used to. It’s cold. Angry. Embarrassed. “Sure. No problem.”

She scoops up her clothes and disappears into the lobby. I see the light flip on in the bathroom as I get dressed. After a little bit, the door opens and the light goes off and I make out her shadow as she heads to the front door.

She pauses, maybe waiting on me to stop her. My hand reaches for the door, maybe to take her up on that. But for the first time in a while, my body and brain are on the same page and I do us both a favor and don’t. I just watch her go to her car, making sure she makes it safely inside, and then pick up a hammer and chuck it against the wall.

Fourteen

Sienna

“I hate this for you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t love it for me either,” I laugh, looking across the table at Delaney.

Shoving the food into my mouth, I settle back in the cozy chair of Peaches, a warm buzz settling over me from the glass of wine I’ve already consumed.

Peaches is a quaint, oddball place in Merom that serves a little of everything. Want pizza? They have it. Mexican? There are offerings. A sandwich? Some of the best I’ve ever had. It was the first place Delaney brought me when I got here last year and it’s remained my favorite spot, especially on the weekends when I can people-watch.

Tonight, the tables are all but full with patrons ranging in every age group and demographic. Even the area reserved for large parties is bustling with a group of screaming kids with baseball hats. The chaos is just what I need to lift my mood and keep me from going home and overanalyzing this thing with Walker until I’m ready to cry like the girl I’m not. Like the girl I refuse to be.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, running a finger around the rim of her glass.

“Not without more wine.”

“I should’ve known something was wrong when you already had a glass sitting there when I walked in.”

Motioning to Chester as he looks up from the table he’s cleaning, I gesture for two more glasses of white wine and then turn my attention back to Delaney.

She wastes no time getting to the point. “How was it?”

“We really need to separate this into ‘sex’ and ‘after sex,’” I say and then take another bite of my dinner.

“Let’s start with sex.”

“Unforgettable,” I offer. “Amazing. I’ve never felt so … catered to. Does that make sense?”

“It makes me jealous.”

I fall back in my seat. “You know how sex can be almost transactional? Like you’re with a guy and it’s hot and then it’s over and there’s really nothing there. You might sleep with him again, but it’s an exchange of an orgasm.”

“Yes. And for one, I appreciate those.”

“I have nothing against them,” I tell her. “But this … I don’t know. It just felt like there was a connection. He kissed me, you know? A lot. Touched me. Caressed me, even. It wasn’t just fireworks and explosions. There were moments that felt like … moments.” I look at my wine glass and wish it were full already.

“I don’t see the need for all the wine,” she points out.

“Because we haven’t gotten to ‘after sex’ yet.” My fork hits my plate with a clatter. “You know what he said to me? He said, ‘Now you leave.’”

The words sound as harsh coming from me as they did from him but hearing them the second time just makes me angrier.

“He did what?” she exclaims.

“You heard me right,” I laugh. “He told me it was time for me to go. Fucking asshole.”

“Who’s an asshole?” Chester sets two glasses of wine on the table. With his white-blond hair, bright blue eyes, and thin frame, he’s the polar opposite of Walker. Still, he’s charismatic and handsome in a metrosexual kind of way and someone I’ve found minorly attractive. Until now. Now, nothing is even presentable if he’s not wearing a black t-shirt and a scowl.

“So, asshole?” he repeats.

Delaney gives me a sideways glance. “Do you know Walker Gibson?”

“Lives over in Linton, right?” Chester asks. “Runs a car shop or something?”

“That’s him,” she confirms.

“I don’t know Walker personally, but his brother, Machlan, the one who owns the bar over there—he and I were in school at the same time. He’s mean as hell,” he laughs. “A good guy, I think. I’ve never had an issue with him. But I’ve seen him in a few situations that I was really, really glad I wasn’t on the other end of his fury, you know?”

“But what kind of guy is Walker?” Delaney presses. “Would you want your little sister dating him?”

“I don’t know much about him like that,” he says. “Why? Is he the asshole?”

“No,” I say, injecting myself into the conversation. God knows what Delaney might say. “We just saw him the other night and were wondering about him. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m not an asshole. Just for the record,” Chester winks.

As he scampers off, I look across the room. The kids are thinning out from the pizza party, just a few adults and colorful balloons left behind. I’m turning away when my eyes lock on Peck’s. He’s leaning over the bannister, a hat matching the kids’ on his head, his hands locked in front of him. An inquisitive look is painted on his face before he turns his attention to a kid jumping up and down, tugging on his shirt.

My stomach drops, not wanting to deal with any more Gibson boys tonight.

Giving him a little wave, I face Delaney and down half of the fresh glass of wine.

“Whoa,” she says, eyes wide. “What’s that about?”

“Peck is over there,” I mumble, hoping he’s not still watching and can’t read lips. “I can’t deal with any more of them tonight.”

“Heya, Slugger.” Peck’s at my side before I know what’s happening, scooting himself into the booth beside me like we’re old friends. “What’s happening?”

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

He laughs in his easy way, running a hand through his floppy hair. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Having dinner with Delaney,” I say, nodding across the table. “Delaney, this is Peck. I know y’all met the other night, but, you know, we’re all here, sober, so …”

“Nice to meet you again,” Peck whistles.

“Likewise.” Delaney tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sienna has told me a lot about you.”

“Have you?” he looks at me. “It better have been good.”

“Of course it was good. What could I possibly say bad about you?”

“This is why I like you,” he says, bumping my shoulder with his. “So, what’s happening?”

“Not much. Why are you here?”

“End of the year baseball party. Fun times, y’all. Fun times.” He cranks his neck, strumming his fingers on the back of the booth. “How’d work go today?”

He’s clearly prodding for information, sensing something is off. Peck usually isn’t serious, nor does he care about how work went today. Him asking this makes me curious.

“Got a tractor in,” I say simply. “Walker spent the day on that.”

“Ah, shit. Those are a bitch. I wish he would’ve called. I could’ve skipped out on the end-of-the-year party for the little league if he had.”

Taking a deep breath, I lift my glass to my lips and try not to squeeze the glass until it snaps. “I went back tonight and helped him.”

“You helped him? Work on the tractor?”

“I’m going to use the ladies’ room,” Delaney cuts in. “Be back in a minute.”

I wait until she’s gone before I continue, my stomach sloshing with wine and anxiety, the acid almost starting to burn. “He’s a complete asshole, Peck.”

Peck leans away as if he needs the room to comprehend this announcement. “Okay. What the hell happened?”

I sigh, taking the drink I’ve been holding. The liquid rolls down my throat with ease, the two glasses before this one making it an easy trek. My fingertips are warm; a slight numbness I’ve been chasing all evening washes over me.

“You okay?” he asks, a look of concern settling over his features. “How many glasses have you had?”

“Not enough.”

“What the hell did he do?”

My laugh displays the fury I’m trying to keep in check, the load of embarrassment that’s turned to so much anger I can barely hold it in. “I’m over it.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yup.”

“Look, Sienna,” Peck stumbles, getting comfortable in his seat. “I don’t know exactly what just went down, but please stay cool.”

“Stay cool?” I ask. “He just fucked me and then dismissed me, Peck. My ability to stay cool is broken.”

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters, resting his forehead on the table.

“I’m mad, naturally, but I’m madder at myself,” I say, still working it out in my head. “I let myself get in that position. I let my guard down. My fault.”

Peck raises his head and looks at me. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no callousness or amusement. Just a sincerity that makes me want to hug him.

“I can only imagine what happened and if it’s as bad as I think it is, I’m not making excuses for him,” Peck says quietly. “He’s a grown man. But I will apologize on his behalf because you don’t deserve to have any of his issues put on you.”

“You’re darn right I don’t.” I pick at a slice of lemon I removed earlier from my plate. “I obviously won’t be back at Crank. I don’t want to see him again.”

“I can understand that.”

Taking in his handsome features and the sweetness in his eyes, I give in. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I give him a quick, simple hug. “Thanks for being so nice to me.”

“I’m really sorry about Walker,” he says. “If you need anything, just call. Okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I know you will, you little badass,” he laughs. “But I mean it. I can move furniture, pick up food, listen to you cry but that’s not my favorite. Only call me for that as a last option.”

“Okay,” I laugh, watching Delaney come back across the room. “Thanks, Peck.”

“For what?”

“For being my friend.”

He slides out of the seat. “I got a few things to do. Again, you need anything, call me.”

“Will do.”

I watch him walk out of the restaurant, stopping to say hello to a few people on the way out, and wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

Fifteen

Walker

The music switches from a hip-hop beat to a country song. Patrons of Crave raise their glasses, inebriated cheers that only come at this point on a Friday night ringing out through the bar. I sit near the phallic ducks in the back and watch everyone celebrate the end of the workweek and what might be the end of my reason to get up in the morning.

Nora, Machlan’s steady Friday night helper, catches my eye through the dim lights. Casting a glance over her shoulder, ensuring there’s no one waiting for a drink, she sits backwards on the chair next to me.

“You look like hell,” she says.

Her short blonde hair is all tousled, sweat lining her forehead from buzzing back and forth across this place a million times over the past few hours. Eye makeup smeared, giving her a rock star look, I could tell her she looks like hell too, but I’d be lying. I could also be wrong because everything is kind of blurred.

“What’s it to you?” I ask instead, taking the last slug of whiskey from the glass in front of me. The burn of the liquor is gone, dulled by the whiskey before it. And the whiskey before that.

“It’s not shit to me. I was just pointing it out.”

“Well, thank ya for that.”

She rolls her eyes, resting her arms over the back of the chair. “What’s happening with you, anyway?”

“What does it look like is happening with you? I mean, me?”

Grimacing, I close one eye in an attempt to steady myself and also to see if it helps me see her clearly. It doesn’t. My hand slaps against the table as I catch myself from falling onto the floor.

Nora laughs, her red lips spread wide at my state of undoing. “I’ve never seen you this toasted.”

“Ah, I’m not toasted,” I say, struggling to regain my composure. “I’m just enjoying the Friday night. Isn’t this what people are supposed to do?”

“Sure.” She watches me closely, narrowing her pretty green eyes. “Is she back—”

“Nope. I’m not that drunk, Nora.”

Leaning back, she blows out a breath but is stopped when Lance shows up at her side. This causes her to sit upright and smooth out her shirt. “Hey, Lance. I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.”

“I thought it was odd you were wearing pants,” he says, testing her reaction.

“Careful there, Nora,” I say, wagging a finger in her direction. “It’ll be you falling out of the chair now.”

“Fuck you, Walker,” she says, getting to her feet and storming off as I chuckle at my own joke.

Lance flips the chair Nora just vacated around. “You look like hell.”

“Will you stop saying that?”

“I only said it once, but I take it someone said it before me.” He works his head side-to-side. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Who invited you here?”

He leans in, his eyes glimmering even under the dull light at my state of inebriation. “I’m actually here because I had to get out of town,” he grins wickedly. “There’s this girl—”

“This story is starting like all of your other ones.”

“Which means I have the best stories, right?”

I don’t want to hear his damn stories. I want to sit here and brood over my own mess, replay my own story, and pretend like I didn’t just write “The End” on it with the tip of my cock.

“Want to hear it?” he asks.

“Let me guess—you fucked her.”

“Senseless,” he laughs. “I had her sprawled out on top of my desk, my tie shoved in her mouth, as I fucked the shit out of her.”

He goes on about his fuckfest, but all I can think about are the hours before now. I’ve come to the conclusion there’s not enough whiskey to block that out.

Her scent is still nestled in my pores, the taste of her pussy fresh in my mouth. Every now and then, my shirt catches on one of the indentions on my shoulder from her fingernails and I’m reminded, yet again, of Sienna.

My body, naturally, wants to have her again. I want to get off on seeing her respond to me, want me as badly as I want her—almost desperately. A craving to see her in my t-shirt, on my sheets, digs at me to the point I feel like screaming until I pass out. I almost don’t care if it meant waking up to a reorganized kitchen and that’s the scariest part of all. Is this what happens when you lose your mind?

If I lose it, I know the exact moment the fall began. It’s not the look in her eye as she moaned my name or the pleasure glossed on her skin as she came. It’s the way she watched me pretend like it was a transaction to me, another night with another woman. That is what’s going to haunt my nightmares if I’m even able to sleep.

Of all the ways to stop her from feeling, I chose that. I did that. To someone who just might’ve given a fuck.

“You still here?” Lance asks, waving a hand in front of my face.

“Get that away from me before I break it.”

“I’m going to guess that tonight I could actually take you,” he laughs. “What the fuck happened? You don’t drink like this.”

“I’ll tell ya what happened,” Peck says out of nowhere.

“Peck—go home,” I say, trying to focus on his face.

“Nah, Peck, sit. Stay, little cousin,” Lance laughs, pulling a chair out across the table from me. “Tell me what my brother did.”

“Well, I don’t know for sure,” he says, cringing as the song gets louder. “But I will say I just sat down with Sienna over at Peaches.”

Both palms splay on the table, trying to root me in place. “You did what?”

“I don’t know what he did,” Lance says, pointing to Peck, “but you,” he says, dragging his finger through the air until it’s pointing at me, “fucked her, didn’t you?”

Narrowing my eyes, I lean towards Lance. “Enough.”

“Was she everything I dreamed she’d be?”

“Enough, Lance,” I growl.

“I don’t think he was everything she thought he’d be,” Peck says, eyeing me cautiously, “considering she never wants to see you again.”

Lance forgotten, my gaze switches to my cousin. His arms are crossed over his blue t-shirt, his hat twisted backwards on his head, as he gives me a look he’s never given me before—like it’s him calling me out on my shit.

Fuck that.

“She’s not quitting,” I say, although I’m not sure I believe me. “We talked about it.”

“Before or after you shot your wad?”

“Damn it, Peck,” I warn, my temples pulsing as I glare at him.

“This isn’t about her quitting, moron,” Peck fires back. “This is about you doing whatever you did and her never wanting to see you again.”

Lance places a hand on my shoulder, gently guiding me back into my chair. I don’t know who to be more pissed at—Peck, Lance, Sienna, or myself. All I know for sure is I’m ready to come out of my fucking skin, my blood boiling so hot I’m going to erupt.

Why am I surprised she’s leaving? Wasn’t it always in the cards? Didn’t she even tell me that originally? Isn’t this what women do?

“Don’t ‘damn it’ me,” Peck says. “You wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at yourself. Or at the woman who caused all this.”

“He’s right,” my brother says, motioning to Nora for a beer. “Any of this bullshit you’re aiming at us, or Sienna, is misplaced.”

“I know where to fucking place it,” I seethe. “I don’t need you two telling me what to do.”

Peck stands, twisting his hat back around. “Then be my guest. Make a mess of everything and see who loses in the end because, I’ll tell you what, it’ll be you.”

“I’d rather it be me than Sienna,” I say, snatching the beer Nora brings for Lance. I down half of it before she gets it out of my hand.

“Machlan said no more for you,” she says, wrestling the bottle away. Holding it up in the air, she smirks. “I love telling you no.”

“You wouldn’t tell me no if your life depended on it.”

“Hey, Walker,” she says, bending forward. Her cleavage is on full display, her lips painted and ready to wrap around a cock. None of it does anything for me. “No.”

“Hey, Nora,” I say, watching her eyes grow wide. “Good.”

“I hate you tonight,” she says, storming off.

“I’ll add you to the list,” I mutter, slumping back into my seat. Peck’s gone when I look up. “Where’d he go?”

“Hell if I know,” Lance sighs. “Spoke too soon.”

As an eighties hit blares across the speakers, Peck jumps onto a table in the middle of the bar. Everyone cheers, bottles going up in the air, as he hooks his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and starts dancing. The song can barely be heard as the women catcall, the patrons urging him on as they do every time he pulls this non-Machlan-approved stunt. It’s a sideshow act, one that drives my brother insane.

“Get off the fuckin’ table,” Machlan shouts, his voice swamped by the crowd.

Lance and I kick back and watch the circus, knowing just how it’ll end.

Peck turns around, shakes his ass towards Machlan, and starts some pelvic thrust move that he’s known for and perfected over the last few years.

We watch as Machlan sorts through the crowd and leaps onto the table. Peck abruptly hops off. The crowd boos while Lance and I laugh, Peck making his way to the front. He stops at the front door, bows to his adoring fans, and walks out the door like a soldier, complete with a one-fingered salute to Machlan.

A girl springs onto the table with Machlan, digging her hands onto the crotch of his pants. He winks, turning his head to the side and kisses the fuck out of her as she grinds into him from behind. The crowd goes insane, beer sloshing as the bottles are raised at the scene in the middle of the room.

Machlan breaks the kiss, smirks at the crowd, then hops down and heads back to the bar.

“Do you think Peck does that just to get kicked out?” Lance asks, taking a fresh bottle from Nora, who pointedly ignores me.

“Sometimes. It’s his calling card or something,” I say, ending the sentence with a yawn. “Like if he doesn’t get kicked out of here at least once a month, people will forget about him.”

“Is that what you’re trying to do?”

“What?”

Lance takes a long drink before answering me. “Make sure Sienna doesn’t forget about you. That’s why you did whatever fucked up shit you did tonight. You figured she’d leave anyway.”

The pit of my stomach quivers, the tell-tale sign I’ve drunk entirely too much. I focus on his face, his features swirling together in one colorful mess. It’s the moment you wait for when you drink to forget—the moment when you feel all the problems finally give in to the alcohol.

“Fuck off,” I tell him, struggling to get to my feet. “You can drive me home in Daisy.”

“Oh, lucky me,” he laughs.

“Damn right lucky you.”

We slip through the throngs of people, Lance’s arm around my waist, giving Machlan a wave as we pass. Lance is deep in conversation with me, meaning himself, as I tune out and enjoy the blur I’ve been searching for all night.

Sixteen

Sienna

Windows down, radio up, wind billowing through my hair, I zoom down the country road towards Merom. There’s hardly any traffic as I make my way back to town after having dropped off a bunch of Delaney’s things at her parents’ house. Her mom and dad took us to lunch, her dad going on and on about the dairy industry and almost boring us to death. Still, being bored to death was a nice reprieve from everything else.

There’s no one to blame this thing with Walker on but myself. I should’ve taken his hints and left well enough be. Maybe I pushed him. Maybe I overstepped my bounds coming in after hours, regardless of my intentions. I was a willing participant and he’s entitled to his behavior afterwards. Just as I am mine.

“I don’t get it,” I mutter to myself, turning down the volume. The sappy song about true love and second chances is not doing me any favors.

I pilot the car around a big box lying in the middle of the road, wondering if it is some kind of analogy from the universe. Sometimes you have to go around stuff to keep going.

“I’ll go around him all right.”

Cornfields zip by as I step on the accelerator, my mind going just as fast around last night. The terseness of his tone. His initial refusal to look at me. The look in his eye when he did.

“Shit,” I groan, hearing a loud pop. The car lurches to the side as a thump-thump smacks against the pavement. Slowing the car as quickly as I can, I bring it to the shoulder. It sinks to the right.

Resting my head against the steering wheel, I try not to cry. “Lord, please help me.”

Turning off the engine, I get out into the warm afternoon sun. There’s nothing around but tall stalks of corn and high, puffy clouds as far as the eye can see. It takes all of five seconds to confirm a flat tire and to spot the nail sticking out of the rubber. Air gushes around the gouge making it impossible to limp it to the nearest gas station which is, if I remember correctly, miles away.

Leaning against the trunk, I slip out my phone and call Delaney. It goes immediately to voicemail.

“This mailbox is full and not accepting messages. Please try again later. Goodbye.”

“No,” I groan, stomping my foot against the dirt. A rock rolls down the shallow embankment and into a ditch.

Pulling up the text app, I shoot a message her way and hold my breath. The “delivered” tag doesn’t show and I wonder if she turned it off to take a nap to ward off the migraine she was getting like she said she was going to.

Another rock meets the toe of my shoe and joins the other at the bottom of the ditch. It’s littered with trash and weeds and another bunch of rocks I kick in too.

“Damn it,” I say to the corn. “Why can’t I just go freaking home?”

Looking both ways down the road, there’s no one in sight. I didn’t even pass anyone when I was heading out here.

“I’m going to die a horror show death.”

Tossing my phone from one hand to the other, I weigh my options. I can wait for someone to find me and hope they aren’t a serial killer and come before nightfall. I could hold my breath that Delaney wakes up and checks her messages. Nine-one-one is an option, although this isn’t an emergency and I would feel like a dick. Or I could call Walker.

“Ha,” I sigh, thinking about calling him. “I’d rather feel like a dick.”

Scrolling through my contacts, I see Peck’s name. Swiping on, I make it to the R’s before I go back. My finger hovers over his name. I gulp before I click on it. My breath holds while I wait for it to connect.

“Hey, Slugger,” he says after the first ring.

“Hey, Peck. I, um …” Looking around at the corn, my spirits cave. “I need some help.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I’m stuck out here on Route 9 somewhere between Merom and Honnerton and just got a flat tire. I don’t know who else to call,” I sigh.

“Did you call Walker?”

“Nope. I’d rather walk home.”

There’s a small chuckle through the phone. “So I shouldn’t tell him you have a flat tire and need me to come get you?”

“Absolutely not,” I insist. “Look, you said to call you if I needed anything and I—”

“I’m already in my truck,” he says, cutting me off. “I’ll be there in a few. Just down Route 9?”

“Go to Merom and take it towards the bluff. I’m like sixty-eight million miles into the corn.”

“Be there in a bit.”

Tossing my phone into the car, I cross the ditch and sit on the other side. No cars pass as I sit there and lace little flowers together like we used to do at recess in elementary school. It’s methodical and intricate and takes all my attention which is a godsend.

The first car I hear comes at me like a bat out of hell. Hopping to my feet, I see Peck’s hand out the driver’s window. Taking a step towards the ditch as he slides in facing me, I stop. His smile does nothing to smooth this over.

Walker climbs out of the truck. His expression is unreadable, even for him, and I grind my teeth together as I turn to Peck.

“Hey,” Peck says, his tone way too cheery.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask him, marching across the ditch next to the driver’s side door as he gets out.

“Coming to fix your tire.” He leans into the back of his truck and yanks out a toolbox. “Which one is it?”

“Did you not hear me when I said I don’t want Walker here?” I hiss. “I’d rather have walked back, Peck. I meant that.”

Popping one arm on the rail of the truck bed, he looks at me. “He was standing next to me. Did you think I was getting out of there without him when he found out it was you?”

“Yes, I did. Because you’re a grown man who can tell him no.”

“Sure,” he laughs, carrying the toolbox towards my car. He passes Walker at the front of his truck, muttering something to him that I can’t hear.

When I finally look that way, I ignore the wariness in his gaze and shoot him the dirtiest look I can manage. He starts to speak, but I turn away.

“Sienna …” he says, his voice fading.

Taking in the expanse of the cornfields, I calculate how long it would take me to just walk back to town. The rows are straight, which would kind of be like a path, and it would be relatively safe because no large animals could fit in there so I ultimately shouldn’t die a gory death.

His hand rests on my shoulder. I pull away.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he gruffs out, standing way too close for comfort.

“Really?” I ask, pivoting in a half-circle to face him. “Why in the world would I call you?”

His jaw clenches as he works it back and forth. “Oh, I don’t know. Because that’s the logical solution.”

“Logic? You want to talk logic? This should be fun,” I glare, crossing my arms over my chest. “Can you just go help Peck or something?”

“Peck doesn’t need my help, Sienna.”

“Then why the hell did you come?”

“You know why I fucking came,” he says, his eyes darkening. “I came to talk to you.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

He takes a step towards me, his hand flexing in the air like he wants to reach for me but wisely refrains. “Maybe I have a lot to say to you.”

“You know what? Maybe you’ve said enough.”

We have a mini-standoff on the shoulder of the road, a flock of birds flying overhead. The music Peck is streaming into his earbuds a few feet away as he crouches at my tire floats through the air right alongside the irritation passing between his cousin and I.

“Damn it, Sienna.”

“Don’t use that tone with me,” I bite, jabbing a finger in his direction.

“Will you just stop it for a second and let me talk?”

“No, I won’t. You’ve said everything I need to hear already.”

He growls, running a hand through his hair. “You are so damn hardheaded.”

“Me?” I ask, dropping my hand. “I’m hardheaded? What the hell does that make you?”

“At least I’ll listen to you.”

“Well, listen to my steps walk away.” I get a few steps towards Peck when Walker spins me in a circle. “Hey!”

“I just want to talk to you. Hear me out.”

“Why? It doesn’t matter what you say because whatever comes out of your mouth right now, you’ll contradict later. Look at last night …”

I fight the tears hitting the corners of my eyes like a prize fighter, imploring them to reabsorb into my eyes. I’d rather do anything instead of letting him see me cry.

His gaze settles on the lone tear slipping down my cheek, sliding down my cheekbone, near the crease of my nose, and over my lips. He watches it fall all the way to my shirt.

“I’m crying because I’m pissed,” I tell him, omitting the part about my feelings and how they hurt more at the hands of him than they ever have over a man.

“I hate seeing you cry.”

His eyes rise to mine. My cheeks are hot, warmth exuding from them as I stand in front of him. Even now, I can see something in his eyes that pings at my heart and I have to force it away.

“I kept thinking I saw something in you that proved you weren’t really an asshole. And, you know what,” I say, biting back a sob, “that’s what hurts.”

He grimaces, walks in a circle, but refuses to dispute anything.

“I’ll be honest,” I say, my voice dropping a couple of notches, “I liked you. I enjoyed spending time with you. And I thought you did too. Maybe it’s what I hoped would happen, maybe I wanted you to like me.”

“You know I like you, Sienna,” he says, standing still. “That’s not the problem.”

“So this is what you do to people you like?”

“No,” he groans, looking at the sky.

“You do this on purpose. You’re hot and cold intentionally, making me wonder where I stand and what you’re thinking.”

“You know what I’m thinking,” he says, his body almost shaking. “You know how I feel.”

“Do I? Because the last interaction we had made it perfectly clear how you feel, if that’s the case.”

My words stop him in his tracks. He takes a deep, measured breath as he sticks his hands into his pockets.

“Do you want me to hate you? Fine. Done. You win,” I say, holding his gaze for half a second and then turning to Peck. “You done?”

“Let’s go somewhere and talk,” Walker says from behind me.

“Peck?” I say, ignoring Walker.

“Yeah, I’m done. You sliced it pretty good.” Peck brushes off his hands, leaning the old tire next to his leg. “That one will get you around for a while, but you’ll need a new one. It’s the only one we had in the shop.”

“I’ll order a new one,” Walker says.

I look at him over my shoulder. “I’ll go to the dealership. Don’t worry about it.” Turning back to Peck, I hold up a finger. “Hold on a second.” My hand shaking, I get into the car and sift through my wallet. Pulling out a fifty-dollar bill, I get back out and hand it to Peck. “Here. It’s all the cash I have—”

“Stop,” Walker cuts me off.

“Take it, Peck,” I demand.

“I’m not taking your money,” he laughs.

I shove the money in Peck’s hand. “Then give it to him. But I won’t owe either of you.”

Peck studies me for a long second before nodding. “Fine. You still coming to church tomorrow?”

“Doubt it,” I say, my heart softening as I think of Nana. “Tell Nana I’ll mail her my blueberry muffin recipe.”

“She’ll be pissed,” Peck grins. “You really want to risk that?”

“Thanks for coming.” I send him a small smile before walking around the back of my car. “I appreciate it.”

“Any time. I told you that.”

With a final look Walker’s way, I ignore the look in his eye that would typically make me stop and ask him what’s wrong. Today I don’t give a damn.

Jumping into the car, I flip on the ignition and take off down the road, leaving Walker behind.

Seventeen

Sienna

The sun is bright, birds chirping, grass still dewy as I make my way from the parking lot of Holy Hills Church to the front steps. Scanning the gatherings of people scattered in front of the brick building, I don’t see anyone I recognize. That’s both good and bad.

I wasn’t going to show up here this morning. I made plans to meet Delaney for brunch just so I wouldn’t. But when I woke up at six, I changed my mind.

I try to settle my nerves by reminding myself this is a means to an end. I’ll sit through a short service, probably one my soul needs more than I care to admit, give the money I owe Walker to Peck, and then go back home and plot my escape from Illinois. Easy as pie. Except part of me wants to hear what Walker has to say.

Lying in bed last night, tossing and turning, I kept telling myself it didn’t matter. My feelings are wounded, my pride is injured, so what do I care what he wanted to say?

Because what will it hurt?

The pastor stands by the front door step, shaking hands with each person as they enter. The air has a melody about it as the light breeze dusts across the steps. Laughs, stories about grandchildren, and talks about potluck dinners drift about, soothing my nerves like a warm balm.

My heels click against the steps, my hand guiding up the shiny black rail as I near the top. The pastor extends a hand, a warm, welcoming smile on his aged face.

“Welcome,” he says, his voice passive and kind. “Are you new here?”

“I’m visiting for the day. A guest of … Nana? I’m sorry. I’m not even sure what her name is. How awful is that?”

“Quite the opposite, actually.”

“How do you figure?” I take his hand and give it a shake.

“Well, you know her as Nana, a very important title. That tells me you met her through a memorable experience that left an impression on both of you.”

“I don’t know about that.”

He pats the top of my hand before steering me inside. “We’re glad to have you today. Please, make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.”

Stepping inside the sanctuary, most of the patrons are sitting in wooden pews. They form two rows with a walkway in the center that leads to an altar and an elevated platform behind it with a plain podium. A vintage piano sits in the corner and a lady with silver hair sits at the keys, playing an old hymn I remember as one of my grandfather’s favorites.

Tucking my clutch under my arm, I scan the pews. My mouth is dry and I sidestep people, feeling like I’m just in the way of their normal weekly routine. Like I don’t belong. Like I should just go home.

Left to right, I glaze over old folks, babies, toddlers, and middle-aged men and women all chatting softly until I get close to the front on the right.

Walker sits between Machlan and another guy, the one I saw with them the night of the bat-to-truck fiasco. A navy and brown plaid shirt stretches across Walker’s wide shoulders, his dark hair combed to the side and shining in the bright morning sunlight streaming in through the windows. Machlan and the other guy chat around him, leaning behind so that Peck, who’s sitting in the pew behind them next to Nana, can join in.

My feet want to march their way to Walker, to stand in front of him and try to gauge how he’s feeling. Not that I should care. I shouldn’t even give a crap but there’s something about the man that I want to break open, to hold, to fix whatever it is that’s so tarnished in him that he can’t even smile a true smile without feeling guilty. That has to always keep everyone at arm’s length. That he has to be so miserable.

Sucking in a breath, I head towards them, pausing every now and then to thank different parishioners as they welcome me to the service. With each step, I second guess why I’m here and wonder if I could just slip the money to Peck and bolt.

The journey to their position in the church takes exorbitantly longer than it should. Everyone wants to introduce themselves, say hello, ask me if I want a coffee or donut from the lobby. As considerate as they all are, as grateful as I am for the warm reception, each second that goes by is another opportunity for my nerves to warp into a tighter, more confounding knot.

“Good morning,” I say, gripping the edge of the pew to keep from falling over as Walker’s cologne whips me in the face. It’s not that it’s strong or that he’s the only one fresh out of the shower. It’s that his is the only one that I pick up out of all the body washes and aftershaves on this Sunday morning.

At the sound of my voice, all heads in the Gibson clan turn to me. Walker’s eyes are wide and a little bloodshot and I wrangle mine away before he can see inside them. Plus, I’m not sure now I’m here that I want to see inside his.

Machlan smirks, exchanging a glance with the man on the other side of Walker. He’s a lighter, thinner version of Walker but with a self-assuredness I can recognize as something I usually see in myself. Not today.

Peck stands from his seat behind them, effectively blocking me from Walker’s line of sight. “Good morning,” he says. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“I probably shouldn’t have,” I say, feeling a little relief in his simple smile.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at me—head cocked to the side, playful grin painted on his lips—that has me curious. As if to drive the point home, whatever point he’s trying to make, he lobs me a wink before turning to Nana. “Look what we have here.”

“Well, good morning, Sienna,” she says, nudging the man next to her to move down a bit. “Here. Grab a seat by me.”

“Peck’s sitting there,” I say, the collar of my dress feeling tight, as I avoid Walker’s stare. “I can just sit in the back. It’s not a problem.”

“Nonsense. There’s room for all of us. Patrick will move down, won’t you, hon?” She glances beside her as the old man wearing a ruby-colored tie makes room. “Here. Sit right here.”

Peck moves so I can pass him and take the spot between him and Nana. Walker is turned in his seat, his cuffs rolled to his elbows, and watches me like he might blink and I’ll be gone.

“Have you met all my handsome grandsons?” Nana asks. “That’s Machlan, of course you know Walker. That’s Lance and Peck. They’re all good boys,” she says, patting my leg. “And so is their sister, but she’s outgrown us by now.”

Walker’s gaze follows her hand to my thigh, letting it linger, before he blazes a trail back to my eyes. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning,” I say, shifting in my seat. My heart thumps so loud I think Nana can hear it as she rambles to Patrick about her morning glories.

Squirming in my seat, I situate my purse on my lap. Peck nudges me with his shoulder and I nudge him back, a playfulness between the two of us that takes the edge off my nerves.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” The man I know now as Lance settles against the back of the pew, a smirk playing across his features. He resembles his brothers handily, his face clean-shaven though, instead of the scruff Walker and Machlan sport. There’s an air of refinement about him that’s a stark dichotomy to the almost barbarianism that swims just below the surface of his striking hazel eyes. “I’m Lance.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say politely, noting the scowl on Walker’s face out of the corner of my eye that might include a twinge of jealousy. “Walker and Peck have Crank, Machlan, Crave. What do you do?”

“I teach history at the high school in Carlisle.”

“He’s the resident nerd,” Peck jokes.

“I love history, actually,” I tell them. “American history, mostly, but I had classes on European history and Russian culture in college.”

He seems impressed. “Meeting a woman who likes history doesn’t happen often.”

Walker fidgets in his seat, catching Lance’s attention. He glances at Walker, his smirk deepening. “What’s your story, Sienna?”

“She doesn’t have one,” Walker almost growls. I look at him, his gaze capturing it immediately and holding it hostage. It freezes me to my seat, causes a bead of sweat to line the back of my neck. I could easily sit quietly and just have this silent conversation, the one that makes me feel like no one else is in the room, but I don’t. Because that’s what he wants.

Clearing my throat, I tear my gaze away from Walker and settle it on Lance. I think, if not seated by his brother’s side, Lance would be hard to look away from.

“How sweet of Walker to speak for me,” I say sweetly. “Actually, I don’t have much to share that wouldn’t bore you to death.”

“I doubt that,” Lance mutters. “I seriously fucking doubt that.”

Nana leans forward, swatting Lance in the side of the head. “Don’t you think about using that language in here, Lance Miller Gibson.”

“Sorry, Nana. Won’t let it happen again.”

“Better not let it happen again,” Walker warns him, his tone so low that I find myself gulping. Lance doesn’t seem fazed, just laughs. But he does turn back around towards the front.

The pastor taps the mic attached to the podium. Walker’s eyes drag over me, leaving a scorched trail in their wake, before he, too, faces forward.

Shuddering in my seat, trying to remain unaffected, I feel a nudge at my rib. Looking at Peck, I’m met with a set of twinkling blue eyes. “Thanks for coming,” he whispers. “He was an ass all night.”

“Walker?” I whisper back as the pastor begins to speak.

“Who else? Did you see his eyes? Drinkin’ like a fool since you drove off.”

Staring at the back of his head, I wonder if he’s trying to forget what happened. Trying to forget me. The idea causes my heart to ruffle in my chest. Turning back to Peck, I whisper, “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Hell yeah, you should. Listen,” he says, leaning his head so he’s almost whispering straight into my ear, “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but he needs this.”

“Needs what?”

“Please stand and join us in the singing of Amazing Grace,” the pastor says. A piano strikes the first notes of the beloved tune. I join the others in singing from memory.

Nana’s voice is soothing and I find myself relaxing into the lyrics. I make a concerted effort not to watch Walker, to block out the whiffs of his cologne and the way my body feels a tingle every time I hear his voice cut through the others.

“Do you trust me?” Peck interjects as we take a breath before going into the second stanza.

“No, I don’t trust you,” I hiss. “I don’t know you.”

“That’s your second mistake,” he chuckles.

“What’s the first?”

“This is a house of God, Sienna …”

I can’t help but giggle at the look on his face, a move that gains me a glance over the shoulder from Walker as we take our seats. I flash him a forced smile, a move that seems to confuse him more than anything. Machlan bends and whispers something in his ear. Whatever it is causes Walker’s scowl to come parading back and Nana to swat at Machlan.

He doesn’t look at me for the rest of the service. I just stare at the back of his head and feel my anxiety creep up with every tick of the clock. I replay things in my mind that should require some sort of Confession, but all done in the spirit of trying to figure out what happened with Walker.

As the pastor has us stand for a final prayer, I hang my head and say a prayer of my own for guidance. When I open my eyes again, as the entire room says a somber “Amen,” Nana switches gears.

“Dinner is at two at my house,” she says, picking up her pocketbook that looks like it could hold an entire casserole. “The boys usually come on over after church and you’re more than welcome to drive over—”

“Oh, Nana, no,” I say, placing a hand on her arm. “That’s not necessary.”

“Yeah, she’s riding with me.” Peck takes my elbow. “We’ll be over in a second.”

Nana readily accepts this bit of information and engages Patrick in a conversation about the library.

“Say that again?” Walker is facing us completely, his hands wrapped along the back of the pew.

His tone skirts over my skin, like a shot of adrenaline being injected in to my veins. My mouth opens slightly to keep from losing air as I look up at Peck.

“She and I will be at Nana’s,” he says easily, like he’s completely unaware that Walker wants to rip his throat out. “Just letting Nana know.”

The pastor comes up to Walker, Machlan, and Lance, forcing Walker to turn away but not without a final look planted straight on me.

“I’m what?” I ask, following Peck into the aisle. “Are you crazy? I’m not going with you.”

“Shh,” he whispers, looking to see if Walker is listening. “Trust me.”

“I thought we went over this?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Answer one question.”

“Fine.”

“Do you like him?”

“Like who?” I ask like I don’t know.

“Walker,” he scoffs. “Do you like him? If he wasn’t a complete dick, would you like him?”

His tone sends a note straight to my heart, the goofiness of Peck gone and replaced with a sincerity that’s beyond sweet.

“That’s answer enough,” he notes. “Give me this afternoon.”

“Whether I like him or not doesn’t matter, and for the record, I don’t,” I tell him. “Not anymore.”

“Don’t lie in church. We aren’t Catholic. You just can’t head to Confession and be absolved of your sins.”

Blowing out a breath, I change tactics. “I’m not going to your Nana’s and making a scene. It’s Walker’s grandma’s house, Peck. Not mine. I have no business being there.”

“Except she invited ya,” he points out.

“Not knowing her grandson fuc …” I clear my throat. “Not being apprised of all the facts.”

“Do you want to go home alone?” he asks.

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“Come to dinner with me,” he almost begs. “Hang out with my cousins. Have some good food. When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”

“Peck …” I whine.

He leans in, his eyes searching mine. “Walker is coming this way. Just go with me, Sienna. You can leave if you hate it. I’ll even take you, but … trust me.”

As Walker walks by, not stopping to chat or even glancing at me, his fingertips brush my hip. That’s all it takes. That simple contact not lasting more than a microsecond is all it takes to pull the trigger on the flood of emotion ripping through my veins.

To anyone looking, it would seem like an accidental brush, if they noticed at all. To me, I felt what he was saying. I just don’t understand it.

“Fine,” I say, heading towards the door. “But if he’s an ass, I’m leaving and you’re going with me.”

“Fair enough, Slugger. Fair enough.”

Eighteen

Sienna

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever gone along with,” I say, cringing as Peck’s truck goes airborne over a set of railroad tracks and drops back onto the pavement. “Take it easy.”

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, his easy grin painted on his face. “What’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t know. Living?”

“You only live once.”

“And here I didn’t peg you as a YOLO kind of guy,” I tease, grabbing the door handle as we take a curve on two wheels.

“What’s YOLO?”

“Forget it.”

He straightens the truck out, barely controlling the slide onto the gravel road just outside of city limits. Dust barrels behind us, whipping away into the cornfields lining both sides of the road.

With every mile we get away from my car and the church, it seems like we are a little further away from all sense and sensibility.

The cardboard pine tree hanging from the rearview mirror twirls in the afternoon sunlight. I focus on it and not on the way my brain is screaming at me to have Peck turn back. When I open my mouth to comment on how New Car Scent doesn’t smell like a new car at all, something altogether different comes out.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely.” He eases up on the accelerator, the truck slowing its roll so I can actually make out stalks of corn and not a yellow blur. “I wasn’t kidding when I said he was a mess this weekend.”

My skin feeling like it’s too small for my body, I grab at my collar. “Why?”

“I’m not sure. Just that it has to do with you.”

If I wasn’t strapped in with a seat belt, I’d sag against the door. Instead, I rest my head on the glass and watch the country out of the windshield. “I really think we should scrap this, Peck.”

“Hell fucking no,” he laughs.

“This isn’t funny.”

“Look,” he says, re-gripping the steering wheel, “I don’t think y’all are gonna get married and have babies. I mean, if you do, great. Fine. I don’t really give a shit. Molly McCarter will have my babies someday. But you seem to like him in a way most women don’t.”

“I don’t like him at all.”

“Mm-hmm…” he says, taking us around another corner on two wheels. “I think what’s different is that you came into town not knowing anyone. Like, you don’t know the gossip or the history or who’s fucking who and who’s getting fat, you know?”

“Oh my God,” I snort. “That’s terrible!”

“Yeah, small towns. It’s true. Anyway,” he continues on, “you just slugged your way in here and saw things for what they are. Not what they were or what they were supposed to be.”

“First off, don’t think I didn’t get that jab you webbed in there for me …”

He grins, lifting his shoulders in a lazy shrug.

“Second,” I continue, “are you saying Walker is not what he was? Does he have some crazy past?” Squirming now, blood racing, I demand answers. “Tell me, Peck. You wouldn’t bring me around like this if he’s a weirdo, right? Oh my God. I can’t trust you, can I?”

He finds my near-panic hysterical and laughs like he’s watching a comedy. “No, Slugger. He doesn’t have a crazy past. He does, however, have a past, like we all do,” he adds to stall my objection. “In a small town, that shades what people think of you and how they treat you and interact with you. Like, whatever you were deemed in third grade is what people expect.”

Letting that marinate, I relax back into the seat. It’s true—people do expect you to be a certain way. It’s partially what I’m fighting in my own life when I look at it.

As a Landry, I’m expected to toe the family line. I’ve never been able to just spew what I’m thinking, lest it hurt someone’s political career. I have to watch who I’m seen with in case a photographer is around. My parents, although pleasantly accepting of my pseudo-rebellion, would, without a doubt, prefer me in expensive heels and a pretty dress and leading a charity event to end childhood hunger.

“I get that,” I concede. “But what was Walker ‘supposed’ to be?”

A small white house with the cutest front porch comes into view. There’s an old-fashioned laundry line stretching behind, parallel to a small garden. A garage sits next to it, the doors open and an SUV and a car parked in front.

“Walker was supposed to be a college football star, even though I’m not sure he ever really liked the sport. He was just naturally good at it, I guess. He even got a scholarship for it,” he tells me. “He dated a girl all through high school and everyone thought they’d have a shitload of babies to toughen up the Linton football program by now.”

“What happened?”

Peck forces a swallow as he pulls into the driveway behind a dark purple Dodge Charger. “Life. Life happened.”

“That’s not an answer,” I say hurriedly as he grabs for the door handle. “You can’t give me that.”

“Well, he didn’t take the scholarship for starters.”

“Why?” I ask, wondering why anyone would pass up free college tuition. I’ve heard people talk about how expensive it is and how families go broke, wrapping themselves up in debt for decades, just to pay for it. “Why wouldn’t he take it?”

“His dad was sick, something they never really figured out before he died. I think Walker was the only one who knew. Lance and Blaire were gone by then, off doing their thing. Machlan was tearing shit up with Cross, being Machlan, and Walker stumbled into the news, I think.” Peck’s gaze settles into the distance. “He was really close with his dad. Thick as thieves. Walker was devastated. I only know that because he got drunk one night and kind of broke down about it. Otherwise, he would’ve held it in. It’s what he does.”

My shoulders fall as I think back on the picture Camilla posted of Dad and I imagine what it would be like to find out he was sick. To imagine he only has days, weeks, or months left. To have to watch him suffer and know the end is coming.

“Is that why he’s so closed off?” I ask quietly.

“Part of it.”

Before he can say any more, the door to his truck is jerked open. Peck gasps, grabbing the steering wheel as he almost falls out. Walker doesn’t break stride, just keeps walking, tossing a glare Peck’s way as he rounds the front.

My breath hitches, holding tight in my lungs, as I wait to see if he’s going to come my way.

He’s unbuttoned the two top buttons on his shirt, the ends hanging out and hitting him in the middle of his ass.

He looks up at me just before turning towards the house. Something pools in his eyes, a concentration of emotion that both lures me in and pushes me away. Before I can make sense of it, he’s taking the steps to the back door, the tail of his shirt billowing in the breeze.

“What’s that all about?” I ask, my voice squeaking a bit against my parched throat.

Peck climbs out of the truck then stops. Leaning inside, his arms against the top, he gives me his relaxed everything-is-gonna-be-great grin. “Things are gonna be a little awkward for a bit. He’s gonna be pissy and dumb, but you’ve seen him like that before. Just give him a minute, okay?”

“Fine,” I grumble opening my door.

“Sienna?”

“Yeah?”

“I also think he’s really good for you. This isn’t about just him, you know?”

Twisting in my seat, I look at him over my shoulder. I don’t know what to say to that.

“One more thing,” he says, shoving off the door and shutting it. “If he kills me or seriously injures me, have them take me to Linton General and tell them I requested Nurse Shelby.”

“Oh my God …”

* * *

Nana’s house is everything I imagined it would be. Neat as a pin, smelling of roast beef and sugar, with pictures everywhere in adorable frames, it’s as cozy and inviting as only Nana’s house could be.

A blue apron wrapped around her middle, she pulls open the oven door as Peck and I walk in. “Peck,” she says instantly, “go in the laundry room and grab a towel. I need to set these pies on something and I’m out of potholders.”

“Sure, Nana.”

Peck disappears around the corner, leaving me standing in the middle of the kitchen. As inviting as it is and as invited as I was to be here, I still can’t help but feel awkward. Although it’s homey, there’s nothing familiar. No spoons from vacations we took as kids, no memories of my family sitting around eating breakfast in the mornings. Even Nana, as sweet as sugar, isn’t mine. She’s Walker’s. And he’s not mine either.

Looking around, wondering where he went, I know I need to say something in order to calm down before I all-out panic and make a mess of myself.

“Um, do you need some help?” I ask, figuring it to be the best way to break the weirdness. “I’m not a great cook, but I can do menial labor in the kitchen with the best of them.”

Nana laughs, lifting a pie out of the oven. “Grab a spoon and stir the potatoes. I don’t want them sticking to the bottom. That pot isn’t my favorite, but it’s the only one I have big enough to feed all the boys on Sundays.”

“Where are they?” Peck asks, coming around the corner. He lays a red towel folded in half on the middle of the table.

“Not sure,” Nana says with a nod to a doorway between the refrigerator and sink. “He came in and muttered hello and took off that way. Machlan and Lance are in the family room watching one of those games y’all watch. I made a cheese ball and Machlan swiped it up and carried it off when I wasn’t looking.”

“You let him have the whole thing?” Peck whines.

“No, I didn’t let him have the whole thing. He took it when I was rolling out a pie crust.”

“Well, go get it.”

“I’m not going to go get it,” she laughs. “You go get it. You’re a big boy.”

Peck looks at me and sticks out his bottom lip. “It’s the best cheese ball ever. She puts bacon bits on the outside.”

A rustle comes from the doorway next to the kitchen and my heart comes to a screeching halt before roaring to life again. “I do love me some bacon,” I mumble, my eyes on the door. “I’ll go get it. Where’s the family room?”

Nana gives me instructions and I head that way. Down a short hallway with images of what has to be Walker and his brothers hanging side by side, I spy Machlan and Lance at the room on the end. There’s blue carpeting, white walls, and brown leather furniture. The boys are sprawled out, reclined back, and look up as I enter.

“Hey,” I say, stepping into the room and then off to the side so you can’t see me from the hallway. “What are you watching?”

Machlan gets a big scoop of cheese ball nestled on a cracker and shoves the whole thing into his mouth. “Baseball,” he says over the snack.

“It’s the Tennessee Arrows against the Wisconsin Bucks,” Lance chimes in, settling himself sideways to see me. “Wanna watch with us?”

I watch as the pitcher throws a fastball on the outside, just enough for the Arrows’ first baseman to get a poke at it. He sends it flying into right field, over the fence, and into the stands.

“Yodeski is an animal,” I note. “Never throw a fastball outside to him on a full count. He’ll jack it every time.”

“What the hell do you know about baseball?” Machlan says, picking up a glass of tea in the cup holder between him and his brother.

Leaving out the fact that my brother played for the Arrows for his entire career, I let them think I’m just some kind of baseball fanatic. “I know a little,” I grin. “I know a lot about the Arrows. They were my team for a while.”

“You like baseball and history?” Lance asks. “Fuck Walker. Wanna blow this joint and go home with me?”

Machlan and I laugh as Lance shakes his head and takes a cracker off the tray.

“What else do you know?” Machlan raises a brow. “Pretty eclectic lady, aren’t you?”

“I have a lot of brothers,” I say, trying to play it off.

“So, what do you know?” he presses.

“Well,” I say, trying to not seem disinterested, “I know a little about politics. Some business stuff but that’s pretty dry. I know a few things about the military, being a twin, fashion, California, and Southern culture, and that I hate Illinois winters.” I tap a finger to my chin. “I think that’s it.”

“She knows more than the two of us put together,” Machlan says to Lance.

I laugh, feeling myself relax. “I was sent in here to collect the cheese ball. Fork it over.”

“Not a chance,” Machlan laughs. “This is my favorite thing ever.”

“Well, it’s apparently Peck’s too, and Nana said to come get it.”

“You tell him to come get it.” His eyes darken and a slow smirk spreads on his face. “But if you’d like to fight for it, I’m open to that.”

“What’s going on in here?” Walker is standing in the doorway, looking pointedly at Machlan. His hands are digging into the doorframe above his head, his forearms thick and roped and on display. His shirt comes up just a little above the top of his jeans and I have to force myself not to stare at the lines carved from his hips to his cock.

“Just chatting with Sienna,” Lance grins. “I have her almost ready to go home with me. Right, Sienna?”

“You are handsome,” I note. “And pretty sweet. And you say nice things to me, which is a plus.” Moving towards Machlan, my heart beating in my throat, I hold out a hand. “Gimme.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Machlan winks.

Lance chuckles, his gaze shooting over me and towards the door. I don’t follow it. I can’t. I have to stay focused on the task at hand and getting the hell out of here.

Reaching down, I grab the plate with one hand. “I’m taking this.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Machlan, you’re not a little boy. Stop acting like one.”

“Yeah,” Lance chimes in as Machlan lets go of the plate.

“Thank you,” I say, smiling sweetly. For good measure, I pat him on the head as I walk by, much to Lance’s amusement. Really, it’s for my distraction. I have to get past Walker before I can leave the room.

Forcing a swallow, the cheese ball topsy-turvy on the plate thanks to Machlan’s digging, I look up to see Walker not there. I hold my breath as I step into the hall, wondering if this is what it felt like for the gladiators to step into the Colosseum. Like their death is imminent, facing the battle for their lives.

I no more than get both feet on the hardwood floor of the hallway before my back is pressed against the wall. Walker is in front of me, his eyes blazing. Yet just beneath the ferocity lies something that makes me want to reach out and pull myself into his chest. But I don’t. Because fuck that.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice just loud enough for me to hear.

“I was invited.”

Looking him right in the eye, my words much steadier than I anticipated, I try not to focus on his lips and how close they are as he leans over me, his breath hot and cinnamon-y against my face.

“No. Why are you really here?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” I volley, giving him an opening to make this conversation easier.

“It sure as hell ain’t for Peck.”

His assuredness irritates me, but it’s his insinuation that I’m so pathetic I’d chase him to his Nana’s house that incenses me. I can feel my face get hot, my exhales vibrating as they roll out of my body.

“What do you want me to say?” I hiss, gripping the plate. “That I’m here for you? That I wanted to give you a chance to say whatever you were going to say yesterday?”

He does that thing where I think he’s going to smile, but he doesn’t. Instead, he plants a cocky smirk on those kissable lips that I now want to bite and storm away.

“For the record, I am here with Peck. You want to know why? Because he asked me,” I say, the cheese ball sliding to the side. “Because your grandmother asked me.” I search his eyes for something to quell my rising anger, but there’s nothing to grab onto. “Because they aren’t complete assholes.”

I start to step around him, but he steps in my path. “So you don’t want to hear me out?”

“Yes. No,” I contradict myself. “I don’t know. That’s the problem, Walker. I don’t know what to do with you. I’ve tried to be nice. I’ve liked you enough to have sex with you, because believe it or not, I don’t do that with everyone,” I say, tilting the platter so the cheese ball centers again, never taking my eyes off him. “But the deeper I get with you, the farther you pull away. So, fine. Retreat back into your little world. But I’ll tell you one thing, I may regret hitting your truck with that bat, but I don’t regret being with you because I honestly liked you. I’m sorry you feel I was such a mistake. I promise I won’t get in your way again.”

Hitting him in the arm with my shoulder as I step out from between him and the wall, I walk towards the kitchen. He doesn’t call out for me. He doesn’t even say my name.

Nineteen

Sienna

“Here you go,” I say, setting the platter down. It clatters against the table, causing both Nana and Peck to look up from the sink. “Cheese ball.”

“You got it away from Machlan?” Nana asks, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m impressed.”

“Peck. Outside,” Walker barks, storming behind me and making a beeline for the door.

“Now it’s time to eat,” Nana says. “Peck and I have everything in the dining room.”

“It’ll only take a minute.”

Pecks flashes me a look. “Remember. Nurse Shelby,” he whispers as he follows Walker out the door.

Instinctively, my heart in my throat, I follow him and stop at the glass. They stand at the edge of the house, the vein in Walker’s temple throbbing, his finger in Peck’s chest. Peck’s hands are up in the air in a “don’t shoot” stance, his back to the house. The rumble of Walker’s voice trickles through the door and I can hear the emphatics in his tone, but Peck’s climbs louder, over the shouts of his cousin.

“What’s going on out there?” Lance asks, coming up behind me. “Oh, fuck.”

“It’s not Peck’s fault,” I whisper. “Do something.”

Lance claps a hand on my shoulder, the feeling strangely comforting. “Don’t worry about it. Walker knows this has nothing to do with Peck too. Peck’s just the one he can … vent to.”

“That’s venting?”

“In Walker’s way, yeah. It’s therapy.”

“I can assure you he doesn’t pay Peck enough for that.”

Lance laughs, squeezing my shoulder. “Peck can handle himself, Slugger.”

Glancing up and behind me, I take in his hazel eyes. “Not you too.”

He winks before flicking his gaze back outside. “They’ll be fine. Let’s go eat.”

“I don’t know …” I mutter, watching Walker get right into Peck’s face. “He said to take him to Linton General and ask for Shelby.”

“Oh, I bet he did,” he chuckles. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Spinning around, I look at him in disbelief. “We can’t leave them out there like that.”

“I thought you had brothers? You should know how this works.”

“My mom would’ve killed them had they acted like this,” I say, jabbing a finger towards the door. “My brothers just exchange barbs until Ford gets them down and makes them submit.”

“Ford sounds like my kinda guy,” Machlan teases as he walks by with a pitcher of tea. “Now come on. The sideshow is wrapping up and Nana’s gonna have a fit if we don’t get to the table.”

Lance follows Machlan, their conversation making a one-eighty shifting to baseball as the door behind me opens. Startled, I turn around to see Peck. He’s not grinning his usual goofy smile, but he’s not bleeding either.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” he says, blowing me off.

“Where is he?”

“Peck? Sienna? Get in here. Time to eat!” Nana calls from the dining room.

“You heard her,” Peck says, motioning towards the doorway.

Not knowing what else to do but knowing one hundred percent that this conversation is over, I put one foot in front of the other and make my way to the table. Continuously looking behind me and out the window, I don’t see Walker. I want to ask, but there’s no way to do that without everyone hearing me.

The table is lined with a dozen platters of meat, potatoes, salads, and sides. It reminds me of Savannah. If I closed my eyes, I could open them to see my family at the table, waiting to dig in. Instead, I rest my sights on the Gibson boys and their Nana, all waiting for me to take the seat Peck has pulled out for me.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling flushed. “This looks great, Nana.”

“Thank you,” she says, fanning her face with a napkin. “Where’s Walker?”

The boys glance around the table. It’s a scene I know well from having a large family. They’re silently conspiring, covering for one of their own. As terrible as I feel for being the cause of this situation, my heart also warms at their camaraderie for Walker despite his being an ass.

“He had to chop wood,” Peck rushes, his eyes bulging when he realizes the stupidity of his words in the middle of summer. “I mean …”

“He had to take a call. Something about the shop.” Machlan rearranges his silverware and pointedly doesn’t meet Nana’s gaze. “He’ll be back. He just needs a few minutes.”

“That boy,” she huffs, instructing Lance to lead the family in prayer.

We bow our heads, Lance giving thanks for the meal in front of us and family around us, before closing it out with an “Amen.” When I look up, Machlan is grinning at me.

“What?” I ask, taking the bowl of mashed potatoes he offers.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t be rude,” I say in the same tone I’d use with my brothers. “Say what you want to say or stop insinuating you want to say it.”

“Exactly,” Nana cuts in. “I like the way you put that, Sienna. You handle these boys well.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say, thinking of Walker and how I haven’t handled him at all. “You have any tips for me?”

“For these rascals?” she sighs. “Well …”

“I could give you some tips,” Lance jokes.

“You will not. Not with that tone.” Nana looks at him over the rim of her glass of tea.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Lance says.

“I can imagine.” She sets her glass down and looks at me. “I always think intention is more important than action. Take, for example, the time Peck wrecked my town car.”

Peck drops his fork. “I didn’t wreck it. I hit the gear shift with the hose while I was cleaning it out.”

“You took out an entire shed,” Machlan cackles. “You wrecked it.”

“The important thing,” Nana says, giving Machlan a stern look, “is that he was trying to do good. Or, since you are so ready to jump into this conversation, Machlan, take the time you shorted out half the house with a bobby pin.”

Lance bursts out laughing, much to Machlan’s dismay. “I’ll never forget that as long as I live.”

“Fuck you,” Machlan mutters.

“Excuse me?” Nana looks at him. “At my table, sir?”

“Sorry.”

She turns her attention to me. “Actions have emotions incorporated in them. Other people and things can factor in too. I’ve always been an advocate of looking into someone’s intentions as opposed to how those actually turn out. I think it tells you a lot more about the person than their results. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” I gulp, the squeak of the back door flooding my ears. I sense him walking into the room, smell his cologne way before I see him. His energy hits me like a seismic wave, rolling over me and demanding me to pay attention.

Looking up, I’m not a bit surprised he’s looking at me, but I am surprised at how. The fury is gone, the tightness in his jaw eased. Instead, there are lines furrowed in his forehead and his hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

“Sit down and make a plate,” Nana says, motioning towards the seat at the other end of the table.

He studies me intently before rocking back on his heels and moving his gaze to Nana. “I know I promised you I’d be here today. But, um, would it be okay if I miss dinner?”

She rests her fork against her plate and folds her hands on her lap. “Go ahead. I can tell it’s important.”

Walker looks down. Taking a deep breath, one that we all watch him take, he finally blows it out as his head turns to me. “Would you mind going with me?”

I forget to answer. The words just dangle in the back of my throat, mixed up in the emotion that’s drifting from Walker’s face to mine. Finally, Peck elbows me in the side.

“Um, sure,” I croak. “Would that offend you, Nana? If I went with him?”

“It would me,” Lance offers, getting a chuckle from Machlan.

“It’s the intent,” Nana smiles softly. “Go. I’ll pack a meal for you to take home with you when you get back.”

“Thank you, Ms. Gibson.”

She starts to correct me, but thinks better of it. “See you soon. Boys, get back to your dinner before it gets cold.”

Scooting my chair back, I give Peck a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Go get him, Slugger,” he whispers loud enough for only me to hear.

Heading to the doorway, Walker steps to the side to let me through. Not sure what to do or what to say, I keep walking until I’m out the door.

Twenty

Sienna

“Where are we going?” I ask as he passes me. The gravel crunches beneath his feet as he passes the front of Peck’s truck. “Walker?”

He draws a line across the top of the Charger with the tip of his finger as he all but storms past, my legs struggling to keep up in the low heels I stupidly decided to wear for church. Stopping and leaning against the car, I take them off and carry them as I feel the gravel turn to soft earth beneath my bare feet.

He’s halfway to a tree line, still not looking back.

“Damn it, Walker,” I yell after him. “Answer me.”

I want to take a shoe and throw it at his head, both as a way to get his attention and to ease some of the frustration that’s causing my teeth to grind together.

There’s nothing worse than being ignored, except when that person asks for your attention and then flips it back around like you’re begging them.

To hell with that.

“Screw it. I’m going back.”

His feet plant just inches from the trees. The shirt, the first time I think I’ve ever seen him in anything but black, stretches across his wide shoulders, the pockets of his jeans hugging his ass. Strands of hair hit the top of his collar and I want to run my fingers through them and ask him why he’s hell-bent on driving me nuts, but I don’t because he’s still not looking at me.

Flying him the bird, an un-ladylike gesture that feels like a huge moment of rebellion, I take a step back towards the house when I hear him speak.

“I didn’t say I regretted anything.”

Our positions now flip-flopped—him looking at my back, me refusing to look his way—I focus on the back of the old barn bearing a few streaks of paint leftover from an old tobacco ad.

“Sometimes you don’t have to say things to have them understood.” My voice is clear over the bright green grass, floating across the bunny that’s standing on its hind legs watching us, and through the band of evergreens. “I think you’re the master at not having to say what you mean to get your point across.”

The sun hits my face and I feel all the mixed emotions of the last few days just kind of lump together and fall, sinking in the warm afternoon. I’m almost numb, not really feeling any certain way. I stand at the back of the yard, my face to the sky, and wonder what I should do. Then again, I wonder if it’s even worth my energy.

I have a phone full of numbers, social media accounts brimming with contacts, of men I could call up and go out with. Handsome men, charming ones, guys who would wine and dine me senseless. Some of them have names every household in America would recognize, some have faces every female in the country could name.

Yet, none of them have the appeal of Walker Gibson. That’s something I don’t understand.

I’ve always known I wasn’t cut out to be arm candy for some trust fund baby. I’ve dated my fair share and being expected to not have an opinion, to look the other way, to have my hair, nails, and eyebrows ready to go at all times is not my idea of a good time. It actually makes me want to punch people in the face. But that doesn’t mean I have to go polar opposite with work boots and grease, does it?

His shadow creeps up beside me, stretching much longer than mine. Even it keeps a distance.

“I mean it.” His voice rushes across my skin, the genuineness in his tone a balm to some of my aches. “I don’t regret it. I never said I did. That was you putting words in my mouth.”

“That was me drawing lines between what you were saying and doing.”

“Fair enough.”

Surprised that he’s giving in that easily, I ease up on the clench of my fingers around the straps of my heels. Blood rushes back into my digits, divots dug into my palms.

“I’m glad you came today,” he says. “I mean, I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, but …”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” I say, my voice struggling against the tightness in my throat. “It seems like you think I’m out to make your life miserable. I assure you I’m not.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he mumbles under his breath.

Not sure I was supposed to have heard that, I did, and I’m not about to let him get away with it. I practice the art of the fake smile as I rein in my annoyance. “Fooling anyone isn’t in my plans. A big ‘screw you’ for even insinuating that.”

“Sienna.” The way he says my name, like he’s wrapped everything he has around the three syllables, makes my knees weak despite my anger. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it, Walker? Because I’ll be honest—I’m exhausted from trying to figure you out. I’m sick of doing this with you.”

A storm crosses his face, a steeliness settling on the hard lines of his jaw.

“That. Right there,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“What?” There’s a sharpness to his tone, a bite that seems to warn me off of prodding. Most days this would work. I’d stop and just let him go on about his day. Today is not most days. Today I’m tired of it.

I’m not sure it even matters and I’d put my money on the fact that it doesn’t. Even so, there’s an exhaustion in my shoulders from carrying around all of the guesses I put together about why he acts the way he does and an acute sense of curiosity as to what’s real—his verbal spars or the zing of his touch that says otherwise.

“One minute, you and I are having a conversation and teasing each other and laughing—well, I’m laughing. I’m not sure you’d do such a thing,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And the next minute you’re dismissing me like some woman you can’t shake. Like a bad habit. Like a quick fuck,” I eke out. “Yet you give me just enough rope to hang myself.”

“That’s not true.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” I give his words back to him, a little salt dashed on top as I throw them back his way. “I’ve never met a man who twists me up like you do. Like you get some thrill out of keeping me flailing around, unsure if you like me or hate me.”

“Stop it,” he growls.

“I’m not going to stop it,” I shoot back. “I’m done with this shit. If you want to string some woman along, fine. Go ahead. But it won’t be me.”

“I don’t want it to be you. I mean,” he roughs a hand against his head, looking anywhere but at me with a scowl. “Damn it. What I mean is, that’s not true.”

“Oh, it’s true and you know it.”

Refusing to back down, I meet him glare for glare. He stands taller; so do I. He angles his head and I do the exact same thing. I won’t budge an inch.

“You wanna know what’s fucking true?” He takes a step towards me, his hands coming out of his pockets in a quick rush. “Here’s what’s true—you’re making my life so goddamn miserable I can’t see straight. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I say shit I don’t mean on purpose because pushing you away feels like saving you from myself. I can’t work on an engine without smashing my knuckles off the side like some rookie.”

He flashes the back of his hand my way. It’s cut across the top, the skin sliced and rough.

“All because of you.” His boot sinks into the grass as he gets closer, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you since I saw you on the sidewalk trying to hide that bat behind you.”

His gaze peers into me like there’s nothing else in the world to look at. Like the entire world has stopped—the axis stopped turning, governments paused work, people suspended mid-whatever, just so Walker can concentrate on me.

“I’m sorry, Sienna.”

“What are you sorry for?”

Shifting my weight, my feet feeling the coolness of the ground, I try to find my center in the midst of the chaos playing through every cell of my body.

“I thought you’d be out of here by now,” he says, his voice having lost the grit from earlier. “I figured I could push you away and you’d just go.”

“Just maybe I am hardheaded.”

“Um, no doubt,” he chuckles. “But I am sorry for a lot of things, but mostly for what I said to you Friday night. And the way I made you feel. For the record, I wanted to pick you up and carry you to my truck and take you home with me.”

My heart zips in my chest as I struggle to process that. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t expect you to still be here.” He takes a deep breath. “I thought we could kind of fuck it out and you’d be over it. But here you are.”

“Is that okay?” I whisper. “That I’m here?”

“I’m so glad you are.”

Taking my shoes from my hand, he rubs his thumb across my knuckle. He watches each stroke, his eyes glued to the movement as he speaks. “Nana talked about you last night. I was over here helping her fix her sink drain. She waited until I was on my back and under the sink before peppering me with a million questions.”

“What did you tell her?” I ask, trying desperately to keep my voice steady.

His thumb stops moving. Looking up and into my eyes, there’s a softness there that, if he weren’t holding my hand, would catapult me over.

“I didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know.”

His thumb stills, pressing into the top of my hand. I can feel his struggle, the war within himself, at saying that aloud. He didn’t say anything. Not really. But in typical Walker fashion, he didn’t have to.

As my heart flutters in my chest, a shaky sigh quietly passing my lips, I try to give him a soft spot to land after that semi-admission. Even though I don’t know concretely what Nana already knew, I have an idea, and it wasn’t that I bake great muffins. It would explain the way his palms are dampening. It would make sense as to why he seems unable to find words to follow. And even though I’m still angry, it’s a feeling that’s becoming harder to maintain.

“Hey,” I say, scrambling for a way to give him some space. Over his shoulder, just a couple of rows in front of the forest, is a little structure up in a tree. “Is that a treehouse?”

The relief is evident in the way his shoulders sag. “Yeah.”

“Is it solid? I mean, can we go up?”

He squeezes my hand, his thick and calloused skin rough against my own, before dropping it to the side. Chuckling, he shrugs. “You want to?”

“Can we? I know it’s random, but it’s the one thing in my life I’ve always wanted and never had.”

He turns towards the trees. “I didn’t have you pegged for a treehouse kind of girl.”

“My father didn’t either,” I admit, just a few steps behind him. “I asked for one every year for Christmas for about four years straight. One of my brothers fell out of one when they were younger and Dad had some big machine there in the morning to rip it down. He refused to let my sister and I have one. It was the only thing we couldn’t have.”

“That explains a lot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I laugh.

He stops at the base of the tree and plants one hand on the bark. Leaning against it, his eyes the color of the dark soil beneath our feet, he considers his words. “You seem like a girl who gets what she wants.”

“Most of the time,” I say, my chest clenching under his gaze. “I just need to be more careful with what I decide I want.”

“Yeah. Some things look all right on the outside, but there’s nothing on the inside.”

“True,” I say, unable to take my eyes away from his. “But sometimes that just means it’s there to be filled up.”

He presses off the tree, switching his gaze up the tree. “Let’s go, country girl. I’ll follow in case you fall.”

“I’m not going first. I have on a dress. I’m a lady.”

He bites back a smile. Leaning forward, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. There’s no way to control the shiver that rips across my skin and flips on my libido in an instant.

“Have you forgotten already?” he whispers.

“Forgotten what?”

“That I’ve been inside you.”

I grip the wooden rung screwed into the tree as if I’m ready to climb. It’s really so I don’t sag against him. His words fire through my veins and singe my vessels, landing in one contorted mass at the apex of my thighs.

“And we saw what happened after that,” I volley back.

He bristles beside me. Clean, un-Walker-filled air swallows my personal space and I instantly hate it. My body begs to fall back towards him, to feel the energy that buzzes between us when he’s near, but I don’t dare.

Instead, I put one foot on the bottom rung and look at him over my shoulder. He’s watching me with intense, broody eyes, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth.

“Close your eyes, Gibson. I’d hate for you to see what you’ve been missing.”

With a light head and clattering heart, I work my way up the pseudo-ladder. I don’t look down. I show no fear. And even more importantly, I show no weakness.

* * *

The ladder opens into a makeshift treehouse complete with a trap door. I can stand up, only having to crouch a bit as I scurry away from the ladder so Walker can make it up too.

There are windows on two of the sides with short camouflage curtains that look like they’ve seen better days. There’s a checkerboard sitting on a mini-card table under one window with some of the pieces strewn about on the floor. A couple of pocket knives, notebooks, and a red and blue striped blanket dot a slapdash couch made out of egg cartons and cardboard.

It’s not as dusty as I imagined it would be. There are cobwebs in the corners and it could use a good cleaning, but it looks like it’s been occupied recently.

“Well, is it everything you hoped for?” Walker looks up at me from the ladder.

“It’s cleaner than I expected.”

“I think Sawyer was up here not too long ago,” he says, his palms setting on the floor. He lifts himself up into the room with me. “Peck has a brother named Vincent. Sawyer is his boy. They live an hour or so away, so we don’t see them too much. Just when Nana puts her foot down.”

Spinning in a circle, I take in the nuances of an area that’s definitely all boy. There are three folding chairs lined up neatly along one wall with a sign that reads, “Gibson Boys—Stay Out Blaire”.

“Who’s Blaire?” I ask as Walker gets to the top.

He groans as he unfolds as far as he can into the tight space. Hunkered over, he doesn’t hesitate to take a seat in one of the chairs. “Blaire’s my sister.”

“I think Nana mentioned her.” Still looking around, I take in the carvings in the wood and the candy wrappers piled into a mound on the floor. It’s the perfect little boy hangout. It brings a smile to my cheeks.

“What are you grinning about?” he asks.

“This is everything I always wanted, except maybe purple curtains and not the pocket knives,” I laugh. “It’s adorable.”

“I spent half my childhood up here, I bet. Carving twigs, eating the cake we stole from Nana’s that was supposed to wait until after dinner, making plans for world domination.” He rests his elbows on his knees. “It was an easier time of my life.”

“Would you go back?”

His head falls to the side as he ponders my question. “Probably. You?”

“No. I had a great childhood and all that, but growing pains were hard.”

“I can’t imagine anything being hard for you. You just go with the flow and fix shit. It seems like it’s ingrained in you.”

Grabbing a chair and scooting it a few feet away from him, I get situated on the cool metal seat. “Sometimes I feel like everything is hard for me,” I admit. “I know that’s not true. My life is pretty charmed. But for whatever reason, it seems like I can’t figure anything out.”

The air shifts between us and I know what he’s going to say before he says it. “Are you talking about me?”

“I wasn’t,” I say truthfully. “But it applies, I guess.”

His head drops, hanging between his two muscled biceps. My breathing shallows as I watch him absorb my admission.

“Tell me about Blaire,” I redirect, not wanting to get into another pissing match with him. “She doesn’t come around?”

“She lives in Chicago,” he says, his voice ragged like its slipping past a parched throat. “She’s an attorney. Kind of a big deal.”

“That’s awesome.”

“She thinks so,” he grins. “She’s super fucking smart and a black belt in some random martial art. We don’t get to see her much these days.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Eh,” he shrugs.

There’s a purposeful playoff to my question that leads me to believe he misses her more than he’s letting on. “What about your parents? Do you see them often?”

His hands twist in front of him. “My parents passed away a few years back.”

A lump the size of an egg lodges in my throat as I watch a swath of pain wash across his face. I try for a moment to imagine what it would feel like not to have my parents. Just the thought chips a giant hole in my heart big enough that I find myself placing a hand over the organ as if the piercing pain is real. “Oh, Walker. I’m sorry.”

“It was an accident. On a boat on the Fourth of July. Shit happens, you know?”

“I can’t imagine.”

He half-shrugs, half-nods, and seems to kind of fall away into his head for a moment. Watching him makes me wonder how lonely he is without his parents and sister.

“What do you do for fun?” I ask, hoping to see his smile again. I do.

“What kind of question is that?”

“One people ask when they’re curious. Do you hunt? Fish? Date a lot?”

“No.”

Tilting my head to the ceiling, I make a point of ensuring he hears my exasperated sigh. He makes sure I hear his chuckle in response. Lowering my face, I give him a playful look. “Don’t get too in depth there, Walker. I’d hate for you to run out of words.”

“What?” he laughs. “I don’t hunt. I do fish some, but not a lot. And I don’t date a lot.”

“You could probably find more dates if you’d stop being such an ass,” I joke.

“I don’t not date from a lack of opportunities, Slugger,” he says, lifting a brow.

“Then why don’t you?” I ask, a little relieved that he isn’t some playboy that just doesn’t want to not date me. “Why would you want to be alone all the time?”

He strokes his chin, his elbow propped up on his knee. He watches me intently, like he’s trying to weed out any unforeseen insinuations. “You know how you said sometimes you can’t figure anything out?”

“Yeah.”

“That.”

“You don’t know how to date?” I tease. “It’s really pretty simple.”

“No, smartass, I know how to date. I just …” He looks at me for help. When I don’t give him any, he shrugs. “I guess I find it a hassle that doesn’t usually seem worth it.”

“Strangely, I get that. Although I do go into them sometimes and know it’s a one-time thing. A guy will ask me to dinner or an event and I’ll go with him, even though there’s no hope of really seeing him after.”

“So like one-night stands?”

My cheeks warming, I shake my head. “No. I actually don’t sleep with many men.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you did.”

“I know. It’s just I did with you, so of course you might think that.”

There’s something he wants to say. He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come. Scratching at the back of his neck, he seems to change his mind.

“Do you date a lot?” he asks instead.

There’s a slight change in his tone, a barely perceptible chill iced on each word that the average person listening in wouldn’t catch, but I do. To me, it’s unmistakable. And when I pair it with the intensity of his gaze, I could shudder despite the warm afternoon temperature.

“Sometimes,” I answer.

“Are you dating anyone now?”

“Not regularly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Laughing at his reaction, the way he’s sitting upright all of a sudden, I shrug. “It means I’m not seeing anyone exclusively.”

“But you’re seeing someone?”

“I went to dinner with a guy a couple of weeks ago. It was nice, but nothing I’d like to do again. There are a couple of guys in Savannah that I see when I go home off and on, but no one I call to chat with or that sends me flowers, if that’s what you mean.”

“I don’t know what I fucking mean,” he groans. “It’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s not.”

He fiddles with his hands again, taking in a deep, lazy breath that fills his solid chest. I find myself mirroring his action, the oxygen seeping in to my lungs and helping to steady my heartbeat as we blow out the air in unison.

“I’m just gonna toss some shit out there and you can take it or leave it or make fun of me …” he says, refusing, still, to look my way.

“Probably the latter, but go on,” I tease. Anticipation of what he’s about to say grabs hold of my hopes and emotions and pulls them up and up until I feel like I’m actually standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to be pushed over or pulled back into his arms.

He lifts his eyes. They’re crystal clear, the brown pools bared for me to see there’s no bullshit, no ulterior motives behind whatever it is he’s going to say.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” he says softly.

“I’ve seen you know exactly what to do with me,” I say, my words falling right where I intended.

The corner of his mouth curls into a smile, but he doesn’t let himself run with it. Instead, he cinches down, clears his throat, and continues on. “You bashed my truck with a baseball bat.”

“Oh, Lord. Are we going back to that again?”

“Who does that, Sienna?”

“Me, all right?” I laugh. “I did that. I do that.”

“Exactly. You do that. But you also bake muffins for Peck and I for breakfast,” he says, the laughter falling from his voice. “You come back to the shop to bring me dinner when you know I’m working late and you pretend to know about tools when you don’t know jack shit.”

“I know how to navigate a search engine.”

“But who takes the time to do that?” he sighs. “Who spends their evening in a dirty mechanic’s shop and lies their way into helping someone else?”

I shrug. “Someone crazy.”

“Yeah. You,” he says. “And you make friends with my Nana and put my brothers in check and you’re still sitting in a treehouse talking to me when I was pretty nasty to you.” He shakes his head like he’s been stumped. “You’re the craziest person I’ve ever met.”

He shifts in his seat, like he’s just getting comfortable with the words slipping off his tongue. “Women will pretend to be sweet. I’ve seen it a million fucking times. But when the going gets tough, they’ll back off and go somewhere easier. Every. Fucking. Time. Until now.”

Biting the inside of my lip, I try to keep my mouth shut so as not to ruin his flow. He’s softer than I’ve ever seen. More vulnerable. More real. And despite the overwhelming urge to plant my lips against his, I don’t. If I do, I’m not sure when, or if, I’d ever get him to this point again.

“You know, the day you paid for Dave and MaryAnn’s cars, I almost told you to just go.”

“I thought you were going to.”

“I remember that afternoon, after you left, Peck looking at me and asking me what I was going to do.” He forces a swallow. “We both knew he wasn’t referring to the money.”

Squirming in my seat, my chest rising and falling so fast I quickly run the odds of passing out, I try to focus on staying present and not letting my thoughts get carried away. “What was he talking about, Walker?”

“He knew I was already in over my head.”

I’m not sure if I reach for his hand or if he reaches for mine. Regardless, our hands are locked, his easily encompassing mine, somewhere in the middle of the room between us. With a gentle pull, he gets me to my feet and over to him.

My heart races as I sit on his knee and he locks his hands around my waist. It’s not the closest we’ve ever been, nor is it the most intimate. But there’s something so tender, so private, in this moment between us that I can’t recall ever feeling so close to a man in my entire life.

Tilting his head back, dragging me closer to his torso, he looks at me unguarded for the first time. “I want to apologize for ever making you upset or confused or that you felt like I counted you as a mistake.”

“For what it’s worth,” I tell him, “I knew you were wrong.”

He rolls his eyes, a sweet grin playing on his lips. I love this look on him. It’s what someone like Walker should look like—young and happy and carefree.

“I know you’re leaving …” He unwraps and rewraps his hands at my waist, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“I don’t have to do anything,” I say, running my finger along his bottom lip. “I kind of do things on my time, if you haven’t figured that out by now.”

He snaps my finger between his teeth before I see it coming. Yelping, I instinctively try to pull it away, but he holds firm. It’s only when I give up and stop fighting that he wraps his lips around it and lets me slide it from his mouth.

The feeling sends a shot straight to my core. It’s heightened by the look of pure, unadulterated lust coming from Walker.

“I need a minute,” he says, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t know what’s happening here. I have shit to deal with. I—”

“Stop talking,” I say, pressing a sweet, simple kiss to his lips. “You can have a minute. You can have an hour or a week or a month or a year. Hell, I might not even like you two minutes from now—Walker!”

In one quick, seamless motion, he stands, picks me up, and lays me on my back on the floor of the treehouse. Hovering over me, his forearms nestled on either side of my head, he grins down. “If you might not like me in two minutes, I better get to work winning you over now, hadn’t I?”

Caressing his face in my hands, his stubble scratching at my palms, I look in to his eyes and find what I’ve been looking for: peace.

“Better hurry,” I whisper. “You’re down to a minute and a half.”

My legs wrap around his waist as he lowers himself to me, his sweet lips finding mine. He kisses me this time not with a sense of urgency, not out of lust, but out of something else. Something that tickles the back of my brain to pay attention, but I don’t. I’m too caught up in the moment.

Twenty-One

Sienna

Nana’s care package nestled safely on my lap, I pick at the edges of the grocery bag housing the leftovers. Walker rolls the truck to a stop next to my car parked outside the church. He kills the engine, his elbow resting against the middle console.

“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him, arranging myself in my seat so I can see him without craning.

He looks different this afternoon. His frown lines aren’t dug as deep, his jaw relaxed instead of looking like it was grinding his teeth into oblivion. Even as his family gave him boatloads of crap as we left Nana’s, he didn’t seem as ready to kill any of them.

“It was on my way,” he notes.

“Seriously, Walker?”

“What?”

“It’s okay for you to admit you wanted to drive me to my car,” I prod. “It won’t make you less of a man.”

“It was on my way,” he insists. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t have volunteered if it wasn’t.”

“I could’ve ridden home with Peck. And both of your brothers offered.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Oh, I bet those fuckers did.”

“I was leaning towards Machlan, but Lance seems a little gentler,” I grin.

“It’s the glasses and it’s a ruse,” he laughs. “Lance is as rough as any of us. He was actually the only one to get thrown out of school before we hit high school.”

“Lance?” I laugh. “For what? Charming the pants off his teacher?”

“It had to do with pants, but there wasn’t much charm involved,” he chuckles.

Our laughter mixes in the air, my high, feminine sound swirled with the bite of his rasp. The leaves blowing in the breeze outside the truck window, the sun pouring in the glass, it’s a moment I could fall in absolute love with. Maybe a man I could fall in love with too, if I tried.

He fiddles with the button on the cuff of his shirt. “I know you said you weren’t coming in to Crank anymore …”

“I say a lot of things. Besides, Delaney is basically gone, and other than mostly being on hiatus for a little while anyway, I do most of my design work at night. My creativity comes out after dark.”

“I’ll remember that,” he winks.

The plastic bag rattles as I wind the top around my finger.

I look at Walker. There’s a level of uncertainty mixed with the way he’s twisting his lips together that sparks something inside me. Not roots, not that at all. But maybe a branch extending to him that I want to see if he takes. If he holds on. If it breaks.

“I don’t really have any plans for what to do now,” I tell him, gulping back a hot swallow. “Maybe I could help you out until I get my life sorted? I’m going to have to switch some gears around now that I’ll be working by myself and I need some time to wrap my brain around that.”

His brows lift to the sky, his hand stalling against the sleeve of his shirt. “You don’t have to, Sienna. Really.”

“What if I want to, Walker?”

It takes a full five seconds for the grin trying to spread across his lips to actually form. But once it does, he lets it go and I realize—I’ve never seen a full smile from him before.

My heart hiccups, skipping a couple of beats, as I absorb the warmth radiating off him. He lays his arm on the console and rolls his palm over so it’s facing up. Like a rip current drawing things its way, my hand drops into his immediately.

“You’re so weird,” he laughs.

“Me? How do you figure?”

He laces our fingers together, watching them intertwine. My pink fingernails look odd against his torn knuckles, my ivory skin almost unreal against the dark, stained, almost olive-y hued tone of his. He works them back and forth, taking them in from every direction like it’s some kind of anomaly.

Ignoring my question, he squeezes my hand one final time before resting them on the console. “Does this mean you’re coming by tomorrow?”

“I’m still not cleaning the bathroom.”

“I can deal with that.”

There’s an unsteadiness to his eye, something that makes me think maybe he’s gone too far in one day.

Blowing out a breath, I squeeze his hand before slipping mine from his. “I better get going. I have a lot of things to think about.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Besides be a distraction?” I laugh, reaching for the handle.

The door is partially open, the scent of evergreens whispering through the air, when he speaks.

“Sienna?”

“Yeah?”

Looking over my shoulder, I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. He stills for a split second before leaning across the console. I meet him somewhere near halfway.

He takes my face in his hands and presses a sweet, simple kiss that dizzies me as much as if he deprived me of oxygen for days. When he pulls back, he’s no more certain but seems resolved.

“See you tomorrow,” I whisper.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

I slip out the door and into my car without breathing or looking back. The light is brighter, the birds happier, the colors in the stained glass of the church more vivid as I buckle myself in and start the engine.

Walker watches me, one arm over the steering wheel. I wave. He holds his hand in the air in some guy version of goodbye, the engine ripping alive before he pulls out of the parking lot and heads in the opposite direction of my house.

I sit for a few minutes, trying to get my bearings. I can still smell his cologne on my skin. The deep, dark tones linger and I take a deep breath and hope they stick around for a while.

Putting my car in reverse, I pull out of the lot and onto the street and head to the left. Disappointment flickers when I don’t see him in my rearview mirror.

A loud ring belts from my bag. Stopping at a stop sign at the end of the block, I fish around until it vibrates in my hand. “Hey, Delaney.”

“I was just checking on you. Making sure those Gibson boys didn’t have you for breakfast … although I can’t say that would be a bad thing necessarily.”

Sighing happily into the phone, I pull away from the stop sign. “I think we had a breakthrough today.”

“Tell me more,” she laughs.

“I don’t know what happened. He was mad as hell that I was at church and even madder that I went with Peck over to their Nana’s for dinner.”

“You little rebel!”

“It’s not like that.”

“Yes, it is. You flaunted that right in his face like a good girl.”

I roll my eyes hard as I take a left on the road to take me to Merom. “Hardly. I told Nana I’d go and then Peck was insistent and I kind of wanted to give him an opportunity to say whatever he had to say. He did come out to get me yesterday,” I shrug.

“Peck’s hot. He can insist whatever he wants with me and I’ll play along.”

Laughing, I picture Peck with his hands in dishwater as Walker and I left Nana’s. “He’s hot if you like that tall, lanky, blond, loves-his-grandma kind of thing.”

“I do. Sign me up,” she giggles. “So back to Walker. What happened with him?”

“I’m not sure …” Taking a deep breath, letting the spicy signature of his cologne soothe me, I work out how to explain something I don’t really understand. “I don’t know what happened, Delaney. We went outside and I told him I was tired of the way he’s so hot and cold. There was a treehouse …”

“And you got hot and dirty in the treehouse, didn’t you, you little minx?” she rushes. “I didn’t know you had it in you, but damn it, I’m so proud.”

“I didn’t have sex with him in his childhood treehouse,” I laugh. “He kissed me and whatever it is that drives him to be so wishy-washy came roaring back. But he communicated that with words and not scowls per usual.”

“What do you think it is? Guys go gaga over you, Sienna. I can’t take you anywhere without at least one date offer. I think it’s so odd that he fights himself about you.”

It’s the exact same question that’s been rolling around in my brain for days now. A question I wish I had an answer for.

“Maybe he’s had his heart broken,” I offer. “Maybe he didn’t like me at first.”

“Nah, it’s more than that. It has to be, doesn’t it?”

Shrugging, my buzz from the afternoon evaporating like a puddle of water in the desert, I sigh. “I don’t know, Delaney. Maybe I’ll figure it out after a shower and pie.”

“Okay. I gotta go anyway,” she says, reading my need to stop talking about it. “Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

My phone lands on the passenger seat with a thud.

***

Walker

Why didn’t I think of this before?

A dog would cure not all, but a lot of my problems.

They’re loyal. Don’t complain about anything as long as you feed them and give them some attention. They don’t ask for much or have unrealistic expectations and when you let them out to piss, they always come back.

“Yeah, but so does Peck.” Running a hand through my hair still wet from the shower, I pad through the dark house until I hit the kitchen. The light comes on, shining brightly across the room that I need to remodel first. When I get to it.

The thought irks me and I shove it out of my mind and focus on the good. It’s not often I have good to even think about, and today is about as good as it can get. Sienna’s beautiful face takes the place of the dingy linoleum in my mind’s eye and I find myself grinning as I take out a mug and pour a glass of root beer from a two-liter bottle.

There’s no ice because I forgot to buy it on my way home from Nana’s, and I’m too lazy to go back to the gas station to get it. It’s times like these that make me think I should just sell this place on the edge of town and move to a city that at least has a grocery store.

Sipping the room temperature pop, I lean against the counter. For a moment, I consider packing all my shit. I think about what it would be like to start all over again in a new space, maybe even a new zip code, and just leaving everything behind. I only consider it for a second, though, because I know as much as I tell myself it’s what I should do, I can’t.

What would happen to Nana? Who would make sure Machlan remembers to mow around Mom’s mums in the front yard of his house? Who would listen to Lance’s stories from the trenches of dating women he meets online? Who would keep Peck in a job?

As great as starting all over again sounds, I know I couldn’t leave. Every morning I stop at Goodman’s and get a cup of coffee just like Dad did. It’s stupid as hell; that’s not lost on me. But there’s something about the routine of it, the carrying out a tradition of the old man, that seems like in some ridiculous way it keeps his memory alive. Some mornings I see Dad’s old buddies and we stop and shoot the shit. Sometimes I’ll hold the door open for a woman Mom sang in the church choir with, and she’ll tell me how much I look like my father and that my mother had the best voice this side of the Mississippi.

Finishing the drink, I rinse the glass and set it on a towel by the sink. Some of the water splashes against my bare chest. Swiping a towel from a drawer next to the stove, I run the towel across my skin and remember what it was like to have Sienna’s hands on my body and the way she didn’t seem to give a damn about anything other than enjoying the moment with me.

With me.

My mind goes into overdrive at those two little words. What would it be like to be with a woman who is with me? Who doesn’t think Crank is a waste of time and energy? Who doesn’t look at a relationship like a one-sided event? Who gets along with my family, doesn’t mind Nana’s demands for Sunday dinner, doesn’t find Peck to be an annoying weight on their existence?

I still think, after all these years, that’s why Tabby left.

If Sienna is a blessing or a curse, I haven’t figured out, but pushing her away is pointless. It’s like pushing a ball up a hill and thinking it’ll stay. It won’t. Gravity doesn’t care you want the round ball to sit on an incline and it doesn’t care that I need Sienna to stay away.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimes, sending a chill down my spine. I toss the towel in the sink and head to bed.

Twenty-Two

Sienna

It’s the same crunch of gravel. The same parking spot. The same hour in the morning, more or less, that I’ve pulled into Crank to start the day every time since I’ve come by to pay off Daisy.

The thought of that night widens my grin as I pull into the spot to the left of the front door and kill the engine. Walker is in the lobby, working at the desk, and doesn’t look up.

He’s wearing a grey t-shirt and navy baseball cap as he sits at the desk. Instead of flicking a pen between two fingers impatiently, as is his custom, he sits with his face cupped in his hand. Every now and then he writes something down before resuming his position staring at the screen.

I sit and watch. The longer I do, the more all the stress about what to do and where to go fizzles away. Sitting in the warm sun, wearing ripped jeans and an old Arrows t-shirt, the smell of grease permeating the air, I can’t believe I feel happy. Unrushed. Okay with the way things are right now.

It’s not something I feel a lot. There’s always a need to go, do, find, create, discover … keep up. My siblings conquer new parts of the world every day, it seems, whether it’s making business deals, saving people’s lives, or having babies. Even Camilla has bought into the madness by settling down with Dominic and helping chair events alongside our mother. Me? I can’t keep up. Hell, I can’t even join the fray because I don’t know where my starting point is, but I can’t deny that I don’t feel compelled to get on a plane and start fresh. Yet.

Grabbing my phone that fell onto the floorboard, I swipe it on and go to the texts app. A smile tickles my lips as I open the top message and read through the exchange with Walker from last night.

Walker:Hey.

Me:Hi.

Walker:Just making sure you made it home.

Me:Well, if I hadn’t, the murderer that abducted me would’ve had a huge head start. LOL I got home hours ago.

Walker:Yeah. Good. Glad you made it.

Me:Admit it. You wanted to say hi. ;)

Walker:You’re impossible.

Me:Impossibly right. Ha. So, what are you doing?

Walker:Thinking about flooring options.

Me:At eleven at night?

Walker:Does eleven in the morning sound more reasonable? I don’t see the difference.

Me:I like a good hardwood, if you’re asking my opinion. Nothing too dark because it shows all the dirt. If hardwood is out, do tile but not in the living room because that’s just not cozy. I guess carpet in there or if it’s a bedroom. Nothing too thick or light colored.

Walker:Wow. Okay.

Me:You asked.

Walker:I didn’t, actually.

Me:No, you did. You always ask without asking. It’s part of your charm, I’m beginning to see.

Walker:No one has ever said I’m charming.

Me:I didn’t either. ;)

Walker:Go back to doing what you were doing. I’m going to bed. You exhaust me.

Me:Must’ve been all those dirty thoughts you’ve been thinking about me all evening.

Walker:Maybe.

Me:See? That’s a yes.

Walker:I had fun with you today.

Me:I had fun playing in your treehouse.

Walker:I’m not about to touch that. See you tomorrow, Slugger.

Me:Night.

Giggling out loud, I can’t remember feeling this dopey over a boy since high school. Jake McGowan was the love of my life at fifteen and when he’d slip me a folded note between biology and algebra, this is how I would feel. Giddy.

“What’s wrong with me?” I sigh. Grabbing my purse, I turn to leave the car when I look up and melt right back down into the seat.

Walker is looking at me, a shy smile gracing his handsome face. I wonder how long he’s been watching me and what stupid faces I made and how fast I can get in the building to see him.

I’m out of the car and almost to the door when my phone rings in my hand. When I look down, it’s my brother, Graham. It takes all of three seconds to know I have to answer it. Graham never calls unless it’s important.

“Hey,” I say, waving at Walker through the door so he knows why I didn’t come in, then stepping off to the side. “What’s up?”

“Good morning to you too.”

“I’m sorry. Good morning, G,” I say as sweetly as I can muster. “How are you, big brother? Are things well at the homestead?”

“Homestead? What has Illinois done to you?” he chuckles.

“More than you want to know.”

The sound of his chair rolling around the floor of his office can be heard in the background. “Noted. What’s the plan? Camilla said you were wrapping up things there soon.”

“Delaney is getting the last of her stuff out of the house today. She finished her last project a couple of days ago, so it’s just me in charge. Does that scare you?”

“A little.” He pauses just like our father does before he changes the subject. “What’s happening with you? Are you coming back to Savannah?”

It’s a loaded question. I can hear the follow-ups now if I answer it truthfully and I don’t want to get into all of that today, standing outside of Crank.

“I’m not sure.”

“What are you not sure about?” he asks.

“I might stay up here for a little while, actually.”

“For what?” He says it like it’s the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever said.

“Because I want to.”

“Well, Dad and I were talking …” He clears his throat. “What would you think about coming home and getting your feet wet at Landry Holdings?”

The question stuns me so much I can’t move. “What?”

“I know it sounds a little random—”

“A little random?” I laugh. “You won’t even free up enough of my trust fund to let me start my own real business doing what I know. Yet you are wanting me to come work with you?”

“You’ve done really well at managing things up there with what little you had to go on. Dad and I were going over your numbers and were impressed with your business aptitude, quite frankly.”

“Whoa, wait up. Did you just say I impressed you?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Sienna.”

“Say it again.”

“Sienna,” he grumbles.

“Say it again,” I insist.

“Your numbers were strong. The profit was lagging, but that’s typical for a small business not yet off the ground. You budgeted very, very well, had interesting marketing concepts. I really think, as dumb of an idea as this design company was to start with, you could build something out of it had you not located it in a soybean field.”

My cheeks ache from smiling so big at Graham’s compliment, something that doesn’t happen often. If ever. “G, I don’t know what to say.”

“Just think about it. I really think you could be an asset around here and you know how I like Landry’s to be involved in Landry businesses. I think it sets a good example, keeps us strong.”

“I … Wow. What a start to the day,” I laugh. “I’m … I don’t know what to say. Yeah, I’ll think about it. When do you need to know?”

“You’re always welcome here, obviously. But we’re expanding the Operations Division right now with Landry Security booming. Ford has his hands full over there. I’d essentially like you on board when we go live with the new changes there. I expect that to happen in the next couple of weeks.”

“You do know I know nothing traditionally about business, right? Or security. Or … anything.”

“I do. But you learn fast and if what you were able to manage on a baby scale holds true, in five, maybe ten years, you could be doing a lot of things. Guess you listened to all those business talks at the dinner table growing up after all.”

“Those were so boring,” I chuckle.

“Hey, I have to go. The babies have a doctor’s appointment this morning and I don’t miss those for anyone.”

“How are they? How’s Mallory?”

“Everyone’s good. Everything is really, really good.”

“Tell Mallory I said hi and I miss her,” I say, wishing I was there to snuggle with Graham’s offspring. “Kiss the babies.”

“Will do. Let me know what you decide as soon as you do, okay?”

“I will. Bye, G.”

“Bye.”

Laughing out loud as I shove the phone into my purse, I consider if that conversation just happened. Me? Working at Landry Security on invitation? I’ve quite possibly never felt so proud in my life. Getting kudos from Graham, the essential Chief Executive Officer of our family, is harder to get than from my parents. From any professor I ever had. From any client.

I feel stupid because I know I’m beaming, but I can’t help it. It’s not just because of Graham either; it’s because maybe the struggle I felt with the first year in business wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe it meant we were making it, that we were battling through better than I expected and I just couldn’t see it.

“Hey.”

I jump at the voice behind me, spinning around to see Walker’s face poking out from around the door. He takes in the look on my face and relaxes when he realizes I’m fine.

“Sorry,” I tell him. “That was my brother.”

“Don’t you have like six of them?” he asks, holding the door open.

“No, four,” I say, entering the lobby. “That was Graham. He offered me a job.” I turn to face him, but his back is already to me as he rounds the corner of the desk. “It’s kind of a big deal for Graham to think you’re capable.”

“Does he not know you?” There’s no tease in his tone, no levity. No grin waiting to be cracked either. Just a blank question that he waits for me to respond to.

“Graham’s hard core,” I explain. “He was saying he went over the stuff from my design business and was impressed.”

Walker continues to wait, as if there’s more. Some bomb to drop. Something else to explain my exuberance.

“It made me feel good.” That’s the best I can do to make my point known without him knowing my brother. I go to the back and put my purse into the cabinet, waiting for him to say something.

He clicks around on the computer before clearing his throat. “Are you going to take it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing. I just think it’s cool that he thought enough of me to ask me to work for him.”

“Well, I thought enough of you already to let you work for me.” He looks at me through his lashes. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I say, letting my hand drop to his thigh. “What would you like me to do today?”

“That’s a loaded question,” he chuckles. “First thing, before I get another call and have to deal with it,” he says, palming the back of my thigh with his hand, “is something really dumb, but I’d like to know.”

“What?”

He twists his lips together, trying to hide his almost embarrassment. “What’s your last name? I don’t even know. It occurred to me this morning.”

Scooting closer to him so that my torso is lined up with his, I try to concentrate on his words and not the way his fingers are deliciously close to my vagina.

“Landry,” I breathe, rolling my hips as his fingers press into the denim of my jeans.

“Well, Miss Landry,” he husks, his hand moving north, “it’s a pleasure to meet you officially.”

“Didn’t we meet officially in the shop the other night?” I giggle.

“Nah, that was just us fucking.”

Swatting his shoulder, I take a step back and out of his reach. I have to. Otherwise, I’m going to have to get out of these jeans and pull him into the shop bay with me again. “I love how eloquent you are, Mr. Gibson.”

Rolling his eyes, he picks up a pen and twirls it between his fingers.

“Hey,” I say, grabbing a rag and wiping down the edge of the desk. “I saw on the news this morning there’s going to be a meteor shower tonight. Did you see that?”

“Nope.”

“It was the top story.”

“I don’t watch the news. It’s all bullshit.”

“Then how do you know what’s happening in the world?”

“Peck.”

“Isn’t he full of bullshit too? I don’t understand your logic.”

This gets a laugh out of Walker. He leans back in his chair, his eyes sparkling. “We need to get a few things straight before this day goes on any further.”

Dropping the rag, I circle the desk and plop on top of it. Invoices and papers scatter, a pen rolls off the desk and hits the floor.

“A little respect for the workplace, why don’t you?” he asks, wrapping his arms around me and locking them behind my waist. He sits in front of me, nestled between my knees, and lets me take off his hat.

My fingers run through the silky strands of his hair as I breathe him in. “Don’t pretend you know what was where on here anyway.”

“Maybe I did.”

“Whatever,” I say.

“I sure as fuck know what’s on here now.”

He tilts his head back, asking without asking for me to kiss him. So I do. He cups my ass cheeks in his hands, scooting me closer towards him as he takes over the kiss.

Despite my insistence, he moves us slowly against one another, the kiss long and leisurely. He takes his time, his tongue parting my lips in the slowest, most delicious way. He nibbles my lip, refusing to let me do anything back but lap up his attention and bask in the glow of being at the receiving end of his attention.

“Walker,” I breathe, resting my forehead against his.

His breathing matches mine breath-for-breath as he pulls me into a straight-up hug. My head falls onto his shoulder, his heartbeat strumming steadily if not maybe a touch elevated. He’s warm and strong and I close my eyes, wishing for the first time ever that the world would stop spinning and end with me right here, right now.

But it doesn’t.

Twenty-Three

Sienna

Flipping off the light in the bathroom, I make my way down the hall, my bare feet slapping against the old hardwood. I suspect its original to the house that has to have been built around the turn of the century. The thick trim, small, oddly-shaped rooms, are nothing like the houses I’ve lived in before.

Running my hand down the wall that was outfitted with a disastrously awful deep green and burgundy wallpaper, I see the holes and marks from the things that hung there previously. Some of them Delaney’s.

I glance in her room as I pass, a heap of newspapers and leftover boxes in the middle of the floor. I asked her to leave them since I’ll be moving soon. Still, the sight of them sitting where her bed used to sit, where we used to hang out with our laptops and build designs and dreams, makes my loneliness grow.

“This is good for me,” I tell myself, shutting Delaney’s door. “You’ve never lived alone. This will build character.” Pivoting to my right, I see the half-emptied living room and frown. “Ugh. I have enough character.”

My stomach rumbles, but most of the kitchen stuff was Delaney’s and I don’t have the energy to go figure out something to make with the little I have on hand. The idea of eating alone depresses me, a side effect of being a twin and from a large family, always having someone around in my formative years.

I flop onto the sofa, the one piece of furniture besides my bed that remains. Flip-flopping between going to sleep and going for takeout, I’m undecided when the doorbell rings.

My phone in one hand, a baseball bat in the other, I lament the fact that the door doesn’t have a peephole. “Who is it?” I call.

“It’s me.”

“Walker?”

“Do you have other men swinging by at night?”

Grinning ear-to-ear, I set the phone and bat down and fiddle with both locks. It seems to take forever before I’m able to pull the door open and let my eyes rest on him.

He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, a black shirt with blue writing, and a black hat. In his hand is a brown plastic bag.

“Hey,” I say, rocking to my heels. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, Nana called and had me come over to check her oil. The warning light went on which means she could’ve waited until tomorrow, but …”

“But Nana’s not waiting.”

He grins. “Exactly. And she really shouldn’t have to. It took fifteen minutes.” Raising the bag, he shrugs. “And she made dinner.”

“Of course she did,” I say, stepping to the side and letting him in. “Don’t mind the mess. Or lack of furniture. I’m kind of using this as a bachelor pad, I guess.”

He doesn’t blink at the reference, just looks around. “I think I’d know this was your place.”

“Oh, God, I hope not,” I laugh. “It’s awful. There’s so much I’d do to it if I were staying here.”

“So you’re not?” He looks at me, the bag crunching in his fingers.

“I mean if I were staying in this house permanently. No, I can’t see having a family here someday.”

“I see what you mean.”

“What would make you think this was mine?”

He walks to the mantle, glancing over the pictures and figurines that are set off-kilter from having been moved when Delaney was taking her stuff. “It feels like you.”

“I was just thinking how lonely it feels in here.”

“I get that. But I’m talking about the pillows on the couch and picture frames and that blanket over there. It’s all very particular. Pretty. Clean.”

“You just like me for my organizational skills, don’t you?” My stomach growls, reminding me I didn’t figure out dinner. “I hope you plan on sharing that food because there’s little chance you make it out of here alive with it.”

“Actually,” he says, shifting on his feet, “I was hoping you hadn’t eaten yet.”

“Wanna eat with me?” I ask, probably a little too excited for the cause but uncaring because this kills two, maybe even three, birds with one stone.

He heads to the coffee table and plops the bag on top. “We have cheeseburger casserole. Does that work for you?”

“Um,” I say, shrugging. “I’ve never had it.”

“You’ve never had it? Ever?”

“Never. What is it?”

“Perfection.” He slips two Styrofoam containers from the bag and places them on the coffee table. Fishing around again, he retrieves two plastic forks and holds them up. “If you have drinks, we’re good to go.”

“I think I have something …” Making a face, I flash him a finger indicating to hang on and disappear into the kitchen. Popping open the refrigerator, I do a quick inventory. One small chocolate milk, three bottles of water, and two bottles of wine. “Ah!”

“Like wine much?”

Giggling, I lean back into his shoulder. “Not really. That was Delaney’s. She must’ve forgotten it.”

“You have no root beer.”

“Is that what you like?” I ask, inhaling his cologne.

“Yup. But I guess it’s water tonight. Unless you think wine and cheeseburger casserole is a good pair?”

I could stand here all night with no food and no drink, just leaning against Walker. “I don’t know what it tastes like, so maybe we should stick with water?”

He buries his head in my hair. His hands cinch at my waist as I hold my breath and wait to see what he does. I exhale when he gently shoves away. “Water it is. Let’s go.”

Grabbing all three bottles, I kick the door shut and follow him back to the living room. He gets settled on one end of the couch and I on the other.

“I grew up eating this,” he says, offering me a container. “It’s hamburger, cheese, onion, biscuits … I don’t know what else. But this is my ultimate comfort food.”

Laughing, I take the container and pop it open. Scents of the hot meal waft through the air, making my stomach rumble harder. “I love that you used the words ‘comfort food.’”

“Nah, Nana said that earlier. I just repeated it.”

“Figures,” I say, lifting a forkful of the casserole to my lips. Blowing softly, the motion catching Walker’s attention, I wrap my lips around the end of the fork and slowly pull it out of my mouth. His eyes go wide ever-so-slightly as I lose myself in the taste of home-cooked food. “Oh my gosh.”

“I hope it’s half as good for you as this is for me.”

“I can taste the onions and cheese and the sweetness from the biscuits,” I groan, taking another bite. “This is delicious.”

The garlic is subtle, a hint of pepper and a dash of heat that makes me wonder if she used hot sauce, I fall back on the couch cushion and savor it. Closing my eyes, the flavors remind me of my mother, the scents the same that fill the Farm when we all congregate for dinner.

When I open my eyes, Walker hasn’t taken a bite. “What?” I ask, swallowing.

“Nothing.” He swipes a forkful of casserole and shoves it into his mouth.

“You did that so you didn’t have to talk to me.”

He makes a face, stopping only to fill his mouth again.

“I guess I’ll have to keep talking and then you will have a laundry list of things to answer when you stop eating,” I shrug smugly.

Looking alarmed, he washes down his food with half a bottle of water. “I’m done. No need to back me up until tomorrow.”

“That’s what I thought,” I giggle, dragging the fork through the food. “I’m happy you came over here.”

“I was in town.”

“Walker Gibson, you were not,” I laugh. “Nana lives in the country. There’s an entire town between her house and here.”

“So?”

“So just admit you wanted to come see me,” I say, setting my container on the coffee table.

“I … might have …” he says, messing with me.

“I … might have …” I mock, standing up. “Had a date tonight.”

He sweeps me off my feet, settling me on his lap before I can stop him. Laughing as I get situated cross-ways over his body, I gaze up in to his face.

“Did you?” he asks.

“Did I what?”

“Did you have a date?” He peers down, a crinkle in his forehead, as he searches me for something that convinces him I’m telling the truth.

“If you consider a date with the drive-thru guy a date, then possibly,” I wink.

He rests back, one hand flat against my stomach. I’m not sure he even knows he’s doing it. It’s like he’s subconsciously asking me not to get up. I hate to tell him, but I’m perfectly comfortable right where I’m at.

“Pie or cake?” he asks out of nowhere.

I want to ask why he’s asking me such randomness, but I don’t want to spoil whatever it is he’s thinking. “Pie.”

“Pepper or salt?”

“Salt bloats. Pepper.”

“Television or movies?”

“Depends who I’m with,” I say, taunting him.

“Me?”

“Movies.”

“Why?”

Clenching my stomach, his fingers flexing against me as I do, my brain immediately goes to the gutter. “They take longer. More cuddle time.”

“You want to cuddle with me?” he asks carefully.

“Depends.”

“On what?” he says, fighting a smile.

“Casserole or cobbler?”

His eyes light up. “Cobbler.”

“But I thought cheeseburger casserole was your favorite comfort food?”

“Have you ever had cobbler?” he deadpans.

“Fair enough. Plane or truck?”

“Depends on where I’m going.”

“Can you just answer a freaking question?” I laugh.

He laughs, taking off his hat. Running a hand through his hair, I can’t help but notice how relaxed he looks. “Why do you dye your hair purple?”

“I don’t know,” I say, lifting a strand of colored locks. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. I just wonder why purple?” He takes the strands from me and slips them between his fingers.

My heart falls a bit as I remember Carrie’s face. “I had a friend in California. She was twenty-four and diagnosed with pancreatic cancer,” I say softly. “It’s a fatal disease and she passed away only nine months after she found out. She was so free-spirited and beautiful and kind and everything good. Purple is the color of that ribbon, so sometimes I just feel like it honors her in the dumbest way.” I feel my face flush. “That seems so stupid, doesn’t it?”

Instead of laughing or agreeing or ignoring the crack in my voice, he hugs me into his chest and holds me against him. I feel him press a soft kiss to the top of my head. There’s something about the gesture, the super sweet way he holds me. There’s nothing sexual about it, no overtones or indications this is anything but a man sensing my broken heart and wanting to try to ease it somehow.

We sit quietly on the sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms. He draws small pictures on my side from the tip of my sweatpants to just beneath my bra. I can’t tell what they are, but I love the way they feel.

“I didn’t realize how much you love baseball,” he says, the swirls stopping.

“What makes you say that?”

“The thing with Daisy and then there’s an Arrows blanket over there and you knew a lot about baseball with Machlan and Lance. You had an Arrows shirt on today too.”

“Very perceptive,” I say, sitting up and stretching. “I really don’t love baseball, but I was an Arrows fan.”

“Was? Not anymore?”

Climbing off his lap, I start gathering our containers and putting them back into the bag. Chewing my bottom lip, trying to decide how to tell him Lincoln is my brother, I move to the other side of the coffee table.

I’ve never been in this situation before. Everyone in Savannah knows who my family is. My friends in California knew too. It’s not that it’s a big deal to me, but sometimes other people think it is and that makes things awkward. I don’t want to do anything to destroy this serenity with Walker, but I can’t lie to him either.

So, I go for nonchalance.

“My brother doesn’t play for them anymore,” I shrug, turning away towards the kitchen. “I don’t have to like them now.”

“Your brother what?” There’s a tinge of disbelief on the end of the question, a rasp to his voice that makes me recenter before speaking or turning around.

After a deep breath, I explain. “My brother, Lincoln, played centerfield for them. I had to like them. Family rules.”

Stopping and looking over my shoulder, I see Walker lean forward and balance his elbows on his knees. “Your brother is Lincoln Landry?”

“Yup.”

“The Lincoln Landry?”

“The one and only,” I say with a shrug. “I told you my last name.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “But I had no idea that you were from that family.”

“That family is my family. It’s not a big deal.”

“So, that makes your other brother a senator or something?”

“Governor. For now,” I add. “He’s not running for reelection, so that’s about over.”

“That’s a big deal. I …” He shakes his head, like he can’t make sense of what I’m saying. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Resting the bag of trash on a stack of boxes near the doorway, I take a deep breath. “Would it have mattered?”

He ponders this, his eyes kind of glassing over as he lets this marinate. Finally, after what feels like a hundred years, he flips his gaze back to me again. “I guess not. But I wouldn’t have fed you cheeseburger casserole, for fuck’s sake.”

“Why not?” I laugh. “It was amazing. Is there anything Nana can’t make?”

“No,” he agrees. “But you could’ve had …” He shakes his head again, harder this time. “You’ve been cleaning my fucking office and you’re practically royalty.”

“Oh, I am not,” I huff. “That’s tabloid bullshit.”

“I’m a little shocked, okay?” he laughs. “This does explain a lot.”

“Like what?”

“Like you just paying for MaryAnn and Dave’s cars like it was nothing,” he says slowly. “You could’ve just bought them new ones.”

“I couldn’t because Graham would ask way too many questions,” I laugh. “But, yes, now you see why I didn’t want you calling the police on me over Daisy. It could’ve been a big deal.”

He nods, standing up. Wiping his palms down his jeans, he takes a deep, labored breath.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I tell him, panic starting to seep in my tone. “I just wanted to be honest.”

“I’m glad you did. Honesty is the best policy, huh?”

Even though he’s the one who said it, I have concerns that maybe he doesn’t necessarily prescribe to that theory. There’s a niggle in my stomach that worries me.

“I always go for honesty,” I say. “So you can say goodnight or we can watch a movie. But I’m not discussing the Landry thing anymore.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to discuss it either. Let’s go get some root beer and come back and watch a movie. That is, if you want to cuddle.”

“Are you any good at cuddling?”

His eyes darken. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Twenty-Four

Sienna

“Well,” he says, stretching his arms overhead. My body just moves along with his because I have no intention of getting up. He smells too good. Feels too sturdy against my cheek. Makes all the butterflies swarm like it’s the first day of spring in my belly. “Am I a good cuddler or what?”

“The best.”

“I was afraid I forgot how,” he yawns, scooping me up into his arms again.

“How long has it been since you cuddled someone?”

He moves us side to side in a breezy kind of way, like we’re on a hammock somewhere warm with no cares in the world. “I don’t know.”

“Last week? Month? Six months?” I prod. “Not that I care, just curious.”

“I’ve been with women in the last six months. But no cuddling.”

Burying my face in his shirt, I smile against his torso. He chuckles, his chest rumbling. “You like that?”

“Of course I like that,” I giggle. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why me?” I ask, pulling away.

He furrows a brow. “Why you what?”

“Why are you cuddling with me? If it’s not your thing.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t my thing,” he says, tilting his chin to the ceiling. “I just said I hadn’t done it.”

“So … why me?”

I think he’s going to blow me off. If I poke too hard, he changes the subject or turns it around on me. This time, however, he seems to consider my question. “I don’t really know. Whatever I say will make me sound like a pussy.”

“I think you’re a pussy anyway, so …”

He grins, cinching my waist and moving me so I’m straddling him. We face each other. “There was something about you from the night I met you. You were a little mouthy and I was a little mad, but there was this thing in your eyes that I couldn’t stop thinking about.”

“So it wasn’t my ass? Peck said it was my ass.”

Laughing, he digs his fingers deeper into my hips. “Your ass is perfect, but that’s the thing—that’s not what I was thinking about that night or the night after or the night after that. It was that thing. Like there was more to you than some drunk girl smashing my headlight out.”

“Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t,” I tease.

“Oh, there is. I’ve seen it now. You’re kind,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my sternum. “And thoughtful,” he says, laying a series of kisses from my collarbone up to my ear. “And so fucking sexy.”

The last words come out as a growl, making me tremble in his hands. He nips at my lobe, his breath hot against the sensitive flesh at the back of my neck.

“Are you trying to keep me from asking you more questions?” I breathe, melting into him.

“I’m trying to make you forget about whoever cuddled you last.”

“Done.” Moving my head to the side, allowing him all the access he wants, I rock back and forth as his cock grows beneath me. I can feel it moving, lengthening, the urgency of his kisses growing more frantic as he lets himself unwind. His tongue draws a line to my mouth, his eyes flashing open as our mouths meet in a slow, delicious union.

He kisses me with the ease of a man who knows what he’s doing and with the hunger of a man who needs more. His hands roam my body—squeezing my ass, skirting up my shirt and pinching my nipples until they harden between his fingers, cupping my cheeks as he holds me still and kisses me like a cool drink of water on a hot day.

I’m drunk, doused in his spell, lit up with his attention and sated with his tenderness. It’s dizzying, my brain befuddled with too many sensations fighting for attention.

“Walker,” I moan, tipping my head back as he kisses down my neck. The ends of my hair tickle my waist, my breasts pushed forward as my shirt is lifted. They’re freed from the constraints of my pink lacy bra, resting on top of the cups.

When I look up, my breathing ragged, he’s smirking. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“You know what you are?”

“An asshole?”

Rubbing myself against his hardness, I lay a hand on each shoulder. “You can be. So much that I can’t stand you,” I say, kneading his muscles in my hands. “But you can be protective, like with Tommy at Crave. And caring like changing my oil, and even sweet like how you held me while we watched the movie,” I say, trying to drive home my point by refusing to let him look away. “You make me feel good.”

“I want to make you feel good, baby.”

Before I can process it, his head bends to my chest and sucks a darkened nipple between his teeth. Instantly, I’m wet, my pussy clenching, begging, throbbing for contact. I grind against him, swirling my hips as his hands hold on and guide me in slow, small circles.

It’s his turn to groan, biting the peak lightly before pulling back and looking at me like he’s about to devour me.

“That feels beyond good,” I moan, arching my back. My eyes fall closed, unable to hold open as my body switches to life.

“I told myself I was going to go slow,” he pants. “Easy. Enjoy it. But damn it if you don’t make it hard not to lose control.”

Climbing off his lap, I peel my shirt off and toss it to the floor. Emboldened by his words, buoyed by the confidence he bestows by giving me every single ounce of his attention, I don’t lose eye contact as I unbutton my jeans and tug the zipper down. In a couple of seconds, they’re in my hand and dropped to the side.

There’s a rush of breath, a blowing out of a lungful of air that accompanies his shirt flying through the air and landing near mine.

I’m almost naked, my bra and panties the only pieces of fabric still partially covering my body. I turn and face the wall. The sound of denim being discarded, shoes thudding against the floor, is the background music to the sound of blood whooshing by my ears.

I’ve never stood naked in front of someone before. Even now as I bend at the waist, sticking my ass out for his benefit, and peel the pink lace down my thighs, I wonder why in the world I’m not more self-conscious. I unsnap the back of my bra and feel it pool into my hands just beneath my breasts.

Flipping my head to the side, all my hair falling to one shoulder, I look at him over the other. He’s standing, his eyes glued to me, one hand gripping his cock.

The sight of the dot of pre-cum at the head, gaining a little more each time he strokes his impressive length, my legs feel like I’ve run a mile.

“Can I suck you?” I rasp, not just wanting but needing to make him feel as wanted as he makes me feel.

“Don’t say that,” he growls, squeezing himself harder. “I’ll come right now.”

He watches me with the intensity of a cat ready to pounce. His eyes strike down my body and up again, leaving a trail of flames in their wake. My mouth goes dry as he takes a step towards me.

My breasts are pulled together, the bra dangling from my hand beneath them. I feel like a vixen, as sexy as a cover model on one of the magazines I used to find hidden in my boyfriends’ rooms. I’ve never felt this way before; it’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever experienced.

I let my hand drop, the bra falling to the floor right along with Walker’s jaw. I take the remaining steps between us, and before he can pull away, wrap my mouth around the head of his cock and take him in as far as I can. His semen is warm and salty and coats my mouth before sliding down my throat.

He groans, his head falling back, his hips pressing forward towards my mouth. But as I take him deep a second time, he quickly pulls away.

“I can’t,” he croaks. “Don’t make me come yet.”

“Do I have that much control?” I tease, wiping my mouth with my hand.

“Woman, you’re in total control. Don’t you know that?”

My clit sends a zip of energy through my veins every time I move. My stomach is in knots, wetness streaking my thighs as I feel the desperation for him to be inside me compound to a point I can’t control it.

“If that’s the case,” I tell him, walking over to the couch, spreading my legs a bit wider than shoulder width, and turning my body towards the couch but my head towards him, “Don’t take it easy.”

“My God,” he hisses, walking up behind me. The lines of his abdomen ripple with every movement. The scars dotting his arms and chest from years of manual labor just turn me on more. “You don’t want it easy, right?”

“Just fuck me,” I beg, my ass popped in the air. “Get inside me and make me come all over you.”

He swats my backside, the sound ricocheting through the room. I yelp, only because I’m surprised because the sting, a sweet, sinful kiss, only makes me drip faster down my own legs.

One hand digs into my hip, the other presses on the back of my head. “Head down, sweetheart.”

I fold my torso down so I’m resting on my forearms, feeling the cool air hit my pussy. The tip of his cock lines up, only barely parting the lips of my vagina. I’m stretched around him, my body pulsing, trying to drag him in farther. I try to push back but it’s met with another swat.

“Will you please fuc—” The rest comes out in a gush as he sinks inside my body in one long, heavy thrust. He hits the back, an explosion of colors lighting up my vision. A hand claws into my ass cheek before moving over and holding my other hip.

He sinks into me again. And again. And a third time, each movement nailing the spot on the back wall of my pussy.

“You’re squeezing the fuck out of me,” he grits. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

“No,” I gasp, the force of him behind me all but taking my breath away. “Keep moving.”

“Damn you.”

Our skin slips by the other, our bodies slapping as he builds me up like an expert craftsman. My arms begin to go numb, my legs threatening to give out, as I fall forward into the cushions and use them to help keep me propped.

I know it’s going to end soon; I can’t continue much longer. Every part of me is worked into a luxurious dance of hums and screams as I rise to the point of no return.

“I have to stop,” he groans, “or come. What will it be?”

“Keep. Going,” I pant, my feet almost coming off the floor. “Right there, Walker. Right there!” I scream into the cushions as a shot of energy tries to shoot through the top of my head. My legs shake just like they describe in raunchy rap songs, pulsing to a tune I can’t hear over the orgasm ripping through every cell of my body.

I hear him moaning behind me as he finds his own relief. Somewhere I register the burn of his hands in my hips. There’s a part of me that picks up the sweat dripping down our bodies and the scent of sex that permeates the air.

He thrusts one final time before slowly removing his cock. I fall into the couch in one very un-ladylike fashion, unable to keep my eyes open.

“Hey,” he whispers. His hand brushes a strand of damp hair out of my face. When I open my eyes, I see him kneeling beside me. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” I ask, my throat burning. “I look awful, huh?”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. I rest my head against his, relishing in the safety of being in his arms.

“You look prettier than I’ve ever seen you,” he says. “Can I put you in the bath?”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him sleepily.

“I know. But I’d like to do it.”

“On one condition.”

He chuckles, standing back up. “Of course there’s a condition.”

“You have to take one with me.”

I wait for his answer, but it doesn’t come right away. Finally, I twist my head to see him. His face is somber.

“Well?” I ask.

He still doesn’t answer. Instead, he bends down and lifts me up, cradling me in his arms. “Let’s go, Slugger.”

Twenty-Five

Sienna

“Fuck.”

The sound of a male voice next to me as I switch from dreaming to awake is startling. Convinced I’m ready to be murdered, I jump.

“Good morning.” His voice is rougher than usual, indicative of the long night we spent having sex, laughing, talking, eating, and repeating all of it until our eyes got so sleepy we fell asleep in each other’s arms as the sun began to rise.

He kept telling me he wouldn’t stay, that he’d have to go at some point, but we’d get distracted by a tale of our youth or how many pieces of heat-up bacon we could eat or how soft our lips are against different parts of our bodies.

It was the best night of my life.

Walker is lying on my left, between me and the nightstand, his phone held up in the air over his head. He’s not looking at the screen, though. He’s looking at me.

“Don’t,” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Don’t what?” he laughs.

“Don’t look at me.” I start to pull the covers over my head when he snatches them away and tosses them halfway down the bed. “You’re a jerk.”

“You’ve said that before. I’m also late to work.”

“That rhymes. Late to work, you’re a jerk,” I yawn.

“This rhymes too. Give me a kiss, or I’ll be pissed.”

“That doesn’t rhyme,” I note, repeating it back to him. “See? Try this: I’ll give you a lick, you give me dick.”

He laughs, his phone dropping to his chest. “Sometimes you seem so cultured. Other times, you’re a cavewoman.”

“I don’t hear many complaints.”

“Okay, let’s try this one. Let’s go to dinner, make me a winner.”

“Ooh,” I say, kicking my feet until the blankets cover them. “I like that one. It makes it sound like I’m a prize.”

“That,” he says, groaning as he moves to kiss me, “is a fact.”

Our lips touch in the simplest, sweetest way. There’s no urgency this time, no desperation to connect in as many ways as possible. It’s like that’s been screwed out of our systems and now we’re on the other side. What that means, I have no idea. But I love the way it’s working out so far.

“Peck has a tractor coming in this morning. He just sent me a text,” he says, rolling out of bed. “I have to run home first and grab some clean clothes.” He slips on his jeans and shirt from last night before rummaging around under my bed for his hat. Sliding it on his head, pulling it snug, he holds his hands out in front of him. “You coming in later?”

“Maybe.”

Shaking his head, he heads to the door but stops in the doorway. “I’ll be there in about an hour.”

“Just go in there like that,” I say. “Your clothes look fine to me.”

His eyes hood. “They smell like your pussy.”

“Walker!” I exclaim, pulling the covers over my head.

The bed bounces as he jumps on it, locking me in with one hand on either side of my mummified body. His breath is hot against my cheeks from the other side of the blanket. “How can that embarrass you?”

“It just does.”

“Well, for the record, I love the smell of your pussy.” He exaggerates the word, his mouth forming every syllable against the fabric. “But I wouldn’t get anything done and God forbid Peck ask me why I was licking my shirt all day.”

“Go on,” I giggle, moving my body to encourage him to get up. “Get to work, slacker.”

The blankets rip down again. We’re face-to-face, his eyes twinkling. “Will you go on a date with me tonight? Like, to dinner or a movie or whatever it is people do on dates?”

“Are we going to Nana’s?” I tease.

“If you want. She’d love that. But I’d rather take you to this place on the other side of Linton. I haven’t been there in forever and I think you’d like it.”

Leaning up, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him to me. “I’d love to.”

Like a little boy on Christmas morning, his cheeks split. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

A kiss that smacks my cheek, a vibrating mattress as he leaps off, he’s out the door and in his truck before I can say goodbye. It’s just as well. If he would’ve stayed much longer, I probably wouldn’t have let him leave at all.

***

Walker

“‘Bout time you showed up.” Peck flips off the water and dries his hands off on a towel. “I got the tractor coming in any minute. They came for the SUV this morning and I got two more in and out already.”

“Good deal.”

I walk straight through the garage bay and make a beeline for the lobby, knowing the inquisition is coming and not wanting to face it yet. Whatever this is between Sienna and I is wild, like a truck on an incline with no brakes. I don’t know how it’s possible to keep it from running away and talking about it with Peck seems like the worst idea in the world.

As I expect, he chases after me like the pain in the ass he is.

“You know,” he says, the door closing behind him, “I’ve worked here for four years or so and I don’t think I’ve ever beat you to work once. Not even the time you had pneumonia. I beat you today by two hours. Hours. That’s like a hundred and twenty minutes.”

“Good job.”

“Cut the shit, Walker,” he laughs. “What’s going on? Were you with Sienna?”

“Is that really any of your business?”

“You’re goddamn right it’s my business,” he says, bewildered. “I’ve gone through a lot of shit with you. I’ve held your hand, gave you that little push you needed to get her in here. Hell, I’m practically Cupid at this point.”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” I laugh, picking up a pen and throwing it at him. He ducks, of course, and it misses him by a mile. He pops back up and grins. “You aren’t going to, are you?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since you acted like this?”

“Like what?

“Like the world isn’t ending. Like maybe you know how to smile. Like maybe you are—dare I say it?—happy?”

Planting my hands on the desk, I sigh. “You’re acting like a girl.”

“Nah, I think you just have pussy on the brain.”

I wait, telling myself to stop talking, but go ahead and do it anyway. “Damn right I do.”

Peck fist pumps around the lobby, doing the little dance he does at Crave that promptly gets him ejected. I usually find it completely juvenile but today it’s entertaining.

The door opens and old man Dave comes in. Peck almost runs into him in a variation of the Moonwalk, making Dave’s face light up like the sun.

“Well, what’s happening in here?” he chuckles. “I haven’t seen this much activity in this place in years.”

“Peck’s about to lose his job,” I joke, coming around the corner. “How are you, Dave?”

“Good, good.” He places a hand on the wall and braces himself. “Can one of you run out and check my oil? Damn light keeps coming on and I tried to check it this morning but didn’t have any oil at the house anyway. Ended up burning my arm on the radiator.”

“I got it.” Peck pats Dave on the shoulder and disappears into the parking lot.

“Need a seat?” I ask, dragging the chair from the desk around for him to sit. He falls into it with a thankful sigh. “How’re things other than the oil?”

“Not bad. The wife had a good morning. We talked a few minutes about a dog we had back in the seventies,” he laughs. “She can’t remember me most times and doesn’t remember Noodles, the dog we’ve had since Nellie died. But she remembers Nellie, a Reagan-era Pomeranian. So funny what people remember, isn’t it?”

“I guess we remember the good times, right?” I offer. “Maybe Nellie was her favorite?”

“Oh, she was. Just like that girl in here is yours.” He looks around the lobby and then back at me. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“The cute one. Purple hair. Sweet as can be. You know who I mean,” he cackles, patting my leg. “The one you can’t take your eyes off of. I see you watching her. Even if I didn’t, this whole place is changed in a way that only a woman can do.”

I open my mouth to protest, to say his crazy assumption is as false as a three-dollar bill, but there’s no use. He’s been around enough to see through bullshit.

Taking a deep, battered breath, my arms tired from holding Sienna against the wall last night as I made her squirt all over me, I look at Dave. “She’s not in this morning.”

“But she’s still here, right? Still working for ya?”

“Yeah. For now.”

“Let me ask you a question, son. Are you in love with her?”

“What kind of question is that?” I snort, rising to my feet and putting distance between us.

“An important one.”

“I haven’t known her long enough to be in love with her.”

I think back to how long we’ve known each other, how many days since she hit Daisy with the bat. It all becomes a tangled mess as her face keeps popping through the mental calendar, making me smile.

“Love isn’t confined to time.” He waits to continue until I look up. “Just like if someone passes, like your mother and father, that doesn’t mean your love stops. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“It goes on,” he says, his arms moving through the air to illustrate his point. “Love starts the same way. People say love at first sight isn’t real. How could it be? How could you love someone before you ever say a word?”

“It’s bullshit,” I say without the oomph behind it that would’ve told him, and me, that I believed that.

“Not when you get all scientific,” he says, cringing as he readjusts himself on the chair. “Let’s think of it this way—do you make a choice to love Nana? Or Blaire? Or even Peck? Even if you got mad at them, and I suppose you do from time to time, do you have to choose to love them?”

“No. They’re my family.”

“Exactly. That kind of love is born inside you. You’re born with an energy that connects to someone else’s, and for reasons we will never understand, you’re brought together and it isn’t a choice anymore. That’s true love.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say, forcing a swallow.

“I do. True love isn’t something you pick; it’s something the universe picks for you. It’s like you’re born knowing this woman can cook your sausage patties the way you like, will humor your Thursday night poker games, and will stand by your side as you fight whatever life throws you just because you’re you. For no other reason. That,” he says, jabbing a finger my way, “is true love.”

A chill stirs in my stomach, forcing me to look away. All I can see is Sienna in her sleep and remember how I laid there all night wondering how I could capture the moment for the rest of my life, because as crazy as it sounds, it felt like the place I was meant to be.

I tried to picture her as someone else. I pretended to be home and alone. I thought about never seeing her again, never hearing her laugh, or watching her blush as I call her out on something. And all of that, every single thing, was unbearable.

My stomach roils, knowing she’s said she might leave town. Every part of me objects. There’s not a piece of me that would want to watch her go but I’m not in a place to ask her to stay.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Dave says, bracing a hand on the wall and standing slowly. “Don’t you think it’s time to be happy? The woman before Sienna … I remember you with her. No good, Walker. No good.”

“Yeah, well …” I shrug, not sure what to say and wishing she didn’t exist in any capacity.

He looks around, a smile stretching across his lips. “I’ve haven’t seen this place so bright and cheerful since your mother would come in the first week of the month and clean up after your father,” he laughs. “I’d come in with some of the guys on Saturday morning and drink some coffee and shoot the breeze. Those were good days.”

“I remember you all doing that,” I recall.

Peck’s voice sounds outside the door, and Dave turns to grab his wallet.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “It was just a quart of oil or so.”

“Are you sure?”

“You kept Peck busy and out of my hair for five minutes. I really owe you.”

We exchange a smile, a nod to a conversation we both know dug a lot deeper than either of us let on. He turns to go, his hand on the door, when I call out.

“Hey, Dave.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

With a final nod, he disappears into the parking lot as Peck walks back in.

“Just a quart and a half,” he says, wiping his brow. “Getting warm out there.”

Shuffling papers around, I think about what Dave said. I am happy right now. I didn’t think I’d ever be, but damn it—I am. And I don’t want to ever let it go.

“Do we still get a phone book?” I ask Peck. “They used to throw one at the door every six months or so. Do they still do that?”

“Fuck if I know. Why?”

My eyes close, my hands go still, as I force a swallow. I picture Sienna getting in her car and driving away, the guilt and hopelessness that swamps me is something I can’t deal with even pretending.

“I think it’s time I settle this shit,” I say. “No, I know it is.”

Peck nods, knowing exactly what I mean. “It’s about fucking time.”

“I don’t know where to start. I mean, I haven’t given a fuck about it in so long, God knows where to even look.”

He pauses, his hand on his hip. “You could call Blaire. She’d drop anything to help with this. She might even come home to deal with this.”

“I almost don’t want to call her to give her the satisfaction,” I laugh.

“Just do it,” Peck says, watching the tractor pull into the parking lot. “You handle the problem, I’ll handle the tractor.”

He pops open the door and disappears in to the parking lot.

With Blaire’s name staring at me on my phone, I sigh. “A tractor has never looked so easy.”

Twenty-Six

Sienna

We pull up to a little log cabin that isn’t much bigger than a single-family home. The porch is oversized, probably half the size of the cabin itself, and stretches along the front. Whiskey barrels of flowers in all sorts of colors line the walkway to the steps that lead up to the porch, solar lights stuck inside the simple but cozy landscape that immaculately dresses up the front.

Walker shuts off the ignition and then grips both hands on the steering wheel. He takes in the surprising amount of cars lined up in rows.

“It’s pretty busy,” I note, hoping to ease his nerves if he didn’t make reservations. “I’m always good with take-out, you know.”

“We have a seat.” He says it like it’s silly to consider he didn’t call ahead.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“You want to sit here and ask questions?” he grins. “Or go in and eat?”

“You know me,” I say, opening my door over his objection. “I’m always ready to eat.”

His joke was a distraction, but from what I don’t know. I push it away and take his hand as he comes to my side, ignoring his annoyance that I opened my own car door, and step onto the gravel. He doesn’t let go.

My hand enclosed in his palm, we walk along pots of daisies. His cologne is different tonight, more outdoorsy. It’s more rugged than usual, and while I love it, I wish he hadn’t worn it. It’s hard enough to keep my hands off him.

A button-up shirt is tucked neatly into a pair of jeans, a pair of work boots free of grease on his feet. I’ve only seen men like this on television or in magazines growing up, and I get it now. There’s something primal, something instinctive, about being with a man like him. Like he could catch a fish if I were hungry or fix my car if I were stranded. I’m no damsel in distress, my father ensured I’d always have the tools to take care of myself, but I can’t deny how much I adore the feeling of being … safe.

As he looks at me over his shoulder, a private smile sliding across his lips in the same way Dominic looks at Camilla or Lincoln looks at his wife, I realize it may be something else too. Something deeper, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever find.

A hostess is set up just outside the front door. She checks Walker’s name and leads us inside. Candles glow everywhere, the lighting soft and sweet as we get situated at a table along the wall in the back.

“This place is adorable,” I tell him, studying the fishing scene on the wall above us. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“This was my mom’s favorite place. I haven’t been here since she died. Didn’t even know it was still open until I called this morning.”

My heart melts at his words, that this is the place he’d choose to take me for dinner. A place that means something to him. “I’m honored.”

“I hope you like meat and potatoes.”

A waitress approaches, takes our drink orders and hands us menus. With a little too much attention placed on Walker for my liking, she struts away. He seems to notice my annoyance.

“She seems nice,” he says, burying his head in the menu.

“I might have to walk her to her car if she keeps it up.”

“Do you have a bat I don’t know about?” he snickers.

“So funny,” I say, rolling my eyes for effect. “What are you ordering? What’s good?”

“Well, being that I haven’t been here in forever, I’m going with the steak cooked medium and a baked potato with extra butter and no sour cream. You?”

“Probably the chicken breast. But if you like steak,” I say, setting my menu down, “one of these days I’ll take you to Hillary’s House. They marinate them with kiwi, I think. Like they rub it on there and lets it sit overnight. It’s delicious.”

“Is that around here?”

“No,” I blush, realizing what I’m doing—considering spending time with him in the future. “It’s in Savannah.”

He fidgets in his seat and I do the same in mine.

“I didn’t mean to insinuate anything,” I say. “I just …”

“Have you given more thought to your brother’s offer?”

“Yeah. I’m still not sure.” The struggle that sweeps through me every time I think I have the right answer to Graham’s offer pelts me again. There’s a wide swath of pride that makes me want to wear a sign that says he asked me, just so people know. Then there’s reality.

Going to work for him would feel like a failure despite the victory it also carries. It means I gave up on my dream. It means I need him to be successful. It means I’d be stuck there for the rest of my life because I could never quit. I could never fail or bail on Graham.

There would be no more random travel, no more doing anything that’s not on my schedule.

No more Walker.

“It’s a pretty great offer,” Walker notes, his words weighed carefully.

“Yeah, it is. I’m not totally sure it’s the right choice for me.”

Our drinks are placed in front of us, our orders sent to the kitchen. Walker pays no attention to anything but me.

“I took over my father’s company,” he says, stumbling through the sentence. “I remember a lot of people,” he says, clearing his throat, “thought it was stupid to want to do it for a living. But there’s a part of me that really likes being able to carry on that tradition.”

“I get it.” Those three words seem to mean something to him, his body actually softening as I watch. “I totally understand why you wanted to do that. Especially after he passed. It gives you a connection to your history. That’s important. Your kids may even want to work it someday.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“I can,” I laugh softly. “I can see a little Walker in bib overalls bopping around the lobby. It would be so damn adorable. But you’d need to keep little Walker away from little Peck. I can only imagine the shenanigans those two would get in.”

Walker laughs the freest sound I’ve ever heard come from him. “It’s little Lance that you’d have to worry about. Trust me.”

I take his hand and lace our fingers together. “I told Graham I’d let him know this week.”

“Do you want to go?”

“Do you want me to go?”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to keep you from doing what you want to do. I don’t want to play a part in that decision.”

“You don’t think I’m taking into consideration leaving you when I think about going to Georgia?” With a final squeeze, I withdraw my hand. “I don’t want to make things weird or put pressure on you or jump in too fast, but … the thought of leaving makes me really, really sad.”

“Then don’t go.” Something changes and he roughs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to go. Okay? I have to say it because if I don’t and you leave, I’ll never forgive myself for not telling you how I feel. But …”

“But what?” My forehead creases, my heart thumping in warning that this isn’t a normal “but.” “But what, Walker?”

“Nothing. I don’t want you to leave.”

Our plates are put in front of us, the scents of basil and garlic floating through the air. We pull our attention to our meals, avoiding the elephant in the room.

I’m ready to take a bite when Walker speaks.

“I want you to know that I want to be with you,” he says, his eyes shining. “Only you. No other women. I want you to come to church and Nana’s and let me take you to dinner and for you to bring me lunch at work just so I can kiss you in the middle of the day.”

“Does this mean I’m fired?” I joke through tears that start to fall down my face at his sweet words.

“This means you’re promoted,” he laughs, shrugging. “I don’t know what the fuck it means, to be honest. It’s just me telling you how I feel so you can make whatever decision you want to make off it. There are things we’ll have to figure out, but none of that matters if I let you go without you knowing. Right?”

“Right.” I get up from my seat and walk around the table and slide into the chair next to him. He folds me into his arms, pulling me to his chest, and holds me in the middle of the restaurant. The clinging of silverware and hushed conversations of the other patrons suddenly don’t exist. It’s just me and Walker. “This is my favorite place in the world.”

He holds me for a long moment, letting his sturdiness be the rock he seems to know I need. When I pull away a few moments later, he clears his throat. Something about it makes my skin prickle and I furrow my brow in anticipation of his words.

“I’m going to be leaving town for a few days coming up,” he says, wrestling with each word. “I’ll be gone a couple of days, a few at most. But I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” I go back to my seat, my food forgotten.

“I just have a few things to take care of that are overdue. I’ll explain when I get back. I just wanted you to know.”

“Okay.” A sense of uneasiness settles over me, but is washed away with the simple way he touches my cheek. “Can I do something now that you’ve asked me to stay and promoted me?”

“What’s that?” he smiles.

“I want to buy new towels for the shop.”

He shakes his head, picks up his fork, and goes into a long lecture about frivolous spending that’s both irritating and so freaking adorable I can’t quite handle it.

Twenty-Seven

Sienna

The week has gone by fast, the shop bustling with work and laughs and muffins. I’ve found myself there every day. Some of those days I wasn’t supposed to be. I was supposed to be looking for a new place to rent since my lease is coming up or having lunch with Delaney. Instead, I’ve ended up at some point at the desk in Crank with a smile on my face.

The customers know me now. The old men that come in on Saturday mornings wearing their seed catalogue logo hats and cans of tobacco in their pockets bring me goodies. They entertain me with stories of Walker as a child, the “good old days” as they call them when Walker’s dad, who seems to be more like him than his brothers, ran the shop. There are stories of coal mining explosions, tales of Vietnam, arguments over who makes the best lemon pie in town and who remembers the basketball game where the Linton Wildcats came in runners-up in the state tourney even as the smallest school in the state with a team.

I’ve been invited to an ice cream social at the Methodist church, a book club at the library with Ruby, to help Mr. Mitchell’s wife bake ten pies for a raffle, and even filled in one day at Carlson’s during the lunch rush when I stopped to get Walker and Peck a sandwich. Each day that goes by is another day that I fall in step with the sleepy town that’s starting to win me over.

Walker taps on the window from his backyard and winks before disappearing again.

I think I’ve already started to fall in love with him.

I wipe off the counters in his kitchen, listening to him and Lance laugh outside the open window. My heart sings as I clean up the meatloaf lunch I had to call my mom and get the recipe for.

The kitchen is small and is in desperate need of a loving touch, but I’m afraid Walker will have a coronary if he comes in and I’ve completely redone the whole thing in one day.

When I was here earlier this week, I folded all the washcloths in the drawer and reorganized the silverware, putting them all back in the little compartments of the divider. Emboldened that he didn’t say anything from that, I quietly redid the cabinet he had shoved full of plastic cups and container lids.

The front door squeals as it opens, Lance’s laugh ringing through the house. Drying my hands off on a towel, I mosey through the kitchen and into the living room with the guys.

“Did you get the weed-eating done?” I ask, kissing Walker on top of the head.

“I did,” Walker answers. “Lance sat on the mower playing with his dating app.”

“You use a dating app?” I laugh. “Seriously?”

“Hell yeah. It’s great. Women are so much more open about what they like without being face to face.”

“But how do you know if you like them?” I ask, sitting on Walker’s knee.

“They post a picture—sometimes of their faces, sometimes of their … you know,” he grins devilishly. “You can see what you like and go from there.”

“Oh my God.”

“Wanna see some?” he asks, reaching for his phone.

“No,” I flinch. “I don’t want to see that. I can’t get over the fact you look at … that,” I say, making a face, “and then meet them and …”

“Fuck?”

Walker works his way around me until his hand is pressed against my stomach. I put my own hand on top of his, feeling his fingers flex against my shirt.

“Why don’t you just meet a nice girl somewhere?” I ask Lance. “I have friends I could introduce you to. Nice ones. Pretty ones. Ones that like to have sex as much as you.”

“I’m open to that.”

“Don’t do it,” Walker chuckles. “They might never look at you the same again, Slugger.”

“They also might consider you the best friend in the universe,” Lance shrugs. “I don’t want a relationship. Too … that.” He nods towards our hands. “I don’t want that.”

“But you want to pick the girl you spend time with by the look of her vagina?” I ask.

“I don’t always pick them like that,” he scoffs. “Just the ones that look tight.”

“Enough,” I laugh, getting to my feet. “I can’t deal with this.”

“I’m leaving.” Lance rises too, stretching. “I swiped for a little get together with a redhead this afternoon.”

“Enjoy.” I give him a little wave and head back to the kitchen. I no more than hear the door shut when Walker is twirling me around. “Hey you,” I whisper, the sight of him all sweaty taking my breath away. “Want some dessert?”

“Why’d you think I came in here?”

“I was hoping for me,” I admit, trying to ignore the butterflies taking flight in my belly.

“Damn right for you.”

He backs me up to the counter, kissing me the entire time. His lips taste of salt and heat, a precursor of all the things I want him to do with them. Before I’m ready, he breaks the embrace.

“I wasn’t done,” I pout, trying to pull him to me again.

“Before I sit you on this counter and eat your pussy,” he grins just before his face sobers, “I want to tell you something.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Two things, actually.”

“Hurry up so I can say yes. You promised things.”

He grins, but doesn’t quite laugh. “I told Machlan we’d come by Crave tonight. I haven’t seen him in a while and he wanted to catch up on a few things before I leave town … which is the second thing.”

My throat squeezes shut, something about the look in his eye makes me nervous. “Right, I remember. For how long?”

“Hopefully I’ll be back Monday. That’s the plan.”

“So just the weekend?”

“That’s the plan,” he reiterates. He brushes a strand of hair out of my face, then runs both hands across my head and pins my hair away from my face. He looks at me like he’s never seen me before, like he’s trying to memorize everything about me in just a few seconds. “When I get back, I want to sit down and talk. For real.”

“We can’t do it now?”

“Do you want to do it now?” He licks his lips, reminding me of his promise.

“No,” I giggle, hopping up onto the counter.

“That’s what I thought.”

He slides between my legs. “This is the first time you’ve ever opted not to talk.”

“Now you know how to shut me up.”

He laughs, dipping his lips to touch mine. Even though it’s not what he promised, I’ll take it.

Twenty-Eight

Sienna

“Which one of you told Blaire about the dating app?” Lance eyes his brothers and then Peck. “Was it you?”

Peck holds his hands up in front of him. “Wasn’t me. I haven’t talked to her in a couple weeks, not since I needed to know the legal ramifications of borrowing Kip’s Sheriff cruiser.”

“Why did you do that?” I laugh, snuggling against Walker’s shoulder. He strokes my arm, leaning his cheek against my head while we listen to his family.

“It’s a long story that really won’t come out right,” Peck winces. “You had to be there.”

“What did Blaire say?” I ask.

He shrugs, bringing a bottle to his lips. “She called Kip. I don’t think he’s coming after me or anything.”

“Back to the topic at hand,” Lance says, “which one of you told her about the app? I got sixty-two texts from her today, detailing the hazards of using an app and meeting people online.”

“Like she hasn’t fucked some dude she met online,” Machlan snorts. “I don’t believe that bullshit for a second.”

Nora places a hand on Peck’s shoulder as she looks around the table. “Anyone need anything? Sure is quiet up there without you, Mach. The women don’t want to talk to me, I guess.”

Machlan smirks, his eyes as dark as Walker’s are sparkling. “Give ‘em enough whiskey and you can get them to do whatever you want.”

“Ew,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I think I’m going to puke.”

Peck scoots away from the table, taking his bottle with him. “Come on, Nora. I’ll go talk to ya.”

The bar is quiet for a Friday night; the “regulars,” as Machlan called them, are the only ones in the place. The music isn’t too loud, the chaos not as crazy as it has been in times past. I keep looking around for Tommy, but Machlan assured me he hasn’t shown his face again since Walker rearranged it.

As if he knows what I’m thinking, he kisses the side of my head. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” I say. Glancing around at the Gibson boys, Machlan giving Lance hell about a woman they both apparently know, Peck at the bar entertaining Nora, I realize just how good I am.

“What are you thinking?” Walker asks, his mouth pressed against my temple.

“I’d like to bring my sister here someday. She wouldn’t have a clue what to do with your brothers, but she’d get a kick out of Peck,” I say. “I should bring her in the winter and make her see what I’ve been dealing with up here.”

“I love the winter,” Walker says.

“You what? How could you? It’s horrible.”

“This year we’re taking you to Bluebird,” Machlan says, leaning forward. “It’s old stripper hills that we’ve been sledding since we could walk. Funnest shit you’ll ever do. Even Mr. Lame here goes.”

“I’m not lame, you asshole,” Lance snorts. “I’m often busy with work-related responsibilities.”

Machlan looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “I know what you were doing and it had nothing to do with history.”

“It’s history now,” Lance grins before taking a long drink of his beer. “But, yeah, we’ll take you out there, Sienna. You’ll love it. We fill thermoses up with hot chocolate and spend the day out there acting like idiots.”

“Grown men sledding?” I laugh. “Do you go, Walker?”

“I usually take a car hood or two to use as sleds,” he shrugs. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“Look at these pics from last year …” Machlan digs out his phone and starts swiping through the list. “Come on. Get over here, Slugger.”

“Not you too,” I whine, untangling myself from Walker. Moving around the table, I look at Machlan’s phone. Pictures of all of them in the snow, bundled up in overalls and beanies, trying to go down this ginormous hill fill the screen. There are snaps of snowball fights, a little blood in the snow from a busted lip, and someone trying to stand on one of the car hoods.

It looks like one of the best days ever.

“That’s amazing,” I tell them, pausing on a picture of them with their arms around each other. “We need to print that.”

When I look up at Walker, his eyes are trained over my shoulder. My smile fades as his jaw drops slowly towards the table.

“What?” I ask. Looking at Lance, he’s looking the same direction. “What’s going on, guys?”

I turn around to face the door, my heart sinking. Scanning the bar, from Nora and Peck to the wall of beer signage and mirrors on the other, there’s nothing there. Just a group of people that have been there all night.

Just as I’m about to ask the guys what they’re seeing, a ripple of goosebumps, a warning from something in my psyche, rolls through my body. It’s so hard, so violent, that I actually shiver.

Then I see her. A woman with inky black hair that’s cut into a bob with high cheekbones heading our way. Her steps are slow and pointed, her pink lips twisted into a “gotcha” formation. An eruption flares from my soul, a fire-breathing dragon shooting towards the woman walking towards us.

My shoulders go back, my face deadening in a self-preservation mode I’ve managed to develop over years of being in public situations with people I dislike. You stand still. Smile pretty, don’t sweat it. Sweating it gives them an advantage.

Never lose the advantage.

“What did you do now, Lance?” I joke, but I’m not sure any of them hear me. I move away from Machlan and head towards Walker when I stop mid-step.

“Hey, honey,” she says, a swagger in her shoulders as she looks at Walker. “I’m home.”

Machlan’s hand steadies me, resting on my forearm as I grab the back of the chair in front of me. Walker doesn’t look at me. Neither does Lance. Nothing happens except Machlan angling himself between her and me, the same way he did the night Tommy grabbed my elbow.

“What are you doing in here?” Machlan roughs.

“It’s nice to see you too,” she grins. “What’s happening, Lance?”

He looks at me, and despite her greeting towards Walker, despite the sickness curling my stomach as she walked this way, it’s in this moment buried in Lance’s eyes that I know this is much worse than I even imagined.

“Is this her?” she asks, tilting her head towards me. She looks at Walker with a familiarity that pierces my heart. He returns her stare with a level of intimacy that goes ahead and hammers my heart into pieces.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Walker steels, bracing as if he’s about to be hit with a tidal wave at the last second. Jaw set, forearms flexed, shoulders broad and wide, I check off all the subtle ticks I know he has when he feels unsure. With each thing, my lip begins to quiver a little more.

“Sienna …” His voice wobbles, so unlike him. There’s fear in his eyes as he pleads with me to wait a minute. To not press. To give him the second he’s always asked me for.

“Sienna,” the woman sighs. Sticking out a hand, she gives me the foulest, most saccharine-sweet smile I’ve ever been given. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Tabby Gibson. Walker’s wife.”

“What?” I whirl around, shaking my head like I can shake off her words. Her insinuations. Her … truths? “Walker?”

It’s in the bow of his chin, the drop of the corner of his mouth, the falling of his shoulders that gives me all I need. I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

My heart hits so hard, as if the staccato will somehow clear the confusion riddling my brain and allow me to understand what’s happening. My hand shakes as I look up at Machlan. “What’s going on?”

The longer I wait for the answer, the more I bleed right in front of them all. Their eyes are on me, watching me absorb a truth they all knew.

A loneliness I’ve never known, a loneliness I can’t imagine ever matching, takes over and tears begin to streak down my face. Tabby stands next to Walker, her arm resting on his shoulder so a diamond can be seen sitting on her left hand. He knocks it away, panic settling across his features, but I don’t care.

Humiliated, her laugh behind me, I race towards the doors. Wiping away tears, ignoring Peck’s call, refusing to even try to hear what Machlan is yelling behind me, I shove open the door and walk into the night.

I go north only because Walker’s truck is south. My shoes click against the concrete as I half-jog, desperately needing to put distance between myself and whatever the hell that was. I don’t know where to go. Who to call. What just happened.

A small patch of grass sits in front of Dr. Burns’ office and before I can stop myself, I fall onto my knees in the damp blades and cry.

An arm goes around my shoulders. It’s too thin, too narrow, smells too much like cedar. “Go away, Peck.”

“Goddammit, Sienna,” he sighs, pulling me into his arms.

“Is it true?” I ask, sniffling snot as the tears refuse to quit.

“Yeah, but it’s not what you think.”

“If the answer is ‘yeah,’ it has to be what I think.”

Walker’s energy finds me before he does, my body tugging towards his. I don’t look up. I don’t have to. I feel him kneeling towards me and his hand stroking my back. I pull away and into Peck, earning a growl from Walker.

“Peck, give us a second,” he says.

“No,” I insist. “Don’t, Peck. Please don’t leave me.”

“Sienna, let me talk to you.” Walker’s voice sticks the knife in further. “Please, baby.”

Sitting up straight, I look at him. The tears have stalled, an effect of the adrenaline, and in its place is all I can describe as rage.

My whole body trembles, actually shaking like I’m freezing. But I’m not. The longer I look at him, the hotter I get.

“You’re married?” I ask, my teeth grinding against each other.

“Sienna …”

“It’s a yes or no question. Are. You. Married?”

“Technically, yes.”

“Fuck you.” I get to my feet and head back towards the road.

He grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. “Listen to me.”

“Yes, I will listen to you. I’ll listen to you tell me why you just humiliated me in front of your whole family,” I say, my voice shaking. “Does everyone know this? The whole town?”

“Sienna,” Peck starts, “calm down.”

“Go, Peck,” Walker rumbles.

“I told you this was gonna fucking happen,” Peck roars, ripping into Walker.

“What was I supposed to do?” Walker barks, his hands clenching at his sides. “I didn’t fucking know where she was! How do you divorce a woman who doesn’t want to be found?”

“You go find her,” Peck seethes. “Like we told you. Like all of us fucking told you!”

“Get out of here,” Walker warns.

“Peck,” I say, resting my hand against his chest and gently moving him back. “I need a ride home. Will you take me?”

“Of course.”

“Can you get your truck and pick me up? I want to talk to Walker alone for a minute.”

He watches Walker over my head, pure disappointment scrawled across his face. “You sure?” Peck asks me.

“Yes.”

With a final shake of his head aimed at his cousin, Peck stomps back down the road.

“Don’t be mad at him,” I tell Walker. “He did nothing wrong.”

He runs a hand down his face, his eyes wide and full. “Sienna, listen to me. I haven’t seen Tabby in four years.”

“Tabby,” I say, testing her name out on my tongue. “That’s your wife, right?”

“Don’t make this harder than it is.”

“Me?” I ask in disbelief. “You’re the one who led me on while you have a wife. A wife!” My laughter spills into the night, the sound haunting even to me. “Why would you do this to me? Why would you do this to anyone?”

The tears come again. I breathe in his cologne, look at his handsome face, and realize … he belongs to someone else.

“How could you humiliate me like this?” I croak. “What must everyone think? Oh, God …” I say, feeling like I might throw up.

“It’s not like that,” he says, extending a hand towards me. I step out of his reach. “Let me explain.”

Spying headlights coming down the road, I shrug in the saddest, most defeated way. “You turned me into the kind of woman I hate. The ignorant, selfish …” My words break off, a sob capturing the rest of the thought. I shake off his hug and step towards the sidewalk as Peck nears.

“Sienna, please, don’t walk away.”

“You have no right to ask that of me,” I sniffle. “You have no right to say anything to me.”

“I don’t love her. I don’t want her,” he insists. “Please, Sienna. I want to talk about this. Don’t walk away.”

I’m around the truck before Peck gets it stopped. Climbing inside, I refuse to look at Walker. “Go,” I tell Peck.

He rips down the street. Before we turn the corner, I let myself look one last time in the mirror to see Walker standing in the middle of the street looking as broken as I am.

Twenty-Nine

Sienna

“Do you need anything, sweetie?”

Delaney’s mom stands in the doorway of her guest room, a light blue robe tied at her waist. She was so kind when I pulled up, mascara smearing down my face. But seeing her standing here, that maternal aura around her—I just want my mom.

“It’s late,” I tell her. “Go to bed. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be down the hall if you need me.” She steps into the hallway and pulls the door softly behind her.

The late night moon shines in the window of the bedroom I’ve never stayed in before. As soon as Peck dropped me off at home, I hopped into my car and drove here, not knowing Delaney went to Chicago for the weekend. I knew Walker would come by and I didn’t want to see him. As I lie here, alone, so very, very alone, I replay every moment I’ve had with him over in my mind.

It’s unbelievable to think he was married the whole time I was with him. The web of emotions is too tightly strung together to even make sense of them. The anger gives way to embarrassment which opens up to a sadness that I’ve never felt before.

The tears fall as I think back to twenty-four hours ago and the way Walker held me while he slept. Was all that fake? Did he not believe any of the things he said or mean any of the ways he made me feel?

Why would he do this to me?

A little alarm clock sits by the bed, the red numbering glowing in my face. I lift my phone and press the power button, only to see more texts and phone calls than I can count.

Scrolling through my contacts list, I find the only person who I know will be up at one in the morning and not livid I call. It rings twice.

“Sienna?” Graham’s voice is full of concern and that only makes the tears fall again. “Sienna? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Graham …” I laugh through the tears, a little sister calling her big brother for help in the middle of the night. How pathetic can one person be in one day?

“What the hell is happening up there?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice.”

He laughs. “We both know that’s highly unlikely.”

“Definitely unlikely.” Lincoln’s voice comes on the phone as I hear the speakerphone pick up. “What’s up, Sienna?”

“Why are the two of you together at one in the morning? Don’t tell me Mallory and Danielle kicked you out.”

“We had a meeting in Atlanta and were supposed to stay the night but decided to come home,” Graham explains. “Lincoln was just dropping me off.”

“You let him drive?”

“Not my best choice, but yes,” Graham sighs.

“I got us home in about half the time it would’ve taken you,” Lincoln points out. “Stop complaining.”

“Anyway,” Graham cuts in, “what’s up with you? Are you crying?”

“A boy …” My voice breaks and I can almost hear my brothers flinch.

“We can be there in a few hours,” Lincoln says flatly. “Want me to bring Dominic?”

“No,” I laugh through the tears. “You don’t need to bring Cam’s fighter boyfriend.”

“So I can take him on my own?”

“Lincoln, stop,” I sigh. “I need logical help here, G.”

“I have you,” Graham says calmly. “Shoot.”

Taking a deep breath, I go for it. “I’ve been seeing a guy for a while. We’ve had fun—”

“We don’t need this part,” Lincoln interjects.

“We’ve seen each other pretty regularly,” I continue. “Every day, really. He’s been totally into me, taking me to hang out with his family, I’ve met his grandmother, and all that. And then I find out tonight that he’s married.”

“What the hell?” Graham barks. “He’s married?”

“Yup.”

“I’m gonna beat his face in,” Lincoln seethes.

“Shut up, Lincoln,” Graham says, his wheels turning. “Did you know this? No, of course you didn’t,” he grumbles. “Why didn’t he tell you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did his family know?”

“I guess. I don’t really know. Some of them did.” I look at the popcorn ceiling and can’t even find it in me to want to scrape it off like I usually do. “Why would he do this to me?”

“That’s a question you’ll have to ask him,” Graham says. “If you want to, that is.”

Lincoln goes on a rant about how they should come to Illinois and teach him a lesson, Graham firing back that they have to think things through. That they have families now and can’t go all crazy like they used to.

I listen to them banter, my mind going to Machlan and Lance. I find myself smiling and then realize they knew too. And not one of them told me.

“Sienna?” Graham asks.

“Yeah?”

“If you weren’t pissed, I’d be pissed at you,” he says. “But I think you need to give the guy a chance to explain.”

“He was married!” Lincoln roars. “Fuck him.”

“I’m with Linc.”

“Both of you clowns better listen to me,” Graham says. “Sienna has never once asked me for advice over a man. She’s never called me crying, except for the time she ran over the kitten on Santa Monica Boulevard.”

“Oh, don’t bring that up,” I say, trying not to cry again.

“The point is,” Graham continues, “I can tell you care about this guy a lot. So even though he’s guaranteed a few head cracks the first time we see him, if we ever do, and more than that if we tell Ford, you need to hear him out. For him, and more importantly, for you.”

“You think so?” I ask.

“I know so. Do you remember what a mess Mallory was when I first met her?” Graham chuckles through the line. “She smelled like bacon every morning. Her desk was a disaster. She went on a date once just to make me jealous.”

“I knew I loved her,” I tease.

“But if I had written her off without giving her a chance, look what I’d have missed out on. Maybe you let the guy go. Maybe you give him another chance. Maybe you come home and get your ass to work for me,” he cracks, getting that little slip in. “But get the facts together before you go making decisions. Be smart, Sienna.”

“I’ll try. Thanks for answering.”

“Always. Goodnight.”

“Night, G. Night, Linc.”

“Love ya, sis.”

I hang up, set my phone on the bedside table, and roll myself up in the covers and try to go to sleep.

***

Walker

I don’t even bother to turn on the light.

Sitting in the living room, the darkness surrounding me, I close my eyes and feel my world still crumbling. Sienna wasn’t anywhere. I drove by her house, Crank, even Nana’s, and nothing. Her phone is off, but I left so many texts and voice messages I wonder if it’ll even turn on or just melt down when she tries.

I’ve exhausted myself. Every muscle in my body aches, every joint flaring from the adrenaline that shoved through my body for so long tonight. But now it’s gone. Just like Sienna.

Tugging at my hair, I lift my head towards the ceiling and try to think of something other than the way she looked at me on the grass. Like her heart was broken. Like I’m some kind of monster. Like I did this to her on purpose.

This is heartbreak. As I sit in the unlit room, the organ in my chest responsible for pumping blood to my extremities is actually splintered. I can feel each piece puncturing me from the inside out. I’ve never felt this fucked up over anything outside of the death of my parents. And, just like that situation, I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.

“Fuck,” I hiss, tugging once more just to feel the pain before dropping my hands into my lap.

My face feels swollen, my hands achy from being clenched all night. I just want to close my eyes and sleep.

In the quiet, as the rest of the town is tucked happily in their beds, everything kind of settles. Like dust after the wind stops, everything finds its resting spot as I sit alone. Heaps of emotions, piles of mistakes, loads of truths that should’ve been shared aren’t enough to fill the void that Sienna has created.

I should’ve told her. I knew it then and I know it now, but how could I? How could I tell her I wanted her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in the universe, but another woman legally has my last name?

Does that make me selfish? Probably. But I did try to stay away from her and keep my distance. I tried so damn hard to not get involved so I didn’t hurt either of us, but I couldn’t.

And I couldn’t tell her the truth because that would ruin everything.

She wouldn’t want to be with a married man, even though I haven’t seen Tabby in years. Even though I didn’t care enough about her when she left to chase her down to sign the papers.

Headlights turn up the driveway. Leaping to my feet, I race to the window to see a little compact car pulled up next to my truck and Tabby walking up the steps. She knocks once, then twice. Not sure of myself, not positive I can rein in my emotions, I wait to see what happens before opening the door.

“Walker, it’s me. Open up.”

Her voice is so odd. It takes me to days at the lake, planning a family, our wedding on that same lakeshore. What’s even more odd is that I feel absolutely dead about it all.

I pull the door open and see her for the second time in years. She looks a little older, still incredibly pretty, her green eyes taking me back to so many years ago.

“Hey,” she says, feeling me out.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Walker …”

I step onto the porch, shutting the house behind me. “What are you doing here, Tab?”

“I … I don’t know, really.”

My gaze settles across the front yard illuminated by the moon, to the spot Sienna and I had discussed putting a hammock. My chest feels like it’s caving in and I jump, blasted out of my thoughts, when Tabby speaks.

“It’s been a long time.” She leans on the railing. “Your place is nice. I had to ask around to see where you lived. Imagine my surprise when I pulled up to our house and realized we didn’t live there anymore.”

I’ve waited for this conversation since the morning she walked out. This is the moment in time I’ve envisioned, when I tell her what an idiot she is, that I hand her the divorce papers Blaire had drawn up way back then and demand she sign them.

This is when I tell her I never loved her, that I knew she was sleeping around, and that I didn’t even care enough to go after her. This is the moment I tell her what a bitch she was to leave me when I was dealing with the loss of my parents, that I throw in her face that the shop is still doing well despite her insistence it wasn’t a way to make a living.

But now that we’re standing here, none of that matters. I don’t give enough of a fuck to inflict any pain on the woman, to tell her how I feel, to give a shit where she’s been or that she knows my life is better without her in it. All of the things I’ve waited patiently for don’t. Fucking. Matter.

Whipping out my phone, I check the home screen for what does matter. The glow shows no missed calls or texts.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” she asks, her voice drifting through the night.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

She slumps forward, weighed by the history she and I don’t share. “Maybe we were too young to have gotten married.”

I glare at her. “You asked why I didn’t come for you. You sure as hell knew the way back.”

“I’m sorry.”

Checking my phone again, there’s still no new messages. Bouncing my hand off the railing, I turn and lean against it.

“Who is she?” she whispers.

“None of your concern.”

“Being that she’s sleeping with my husband, I think—”

“I’m not your husband any more than you’re my wife,” I warn. “If you think you can trot your sorry ass back in here and act like you have some kind of say in anything I have going on, you have another thing coming. And,” I say, my voice rising over her start of an objection, “if you say a word about Sienna …”

She blanches, not expecting this reaction, and blows out a breath.

“This conversation would’ve been very different if I could’ve explained things to her before you came in,” I sigh. “But that was probably your plan, huh?”

“She didn’t know you’re married?”

I just glare at her from the corner of my eye.

“Wow.” She twists her earring, looking at anything but me. “I didn’t know she didn’t know.”

“Guess you got a freebie.”

“I … Damn it, Walker.”

“No, damn you, Tabby,” I say, spinning around. “Why the fuck did you do this? You don’t give a shit about me. You never did. What is it? Do you need something? Were you bored? Just trying to piss me off for old time’s sake? Because all of that I can handle. You can ride my ass about still being the poor mechanic at Crank—”

“Walker—”

“You can tell me how I can do so much better than this shitty little farmhouse—”

“Walker—”

“You can tell the entire fucking town I lost my shit when my parents died and almost lost us the house because I drowned myself in alcohol and couldn’t get out of bed. You can do all of that and I don’t even give a fuck, Tab. But what you just did tonight to Sienna is something even I didn’t think you’d do,” I growl, stopping to take a much needed breath.

“You think I should give a shit about her?”

I look at the woman I once thought I loved. “Peck warned me. He kept saying I should tell Sienna or go find you and end this sham fucking marriage before she found out, but I didn’t. Despite all of their warnings, I didn’t think you’d stoop this low. I figured I could wait a while. No sense in finding you if I didn’t have to.”

Folding my hands together, I press them into my forehead. My temper is creeping through the numbness and I’m not sure how to handle it.

I want to scream, tell her exactly what I think of her, dress her down in ways she’s never imagined. But all I can see is Sienna’s face and hear her laugh and that takes the fight right out of me. How do you fight with a broken heart?

“You love her, don’t you?” Tabby’s voice is soft, so soft, in fact, I almost don’t hear it despite the peace of the night.

“What does it matter?”

She walks the length of the porch, her arms wrapped around her stomach like it’s not eighty degrees outside. I check my phone once more. When I look up, Tabby is looking at me.

“Is she ignoring you?” she asks.

“Wouldn’t you?” I huff.

“What are you going to do?”

I hate the way she asks, like there’s a simple answer to fix this. Like I can make a quick try to get Sienna back and if that doesn’t work, move on.

Fuck her.

“I’m going to get you to sign the divorce papers and then go find her,” I say through gritted teeth.

Her features wash, becoming neutral, any sense of kindness or sadness wiping away. “You’re going to try to find her?”

“No. I’m not going to try. I’m going to find her,” I shrug, clutching my phone like it will prompt her to call me.

“But you didn’t try to find me.”

“Nope.”

She looks out across the night. “Do you think we could’ve fixed things if one of us had come for the other?”

“If I would’ve found you, it would’ve been to get you to sign the papers,” I tell her. “I just didn’t care enough to even try. Our marriage was over long before you left. We both know that.”

“Why didn’t you fight for it?” she asks, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

It’s a fair question, even though I could turn it around on her. As I look at her across the porch, the gentle summer breeze playing with the ends of her hair, my heart squeezes with the answer to her question.

“I didn’t fight for us then because of pride. I didn’t fight for us through the years because of anger. I’m not fighting for us now because my heart is so tied up in Sienna that nothing else exists.”

“Maybe we could fix things? Maybe we could fall in love again?” she asks, the words squeezed around the emotion filling the spaces between the words. “I miss you so much.”

I hold her gaze for a split second before raising a finger. I go inside, flip on the light, and head to the old secretary’s desk that used to be my mother’s. There’s a file at the bottom of the cavity, the little flags indicating spots for signature. I take it and a black ballpoint pen and head back to the porch.

Tabby is standing in the same spot, black trails streaming down her cheeks.

“I need you to sign here and here,” I say, placing the file on a little table and showing her the spots with flags with “TG” tagged on them by Blaire.

She doesn’t move. “You’re so handsome, Walker. You remind me so much of your dad.”

“Tabby …”

“I wondered if I’d come out here and you’d start throwing cans of pop out the door at my car the way you and Lance did that night of the bonfire at Tommy Jones’. Remember that?” she grins through the tears. “My God, you guys were horrible.”

“He deserved everything he got,” I say, remembering that night.

“Yeah, he did.” She pulls her hair into a small ponytail at the back of her neck before wiping her face with the back of her hands. “You’ve really turned into a good man.” Her lip quivers, the tip of her nose turning red. “Sienna is a lucky woman.”

Without another word, just a sniffle as she tries not to dot the divorce papers with her tears, she takes the pen and signs her name to both spots.

“Tell Sienna I’m sorry,” she says, climbing down the stairs. “And Walker?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry to you too.”

She gets into her car and backs down the driveway, honking the horn once before speeding away. I pull out my phone again, this time opening the texting app.

There are lines and lines of green text bubbles from the course of the night, all filled with me apologizing, begging her to call, begging her to text, me trying to explain. I don’t know what else to even say. Still, I can’t help but punching out another one.

Me: If you need someone to talk to and don’t want to talk to me, call Peck. Please. Just let someone know you’re okay.

Thirty

Sienna

Rain pelts the window, a summer storm rolling in just as I got home. Sitting on the sofa, gazing out the window, I wonder if it’s a reflection of the weather outside or if I’m just imagining what my heart looks like.

Battered. Gloomy. Branches snapping off as they’re flung back and forth.

My coffee went cold a long time ago, but I still grip the mug in my hands. It’s like a life raft at this point. Something to root me in the present so I don’t get lost in the past.

Climbing into bed earlier, his scent was all over the sheets and pillows. It would’ve been smart to get right back out. I think logical thinking was lost somewhere around two am. Curling up in the sheets, my face buried in the pillow he used, I whipped back and forth from crying to being so angry my fist hit the mattress again and again. I laid there long enough to get out of it with his cologne on my shirt.

My feet are cold against the hardwood, but I can’t bring myself to find socks. If I can just stay in this half-muted state, I’ll be better off.

There are so many decisions to be made and I ignore them all. What to do about the upcoming lease? Do I take Graham’s offer after all? Do I bother talking to Walker or do I just skip town and forget this place ever existed at all?

Coffee sloshes in the mug as a score of emotions wave over me. The smell of Carlson’s bakery, the sweet smile of the librarian, making pies with the little old ladies, and the feel of Crank in the morning all roll by, taunting me that I wasn’t part of this place as I once thought.

My phone buzzes next to me and I look down, expecting it to be Walker for the eighteenth time since I woke up and turned it on. There were too many calls and texts last night to even process and I haven’t read any of the messages or listened to the voice messages either. I reach for it and see it’s Cam.

“Hey,” I croak, putting the coffee down.

“Are you all right? Mallory called me this morning and said Graham told her you called last night.”

“Yeah.” I think back on the phone call with my brothers and squeeze my eyes shut.

“He’s married, Sienna?”

“Yeah.”

“I … I don’t really know what to say,” she breathes.

“Me either.”

I grab an Arrows throw blanket and press it against my cheek. The softness of the fabric just reminds me of the way Walker’s shirts feel against my skin. I toss it back on the floor.

“I wish I were there with you,” Camilla says. “I hate being so far away when things like this happen. Do you want me to come? I will.”

“I know you will,” I tell her, expecting tears but they don’t come. “But I think I’m going to come home.”

She starts to say something, but stops before she gets it out.

“I don’t know what to do, Cam,” I say, my voice shaky. “Everything I thought was wrong. Everyone here must’ve been laughing at me. Heck, I’m laughing at myself. Do you know I was thinking maybe I could fit in here? Me,” I laugh in a self-deprecating kind of way. “I was drinking the Kool-Aid with a straw.”

“Sienna, stop it. There’s nothing wrong with hoping for something.”

“Yeah, well, I think this proves you wrong.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she scoffs. “Have you talked to him?”

“Why does everyone want me to talk to him?” I say, getting to my feet. I pace the room, trying to stop my toes from freezing. “For the first time in my life, Lincoln is the only one out of you that makes sense.”

“Oh, God. You’re to the point of listening to Linc?”

“I’m not kidding,” I fire back, annoyed at the laugh in her tone. “He’s the only one who thinks Walker needs junk-punched.”

“Well, junk punch him then. No one is stopping you.” She sighs, getting her thoughts together on the other end of the line. “People aren’t perfect. Sometimes they mess up. Sometimes they make a plan for things and then things happen that skew that and they don’t know what to do. You know, maybe he was going to tell you. Maybe there’s a reason he didn’t.”

I storm down the hallway and rifle through my closet until I come up with a pair of pink slippers. Shoving my feet in them, I sit on the edge of the bed. Looking over my shoulder, I see the messy sheets and moved alarm clock and remember Walker playfully asking me to dinner just a few days ago.

Choking down the bile that’s creeping up my throat, I switch the phone in between my hands. “I do think he was going to tell me.”

“You do?”

“He was going to go out of town,” I say slowly. “I wonder if it had something to do with her.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask.”

“But does it matter?” I ask. “Can I even look his family in the eye again and know that they let him play me and didn’t say a word?”

Her irritation sweeps through the line. “Think about this, okay? And it might not be apples-to-apples, so don’t start arguing that it’s not the same. I don’t know the facts. I’m just making a point.”

“Fine.”

“Let’s say Ford had gotten married when he was young, before he went into the Marines. Let’s say the Marines sent him overseas and she left him and he came home preoccupied or something and never got around to finding her. Then let’s say he met Ellie and brought her around and we all know he’s still married to mystery woman, all right? Do we tell Ellie?”

“No,” I say immediately. “It’s not our place.”

“Exactly. And we love Ellie. We don’t want to push her away. She’s great for Ford, right?”

Flopping back onto the bed, the stress of this whole thing too much to take, the lack of sleep and throbbing temples too much to work through, I close my eyes. “I need to go, Camilla.”

“Are you going to go find him?” she asks, a hint of hope in her voice.

“Nope,” I say, barely able to get the words by the dryness in my throat. “Going to sleep. Turning my phone off, so don’t panic when I don’t answer,” I yawn. “I’ll call you later.”

“Call me if you need anything at all.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye, Sienna.”

***

WALKER

The rain hammers the metal roof of Crank. It’s been a consistent downpour since I pulled up around five this morning. I drove around town and over to Merom and couldn’t find her. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stand the house for another damn minute, so I came here. Peck showed up around six. On his day off. Fucker.

He’s kept busy all morning in the shop, tying up a few loose ends and getting shit organized. He’s not supposed to be here today and none of the stuff he’s doing is urgent. I want to send him home, but I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’m gonna lash out, and I’m smart enough to recognize that and that Peck doesn’t deserve it. I just can’t find out how to kick my own ass.

Maybe it’s the rain. Maybe it’s the feeling of helplessness that’s shoved me into a hole. Whatever it is, Crank feels remarkably quiet.

I try to work on a few things, but I can’t focus on anything unless the phone rings. That’s the only thing that spurs me in to action. As I type in a part number, the ringer goes off and my hopes rise and then fall when I see it’s Blaire.

“Hey,” I say, bracing myself.

“Good morning. Imagine my surprise when my secretary brings me in signed divorce papers from you at seven this morning.”

“Why are you in the office on a Saturday morning?”

“When you have plans to take over the world, Walker, there are things to be done. Now, let’s get back to my original point. I’m assuming you saw Tabby.”

“She strolled into Crave last night,” I report, flipping an ink pen between two fingers. “Nice of her, huh?”

“I’m not hearing much in your voice that leads me to believe that went over well.”

“You’re talking to your brother,” I remind her, tossing the pen on the desk. “No need to pretend you ever felt neutral about Tabby.”

“You’re right. There’s never been a neutral bone in my body about that useless excuse for a woman. I loathe her. Seeing her signature on those papers this morning ultimately made my month.”

“So glad I could help ya out.”

“Do I get details? Because I’ve waited on this since you said, ‘I do.’”

Watching Peck push a broom across the floor of the shop, I roll my eyes. It feels like a fucking funeral in here today and I just want to snap everyone out of it and go back to the way it was. Peck’s stupid dancing. Sienna’s reorganizing shit. Tractors that piss me off and muffins on the counter.

“Well, in typical Tabby fashion,” I say, feeling my teeth grit, “she managed to do it at the absolute worst time.”

“She came back for a divorce. Let’s not get picky on timing.”

“She came back because someone told her I’ve been with another woman more than a night or two. I’m figuring someone was at the restaurant I took her to.”

“You did? You’ve been really seeing this girl? Why did no one tell me?”

“Lance probably couldn’t work it in between all the dating texts you sent him.”

She laughs, her chair squeaking in the background. “I always figured it would be Machlan who would need my legal defense first. I’m beginning to think it’s Lance.”

“It might be me if I don’t figure out how to stop wanting to smash something this morning.”

I pick up a stack of papers Sienna stuck on the corner and bounce them on the desk. My skin crawls with the need to move, to do, to fix this shit that I can’t sit still.

“I’m less interested in Tabby, more interested in the new woman.”

“Well, since Tabby ruined that last night, I’m pretty sure she’s the old woman now.”

“You didn’t tell her you were married?”

“Blaire …”

“You fucking idiot.”

The door chimes and I don’t even look up. “I gotta go. Someone came in.”

“Call me later. We have to discuss this.”

“Love ya.”

“Love you, Walker. Call me.”

I end the call and look up to see old man Dave standing in the lobby. His hair is dripping wet, his clothes soaked. I spring off the chair and rush around to him.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

He seems physically uninjured, yet sopping. But it becomes increasingly obvious that an injury is there. I just can’t see it.

Grabbing the chair, I work it around to the front. “I need to just get a chair for out here, huh?”

He tries to smile as he sits. “My wife passed this morning.”

“Oh, Dave.” I rest a hand on his shoulder, not sure what to say. “I’m so sorry.”

“She went peacefully. The nurses called really late last night and I headed up there to sit with her. I held her hand,” he says, his gaze settled on something in the distance, “told her stories. Reminded her of all the things we’d done in our lives and how much I loved her.”

I squeeze his frail shoulder, a loss for words.

“The rain started around five o’clock,” he says, his voice so hollow it’s painful for me to even hear. “I was in the middle of a story about a Thanksgiving turkey she cooked one year when she turned her head and looked at me. It was her again …” His voice breaks and he coughs into his hand, taking a minute to regain his composure. “Her eyes were blue and bright and she said, ‘Well, hello, David.’”

He bends over and cries, catching his tears in his hands. I feel so helpless. Rubbing his back, I try to figure out what to say. This is a devastation I don’t know, one I can’t imagine. I know the pain of losing my parents, but I can’t imagine spending my entire life with someone and not having her there. The emptiness of not having Sienna already kills me.

“She’s not struggling anymore,” he says, sitting up and looking at me through cloudy eyes. “I don’t know what I’ll do for breakfast now and don’t know why I’ll get out of bed. But I suppose this is a part of life and I’ll manage. At least I had her back for a few minutes before she passed.”

“If there’s anything I can do, please tell me.”

He pats my arm. “Thank you, Walker. I wanted to see if Sienna was around today.”

Biting back a lump in my throat, I shake my head. “She’s not.”

Despite his grief, even though he just lost his wife, Dave looks beyond the surface. “You two have a falling out?”

“That’s nothing you need to be worried about.”

“She reminds me of my wife. As kind as she is pretty. Wanting to fix everything,” he says, a small smile slipping across his lips. “Take it from me, do whatever it takes to keep her around.”

“I think I messed up pretty good on this one.”

“Well, we all do that from time to time. Nothing is bad enough it can’t be fixed.” He stands, swaying a little on his feet. “If you see Sienna, please tell her I said thank you for the breakfasts from Carlson’s this past week.”

“What?”

“She had something brought over to the nursing home every morning this week,” he admits, shaking his head. “It … It was appreciated.”

A clap of thunder hits outside and I run to the back and grab an old coat of my father’s. “Here,” I say to Dave, throwing it over his shoulders. “Let’s try to keep you warm.”

He starts in on a story about my dad and this jacket as I open the door and help him to his car. He gets settled in, the rain pelting my back. “If you’re lucky enough to get a shot at love, Walker, it’s worth whatever you have to do to keep it.”

I watch him pull away. Standing in the middle of the parking lot, getting drenched, I know he’s right. I just don’t know if it matters.

Thirty-One

Sienna

“I really don’t feel like lunch, Delaney. But thank you,” I say, trying not to let her hear how much her insistence drives me crazy. She goes on and on about how I need someone to hang out with today, how Cam asked her to check on me, how she’ll take me for coffee cake at Carlson’s.

She means well. I know that. But I also know what it’ll be and that’s a huge anti-Walker fest. While I’ve wanted someone to join my grumblings, as the day has worn on and I really consider listening to it, it doesn’t seem appealing.

“Delaney,” I say, cutting in. “I need to go. I have a call coming in.”

“Call me back.”

“Okay. Bye.”

I end the call and toss the phone on the sofa.

The sun is out, but a little creek has formed in the back yard. It flows from the neighbors on the north to the ones on the south. The kids at the top of the hill have made these little boats and are floating them down to their friends below. Like a busybody old lady, I stand at the window and watch them play in the water. They’re so happy. So carefree. Not old enough to have their hearts broken.

A knock at the front door startles me. Expecting to see Delaney with a bag of takeout, I pull it open without asking who it is. But it’s not Delaney. It’s Peck.

The mischief that typically riddles his eyes is gone and is replaced with a concern that rushes back all the events from last night. I lean my head against the door and expel a sigh. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to check on my buddy.”

“Don’t make me cry,” I say, choking back a sob.

He gives me his goofy smile. “You doing all right?”

“About as well as you might’ve guessed when you realized I found out what you all already knew.”

I let that hang in the air, a little jab to let him know how I feel. He takes the hit, actually flinching, before removing his hat and running a hand through his wild, blond hair.

“I fucking told him to tell you,” he says, shaking his head. “We all did. Every single one of us, Slugger.”

“But none of you did,” I say, standing upright. “I can see why Machlan didn’t. I don’t really know him. Maybe not even Lance. But you?”

His face falls as I stand before him, calling him out on what certainly feels like a betrayal.

“You were the one lugging me to Nana’s,” I point out. “You were the one shoving us together and making sure we had enough opportunities to connect. Hell, Peck, you were the one who came up with the idea for me to work there.”

“You wanna know why?” he shoots back.

“I’d love to.”

“Because I could tell from that very first night that Walker needed someone like you. Did I know he was gonna fall on his ass for you? No. But I was thinking, at a minimum, you and he could spend some time together and it would pull him out of the fucking fog he’s been in for years.”

“So maybe I’d sleep with him and he’d get over Tabby?” I ask, my brows shooting to the ceiling. “Gee, thanks.”

“That’s not at all what I mean,” he swears, plopping his hat back on. “He’s been over Tabby for years. He’s just been kind of stuck.”

My head slips from the door.

Peck dips his chin. “He’s a great guy. I just hoped maybe I’d see the Walker I knew before he married Tabby. And you know what? I did.”

“At my expense.”

“Was it?”

“Absolutely.”

“What does the fact he married a woman who ran off, one he didn’t even care enough about to chase down for a divorce—how does that hurt you? Did we know he was married? Yeah. I was there that day. I watched him almost drink himself to death an hour before the ceremony. The whole town saw him with her and the whole fucking place saw the aftermath. You think people are judging you because of this? Think again.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t my place.” He teeters on the edge of the step. “I don’t know why Walker didn’t. I know he hated falling for you knowing he still technically had a wife. It’s why he pushed back so hard against it. He was going to tell you after he got back this weekend with her signature on the divorce papers.”

All of this makes my head spin. The stress in my shoulders aches, the acid in my stomach almost eating it raw. I just want to be happy again, to smile, to want to go do something instead of sitting on the sofa and being miserable.

I want to see Walker. I want to kiss him and hold him and make him laugh. But the man lied to me, omitted something beyond significant, and I don’t know if I can ever trust him again.

“Go for a drive with me,” Peck says, offering me his hand. “Some fresh air will do you some good.”

“I don’t look fit to go anywhere.”

“My truck won’t care,” he says, shaking his proffered palm. “Come on. Trust me.”

“The last time you said that I ended up at Nana’s.”

“Not today. No Nana’s. No Crank. No Walker’s house. Promise. Just me and you and my ol’ truck.”

I consider going inside and sitting by myself. I think about pacing the floors, taking a bath, overthinking everything.

With a deep, uncertain breath, I take Peck’s hand. “Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

***

SIENNA

The rain mists against the windshield of Peck’s truck. It’s not heavy or hard but consistent enough that I can’t see Dr. Burns’ building anymore.

My breath starts to steam the cab as I wait for Peck to come back. He disappeared inside Crave fifteen minutes ago, leaving me in the truck when I refused to go back to the scene of the crime—and I’m not even sure which crime, exactly, I was referring to.

Despite the warm temperatures, the rain works its way into my bones. A chill settles over me and I hold myself, rocking back and forth, wishing he’d hurry up. Like I used to do when I was a little girl, I make a deal with myself: if he’s not out by the time I count to one hundred and twenty, I’m going in to get him.

The counting starts in my head as I think I see Walker’s truck. But it’s not. It’s actually a midnight blue truck that’s a slightly different model than Daisy. As the numbers keep going up, I tick back through the night I hit her with the bat, the first day at Crave, the church service. I remember every stare, every kiss, every accidental and purposeful touch. I yearn for more. Need them, even, and wonder if I’ll ever feel normal without them.

Hitting the magic number, I groan and open the truck door. The warm water mists around me, almost like a thick, wet fog. The street is empty as I jog across and lug on the door to Crave. It opens easily.

There are a few lights on around the bar, mostly advertisements that glow in a variety of colors. My eyes dart to the back table, the one Walker frequents, and where the bomb that blasted me apart last night. It’s empty, the chairs neatly arranged around it, the pool balls in their pockets, everything in order.

“Peck?” I call, my voice echoing off the walls. “Where are you?”

When he doesn’t answer, I consider taking a spritzer out of the cooler and sitting down. It’s not my thing, but I’m not exactly me today. Instead, I walk over to the cork boards that line the wall beneath the television.

Notes of every size and color are pinned, some serious and some not. A napkin stuck to the cork with a nail reads, “Someone tell Denise to get her ass home.” There are three pictures of two football players wearing Legends hats hanging at the top. There’s an advertisement for a wood chipper and a poem with more words I can’t read than words I can.

“Hey.”

I jump at the voice. I don’t turn around though because it’s not Peck. I don’t move because my feet refuse to walk away from him.

“Where’s Peck?” I ask Walker, feeling his energy move around behind me. I close my eyes and breathe in his cologne, tears filling my lids.

“He’s in the truck. Just went out the back door.”

“So this was a plan to get me here?”

“Actually, it wasn’t,” he says. “There was a plan but it involved me coming to your house after Peck made sure you were all right. This is just happenstance.”

Second-guessing everything I think and everything I do, I turn to face him. His eyes have dark rings around them, his clothes the same he wore last night. I refuse to let the tears spill over.

“It’s a pattern, huh?” he chuckles. “You. Me. Crave.”

“Now we have your wife to add to that,” I throw back.

He nods, struggling to stay composed. “Fair enough.”

“There’s nothing fair about it,” I tell him. “You set me up.”

“No, I didn’t. I was going to tell you.”

“When? When did you decide was a good time for me to know the man I was falling in love with was married to someone else?” I realize my slip, but it’s too late. His eyes go wide and he starts to step towards me, but I shake my head. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t tell you because, at first, I didn’t think it mattered. The marriage was a joke and only was intact legally because I didn’t care enough to chase her down for a divorce. You were probably leaving anyway and I figured why get into it?”

“Because it would’ve been nice to know.”

“And I apologize.” His eyes cloud as he runs a hand through his hair. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You lied to me. I told you everything about me. I contemplated turning down a job with my brother for you,” I say, my face damp despite my best efforts to keep it from happening. “I made decisions that I hoped would give us a chance to figure things out between us and you made decisions that you knew would be worse the longer you waited.”

“I tried to tell you,” he says, watching the tears fall. “Every time I tried, I got scared. Afraid you’d leave. Afraid you’d be pissed or would have your feelings hurt. I thought it would be a hell of a lot easier if I had a signed set of papers in my hand that said it was over. A thing of the past.”

Despite my glare, he stalks across the room and stops in front of me. He searches my face, his own full of the same misery that’s torn apart my soul.

“What are the odds we’d end up back here?” He reaches out and touches my face. My brain screams to pull away, but my heart wins. I lean against his hand, the warmth of his palm caressing my cheek. “Let this be our starting point. Let us try again.”

“Have we ever really tried? Or was that all a lie?”

“Nothing I said to you was a lie. Nothing I insinuated or whispered in your ear while you slept.”

Furrowing a brow, I don’t dare ask.

“Slugger, please …”

Standing on my tiptoes, my heart bleeding into my chest, I press a kiss to the side of his face. As if he knows what I’m saying, he closes his eyes and drops his hand from my face.

“I need to go,” I whisper turning to the door.

“Sienna, wait …”

“I’ve given you a second,” I smile sadly. “I don’t know what else you could want at this point.”

He calls out after me, but I swing the door open and run across the road. The rain drizzles on my head as I climb into the cab of Peck’s truck.

“Go.”

Without a word, Peck steps on the accelerator and starts down the street. Only when we’re ready to turn off do I look back to see Walker standing in the middle of the road again, his head bowed to the asphalt, the rain creating a foggy haze around him.

Thirty-Two

Sienna

We don’t exchange a word as Peck drives me home. I want to ask if he went there on purpose, but I’m pretty certain I know the answer and I can’t blame him. If I were in his position, I’d have tried it too.

The truck slides into the driveway of my little rental and he jams it in park. “Don’t be mad at me,” he says.

“I’m not.”

“Nah, you are. I have broad shoulders. I can take it.”

“I’m not mad at you,” I sigh. “I don’t even know what I am, to be honest.”

“You’ll figure it out.” He cocks his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “Are you sticking around?”

I lift my shoulders and let them fall, not sure what to do when all I really want to do is climb under the covers and sleep for ten years.

He nods. “Well, you’ll do what’s best for you. You’re a smart girl.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t always feel awesome and I know I am.”

A chuckle escapes my lips, even though I don’t expect it. I grab the door handle and then stop. “Peck?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He sends me his lopsided grin. “For what?”

Sitting quietly, my hand still wrapped around the door handle, I try to focus on this one thing. I think back to all the nice things he’s done for me since I’ve known him. All the times he hasn’t just sided with Walker because they’re family, but almost treated me like family too.

My gaze softens, my shoulders sag. “I hope Molly McCarter realizes how special you are sooner rather than later.”

“Me too,” he sighs with a smile.

“You’re gold, you know that?”

“I do. But thank you for noticing,” he winks. “Go on and get out of my truck before this gets all sappy and I have to report back to Walker a bunch of shit that he’ll tease me for. Okay?”

“Sure.” With a heavy heart, I shove open the door. Before I shut it, I peer inside the cab one final time. “Thanks for the ride.”

“If you need anything, you know who to call. Just remember—if you’re in Georgia, I’ll need lead time.”

With a laugh and a tear sliding down my cheek, I swing the door closed and head up to the door. In typical Peck style, he doesn’t leave until I’m in the house.

As I hear the engine take off down the street, my back slides down the wall and I drop onto the floor. I don’t know where my sobs sound harder—in the empty house or in my desolate soul.

***

The fog on the mirror fades as the cool air from the house rushes into the bathroom. It tickles my skin, still sensitive from standing under the shower for what felt like a lifetime but wasn’t quite long enough.

Camilla and I always say that a hot shower can cure just about anything. It can’t cure a broken heart.

Heading into my bedroom, stepping over the sheets I ripped from my bed before putting on new, non-Walker-scented ones, I climb up on the mattress and curl up into a ball.

I didn’t die. My heart got trampled, my trust broken, my ego bruised, but I didn’t die. I thought I might. I also thought I might just pick up the phone today once Peck dropped me off and call Walker and talk to him. I didn’t do that either.

My eyes drift closed and I concentrate on my breathing, listening to the air smoothly enter and leave my body. As I lie in bed, in a semi-awake, semi-sleep sort of twilight state, there’s a sense of peace that covers me.

I’ve taken everything the last few days have thrown at me. I got bumped around and hurt but I didn’t break. I fell in love, but I didn’t lose me. I didn’t give in, I didn’t roll over, I didn’t sacrifice anything about myself to stay in a relationship.

I wasn’t my mother.

Thinking of her sweet face and warm hugs makes my chest hurt. Pulling my legs tighter to my chest, I imagine being at the Farm, surrounded by my family, and although it doesn’t seem like it’ll fix things, it’s a better solution than lying here alone.

Decision made, I find my phone buried in the blankets on the floor and scroll until I find Graham’s name. I hit the green button.

“Hey,” he says immediately. “How are you?”

“I’m coming home,” I tell him, ignoring his question. “Is the job still open?”

“Of course …” A paper crinkles in the background. “You okay?”

“No, but I’m going to survive.”

“That’s good news. Mom will be happy.”

I look around the room and spot a packet of gum Walker left lying next to the television. The stupid little package makes my heart burn in my chest and I know if this can make me feel so sad, what will driving by Crank do? Or Peck? Or if I run into Walker at the gas station?

“Think I can stay at the Farm for a while?” I ask. “I’m going to try to grab a flight in the morning.”

“I’ll have someone go over and make sure it’s ready for you. You coming back for good then?”

“I think so, G.”

He waits a long minute before responding. “You know I want you here. I feel better when we’re all in one place.”

“Yeah.”

“But I want you to take a breather. Don’t make any decisions until you’re more steady on your feet, okay?”

“The way I feel …” My voice cracks before drifting off. I pace a circle, trying to rein in the lump at the bottom of my throat. “The way I feel, it might take a while to be steady on my feet. I can’t wait that long to move on.”

“You know I’m behind you one hundred percent. But can I give you some advice?”

“That’s what I call you for, isn’t it?” I laugh, sniffling.

“Don’t bring him here. Lincoln got Ford all wound up and you know how that ends.”

“Oh great.”

Graham laughs. “Okay. I’ll have my secretary secure you a plane ticket for morning. The Farm will be waiting.”

“Thanks, G. Love you.”

“Love you too. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

Thirty-Three

Walker

The last time a woman left me, I almost drank myself to death. It wasn’t because she left. Her actual leaving was symbolic; she was out the door months before that. It was because I wanted to forget everything that had happened. I didn’t want to remember our farce of a wedding, deal with the house she wanted to buy that I hated from the start, see her things lying around that only reminded me of a woman who betrayed me over and over again. Being drunk delivered the sweet peace I couldn’t find elsewhere.

This time? I want to remember it all.

The tractor seat beneath me bites into my ass. The engine is now cold, the sun just starting to fall behind the trees. I should get up and go inside, get a shower, probably a sandwich, but I can’t make myself move. If I get up, there’s a better-than-average chance I’ll find myself in my truck headed to Sienna’s, and that’ll just make things worse.

She needs time. That’s what Blaire told me, it’s what Lance suggested, it’s what my gut says. Give her time. But I don’t want to give her time. I want to hold her in my arms and kiss her until she remembers what we are together.

Everything.

We’re everything together.

My palm slams off the steering wheel, the crunch of the bone against the hard plastic twisting under my skin. It registers, but I don’t really feel the pain. It pales in comparison to the ache everywhere else.

They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. That’s not true. I knew what I had long before she left. What I didn’t know for absolute certain until Tabby came back and I looked in to her eyes and felt absolutely nothing was that I absolutely, without the shadow of a doubt, love Sienna Landry.

A pair of headlights sweeps through the field before Peck’s pickup truck comes into view. He shuts it off a few yards away, climbing out and heading my way.

He tosses me a little wave, testing the waters, and I can’t deny I’m happy to see him.

“How are ya?” he asks when he gets close enough for me to hear.

I shrug.

“Decided to mow the back forty, huh? Been a long time since this has been cut.”

“Seemed like a good, productive way to not get a restraining order,” I laugh.

He chuckles, leaning against a tire. “Well, what do we do now?”

“About what?”

“Losing our girl.”

“Our girl?” I ask, eyes wide. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I mean, she’s your girl,” he scoffs. “But I like her too. She’s fun. She makes you a decent guy. She just … fit in, all right?”

Scratching my head, I sink into the seat. “I can’t just go get her. I want to. I want to throw her over my shoulder and handcuff her to the bed and make her listen to me until she loves me back.”

Something flickers in Peck’s eye, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he nods his head.

“You know, her brother offered her a job in Savannah and she never said she would or wouldn’t take it,” I note.

“Maybe she won’t.”

I look at him. “Maybe she needs to.”

“What are you saying, Walk?”

“I didn’t realize how unhappy I was until she came around. I’d forgotten what it feels like to want to get out of bed, to not loathe the idea of going to work.”

“You mean you don’t skip out the door every day to see me? Fucker,” he teases.

“Sorry,” I laugh. “I’d fallen into this slump and nothing sort of mattered anymore. I didn’t think there was anything out there for me. Now I know that’s not true.”

“So you’re going to let her walk away?”

Gazing into the sunset, the final rays of light shining through the trees, the emptiness of not having Sienna settles into my soul. It claws at me, pierces me, makes me uncomfortable in the worst way. “I have to,” I whisper.

“I don’t understand.”

“I could go get her like I want to and tell her all the things I know are true. That I love her. That she loves me. That we belong together. But she needs to realize that on her own.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“A girl like that …” I can’t fight the laugh that comes falling past my lips. “You can’t tame a girl like Sienna. She still has things she wants to do, things she wants to figure out. And I’d be a cocksucker if I tried to convince her she doesn’t.”

“Okay,” he says, holding a hand in front of him, “I get what you’re saying. But it’s risky as hell.”

“Everything’s a risk, isn’t it? I’ve already fallen in love with her. That’s where you really take the chance and I’m all in. It’s too late for that.” I climb off the tractor and look at my cousin. “How late is Terry’s Lumber open?”

“Till nine? I think?”

“Wanna give me a lift over there?”

“Yeah, but I control the radio …”

Thirty-Four

Sienna

“Come on,” I groan, the wheels of my suitcase getting stuck. I jerk it forward and it springs loose, catapulting me into the back of my car.

Blowing out a breath, I stand with what little energy I have left and get it situated in the trunk and close the lid.

The little house Delaney and I called home for the last year looms overhead as I walk back up to the door. Its little black shutters were my favorite part from the moment I rolled up here months ago. Although it’s small and odd-shaped and the grass never grows evenly, my heart twists as I check the door for a final time.

As I head back down the sidewalk, Peck’s truck slides in behind my car. “Hey,” he says, getting out. He pulls his brows together. “Going somewhere?”

“To Savannah,” I say, trying desperately to keep my voice free of emotion. “I have a flight in a couple of hours.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Am I supposed to tell you everything?” I laugh, letting him pull me into a hug.

“Not everything, but this is kind of a big deal.”

“I just …” Shrugging, I blow out a breath. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“You staying there for good?”

I shrug again. “I need to go though. I can’t miss my flight.”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead, he pulls me into a hug again.

“You’re the best, you know that?” I say against his t-shirt.

This time, there are no witty comebacks and no cute one-liners. He just squeezes me tighter.

Fighting tears, I pull away and refuse to look at him.

“Here,” he says, his voice full of emotion. “Take this.”

“What is it?”

He hands me a white envelope with my name scrawled on the front. My thumb goes immediately to Walker’s writing as if touching his pen strokes allows me to touch him.

“I don’t know what it is, really. But it’s from Walker,” he says. “Are you going to tell him you’re leaving?”

“Is Tabby still around?”

“Hell, no,” he sneers. “Even if she was, it wouldn’t matter. You get what I’m sayin’?”

Blowing out a shaky breath, I circle around to the driver’s side door. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t let Walker give you too much hell.”

“If you need anything, call me,” he says, as I get into my seat.

Tears welling in my eyes as Peck reaches me, he closes the door softly. Leaning down so we’re eye-to-eye, he smiles sadly. “I hate seeing you go.”

“I hate to go,” I choke out. “But I have to.”

He nods, patting his hand against the roof of the car. “Then you better get going. Be safe.”

I watch him in the rearview mirror get into this truck, throw it in reverse, and zoom off down the road.

The tears start and they don’t stop even after I hit the highway towards Chicago. By the time I hit the Linton exit, my shirt is soaked and I can barely see.

On auto-pilot, I take the little offshoot into the little sleepy town. Instead of going right towards Crank like I do every morning, I turn left.

The streets are lined with American flags that billow in the warm summer breeze. Cherry smiles, broom in hand, as she sweeps the front of Carlson’s Bakery. I wave back, wishing I could stop and get one last piece of coffee cake.

Passing Nana’s church, I stop at the little stop sign at the end of the street. Ruby, the librarian, is checking the mail at the road. She, too, waves and points to a little sign about the upcoming speaker she’s been telling me about. I give her a thumbs up, making her smile as the tears just keep flowing.

Passing Goodman’s gas station, I see a bunch of the old men who hang out in Crank sometimes and I honk. They recognize my car and lift their coffee cups high above their bib overalls, the little hello they have worked out for their friends.

Me. Their friend.

Funny how this little town that I once thought of as a pit stop in the adventure of my life has my heart all twisted into a knot. I take a quick left and head back towards the highway, a road I don’t usually take. There’s a sign painted a bright shade of blue with a white arrow that reads, “Bluebird.”

Pressing on the gas, I force myself forward on the on-ramp and head to the airport.

Thirty-Five

Sienna

“Last call for Flight 3086 to Atlanta, Georgia.”

With a long, frazzled breath, I watch the steady stream of people board the jet. I should’ve been one of the first between my first-class ticket and the fact that I’ve sat here for an hour. Yet, here I am, still stuck in my seat staring at a coffee pop-up in the middle of the airport.

Like a zombie, I reach for my bag and drag it to my lap. I poke around, searching for my boarding pass when I stumble upon the envelope Peck gave me earlier. It’s leaned up against my wallet, cuddled in amongst my things, like it has all the time in the world to sit there until I decide to open it.

The line still has a handful of people in it, so I go ahead and retrieve the envelope. It’s heavier than I remember and uneven as I hold it like a bomb waiting to go off.

I don’t want to open it. Something tells me to not be antsy and leave it be. I get up and start to gather my things before sitting down and tearing the top open before I can talk myself out of it again.

A key falls to the floor, dinging as it hits the metal leg of the chair. I pick it up and unfold a piece of carefully creased paper, the words hard to read from the tears in my eyes at the first word.

Slugger,

I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but there’s only one I’d go back and fix if I could. That’s hurting you. I’m so damn sorry. Once I realized I was in love with you, I panicked and tried to find Tabby to get everything taken care of. I should’ve just told you, but I didn’t. And now we’re both paying for that.

I am in love with you, Sienna. I don’t expect that to absolve me from any guilt for my mistakes, but I want you to know that. I’ve never been in love before now. I know that because I’ve never felt this way about anyone else and I know I could never stop feeling this way or feel it for another person.

The key is to the front door of my house. I waited four years to get a divorce. I’ll wait an entire lifetime for you to come back. Go explore the world. Work for your brother. Whatever it is you want to do. Just know that when you realize you can’t live without me, you know where I’ll be.

Love,

Walker

The paper shakes, my hands trembling, as I make it to the last words. I want to be mad at him, I want to be so jealous that I hate him for having a wife. But both of those things leave me sitting here. Without him.

Looking around the airport, at the man sitting across from me reading a paper with his wife’s head on his shoulder, at the young couple sitting against the wall, laughing at something on her phone, my lips begin to tremble.

The flight attendant at the gate looks at me and I nod, gesturing for her to give me a minute. Wrapping bag straps in my hands, I still don’t get up because reality hits me like a ton of bricks.

If I get on that plane, I’m everything I say I’m not.

Leaving is the weak option. Fleeing is the childish answer. Not fighting for what I want is a betrayal to myself.

If I go, I’m sacrificing everything.

Laughing out loud, I realize everything my mother has ever said and done is true. She didn’t give up a life to stay with my father. Her life was with my father. Just like staying here won’t be giving up my life. It might actually be where it was all along.

Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I turn to head back to security when the seat next to me is taken.

I sense him before I see him. His cologne finds me before he does. That little flame in my belly that makes me excited and simultaneously calm flickers and I whip my eyes to meet his deep, dark gaze.

“Walker,” I breathe, my bags falling out of my trembling hand to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” he says, sliding his hands down his jeans, “I came to catch a flight to Atlanta that I see I’m about to miss.” He cringes, nodding up towards the flight attendant who’s watching me with annoyance.

“You got a flight? Why?”

My heartbeat pounds. I can feel it in my temple, my entire body heating as I hold my breath and wait, hope, for his answer.

“I thought I could let you go,” he says, his voice full of uncertainty. “I thought I could just wait around and you’d come back.” He leans forward, taking my chin in his calloused hand and angling my face so he can see all the way into my soul. “But I can’t.”

“Why?” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. I lean my cheek into his arm, trying to stay rooted in the seat and not jump into his arms.

“Because I love you.”

It’s the simplest thing he could say, but the most powerful too. His handsome face gets cloudy as I bat back tears.

“I may have let Tabby go for years, knowing she’d come back to nothing but a divorce, if she ever did. But I could do that because it didn’t matter. Thinking about you leaving for even a day kills me, Slugger.”

“Oh, Walker …” I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. He pulls me in tight, his body so hard, yet so welcoming, against me. It’s where I belong.

“Madam, I’m sorry, but are you going to get on this flight or not?” The flight attendant’s voice sounds behind me, crisp and clear.

“She’s not,” Walker answers for me. “She’s going home with me.”

“Very well.”

I pull back and look at him. “Are you divorced yet?”

“Blaire says she’ll get it through the system, but it’ll take up to three months. Seems it takes longer to break up a marriage legally than it does to create one.” He takes a deep breath. “I should’ve told you. I was wrong.”

“I know.” A slow smirk kisses my lips. “I’m going to expect a lot of favors to make up for this.”

“I’m going to expect to do a lot of favors, although nothing will make up for hurting you.” He kisses my cheek. “Will you go home with me?”

I look over my shoulder to see the doors to the jetway are closed. Twisting back in my seat, I take a deep breath. “What would you think if I told you I might be looking forward to those Illinois winters after all?”

“I’d say that’s a good thing,” he says, standing and pulling me to my feet. “Because I might be looking to spend a few decades with you cuddling.”

“Next to a fire?” I grin.

“Wherever you want, Slugger.”

Thirty-Six

Walker

I followed her like white on rice all the way from Chicago, afraid she’d get cold feet and veer off and go back to the airport. She parked her car at her house, only because it’s the first opportunity I could get to get her in my truck.

I haven’t let go of her hand since she got in my truck. She’s tried to pull away a few times, but I just clamp down harder.

“Get used to it,” I say, bringing our interlaced fingers to my mouth and planting a kiss on our knuckles. Pulling into my driveway, I pilot the truck all the way to the end near the barn. She gives me a confused look when I turn off the key. “I want you to feel free to ask me anything. I’ll answer whatever questions you have.”

“Do you love her?” she asks.

“No.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

She nods, biting her bottom lip. “I do have questions I want to ask you later. Just so I understand what happened. I think it’s important.”

“Whatever you want.”

Her phone rings and I let her hand go so she can find it in her purse. She pulls it out and smiles wide. “Hey, Graham.” She laughs, nods, and then winces. “Yeah, I think I’ve decided to stay here. Can you get my checked baggage in Atlanta?” She nods again. “Yeah. Have Barrett send Troy. Just tell him not to go through it,” she laughs. “No. Absolutely not.” Her eyes close before she hands the phone to me.

“What?” I ask.

“My brother wants to talk to you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“This should be fun,” I grumble, taking the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello. This is Graham Landry. Who is this?”

“Walker Gibson. How are ya?” I make a face at Sienna. She buries hers in her hands.

“I’m going to cut to the chase because we both don’t care about the weather or how the other person is, correct?”

I like him already. “Correct.”

“What we both care about is my sister. We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet, but I would like you to know one thing: if you do anything stupid, I have people who are capable of just about anything you can imagine. Okay?”

“Let me put it to you this way,” I say, looking at the beautiful girl beside me. “I’ve been to jail one time in my life and that was for doing something similar to what you’ve insinuated to a guy who thought he could get away with a few things with my sister. If anyone ever touched Sienna, I’d never get out. So I hear you loud and clear.”

“Oh.” He pauses, letting that sink in. “Maybe we’re going to be all right.”

“Maybe so. Nice talking to you.” I hand the phone back to Sienna and then get out of the truck.

There’s a gentleness to the air as I fill my lungs with it, blowing it out into the freshly-mowed field. The pile of lumber Peck and I got last night sets at the edge of the woods. I wonder how long it will take me to finish the project and hope I can get it done before fall comes and it gets cool and muddy back here.

Sienna joins me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I told Graham I’m not coming back. Not for good, anyway.”

“Not for good?”

“I have to go back and visit them,” she laughs. “And they’d like to meet you.” The toe of her shoe kicks at a clod of dirt, breaking it apart. “Graham is going to free up some of my money so I can try to grow my business. I know a few people who have fashion lines coming out next year and I’ve been offered to submit some designs for them. There’s more to it than just sketching pretty dresses and I need money for that. Graham seems to think I can do it, which is nice.”

“That’s great,” I say, kissing her forehead. “And of course you can do it.”

“It’s exciting. There’s just one problem.”

Looking down at her, I take in her pinched nose. “What?”

“I don’t have anywhere to live. My lease is up next week and I’m kind of homeless.”

“Well,” I say, untangling her arms and taking her hand, “I might have an extra part of a bed.”

I guide her across the field, butterflies scattering as we pass.

“Part of a bed?” she asks.

“Yeah, you’ll have to sleep with me,” I tease. “Hope you can handle that.”

“What’s all this?” She points to the wood freshly bundled and marked with red flags so other driver’s didn’t run into it last night when Peck hauled it home for me.

“Wood.”

“No shit,” she laughs. “What’s it for?”

“Come on.” I tug her towards the trees. We step inside the little forest and follow a little path a few yards in. Then we stop.

I turn to watch her expression change as she realizes just what it is.

“Walker?”

“I just started on it this morning,” I tell her, my chest tightening. This was a risky idea, one I wasn’t sure she’d love, but I find myself rambling away while she decides what she thinks. “There will be a trap door like the one at Nana’s, but only two windows so you can hang stuff up and have some privacy on the other two sid—”

She silences me with a kiss. It’s her in control this time as she moves her mouth against mine, backing me up to the tree that will house her new treehouse.

“And I got you purple curtains,” I mutter against her lips.

She giggles, pulling away. “Walker Gibson, I love you.”

“It’s a good thing. Because I’m so fucking in love with you.”

Epilogue

A month later

“Anyone want pie?” Nana tosses her napkin onto the table next to her glass of tea. “I made chocolate, pecan, and coconut.”

“Coconut,” says Peck.

“Chocolate,” Machlan chimes in, shoving the last piece of meatloaf into his mouth.

Lance doesn’t bother to look up from his phone. “Chocolate.”

“Are your legs broken?” I ask from my perch on Walker’s knee. “At least get your butts up and bring the pies in here for her to cut.” I’m cinched closer to my man, his arms locked at my belly as the Gibson boys look at me like I just asked them to scale Mount Everest. “Did I stutter?”

“You go get them,” Lance chirps. “I’m busy.”

“Busy doing what?” Walker leans forward, taking me with him, as he tries to snatch Lance’s phone from his hand. “Whatcha doing there, bud?”

The grin on Lance’s face says it all. “Nothing I’m going to describe as we sit at our grandmother’s familial table.”

“Good boy,” Nana laughs, resting back in her chair. “But Sienna is right. You boys bring the pie in and I’ll cut it.”

“We had a good thing going until you showed up,” Machlan teases, sending a wink my way.

They get to their feet and traipse into the kitchen. I nestle back into Walker’s chest again, closing my eyes as the sunlight warms my face and his heartbeat warms my soul. The only imperfect thing about today is the little splinter in my pointer finger from helping with the treehouse last night.

I never thought, in a million years, that I would feel as comfortable with another family as I do my own. But I do. This crazy, foul-mouthed, not quite politically correct gaggle of boys and their Nana have changed my entire world.

Walker’s home is becoming mine as we paint the walls, strip the cabinets, and replace flooring. The only argument we really have is that I want to just pay for it all to be done now and he wants to wait and get it done as he can afford it. It drives me insane, but I respect it. He’s frugal, not so different than my brother Graham, really, except Walker is this way because he has to be. Graham watches the bottom line because he doesn’t want to ever have to worry about watching it. The two of them bonded over talk of savings accounts interest rates the other day.

The sound of a plate breaking in the kitchen is enough to get Nana to her feet. “Should’ve just done it myself.”

Giggling, I watch her disappear through the doors. “She’s one of a kind.”

“That she is,” Walker says, his voice hot against my ear. He burrows his face into the crook of my neck and presses a sweet kiss in the bend. “And so are you.”

My heart flutters, the smile on my lips that’s been there for the last few weeks growing even wider. I place my hands on top of his at my stomach and just melt into him. “How long do we have to stay here?”

“You wanting round three?” he grins against my skin.

“Yes,” I breathe, flushing.

His hand slips from under mine. It slides down my stomach, over the top of my jeans, until his palm is lying just above my clit. The pressure incites every nerve ending in my body to fire and I wiggle, needing more contact.

“I can feel how hot you are through your jeans,” he growls against my cheek. “Damn it, girl.”

Rotating my hips, digging my ass into his lap, his cock pushes back. “That,” I almost moan, “is hot.”

“Will you two stop it?” Lance snorts as he walks back in with two pieces of pie. “You shouldn’t be fornicating at Nana’s table.”

“My dick is in my pants. Sadly,” Walker points out, his fingers tapping against the denim between my legs.

“I’m eating this,” Lance says, scooping up a chunk of chocolate pie, “and then I’m off to get my dick out of my pants.”

“Nobody wants to hear that,” Walker laughs.

Clenching my legs together to keep his hand in place, I try to refocus. “Who are you meeting?” I ask Lance.

“Nerdy Nurse.” His fork pauses mid-air. “Sounds like a good time to me.”

“You don’t even know her name?” Walker asks.

“I don’t need her name to fuck her,” Lance shrugs, shoveling more pie into his mouth. “I just want to get off, and by the look of the messages she just sent me, she is up for the challenge.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Cringing, I grab a napkin and hand it to him. “You aren’t eating with her, are you? Because that’s a huge turn off.”

“He won’t be eating with her,” Machlan chuckles, coming back into the room. “Eating her, maybe.” He switches his attention to me. “Did you get the design contract you were after?”

I wriggle until Walker sighs and releases me from his clutches. Just thinking about the job I just landed keeps me from sitting still. It’s driving Walker crazy that I’m up all night playing with designs, colors, and fabrics, but I can’t help it.

“I did,” I almost coo. “I’m so excited. I’ll have to make it my sole focus for the next six months or so and will probably even have to go to Los Angeles once or twice to meet with the owners and get a good feel for what they’re after. But this is so, so exciting. I’m in heaven.”

“Too bad she’s not saying that about your bedroom,” Machlan says, looking at Walker.

“Oh, that’s beyond heaven,” I say, moving behind Walker and laying my arms across his wide shoulders. “That’s perfection.”

Lance’s phone chimes. It takes him all of two seconds to get his plate on the table and the device in front of his face. “It’s been fun, but I gotta run,” he says, not looking up. “Holy shit. She can do that?”

“Let me see,” Machlan says, craning his neck. “If there’s anything left of her, I’ll have a shot of that.”

“There won’t be.” Lance gives us a little salute and disappears into the kitchen, Machlan on his tail.

We watch them move past the windows on their way to their cars, Walker reaching up and taking my hand. He holds it reverently, kissing the top.

There’s something meaningful about the moment, but I don’t quite understand what.

“You okay?” I ask softly, laying my cheek on top of his head.

“Just thinking you’re still here.”

“Should I be anywhere else?”

“Is that a loaded question?” he chuckles, urging me around the chair so I’m sitting on his lap again. “Thank you.”

Gazing into his sweet, brown eyes, I smile. “For what?”

“For being you. For being here.” He holds me, cuddles me so close that I can barely breathe. “I have one request though.”

“I’m not into anal.”

His chest bounces as he laughs. “I heard you last night.”

“Good. Because I was serious.” Pulling away, I can’t keep the grin off my face.

“Dave was in yesterday and he thanked me for not charging him for the catalytic converter Peck put in his truck.”

“Oh,” I say, trying to get off his lap. “Not where I thought this was going.”

We both look up as Peck walks in. He stops as soon as he enters. “I’m coming in the middle of something, aren’t I?”

“You need to go,” I say, shooing him away.

“Stick around,” Walker offers. “Pull up a seat.”

Peck laughs and takes a step back. “I definitely want to go now.”

Walker leans back, the most peaceful smile in the world planted on his kissable lips. “If you two don’t stop giving my stuff away …”

“She’s the boss,” Peck says, holding his hands up. “I can’t argue with her.”

“You argue with her about every-fucking-thing else!”

“Not totally true,” Peck challenges. “And you told me whatever she wants, to do it. She wanted to fix the truck.”

Walker looks at me. There’s a twinkle buried in his eye that makes me want to kiss him, but I don’t. Instead, I cup his cheeks in my hand. “I owe you.”

“You’ve owed me since the day you met me.”

“And you haven’t let me get even yet,” I say, kissing him. Our lips touch sweetly, at first, and as his fingers dig into my hips, his tongue swipes across mine. “Oh,” I moan, feeling the ache building in my thighs.

He breaks the kiss, his breath as strangled as mine. “I can’t let you get even. You might leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” I laugh, pulling his hand until he stands up. “There’s not a chance.”

He lets me lead him through the house, pausing to tell Nana thanks for dinner. In no time at all, we’re out the back door.

Nana’s sheets are hanging off the clothesline, the last of her tomatoes lined up along the railing of the porch to ripen in the late afternoon sun.

A breeze trickles through the yard, a slight hint of the cold that’s sure to come. I used to blanch at the idea of winter in Illinois. It doesn’t seem so bad now.

Looking up, I see Walker watching me. “Where are we going?” he asks, his voice alight with humor.

“You can have sex with me on a random dirt road or at Crank because it’s fairly close,” I say, as he opens the passenger’s side door of Daisy for me. “But pick. Quick.”

“Ah,” he says, leaning against the truck. “There is a Mustang pulled in one of the Crank bays now. Could be fun.”

Leaning out of the truck, I grab the door handle and pull it closed. “Get in.”

His laughter finds my ears, his love fills my heart.

As we pull out of Nana’s and onto the gravel road, I watch the fields go by.

Just a few months ago, I didn’t know where I belonged and I definitely didn’t think it was in a place with cornfields and snowstorms. But I was wrong.

You belong in a place where you can plant your roots and feel safe enough to let them grow. You belong somewhere your tank is filled as much as you take from it. You belong in the little niche of the world where you can’t imagine waking up anywhere different.

As Walker takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, this is it for me. This is the place I’m spreading my wings and trusting the rowdy Gibson boys to have my back. It’s somewhere I feel like it would be impossible to give as much as they give to me. Despite the cold on the horizon and the miles away from anyone or anything Landry, being anywhere else isn’t an option.

I, without a doubt, belong here. With him.

“Hey,” Walker says, shaking my thigh. “What are you thinking about over there?”

I could tell him and get all sappy and find myself gushing over how much I love him. Instead, I grin. “I really hate going to the laundromat.”

“That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“It smells funny and I hate lugging in the soap and sitting there forever.”

He pulls back a little and looks at me with a furrowed brow. “Why do I think this is a lead-in?”

“What would you say if I told you I bought all new towels for the shop?”

“Sienna …”

“Walker …” I mock, scooting into the middle of the truck and leaning my head on his shoulder. “It’s a good thing you love me.”

His arm settles around my shoulders and tugs me into his side. “It’s a damn good thing I do.”

THE END

Meet Lance Gibson

Lance

Nerdy Nurse: I’m going to have to pull out.

One hand working the tie around my neck, I lift the phone with the other. No picture, not even a real name, just a silver-grey profile picture with a bright pink set of lips pressed into a kiss. Why this generic image representing a woman I’ve never met makes me smile, I’ll never know. But, in my thirty-some years of life, I’m learned not to question every reaction. There’s no fun in that.

My fingers swipe across the screen, the upturn of my lips firmly in place.

Me: Isn’t that my line?

Nerdy Nurse: Very funny. Are you always so … quick?

Me: Only when excellence calls for it.

Nerdy Nurse: Now you’re making me regret this thing that came up.

My fingers stall. Hovered over the keys, I re-read her words.

This is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever done. Carrying on this little conversation-ship with Nerdy Nurse isn’t, on the surface, my idea of a good time. I downloaded this dating app to keep from having any words ending in -ship. Yet, our back-and-forth is something I look forward to. Her wit and curiosity, her intelligence, is something that I crave. Even when we make plans to meet nearly every week, one of us will inevitably cancel. I’m okay with that because it means a continuation of this little thing we have going on.

Do I want to meet her? Abso-freaking-lutely. I want to fuck her so hard, so soft, so thoroughly that she’s ruined for anyone else. Until then, I’m good with this messaging thing. Strangely.

Adjusting my cock inside my khaki’s, I grab my briefcase and head into the kitchen. The coffee pot has one last cup left in the bottom and I pour it into a travel mug before flipping off the switch.

The clock on the stove shines the time my way in a bright, red warning that I’m going to be late. With a nod that way, I place my things on the counter and pull out my phone again.

Me: I bet it’s going to be harder for me to get it down than you, if you catch my drift.

Nerdy Nurse: The pitfalls of being a man. ;)

Me: Reschedule?

I can’t even type the words without a chuckle.

Nerdy Nurse: What would we be if we weren’t rescheduling? Ha! I’m not sure what shift I’ll be on after tonight, so I better not commit quite yet.

Me: A woman after my heart.

Nerdy Nurse: Not exactly what I’m after. Hearts make me squeamish.

Me: Keep talking dirty to me. ;)

Grabbing my things, I manage to get to the car and into the driver’s seat as her chat bubble flickers as she types on her end. Just before I pull out, her words pop up.

Nerdy Nurse: Blood is pouring onto the floor as we speak. Dirty enough?

Me: Blood makes me squeamish.

Nerdy Nurse: The guy before this had gangrene. Should we try that?

Me: You’re twisted.

Nerdy Nurse: I really need to go now.

Me: You know where to find me. At the top of your matches.

Nerdy Nurse: And to think you started the bottom. If I hadn’t changed my preference from biographies to historical reads, you might’ve stayed there.

Me: Is that where you like it? The bottom?

A quiet groan passes my lips as I imagine her sprawled out under me. I wonder what she looks like, tastes like, what her voice sounds like as it moans my name. The scent of her sweat as he drips down her chest, the feel of her skin damp from her arousal.

Flicking on the car, the clock blazes the time and I know I’m already a few minutes behind. I need to get out of the garage, but her chat bubble bounces again and my mind imagines her tits, round and firm, bouncing in front of my face.

Good god. Get a grip.

Nerdy Nurse: Taking notes?

Me: Every good student takes notes.

Nerdy Nurse: And here I thought you told me you were a teacher.

Me: You can’t teach what you don’t know and I never stop learning.

Nerdy Nurse: Such a nerd answer.

Me: Looks like we’re a match then.

Nerdy Nurse: I was hoping for more … alpha.

Me: I hate that modern society thinks nerds can’t be alphas. Who runs the word? Who has the true power in the universe? Nerds. We just don’t go flexing around about it.

Nerdy Nurse: Sounds like the start of a syndrome …

Foot on the brake, I move the shifter to reverse but still don’t back out.

Me: Are you talking medical to me now? Let’s go back to the dirty part. I liked that better.

Nerdy Nurse: Bye.

Me: Don’t get cold feet on me now. I was just getting going.

Nerdy Nurse: You’re exhausting.

Me: You’re still responding.

Nerdy Nurse: You’re so full of yourself.

Me: Bet you wish you were full of me.

Nerdy Nurse offline

My phone hits the leather seat beside me with a thud.

As I wait on the garage door to open, thoughts of Nerdy Nurse begin to fade away. They’re replaced with thoughts of work and, most importantly, what I’m doing on my lunch break.

I just hope there’s peanut butter icing involved.

Craft is now available on Amazon, in Kindle Unlimited and in Audible!

Copyright © 2018 Adriana Locke

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover Design: Kari March Designs

Photograph: Adobe Stock

Editing: Mara White

Becca Mysoor, Evident Ink

Books by Adriana Locke

The Exception Series

The Exception

The Connection, a novella

The Perception

The Landry Family Series

Sway

Swing

Switch

Swear

Swink

Sweet—coming soon

The Gibson Boys Series

Crank

Craft

Crave

Crazy—coming soon

Dogwood Lane

Tumble

Tangle

Standalone Novels

Sacrifice

Wherever It Leads

Written in the Scars

Lucky Number Eleven

For an email every time Adriana has a new release, sign up for an alert here: http://bit.ly/AmazonAlertAddy or text the word adriana to 21000

One

Lance

Nerdy Nurse: I’m going to have to pull out.

Working the tie around my neck with one hand, I lift the phone with the other. No photo, not even a real name, just a silver-grey profile picture with a bright pink set of lips pressed into a kiss. Why this generic image representing a woman I’ve never met makes me smile, I’ll never know. But, in my thirty-some years of life, I’ve learned not to question every reaction. There’s no fun in that.

My fingers swipe across the screen, the upturn of my lips firmly in place.

Me: Isn’t that my line?

Nerdy Nurse: Very funny. Are you always so … quick?

Me: Only when excellence calls for it.

Nerdy Nurse: Now you’re making me regret this thing that came up.

My fingers stall. Hovering over the keys, I re-read her words.

This is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever done. Carrying on this little conversation-ship with Nerdy Nurse isn’t, on the surface, my idea of a good time. I downloaded this dating app to keep from having any words ending in -ship. Yet, our back-and-forth is something I look forward to. Her wit and curiosity, her intelligence, is something that I crave. Even though we make plans to meet nearly every week, one of us will inevitably cancel. I’m okay with that because it means a continuation of this little thing we have going on.

Do I want to meet her? Abso-freaking-lutely. I want to fuck her so hard, so soft, so thoroughly that she’s ruined for anyone else. Until then, I’m good with this messaging thing. Strangely.

Adjusting my cock inside my khaki’s, I grab my briefcase and head into the kitchen. The coffee pot has one last cup left in the bottom and I pour it into a travel mug before flipping off the switch.

The clock on the stove shines the time my way in a bright, red warning that I’m going to be late. With a nod that way, I place my things on the counter and pull out my phone again.

Me: I bet it’s going to be harder for me to get it down than you, if you catch my drift.

Nerdy Nurse: The pitfalls of being a man. ;)

Me: Reschedule?

I can’t even type the words without a chuckle.

Nerdy Nurse: What would we be if we weren’t rescheduling? Ha! I’m not sure what shift I’ll be on after tonight, so I better not commit quite yet.

Me: A woman after my heart.

Nerdy Nurse: Not exactly what I’m after. Hearts make me squeamish.

Me: Keep talking dirty to me. ;)

Grabbing my things, I manage to get to the car and into the driver’s seat as her chat bubble flickers as she types on her end.

Nerdy Nurse: Blood is pouring onto the floor as we speak. Dirty enough?

Me: Blood makes me squeamish.

Nerdy Nurse: The guy before this had gangrene. Should we try that?

Me: You’re twisted.

Nerdy Nurse: I really need to go now.

Me: You know where to find me. At the top of your matches.

Nerdy Nurse: And to think you started at the bottom. If I hadn’t changed my preference from biographies to historical reads, you might’ve stayed there.

Me: Is that where you like it? The bottom?

A quiet groan passes my lips as I imagine her sprawled out under me. I wonder what she looks like, tastes like, what her voice sounds like as it moans my name. The scent of her sweat as it drips down her chest, the feel of her skin damp from her arousal.

Flicking on the car, the clock blazes the time and I know I’m already a few minutes behind. I need to get out of the garage, but her chat bubble bounces again and my mind imagines her tits, round and firm, bouncing in front of my face.

Good God. Get a grip.

Nerdy Nurse: Taking notes?

Me: Every good student takes notes.

Nerdy Nurse: And here I thought you told me you were a teacher.

Me: You can’t teach what you don’t know and I never stop learning.

Nerdy Nurse: Such a nerd answer.

Me: Looks like we’re a match then.

Nerdy Nurse: I was hoping for more … alpha.

Me: I hate that modern society thinks nerds can’t be alphas. Who runs the world? Who wields the true power in the universe? Nerds. We just don’t go flexing around about it.

Nerdy Nurse: Sounds like the start of a syndrome …

With my foot on the brake, I shift into reverse but still don’t back out.

Me: Are you talking medical to me? Let’s go back to the dirty part. I liked that better.

Nerdy Nurse: Bye.

Me: Don’t get cold feet on me now. I was just getting going.

Nerdy Nurse: You’re exhausting.

Me: You’re still responding.

Nerdy Nurse: You’re so full of yourself.

Me: Bet you wish you were full of me.

/Nerdy Nurse offline

My phone hits the leather seat beside me with a thud.

As I wait on the garage door to open, thoughts of Nerdy Nurse begin to fade away. They’re replaced with thoughts of work and, most importantly, what I’m doing on my lunch break.

I just hope there’s peanut butter icing involved.

Two

Mariah

“Let me be clear about one thing …”

“No, let me be clear about one thing,” I say, whirling through the doors of my office, my voice leading the way. “Get out of my office, Lance. Now.”

Shoulders thrown back, lips pressed together just as firmly as my arms clench across my breasts, I say a silent prayer my demonstration is enough to convince him I mean business. Then, I do what I always do: brace for his attack.

His free hand clasps the back of his neck, toying with the edges of his hairline, which is sharp from a fresh cut at the barber shop. He runs his palm around the side of his throat as he releases a low, amused chuckle. “Jessa, I’m going to have to call you back.”

“You don’t have to call her back,” I say, aware my voice is projecting a few octaves louder than usual or necessary. “You just have to take it somewhere else.”

Three.

Two.

One.

The bastard turns to face me, his full lips twisted into an undeniable smirk.

Bingo.

His shot is fired.

“I’m at work,” he says into the phone. He may be talking to her, but there’s no doubt his attention is set on me. Gaze searing into mine, the heaviness making it hard to breathe, he swipes his bottom lip with a slow, single stroke of his tongue. The wetness left in its wake seems to somehow make its way between my thighs.

Damn it.

Every morning when I pull into the staff parking lot, I tell myself it’ll be different. This is the day I won’t let Lance Gibson’s patented way of getting to me work. That he won’t quiet me with his smirk, immobilize me with his big green eyes, and twist me into a knot with his crude words delivered with the punch of a professional.

Of course, I’m also saying these things while balancing a tray of baked goodies I think he’ll love. I hate myself for that almost as much as I hate that I’ll be stripping myself of my panties in the ladies’ room between study halls because he’s so goddamn sexy and I can’t bear to feel them soaked between my thighs for the rest of the day.

Needless to say, I fail before I even walk in the door. I’m only a mortal. Silver lining? I’m a smarter mortal than I used to be. Nowadays, I can see what Lance is and ascertain what a disaster this intelligent, beautiful, smoldering book loving man would bestow upon me. After I spend the walk from my car to the high school library’s doors imagining every way he’d touch me, I also visualize the heartbreak that would coincide with the ache elsewhere.

No, thank you.

“Do you think I fuck women while I’m working, Jessa?” he continues, amusement laced in his tone as he watches me with a perfectly quirked brow. “What kind of an animal do you think I am?”

“Oh, for the love of God,” I mutter.

Setting my refrigerated lunch bag down, I cast him a narrowed glare as I make my way around my desk. The water in my purple Librarians Are Cool cup is room temperature, but I take a sip anyway. It’s a futile attempt to redirect my attention away from Lance and the vivid imagery of him with his fist in my hair as he bends me over this desk. This vision will be useful later, but not right now.

His games are frustrating. Listening to him make plans with his bevvy of bimbos is more than annoying, even if I’m conscious they may not be bimbos. It’s possible they’re just sexually satisfied and able to separate love from sex. Good for freaking them. I hate them.

As I watch him lean against the wall and his tongue sneak out between his perfectly straight teeth, I realize: I can’t blame him. At least he owns his philandering. Unlike my good-for-nothing, no-balls-having ex, Eric—Lance owns it. I can respect that.

I wish I could hate him. But how do you hate something that aesthetically pleasing, especially when he dampens his crass with just enough charm to soften you up? You can’t. I can’t, anyway. I can only remind myself to look through the smolder well enough to see the Y-chromosome. That specific chromosome, after all, carries the “master switch” gene, SRY, which decides whether an embryo will be a male or a female. It’s like men are apologizing from the start.

“Eight o’clock. See you then.” With a flourish, he drops his phone into the pockets of his pants. “How are you today, Ms. Malarkey?”

“My office is not a phone booth for your … whatever that was.” My cup hits the desktop with a thud, the chair beneath me squeaking as I relax onto its leather cushion. He leans forward, hands planted on a stack of papers, a grin digging deep against his chiseled cheeks.

There’s nowhere to go, no way to put any distance between us, but that’s not the problem. The problem is that I like it. And he knows it.

“Would you like to know what that was?” he teases.

“No.” Heat radiating from my face like it’s spent a long day in the sun, I stare back in hopes it’ll distract him from my blush.

“I can give you all sorts of details. Bet some of them will make you blush more than you are right now.”

My lips part to respond, to tell him he’s dreaming, but the twinkle in his eye stops me. He’d enjoy calling me out if I were to say anything. It’s happened more times than I care to admit. Instead, I deflect.

“You can’t keep coming in here,” I tell him half-heartedly. “It’s an invasion of my privacy.”

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is. We have this conversation every week.”

And we’ve had it for so many weeks you could measure it in months. The exact date this began is lost to time, but it seems like it’s always been this way—him working to irritate me, me working to be irritated by him.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he fights a grin. “You’re just mad that’s all I’m invading.”

“You wish.” I wish.

“Not denying that,” he says, a flicker of something I don’t want to name ghosting across his face. “Is that a roundabout offer?”

“Hardly,” I scoff. Totally.

His burst of laughter sounds through the room just like his cologne spices the air as he moves.

“How many women do you talk to? In here alone? Since the beginning of the year, I’m guessing twenty? Thirty? More?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Just talking?”

“Oh my God …”

“Fine. While I find it extremely satisfying you estimate my numbers that high, I would have to disagree with your figures. There are repeats.”

“You do see some of them more than once?” I balk. “That’s surprising.”

“Why is that surprising?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I just figured you for a one-and-done kind of guy. Maybe that’s because I figured some of those women would be smart enough to not take your shit a second time, but I could be wrong.”

“For the record, smartass, they’re more than willing to take my shit multiple times,” he winks.

Scoffing, I turn away.

The afternoon sun is poised almost directly across from my office, the streaks of light warming my skin as I face it. Lance moves around behind me, the energy exuding off him and tugging at me from different angles.

Despite my exasperation with his man-whoring, selfish ways, this part of my day is always my favorite. It’s the routine of it all, the mere predictability of his insolence, the sureness of his presence. There’s something steadying about him that I can’t quite put my finger on and don’t try to. Putting my finger on something about Lance, even if it’s in theory, feels like opening a can of worms I can’t afford to unlock.

“What can I say?” he asks. When I turn back around, he’s shoving his phone back into his pocket. “I’m a hot commodity.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Ah, so you admit you eavesdrop?”

I stare at him blank-faced as I stand. “It’s not hard when I walk in here and you’re giving aural.”

His laugh permeates the space between us. The blend of rugged and smooth creates a sensation in the room that I couldn’t ignore if I tried.

“Giving aural?” he chuckles. “Is that a partial Freudian Slip?”

“No.” Sighing, I fall back into my chair again. My shoulder bumps my computer and bring the screen to life. “Will you just go?”

“Let me ask you a question.”

“No.”

“When is the last time you went out on a date?”

“Recently enough,” I reply, not looking up from the computer screen.

There’s no way I’m telling him my last real date was six weeks ago and that I’ve been in a dry spell for almost six months. Someone like him, someone who doesn’t bother with liking, feeling, or loving doesn’t get hurt. People like me, who get our emotions twisted up in a half a second flat, have to guard ourselves constantly. It complicates everything.

Half-sitting on my desk, he stills. “Really? With who?”

“What’s it to you?”

“It’s nothing to me. I’m just curious,” he says, his tone a touch softer than before.

This is what kills me with this man. This is the final move in his little game of chess, the one that captures the king. Or, in this case, the librarian.

It’s his ability to switch from smolder to sweet, from crass to charismatic, that, as much as I would never admit it out loud, intrigues me. I hate that I notice and I wish with every book on the shelves in this library I didn’t, but he makes it impossible.

He’s impossible.

I face him again. This time, folding my hands in front of me only inches from his thigh, I lean forward. He bites; he’s leaning closer to me like I’m about to tell him a secret.

“Lance?” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Take your curiosity out of my office.”

A low rumble courses from his throat as he twists his lips in amusement. “I’m about to take—”

We both jump, Lance clamoring to his feet as I shove away from my desk at the sound of a knock. The door is semi-closed, but Tish’s head pokes through the small opening. “Am I interrupting something here?”

“No,” I say, running a hand through the air. “Mr. Gibson was just leaving.”

“Uh-huh,” Tisha grins. “Looked like it to me.”

“I wasn’t, but guess I will now.” Lance sweeps his gaze across the room, stalling briefly on me, before settling on a plastic-covered bin on the corner of my desk. “Have you had one of these, Tish?” He pulls back the plastic and exposes the chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter frosting I made last night. “Damn, they’re good.”

“Hey! Those aren’t for you,” I tell him, jerking the plastic back over the dessert.

“Your fault,” he says, grabbing one and pulling back the yellow paper liner. “You left them unattended.”

“In my office.”

“Unattended.” He breaks his smile only long enough to insert half the cupcake. “So good.” Crumbs fall from his mouth along with the words, a dollop of icing is left in the corner of his mouth as he swallows.

“Missed some.” Tish points to his face. “I could lick it off, if ya want.”

“Why aren’t you this helpful?” Lance asks, looking pointedly at me.

Tish giggles. “Because I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“And you do?” he asks, his brows pulled together.

“You were leaving. Remember?” I ask, crossing my arms in front of me.

“I think you missed the part where I said I don’t have a boyfriend,” Tish interjects. “That was the focal point of the sentence. Me. Unattended, if you will.”

Lance laughs, licking his lips. “You’d break me in half.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Tish purrs.

He starts to leave but turns back and grabs another cupcake.

“Are you serious right now?” I ask, jerking the dish toward me. “Get out of here.”

“I’m going. I’m going,” he chuckles, heading for the door. “Goodbye, ladies.”

“I have Prep sixth period,” Tish calls after him. “I’m happy to chat. I’ll bring brownies tomorrow.”

Knowing there’s no chance Tish isn’t watching him, I don’t bother pretending I’m not.

As he reaches for the door, his back muscles shift beneath his shirt and I’m taken back to the day in the spring when I stayed late to shelve books. The doors were locked so I had to exit through the gymnasium. The sound of squeaking tennis shoes and shouts from the basketball team met me in the hallway, so I was prepared for that. What I wasn’t prepared for, not in the least, was to see Lance shirtless, sweaty, and mid-layup. That V-cut of his groin is imprinted, permanently, I fear, in my brain.

“Is it wrong that I requested my classroom be moved across the hall from his?” Tish asks. “Principal Kelly just laughed, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence he’s positioned in the middle of a bunch of male teachers.”

“What are you getting at?”

“She wants him for herself! Obviously,” she groans.

“She’s married,” I laugh. “And so are you.”

“And what point is that supposed to make?” she sighs. “I’m fifty percent sure my husband is screwing his secretary, which is fine by me but I wish he’d just leave me for her. Damn. Let her do his laundry.”

“Tish!”

“What? My God-fearing soul can’t file for divorce.”

“But you can have an affair?”

“What is this? Morality hour?” she laughs, taking a cupcake from the tray. “Besides, I don’t know how any woman could have restraint around him.” Watching me expectantly, she waits for my reaction as she peels the wrapper from the dessert.

I look down, cheeks hot. Again.

“Do you?” she asks.

“Do I what?”

“Come on, Mariah. Don’t you find that boy attractive?”

Gulping, I pucker my lips together. “I find him … frustrating.”

“All the good-looking ones are, honey,” she says, biting into a cupcake. “These are good.”

“Thanks. You have some icing on the corner of your mouth,” I laugh.

She grabs a tissue and dots her lips. “Every day I come in here and every day he’s in here. That wouldn’t be true if all you found him was frustrating.”

“Look,” I say, gathering my pride, “he’s cute. For sure. But I’ve had cute. Eric was cute. He was smart on paper. He could be funny. And the only good screwing I got out of him was out of the sheets.”

Ignoring my shiver, Tish pushes on. “You need to forget about him. It’s been, what? Two years?”

“Ish,” I sigh. “And I have forgotten about him. I just remembered him to make a point.”

Her laugh fills the room as she brushes her hands off over the trashcan. “What about the guy you’ve been seeing? How’s that going?”

“I haven’t been seeing anyone,” I mutter.

Picking up a paper, I try to be interested in the numbers. Truth is, I have no idea what I’m even looking at. Saying Eric’s name out loud, something I never do, ushered in a tenderness in my heart I can’t just brush off. It hurts. It stings. I wonder if it always will.

The bell rings, breaking me out of my reverie.

“I gotta get back to my classroom,” Tish says. “The freshmen are in there and they’re the worst class I’ve had in the twenty years I’ve been teaching.”

“Good luck with that,” I say.

“See ya tomorrow.”

She disappears into the library. I turn towards my computer when I spy the cupcake container. The plastic is dropping into the icing, the pieces missing from Tish and Lance.

As I fix the covering, a warmth washes over me like a warm summer rain. I settle back in my chair and try to get back to work. Yet, as my fingers hover over the keyboard, they don’t move. Instead, I glance at the cupcakes again.

Memories sweep through my mind of baking with my grandmother. She taught me the peanut butter icing recipe that Lance loves so much. Gran taught me how to bake, crochet, and even let me read the romance novels I craved though my mom said they were trash.

Everything was trash to her unless she could garner a social benefit. Me included.

One day, I tell myself, swiping up a dab of icing on my finger. One day I’ll have a family of my own and won’t rely on acceptance from co-workers to prove my mettle.

Three

Lance

The bell blares its final warning for students to be seated.

Hopping onto the edge of my desk, I face a room full of animated juniors. It never ceases to amaze me that the human population doesn’t die off at age seventeen. At that point in our lives, we think with our genitals, smell like shit from either perspiration or too much cheap cologne, and have virtually no idea what we’re doing. Yet, we make it. Somehow.

With no regard for his classmates or my classroom, the captain of the football team elbows a girl a third of his size out of his way and takes her seat.

He may be the one who doesn’t make it.

“Brandon!” I shout over the ruckus in the room. “To the office.”

The students quiet, settling into their desks. They look from me to Brandon.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, scrambling to his feet. “What’s up your ass?”

My foot if you don’t get out of here.

“Class,” I say, my eyes still pinned to Brandon. “What’s the first rule of history?”

“It repeats itself,” they respond in unison.

“It repeats itself. That’s right.” I mosey toward the door and yank it open. “Last week, you accidentally bumped Mr. Greyson and knocked him into the wall. Do you remember that?”

His jaw sets.

“There was plenty of room for you to walk around but you found it acceptable to plow through him instead. I removed you.”

His eyes narrow.

“You just took Ms. Cambria’s books off her desk and kicked her out of her spot. The first rule of history applies: you will be leaving us once again. Only this time, the second rule of history applies too.”

“The second rule?” Stacy asks from the front row.

“You never get the war you want.” Flipping my gaze back to Brandon, I nod toward the hallway. “Get out.”

“But—”

“You want to flex your muscles? Do it in the principal’s office.”

“But—”

“What?” I ask, lifting a brow. “That’s not the fight you’re after? Suddenly it’s not fair for someone with more power to exert control?”

“Fuck this,” he snaps, storming by me.

“I refuse to believe you’re the dumb jock you try so hard to make us all believe.”

This catches his attention. He stills, his fingers re-gripping the edge of his books, as he stops on the second landing leading to the office. I step into the hallway and partially shut the door behind me.

“Pushing people around and using language any idiot can use isn’t doing you any favors, Brandon,” I say, just loud enough for him to hear.

He doesn’t look back, but doesn’t move forward either. I take this as a win.

“You might get away with that at home and in your other classes, but you won’t in mine. I expect you to work to your ability and behave the same. Is that clear?”

There’s no answer, and I don’t expect one. He heads down the steps with a little less flare than before.

I head back inside my classroom. “Cause and effect, boys and girls,” I say, hopping back onto my desk. “Act like a fool, get treated like one.”

“You sound like my dad,” Kyler laughs.

“Your dad must be a genius. But is he as good looking as me?”

“That would be a no,” Stacy giggles.

The entire room bursts into laughter and I kick myself for walking right into that one. “Okay. Settle down. I want you to write a paper …” Standing and walking around my desk to the dry erase board as their moans ring out behind me, I write out the topic in black marker. “Write a minimum of one thousand words about a historical event of your choice and what caused it and its effects on the world.”

“Can I write about Kim—”

“No.” Looking at Stacy over my shoulder, I shake my head.

“But—”

“No.”

“But she—”

“All events must have taken place before you were born.” I look at the fairly young faces of my students. “That should eliminate a lot of popular topics,” I say pointedly at Stacy.

“Fine,” she grumbles.

They busy themselves writing down the assignment, whispering amongst each other about potential subjects. Everyone, that is, but Ollie.

Ollie’s head is down on his desk, his arms stretched out and dangling over the edge. The mop of hair that used to be kept cut short is a wild array that somewhat resembles a broom.

Last spring, he was one of my best students. Bright as fuck. Engaging. A charisma that reminded me of my cousin Peck. As the year went on, his clothes became wrinkled. His face more blemished. The edges of his papers more frayed.

“We have a game tonight, Mr. Gibson,” Lottie says from her chair. “Can we work on this today in class? Please?”

“How are your extracurricular activities any fault of mine?” I scoff playfully, snapping the cap back on the marker. Glancing down at the stack of papers needing grading, I decide to give in ... eventually. After all, I can’t let them think I’m easy. They aren’t the right demographic for that.

“I’ll dedicate my first goal to you tonight,” Lottie offers, smiling a mega-watt grin.

Sighing for effect, I slip into my chair and kick my feet up onto my desk. “You need to do better than that.”

“We won’t try to negotiate a lower word count,” Kyler offers.

I pretend to consider this.

“I won’t tell Ms. Malarkey you stole a cupcake from her office.” Stacy raises a brow, her lips pursed together. “I saw it on your desk.”

“She gave that to me, thank you very much.” My voice is smug, as is the look on my face. “She gave me two, actually.”

“You two have a thing going on? She’s single, you know. And freaking pretty,” Stacy shrugs. “Just saying.”

I begin to object, to point out Mariah just told me she wasn’t single. Before the words can escape my lips, I stop.

“I’m just saying,” I say, pulling my feet to the floor, confusion wracking my brain, “which staff members are single is none of your business.”

“Since you’re too old for me, at least for another couple of years, you should consider—”

“Enough,” I say over top of her.

The room breaks out into a fit of giggles and I give up.

“Fine. You win.” My hands thrown up in the air in defeat. “Work on your papers now. But if any of you start talking, I’ll lecture. I can talk all day about the Revolutionary War, kids.”

Much to my surprise, they pull out their notepads. I refrain from pacing around the room and making sure they’re writing what they’re supposed to because I’m certain they aren’t and I don’t have it in me to argue with them today. I’m just happy they didn’t press their luck because my brain is stuck solidly on Mariah’s dating life and not a war that took place in the seventeen hundreds.

With a final glance at Ollie’s napping frame, I move to grab a paper off the pile. My arm hits the discarded cupcake wrapper.

A soft, half-laugh finds it way past my lips as I grab the wrapper and toss it into the trash. Mariah is too easy to mess with, too easy to rile up. Her predecessor in the library was a senile old woman who never used the office. The first day Mariah walked in and caught me in a conversation that straddled the line of acceptable in a high school building, she ripped my ass. I, in turn, wanted hers. Beneath me. My hands cupping each round globe of her ass cheeks.

“Shit,” I mutter, adjusting my cock as discreetly as I can and forcing all thoughts of a naked Mariah Malarkey out of my mind.

The bell rings, assisting my efforts for once. “Have a good night, everyone. Stay out of trouble.” The kids leap to their feet, grabbing book bags and making plans for the weekend; it’s a scene of complete chaos. “Ollie, can you stay for a minute?”

He gathers his things and waits for the room to clear out. Once it’s just the two of us, I sink back against my desk. “How are things?” I ask.

His shoulders rise and fall. “Good. Fine. Why?”

There’s a hesitation in his voice that causes me to hesitate too. If I push, he’ll close up. It’s the code of teenagers.

“I have a younger sister and two younger brothers. It’s a thing when you’re the oldest kid in a big family—you notice things. And I’ve noticed you sleeping a lot in class lately.” Ignoring the rest of what I’ve observed, I tread a little deeper. “Things okay at home?”

“Yeah. It’s all good.” He shuffles his feet, his t-shirt hanging loose around his middle. “I appreciate you checking on me, Mr. Gibson, but I’m just tired. I can’t miss the bus.”

“Sure. Yes, go ahead.” There’s something that gnaws at me as I watch him leave. The sensation grows with each step he takes towards the door. He’s almost passed me before I speak again. “Hey, Ollie?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Just going to toss this out there—if you ever need help with something, don’t hesitate to reach out, okay?”

Shuffling his sneaker against the linoleum, he nods his head. “Sure. Thanks, Mr. Gibson.”

With a little wave, I watch him join the masses in the hallway and disappear from sight. Then, just as quickly as the hallway filled with students, it empties.

Taking my time, I grade a few papers on the history of Latin America. Placing Brandon’s essay on top, I make a few remarks that the laziness used to put together this project won’t cut it. This kid is capable of so much more. His parents don’t push him. His other teachers let him get away with half-assed work. Everyone seems to walk on eggshells around this kid just because he can play football and a few big schools are rumored to be looking at him.

Fuck that.

I’m all for following your dreams, but I’m also for following logic. Logic says you aren’t going to make it in professional ball, so you better have something to fall back on. Like a work ethic. A useful mind. Good habits.

While I’m straightening the stack of papers, movement in the hallway catches my eye. I’d know that ass anywhere.

My briefcase is on the floor and I grab it on the way out. After switching off the light, I head down the corridor littered with gum wrappers and wadded up paper. My steps increase so I can jet by the teacher’s lounge as Principal Kelly’s voice rings through the partially opened door. By the time I hit the double doors leading to the parking lot, I’m nearly jogging.

Then I stop.

I don’t time this perfectly every day. Not that I don’t try, it’s just Mariah is erratic. Sometimes she leaves at the bell, sometimes she’s here well past dark.

“Well, imagine seeing you out here,” I say, closing the distance between us. She stutter-steps, not looking back, as I approach. “How was your day?”

The wind ripples through the empty parking lot. Her long, dark hair that I’m one-hundred percent sure would look perfect wrapped around my hand as I pull her head back and plant kisses down the side of her neck before burying myself in her sweet little body, billows in the air.

“It was a good day,” she says, stepping up on the curb. “How was yours?”

“After the sugar high from the cupcakes?” I grin. “Those were great, by the way.”

“Those weren’t for you.”

“Eh. I think maybe they were.”

“Oh, really?” she laughs. “How do you figure?”

Our steps stop at the same time. We stand at the front of our cars, parked side-by-side by no accident. Her cheekbones are high, framing the pink-hued cheeks that have been kissed by the cool breeze.

“You know I use your office as my personal phone booth. When you leave little treats laying around, it certainly feels like you’re training me. Like Pavlov’s dog. I use your office—I get a treat.” Holding my hands to the side, I shrug. “I can’t help it you’ve trained me to come see you every day.”

Her eyes roll as she uses her key chain to unlock her car with the press of a button. “I’m going to get a lock installed.”

“You are not or you would’ve done it way before now.”

Her lips part, as if she’s about to argue, but nothing comes out. She opens the back door and tosses her bag into the seat.

“I heard a nasty rumor about you today,” I say, leaning on the side of my car.

“This should be interesting.”

“Seems a girl in one of my classes thinks you’re single.”

Her laugh is light as she leans against her car. We face each other, our stances mirrored. “I’m glad the student body is spending their energy concerned about my dating life.”

“It was an offhanded comment,” I admit.

“And we wonder why their grades are plummeting.”

“Is it true?”

“Yes, their grades are plummeting,” she winks.

Tucking my hands in my pockets, my goal is to appear casual. “Not what I meant.”

“Um …” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not sure why that matters.”

“It doesn’t,” I say. “But is it true?”

“Kind of?” she laughs. “I hate labels.”

“If I were the guy you were seeing, I’d hate to think you were ‘kind of’ single.”

Shoving off the car, she laughs again. “Oh, I bet you would. You make that completely clear with your girls, don’t you? You’re like, ‘Now, remember. I’ll be sleeping with Gloria tomorrow so you are absolutely single.’”

“That’s not what I mean,” I say, standing straight too. Although she’s right. But this isn’t me. This is her. It’s different. “I mean, doesn’t the guy you’re seeing find offense in that?”

Her arms cross in front of her and it’s clear she’s not about to answer my questions. I voluntarily change the subject.

“Do you ever make red velvet cupcakes?” I ask. I don’t even know what the hell those are, but I heard my brother’s girlfriend talk about them the other day at Sunday dinner.

“I have,” she says, obviously confused. “I make them sometimes for the Senior Center.”

“The nursing home over by the church?”

“Yeah. Long story, but I knew a girl who worked there. She would tell stories about some of the residents and how they didn’t have family and it broke my heart. So I bake for them sometimes.” A small smile slips across her face. “There’s this old man there. They call him The Mayor, but I’m not sure he ever was the mayor,” she laughs. “Anyway, Red Velvet is his favorite. I make sure there’s some in every batch I deliver.”

There’s something different about her, a gentleness I don’t see often. She’s usually raring to go with me, a sharp tongue ready and waiting.

“Lance?”

“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “That sounds like a nice thing to do.”

“It gives me purpose.” She no sooner than finishes the sentence before she sticks a finger my way. “Don’t even.”

“Don’t even what?” I laugh.

“Don’t make fun of me for saying that.”

“I …” Cocking my head to the side, I reconsider. “We all need a purpose. We just get them from different places. You get yours from cake … well, I kind of get mine from your cake too.”

Rolling her eyes, she pops open the driver’s door. “Big plans tonight?” she asks, changing the subject.

I want to back up to a few moments ago. To the moment where she looked a little vulnerable, like she was almost ready to tell me something real about herself, but I let it go. No sense in playing in a sandbox when I have no intention of staying there.

“I’m going to give some excellent aural in a minute,” I tease, “then possibly some oral, depending on how it goes.”

“I can’t with you,” she laughs.

“You can. There’s a standing invitation. Have I not made that clear?”

Her laughter grows. “You have. Thank you.”

“And …” I coax.

“And …” She mocks. “And what?”

“And you are taking me up on that when?”

“Good night, Mr. Gibson.”

It’s totally unprofessional of me to watch the hemline of her dress ride up her thigh as she gets into the seat. It’s even more unprofessional to look at her and wink when she catches me in action, but hell—that’s nothing compared to the vision of her naked in the backseat of the car that I’m imagining right now.

“You’re a cad.” The engine fires but her door stays open.

“You love it.”

“I have no idea why you’d think that.”

“You’ve trained me, remember?”

“I’ll have to work on reprogramming you.” Before I can respond, she pulls out of the parking lot with a coy little smile.

With the wind at my back, and her flowery perfume still lingering in the air, I watch her pull away. There’s a weird-ass feeling I get around her that I kind of both hate and love. It’s a complete raging hard-on coupled with a comfort level I’ve never had with a woman in-person before. Probably because she’s the first woman who’s given me blue balls on a regular basis that I’ve not fucked.

That’s the part I hate: I haven’t fucked her.

Then again, that’s kind of the part I love: I haven’t fucked her.

So weird.

A vibration in my pocket shakes me out of my thoughts, and I pull my phone out to see a message from my dating app. My stomach churns.

Glancing up as the taillights of Mariah’s car takes the corner towards Goodman’s Gas Station, I almost feel … guilty.

Stop it. Fucking is freeing. Clear. Uncomplicated. Don’t be dumb.

Her message pings again.

Nerdy Nurse: I’m a little flu-ish tonight. Happy to chat later but can’t meet up.

Me: I think you’re suffering from a lack of Vitamin Me.

Laughing as I type out the line, the acid in my gut evaporates and everything feels normal again.

Nerdy Nurse: Every. Time.

Me: You’d think you’d expect it by now. We’ve been exchanging these messages for how long?

Nerdy Nurse: You sent your first dick pic two months ago.

Me: It wasn’t my dick.

Nerdy Nurse: Those weren’t my legs either.

Me: Such a letdown.

Climbing into my car, I get situated as her text bubble bounces on the bottom of the app.

Nerdy Nurse: Is that a deal breaker?

Me: We have a deal?

Nerdy Nurse: Two months and we haven’t managed to meet up yet …

Me: That’s why I like nurses. You’re busy. You can’t be too attached. ;)

Nerdy Nurse: We’re also well-versed in needles and serums. ;)

A quick glance up has me looking into the window of Principal Kelly’s car. She gives me a dainty wave full of unspoken innuendo. I return her a two-finger salute before dropping my attention back on my conversation.

Me: You’re right. I need to reconsider this arrangement.

Nerdy Nurse: If that wasn’t your dick, I’m in the same boat.

Me: You only wanted me for what I was packing?

Nerdy Nurse: It’s a dating app. Did you think I wanted to marry you?

Me: Most women do, yes.

Nerdy Nurse: Patient coming in. Try not to miss me.

Me: K.

Nerdy Nurse: Bye, Potassium.

/Nerdy Nurse offline

Four

Mariah

“I love how you just make yourself at home.” Dropping my bag on the sofa as I go by, I kick off my shoes. “You could at least make me dinner after a hard day’s work.”

My best friend, Whitney, glances at me over her shoulder. “I don’t cook. I’ll order something for you though.”

“I thought you worked today?”

“I thought I did too. I hate this floating schedule crap,” she sighs, peering up at me with a set of big, blue eyes. “I actually showed up at the hospital to find out it’s not my day. Who does that?”

“You.”

She turns back to the book she was reading. Filling a glass with ice, I find a Coke hidden behind a head of broccoli. “So, why are you here?”

“Your house is closer to the hospital than mine and I needed a nap.”

Looking at her over the brim of the glass, I wait for more of an explanation. I don’t get one. In fact, she doesn’t even glance up at me.

Whitney operates on her own wavelength. I stopped trying to figure her out years ago. She’s smart, fun, and as loyal as they come, but you have to let some things go where she’s concerned. She doesn’t always make sense.

“How was school today?” she asks, closing the paperback. “I feel like my mother when I say that.”

“That’s sweet. My mother used to say, ‘What did you do today, Mariah, so I can compare it to what your sister did and tell you how you fail to measure up.’”

Whitney scowls. “Well, your mother is an asshole and I’m not even sorry for saying that.”

Just the mere mention of the woman who brought me into the world sends my spirits sinking. “Let’s not go there,” I sigh, rubbing my temples. “I came home with a headache anyway. The last hour study hall doesn’t comprehend the idea of being quiet in a library.”

“I remember being that age. Friday nights held so much promise.” She picks up her drink and follows me into the living room. “It’s so sad, isn’t it?” Her bottom lip protrudes almost to her chin. “I used to have such a social life. Who would’ve thought I would be the one sitting around bored on a Friday night. I’m slowly turning into … you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Curling up on the sofa, I watch her nestle into the chair across from me.

“You’re a librarian. It is a bad thing,” she laughs.

“It’s the best job ever.”

“Sure it is. That’s why you’re practically a hermit. Every time I come over, I expect to be met with a flock of cats.”

“A flock of cats?” I laugh. “That’s not even a thing. What’s wrong with cats, anyway?”

“Nothing is wrong with one cat. One cat is perfectly normal. Two cats are a sign something’s amiss. If you have two cats, you spend way too much time alone. Three cats? That’s a flock and that means you have no people skills and will spend the rest of your life on your hairball-filled couch surrounded by fictional people.”

Lifting a brow, I ponder this for her amusement. “There are gadgets to clean hairballs these days. I really can’t see anything wrong with this scenario. It’s kind of appealing.”

“No, it’s not,” she says, placing her phone on the table next to a framed photo of us at Lake Michigan a few summers ago. “It’s unhealthy.”

“It’s healthier than going into public and ending up losing my sanity from all the people-ing!”

Biting her lip, her eyes narrow ever-so-slightly. It’s just enough of a warning.

Sighing, I close my eyes and wait for it. She doesn’t make me wait long.

“Speaking of people …” she says, her voice trailing off.

“No.”

“But he’s so cute!” Her tone is almost giddy. “He’s a resident, which means he’s super smart and will be making big bucks soon.”

“Whit. No.”

“Why? A date won’t kill you.”

“It happens. I watch those shows on television. Blind dates aren’t what they used to be, pal.”

Rolling her eyes, she leans forward. “It’s not a blind date. I know him. Kind of, but that’s not the point. The point is it kills me to see you wasting your life away in this little house. You’re young, Mare. Gorgeous. You have a great personality when you’re not being a dick on purpose.”

“Gee, thanks,” I giggle.

She smiles, but it fades slowly. “I want you to live your best life. Jonah could be your best life. Or a one-night stand …”

I try to look at the ceiling while her stare almost drills a hole in my face. My best life is something I desperately want—a life filled with respect and love and two or three babies at some point. The life I’ve never had and craved so badly from as far back as I can remember.

I counter to myself. My life isn’t bad. I have Whitney and Tish who like me and make me happy, even if I never see Tish outside of work. But that’s not the point. I’m fulfilled by baking and have thought about getting a kitten at the shelter for companionship, but Whitney’s comments about the whole cat lady thing make me a little leery of jumping into that too soon.

Still, my life isn’t bad. It’s just not great.

When I look at her again, it’s like she can read my mind.

“You deserve a great life. One filled with laughs and love and orgasms,” she winks.

I don’t disagree. It sounds heavenly. It also sounds virtually impossible and, on the off-chance it is possible, the process sounds very, very people-filled.

“His name is Jonah,” she repeats, a little softer and less enthusiastic this time. “He was top of his class at Northwestern. He has a great smile, blue eyes that match his scrubs in the weirdest way but it’s a total turn on,” she rambles. “Plus, I might’ve viewed his abs on accident and they. Are. Killer.”

The vision she’s painting is vivid, but I don’t think it’s the one she’s aiming for.

At the mention of killer abs, my mind goes where it always goes. I used to fight it, to chastise myself for allowing him to affect me even when he’s not in my office, but I gave up on that around Christmas of last year. I’ve accepted it as my dirty little secret: I fantasize about Lance Gibson.

Sweat rolling down his muscled back, the dips and curves not too bulky like he spends his free time in a weight room, but sexier. Like he might throw down some push-ups here and there. The way his hips twist and flex, the cut pointing down to his groin—

“Where did you just go?”

My head snaps to Whitney. She’s got that ‘gotcha’ look painted on her face.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, feeling my face rat me out. I can’t wipe the smile from my lips, nor can I cool down the heat caused by the memory of the sight of his sweaty skin.

“What were you thinking about?”

Filling my lungs with oxygen, I blow it out as slowly and as time-consumingly as I can.

Maybe I should act on this. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am going to turn into an old cat lady if I don’t get out. But just as I’m about to agree with Whitney, images of Eric’s dumbass smile rip through me, Chrissy tucked under his arm, and my mother’s voice rings through my ears—

Snap! Whitney’s fingers whip against each other before she starts wagging one my direction. “Stop it.”

“I—”

“No.” She clamors to her feet, her hands going into her hair and drawing it back into a high ponytail. “I love you to pieces but I’ll love you a lot more when you stop playing that stupid spiel through your head.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I gulp.

“Yes, you do. You start to come around and then let them win.”

“No one is winning,” I protest.

I don’t know whether it’s worth it to defend myself or not. Her stance is always the same. So is mine. It’s an impasse in our friendship.

“Every day you sit here miserable is a day they win,” she says matter-of-factly.

“What do you want me to do, huh?” My hands flail in the air. “This is fucking hard, all right? It stings.” It feels cathartic to just let it out. “My sister, the perfect daughter according to my mother, just had a baby with my ex-boyfriend. You know the one. The one I thought I was going to marry.”

I expect to see a dose of sympathy. I get a blank face instead.

“Your sister did you the first favor she’s ever done. Be glad,” she deadpans.

“Ugh.”

Whitney chooses her words carefully. She wants to pick apart Eric, listing his various flaws and telling me why I’m better off without him, but the birth of the baby last week has her reconsidering her flamboyant response.

Falling back onto the sofa, I pick up a pink embroidered pillow and hold it against me. I finally broke down a couple of nights ago and trolled Chrissy’s social media. The baby is absolutely beautiful with Chrissy’s long eyelashes and Eric’s olive skin. She has a birthmark on her cupid’s bow, just like me.

The tears I blink away aren’t for Eric, although that’s probably what Whitney thinks as she watches me. It’s for the little girl I’ll never know because her mother and I have been at odds since we were kids. Nothing I’ve ever done, no choice I’ve ever made, no clothes I’ve ever worn or way I’ve styled my hair has ever been good enough for Chrissy. Or my mother. There’s got to be some irony in the fact Eric was good enough for them.

“I saw the birth announcement in the paper,” Whitney says from behind me. “I know this sucks for you and I hate it. I’m sorry.”

My body sags with the weight of a broken heart. I loved Eric. I looked in his face and thought I saw my future. Then came the night he broke up with me with the generic line, “It’s not you, it’s me.” I knew it was bullshit. I knew there was something more. I just didn’t dream how bad it was.

“What is this?” I glance around my mother’s living room. Nothing appears out of the ordinary except for the two people sitting on the love seat. “Why is Eric here?”

My older sister, the one person in the world I’ve forgiven so many times, prayed for her friendship over and over, even idolized in the early parts of my life, reaches over and takes my ex-boyfriend’s hand in hers.

“We have something to tell you,” Chrissy says sweetly.

I didn’t listen to the rest. It may have been six weeks since Eric and I had broken up, but it still stung like a million beestings that he was with my sister. And my mother, standing by the doorway in a silent approval of this debauchery, knew it.

But that’s not the source of my heartbreak. Not really. The heartbreak lies in the answer to the questions I’ve always asked: will I ever be enough for my family? Will they ever take my side?

The answer is a resounding no.

The backs of my hands are streaked black with mascara as I wipe my eyes dry. “You’re right.” The flame in my chest starts to putter out; the smoke clears from my lungs. “If I sit here all weekend, I’m going to keep thinking about this and I refuse to do that to myself. I’ll go out. Want to be my dinner date?”

Her lips twist in a way that makes my stomach turn.

“What did you do?” I ask.

She grabs her jacket off the back of the chair and walks backwards to the front door. “You have a date with—”

“Whitney. You didn’t.”

“I did,” she winces. “He’s picking you up on Saturday night but he has a rotation earlier in the evening, so if he’s a few minutes late, cut him some slack. Wear something low-cut. He’s a breast man.”

I whirl a magazine in her direction, but it hits the door just as she shuts it behind her. The pages of the magazine shuffle as they hit the floor, my pride falling along with it.

She means well. She always does. But I don’t want to force myself through a conversation with a stranger and pretend to be interested in medical implements when I just want to grab a book and a mug of hot chocolate and not talk to anyone at all.

I wonder if I’d be more of a people person had I felt more self-assured growing up. It would be an interesting experiment. It took me a long time to find myself, to know I’m not everything my mother said I was. To understand that it’s okay I prefer country music over opera and drugstore over luxury brand cosmetics. I’m good with who I am. I just can’t help wishing my family were too.

Closing my eyes, I try to get comfortable with the idea of going on a blind date. The longer I think about it, the more awkward it feels. Having a conversation with a man I already know is hard enough. How do you have one with someone you’ve never met?

Lance’s face pops into my mind, his shit-eating grin tugging up the sides of my lips. He would say this is why you just sleep with them. There’s no talking involved.

Laughing out loud, I wonder who he’s with tonight. If it’s the girl he was speaking to in my office or another one. Maybe both.

He’s such a scoundrel but the difference between Lance and Eric is that Lance doesn’t hide it. Why that’s almost refreshing, I’m not sure. Either way, one thing is for sure: if Eric could inflict this much pain, a guy like Lance would destroy me.

Five

Lance

Me: Fun fact—women overanalyze everything.

Nerdy Nurse: Not all women.

Me: No. All women. Every one I’ve ever met, anyway, and I’ve met a lot of them.

Sitting in my car just outside Crave, the local watering hole owned by my youngest brother, Machlan, I listen to the rain drip against the windshield. The texts are still coming in from my sister as she rails my ass for using a dating app to meet women.

According to Blaire, I should value my own worth as well as the worth of women more by doing it the old-fashioned way. When I explained that the worth we are going for involved lube and cock rings, she lost it. I think she was joking when she said I needed my head examined, but if a doctor calls with an appointment next week, I won’t be shocked.

Nerdy Nurse: Bad hook-up tonight? LOL

Me: Strangely, my sister.

Nerdy Nurse: You hooked-up with your sister? I’m out.

Laughing, I flip off the engine but don’t get out of the car.

Me: Very funny.

Nerdy Nurse: Here’s my fun fact for you for the night—don’t stick things where they don’t belong.

Me: Is that some kind of sexual warning? Not into anal? That kind of thing?

Nerdy Nurse: Speaking of anal …

Me: That’s my girl! :D

Nerdy Nurse: … I just watched a man have a candle removed from his anus.

Squirming in my seat, I try to imagine this and then decide I don’t want to.

Me: Sorry. Took me a minute to make sure I read that right. Can I ask why?

Nerdy Nurse: Apparently if you insert it and light the wick end (that you leave outside your anus), the wax provides some sort of erotic stimulation. I think the removal of the broken piece did not.

Me: You scare me.

Nerdy Nurse: Ha.

Glancing at the door to the bar, I contemplate just starting the car and going back home. Initially, I thought I could see if Megan McCarter was around and at least score a blow job, but the more I think about it, the more it feels meh.

Still, going home alone feels even less appetizing.

Me: Gotta go. Good luck with all that anal play.

Nerdy Nurse: You know it. ;)

Me: I’m glad we had this little convo.

Nerdy Nurse: Don’t get too excited.

As my laughter fills the car, I think it’s already a little too late for that.

Closing the app, I lock up and make my way down the sidewalk and into the bar. The lights are dim and the music quiet. Not what I hoped for or expected.

“Didn’t expect to see you tonight.” My brother Machlan looks at me from the other side of the bar, already reaching for the whiskey. He’s younger than me, the youngest in our family.

It’s pretty empty inside Crave, especially for a Friday night. I slide onto a stool toward the cash register and watch him make my Old Fashioned. I’m not much of a drinker, especially when I have a boatload of work to do at home. I just don’t feel like reading essays on Latin America tonight and I definitely can’t concentrate on them.

My brain is a clusterfuck of randomness. That is never a good thing.

“Bored, I guess,” I say, shrugging. “Do I need a reason to come in here?”

“Everybody has a reason to walk into a bar,” he laughs. “Some accept that reason and some don’t.”

“Look at you getting all philosophical.”

He slides the drink down the bar. It stops almost perfectly centered in front of me.

“Impressive,” I laugh, picking it up.

Machlan makes a face. “I learned it from Peck. It’s one of his weird parlor tricks.”

This isn’t hard to imagine. Peck, our cousin, is the resident jokester. He’s full of weird facts and unusual knowledge and can link toothpicks together with his mind. I’ve seen it done. Strange shit.

Still, he’s one of my favorite people in the world. Heart of gold, straight shooter, and he can talk his way out of, or into, anything.

“Glad to know he’s putting his time to good use,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.

“Who’s putting their time to good use?” Peck asks, hopping on the stool beside me. “Hey, Machlan. Can I get a beer?”

“No, fucker, you can’t. Your tab hasn’t been paid in a month.”

Peck throws his head back and sighs. “I don’t have my wallet and your brother almost killed me today. Cut me some slack, will ya?”

“What did Walker do?” I ask, wondering if Peck is exaggerating or if something happened. He works for Walker—the middle child out of us three Gibson boys—at his repair shop, Crank. My mother once had a recurring nightmare something happened to Walker in that shop.

“Nothing. He did nothing. That’s the problem,” Peck moans. “Sienna, God knows I love her, but when she’s around Walker is about as useful as tits on a nun.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t say I blame him,” I say, taking a longer swig this time. “Is it wrong to wish she’d have beat the hell out of my car just so I could’ve called dibs?”

“You better not be talking about what I think you’re talking about.” A large hand makes contact with the back of my head, sending me rocking forward. Just as I’m about to turn around and go toe-to-toe with whomever just smacked me, Walker sits on the other side of me. He eyes me with a seriousness that only Sienna can bring out in him. “Why are you talking about my lady?”

“It was your sidekick over here bringing her up.” I nod to Peck, rubbing the back of my head. “Touch me again and I’ll whip the shit out of you.”

He laughs, taking a beer from Machlan. “I’d love to see you try.”

“Watch this.” Machlan ambles to the other end of the bar and slides a beer down the wooden slats. It lands perfectly in front of Peck. “Nailed it.”

“I told you. It’s all in the wrists,” Peck laughs, tipping the bottle Machlan’s way. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“If you put this much energy into work every day—” Walker starts, but Peck promptly cuts him off.

“As much as you eye-fucked Sienna today while I was working—”

“Don’t start with your shit, Peck,” Walker says.

Peck rolls his eyes and plops his bottle back on the bar. “I will start my shit because I’m exhausted. You better show up tomorrow ready to do some actual labor.”

“Take it easy on him,” I tease, scooting in my seat towards Peck. “I’d have a hard time working too if I had that to go home to. Hell, I’d probably never get out of bed.”

Anticipating the punch before it comes, I duck. His hand dusts the edge of my jacket and misses me entirely.

Machlan laughs. “Getting slow there, Walk.”

“If he gets too slow to—”

I don’t anticipate the second punch. His fist plows into my bicep at about a quarter of the power he could’ve used, jolting me into my cousin. Peck’s beer sloshes out of the neck and splatters the front of his shirt.

“That hurt a little,” I laugh, rubbing my arm.

“It was a warning shot.” He grins like he doesn’t mean it. He did though. He doesn’t play when it comes to Sienna which is mostly the reason I fuck with him.

And Machlan fucks with him.

And Peck fucks with him.

“So was mine,” I wink.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Walker asks, shaking his head.

Peck fiddles with a napkin in front of him. “What about that nurse you’ve been messing around with? With the legs. What happened to her?”

“I haven’t met her yet,” I admit. “Things keep coming up. She works a swing shift thing at a hospital that’s always messing up her schedule.”

“Sounds like an excuse,” Machlan notes with a hint of smugness.

A little unease settles in my stomach because there’s a part of me that thinks so too. It has to be more than a coincidence that our schedules never match. But, when I really think about it, it’s my fault sometimes. Like the time I had to go to Nana’s because her insurance refused to pay for her insulin and I had to go sort it out. Or the time I had an emergency parent-teacher conference that made me cancel on her.

Focusing on that, I wait for the jitters to stop. They don’t. Refusing to consider that maybe it’s not the scheduling part of this little thing that has me off-balance and more like how much I like talking to her, I take a long, unhurried drink.

“What’s that look for?” Peck asks me.

“What look?”

“That one.” He points at my face.

“Probably the headache I’m trying to drink away.” For good measure, I take another swig.

Walker sighs beside me. “Just tell us the story you’re dying to tell.”

“I don’t have a story.”

“You always have a story,” they all say at the same time.

I down the rest of the glass as they laugh.

“Who you fucking? Where you fucking her?” Walker asks. “I went home on Sunday after dinner at Nana’s and thought, ‘Wow. Lance didn’t tell us one story today.’ You go making it two times in a row and I’m gonna have to call Blaire and see what we have to do to get you committed.”

“Our sister is an attorney, not a doctor.”

“Yeah, but who has rights to you?” Walker laughs. “If you lose your mind, which one of us gets to have you committed?”

“Me. Oh, God, let it be me,” Machlan deadpans.

Sliding my drink down the bar, it slams into a napkin dispenser and falls over. The dribbles of Old-Fashion left in the glass slowly pool on the countertop. They go on, teasing me, speculating about everything from my sex life to offering to take an ad out for me online. Bastards.

“I hate all of you,” I mutter, fighting the urge to clean up the spilled drink.

“This answers my original question,” Machlan says.

“What was that?”

“Why you’re in here. You’re just not ready to accept the reason.”

“Why is he in here?” Peck asks, side-eyeing me.

“Because he’s not getting laid.” Machlan says it with the biggest shit-eating grin. “Did you finally work your way through every girl on your fuck app?”

“He did it faster than even I thought he would,” Walker chimes in.

Getting to my feet, I grab a few bills and place them on the bar. Fuck this. “I always get laid. That’s never been a problem.”

“Until now,” Machlan adds.

“Jealousy is an ugly thing, boys,” I call out, heading to the front door. I pause at the bulletin boards and turn back around. “The rest of that isn’t a tip. Put it on Peck’s tab. He’s the only one of you I like.”

“Hey, thanks,” Peck calls out as the door slams behind me.

Climbing into my car, I get situated in the driver’s seat but don’t pull out. I don’t move. I can hear my stomach churning, feel the prickle of something at the back of my neck, but I can’t quite locate where it’s coming from.

My brain is still a mess—maybe messier than before. I hadn’t realized I haven’t been with a woman in a while until Walker pointed it out. It feels like I have, but I haven’t. It’s my trademark, my hobby. What’s wrong with me? Am I broken?

My cock still gets hard. I’d still fuck if an opportunity presented itself. I’m not having any unusual symptoms or urges, like monogamy, which would require a medical evaluation.

Still, something’s off. I can sense it. I can feel it. Hell, I can tell. I didn’t even want to talk to Jessa today at lunch. She called and it got me two things: out of a conversation with a flirty Principal Kelly and into Mariah’s office.

Mariah.

“I could really go for a cupcake right about now,” I say aloud with a chuckle. Turning the key, I swing down the street and head home to try to get some work done.

Six

Mariah

“Name something you only do when you’re sick.” The announcer sets his card down as the contestants slam the big buttons in front of them.

“Puke!” I say, shoving the spoon back in the tub of ice cream.

The female contestant looks downright smug. “Nap.”

“Nap? You only nap when you’re sick?” I ask, rolling my eyes. The number one answer flips across the screen—nap. “Where do you find these people?”

Scooping another helping of lemon cake ice cream into my mouth, I watch the rest of the top answers cross the board. Every now and then it crosses my mind to get up and go pick out my outfit for my date tomorrow night. I respond by taking another bite of ice cream.

Dating isn’t my forte. Just thinking about it makes my stomach get all squirmy. If I were being introspective, I’d probably conclude that not having to date is one of the major reasons I prefer relationships over one-night stands or hook-ups. Talking about myself is awkward. Listening to someone else explain themselves while trying to be interesting is uncomfortable. Making it through dinner when you have nothing in common is horrific and not many men share my interests. Even if it goes well, hopes go up and, often times, dreams go down. It’s a no-win situation.

Be positive. Things could always be worse.

Flipping the television off, I still. There’s a ringing sound coming from down the hall. My pint of lemon cake ice cream goes to the coffee table as I race down the hallway and into my bedroom to retrieve it.

All the ice cream in my stomach starts to slosh around when I see the name: Mom.

See? Things just got worse.

Every time she calls, I tell myself this might be the day. Maybe she was at the salon and someone asked about me and she realized what a missed opportunity our mother-daughter relationship has become. Or maybe she was going through old photographs and felt guilty for not remembering when I won gold at Solo and Ensemble for my flute solo in middle school.

I let her go to voicemail a lot, but sometimes, I have more hope than brains.

One.

Two.

Three.

Inhaling a deep breath, I swipe the screen. “Hello?”

“Hello, Mariah.”

“Hi, Mom. Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, honey. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” I say, biting a nail. “You usually just call when something is the matter.”

Sighing too hard and too long, I feel the dread build across the back of my neck. I should’ve sent her to voicemail.

The mattress bends as I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to her go on and on about how she calls and I don’t answer and how disrespectful it is to ignore your mother’s calls. Every other sentence has me biting my tongue with a comeback that, while true, would incense her. As entertaining as it would be to listen to her gasp—I always get a little thrill out of it—I don’t have the energy to see it through.

“Mom?” I ask, cutting her off. “Did you need something?”

The shock that someone has the audacity not to just sit and listen to her ramble has her tongue-tied. “I … Well … Excuse me?”

“Did you need something?” I ask it slowly. Looking around my room, a cozy nest of light greys and pinks, I wonder if I should change my sheets. I just bought a brand-new set of flannel ones that I wanted to try and the temperature at night must just be on the cusp of making it acceptable. “I’m in the middle of something, so if you could just spit it out, that’d be great.”

As soon as I say it, I wince and prepare for her retort.

“Spit?” she balks. “Oh, Mariah. When are you going to start acting like a lady? I didn’t raise you like this.”

“Can we just … cut around all this and get to the chase?”

I despise the pleading tone in my voice, but I hate even more the pause that stretches between us. It’s filled with the unspoken disappointment she feels at being my mother. The silence is pregnant with how misfortunate she feels she is and an awkwardness that’s made even worse by how our relationship dictates how we should interact with one another.

There aren’t tears anymore, just a muted acceptance of the situation. I am who I am and it’s not good enough for her. But it’s good enough for me.

“My birthday is this weekend,” she says finally. “I’d like you to come have lunch with me.”

This throws me a little. “Wow, Mom. Okay. Where do you want to meet?”

“I’m having lunch brought to the house to mark the occasion. It’ll be Betsy’s first time here and I’d really like to make it special.”

“Betsy?” I ask, trying to remember which of her friends this is. I’m sure she’ll lambast me for not remembering it’s her tennis friend or the one she just took a trip to San Diego with, but I truly don’t remember.

“The baby, Mariah.”

Blinking in super-slow motion, I realize she went there. She’s usually decent enough to not openly bring up Chrissy or Eric or the pregnancy that I found out about from a mutual friend’s social media post, a baby whose name I didn’t even know until now.

Tears come, wetting the inside corners of my eyes, as I realize Chrissy has taken our grandmother’s name. A hollowness echoes in my chest, each thought bounding around an area inside of me that should be filled with a feeling other than loneliness.

For a fleeting moment, I imagine walking into my mother’s house and seeing my sister holding a baby. She never even wanted kids. I was the one who wanted a huge family and she beat me to it, just like she tried to one-up everything I ever did.

“I gotta go,” I say past the lump in my throat.

“Stop it.” Her tone is cold, brash, void of any empathy for me. “It’s time you grow up, young lady.”

“Grow up? Are you kidding me right now?”

“Eric and Chrissy are incredibly happy and they now have a beautiful little girl.”

“I … good for them,” I say in disbelief.

“Yes, good for them. You should try to emulate their happiness a little instead of spending all your time in a library.”

This snaps me out of it. “Well, Mother, I was trying to do something similar and then my sister stole my boyfriend.”

“You can’t steal a person,” she charges back. “He was in love with her. Not you. Maybe if you had been a little more interesting, fixed yourself up a little more—”

“Nope. Not doing this today. Goodbye, Mother.”

My thumb swipes the call off and holds in the power button until the screen goes black. I look at the wall. After deep breathing for a few seconds, I shove all of that garbage out of my mind.

Rummaging through my closet, I know exactly what I’m looking for. The jeans I never wear, the ones Whitney says makes my ass look great, go flying onto the bed. A soft crimson sweater that hugs my curves and I feel good in joins it. It takes more time than it should to find my nude-colored heeled boots, but they’re cozied up in the back of my closet with a pair of black pumps. Both go on the bed.

“There. That should do it for tomorrow night.”

The satisfaction is short-lived. So, I do what I always do when I can’t settle down: head to the kitchen to bake something sweet to cancel out the bitterness.

Seven

Mariah

“I should’ve worn the heels.”

Twisting around to see the back view in the full-length mirror, I decide the jeans I laid out last night look fine. The top is cute. The shoes, though, might be too relaxed. Then again, I really have no idea.

The doorbell rings as I pick up my heels. I look at my reflection. I can’t see my heart pounding out of control but I sure as hell can feel it.

“Why did you agree to this?” I whine.

The bell sounds again as if the man on the porch is reminding me I did agree to the craziness of a blind date and now I have to follow through.

Each step toward the front door seems to cover a mile. The knob is in my hand before I have time to come up with a plan. I freeze. Peering into the peephole, I determine he’s cute, but in a television doctor kind of way. Crew cut blond hair, cobalt blue eyes that match his scrubs impeccably, and a tall, lean body that screams he ran a half a mile this morning for fun, all make him appear harmless. Although, I remind myself as I open the door, that’s what all blind dates look like at first.

“Hello,” I say, smiling as naturally as I can despite the ruckus in my head. A silent prayer goes up that I don’t look like one of those dogs in memes with my lips sticking to my gums in a fake smile.

His assessment is quick, yet thorough. I must pass because his broad shoulders ease. “Hi. I’m assuming you’re Mariah.”

“I am. You must be Jonah.”

“Correct. Sorry I’m a few minutes late. I got held up in the operating room.”

His words are stilted. There’s some relief in knowing he’s equally as unsure about this as I am.

“No worries,” I tell him. “Let me grab my purse and we can go?”

“Sounds good.”

Closing the door just in case he is a serial killer, I find my purse on the couch. A quick inventory confirms the small can of Mace in the hidden pocket, as well as extra cash for a cab. There’s also a tube of lipstick just in case I’m wrong about this whole thing and the date goes well enough for a quick freshen up in his bathroom.

He’s standing where I left him when I return. I flash him a smile while I lock up and wait for any indication there might be some sort of crackling energy between us. My keys hit the can of Mace when I drop them into my purse.

Noted, Universe. Noted.

“Whitney said you like Peaches,” he says, a couple of steps in front of me. “I checked it out online. It’s not fancy but, since I’m in scrubs, I thought it might work.”

“It’s my favorite. Have you been there before?”

He opens my door. One point, Jonah. “I haven’t. I’m from Springfield originally and haven’t been here long enough to see much more than the inside of Merom Memorial. The life of an intern, I guess.”

“I guess. Thank you,” I say, as I slip in the front seat of his sports car.

I wonder if he actually hosed the interior with antiseptic spray or it’s a coincidence that the car smells like a janitor’s closet. By the looks of the spotless floorboards and streak-free windows, I lean toward the spray.

He grins at me while he climbs in. “Buckle up. Seat belts are one of the easiest and most effective ways to prevent injuries in automobile accidents.”

“All right. Thanks for the tip.” The lock slips into the latch and I try to focus on the considerate side of him. Not the one that made me want to include, ‘Yes, father,’ at the end of my sentence.

The drive to Peaches takes forever despite only being a few minutes from Linton. Every topic feels like we have to move a mountain to get through the conversation. Going from discussing his job to my career back to his job is way more work than it should be.

By the time we pull in the parking lot, I want to bash my head against the window but I’m afraid if I bleed on his interior he may freak out. On the other hand, it would be more exciting than spending another hour or two like this.

We enter my favorite little place which is nestled behind a tennis court. It’s cozy inside Peaches, a joint famous in these parts for their margaritas. Jonah asks me to order him a water and excuses himself for the restroom.

“Do you have a seating preference?” the hostess asks.

“Table, please,” I say, looking around. There are a few that overlook the parking lot and drive-through. At least by the window I’ll have something to watch. “Can we sit over there?”

“Sure. Follow me.”

Setting my purse on a chair by the wall, I thank the hostess. “Can I go ahead and order drinks?”

“Sure,” she says, taking a small pad out of the apron around her waist. “What can I get for you?”

“Water with lemon for him and a Coke, extra ice, for me.”

“Got ya.”

I get situated in my seat, shooting Whitney a text asking her what the hell she was thinking. When Jonah gets back, I drop the phone into my purse and smile at my date.

“Drinks are ordered,” I chirp.

“Great.” He grabs a menu off the table. “How long have you known Whitney?”

“Since elementary school. She moved to Linton in third or fourth grade,” I say. “I got hit in the face with a dodgeball and she helped me to the nurse’s station. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

The waitress stops by with our drinks and takes our order. She bats her lashes at Jonah and I’m surprised to see that he flirts back, albeit ineptly. Sipping my Coke, I try to care. I don’t. With a final breathy giggle, she’s on her way and he directs his attention back to me.

Silently judging my choice of beverage, he lifts his glass of water with lemon to his lips. “Dodgeball should be banned from schools. There’s no reason to risk a broken nose over an immature game that doesn’t involve skill.”

“We always lobbied to play it, so I’m going to have to disagree. It was fun.”

“It’s pointless.”

“I loved it,” I offer, holding back an awkward laugh. “Anyway, that’s how I met Whit.”

“She’s a terrific nurse. What is it you do again?”

Blinking slowly, I wait for him to laugh. “I’m a librarian at the high school.” I enunciate each syllable, wondering how on Earth this man is going to be a doctor when he can’t pay attention for shit.

“I think you told me that.”

“I did.” Twice already. “I’ve always had a minor fascination with the medical world. I considered medical school myself, but there were too many people involved.”

“There are definitely a lot of people involved,” he laughs. “That’s kind of the point. We’re the ones who get in, elbows deep, and clean up the world. We do the work that matters.”

Our plates are placed in front of us. Jonah gets a little extra smile with his. I just cannot find it in me to be bothered.

Slicing into my chicken breast, I attempt to tune them out. The waitress’ giggle is abrasive and Jonah’s try at conversation so painful I almost wince. If it weren’t completely rude, I’d yank out my phone and ask Whitney how this guy is going to be a doctor when he has virtually no people skills. Less than even I do.

There is some weird chemistry between the two of them though, so I turn towards the window. As I chew my chicken, I’m kind of happy for him. I can’t imagine that he finds this kind of thing any easier than I do and Lord knows how much I struggle with dating. Or how much I would struggle if I did it regularly.

I hear the waitress leave. I decide to direct my attention back to Jonah and make an attempt at this date, when I stop. My fork falls to my plate and clinks off the china. From the other side of the window, in the drive-thru lane, sits Lance. His window is rolled down and he’s looking at me.

One eyebrow lifts as he takes me in. He ignores the guy honking behind him as he holds my glance for a few long seconds like he’s not sure what he’s seeing. Something must catch his eye because he turns his attention to something else.

He looks across from me.

To Jonah.

Oh God.

There’s no hiding his amusement when he slides his eyes back to mine. The asshole has the audacity to laugh. The car behind him honks again as I glare at him through the glass. I can imagine the snicker that’s undoubtedly toppling past his smirk as he pulls away.

Sagging back in my seat, I struggle to find room in my chest to fill it with air. It’s like all the oxygen was sucked from me and replaced with curiosity about Lance. My brain races through potential situations—where is he going, who is he with, who was he getting dinner for? My stomach sours.

“You okay?” Jonah’s voice drifts across the table, barely audible through my haze.

“Sorry,” I say, pasting on a smile. “It’s been a long day.”

“You didn’t hear anything I said, did you?”

My cheeks heat, like I got caught with my hand in the candy jar. “Uh, no. Can you repeat that?”

“I was saying I just got a text from the hospital,” he says. “There’s a new procedure scheduled in an hour I’d like to observe. It’s only performed at a few hospitals nationwide and I really think it’s important I stand in and see what it’s all about. It would be great for my career.”

Relief washes over me, but it’s fleeting. When I look up again, I almost fall out of my chair.

“Well, look who I found.” Lance’s voice is full of amusement as he strides right up to the table, no fucks given. Dressed in dark denim and a navy blue button-down that he didn’t bother to tuck in, he looks casual and delicious, despite the cocky look on his face.

I plead to the heavens that he didn’t come in here just to tease me. When he winks, I know I’m screwed.

The pink in my cheeks cranks up a notch as I look from an entertained Lance to a bewildered Jonah. I should say something, introduce them, because Jonah’s confusion is clear.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Lance instead. When I shoot him a look that practically begs him not to embarrass me, he just laughs.

“I was picking up dinner.”

“In the drive-thru,” I point out.

“And they forgot my apple pie,” he says. Pride blooms on his face like he’s tickled to death he came up with a lie so quickly. “I’m Lance Gibson,” he says, turning to Jonah. “And you are?”

“Jonah.” He looks at me briefly before turning back to Lance. “How do you know Mariah?”

“Oh, we’re old friends,” Lance lies. Again. “How do you know her?”

“I’m her date.”

Lance takes a step back. I can’t decipher the look on his handsome face, whether he’s curious or irritated now. He watches Jonah far too closely for far too long.

“It’s nice to meet you, but we were just leaving,” Jonah says, putting his napkin on the table.

Scrambling to get myself together, to find my purse, to take a final sip of my Coke, I freeze everything when Lance speaks.

“You barely touched your chicken, Mariah.”

“Jonah got a call from the hospital,” I explain. “Spur of the moment thing. He’s needed there so we’re going to cut this a little short.”

“Then perfect timing. I’ll take you home,” Lance says. He narrows his eyes as if to warn me, but I skirt right around that.

“Oh, no,” I protest, holding up a hand. “That’s unnecessary.”

“I have ten minutes to get to Merom Memorial,” Jonah notes. “Would it be okay if your friend took you home? I hate asking, but we’re already in Merom and if I drive you back to Linton first—”

“I’ll get a ride. It’s fine.” He may not mean to be rude, but it certainly feels that way. Who lets another man take his date home?

Still, as he gets to his feet and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Lance, my body releases an evening full of stress. Although Lance is a giant pain in my ass, being stuck with him is better than being stuck with Jonah. At least we can argue instead of regurgitating information over and over.

“I’ll pay the bill before I leave. It was nice meeting you, Mariah,” Jonah says.

“It was nice meeting you too.” I stand, thinking I should shake his hand or something. I don’t know. Instead, Jonah leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

Glancing up at Lance, I see a fire in his eye. I hold my breath as Lance starts to take a step toward Jonah, but then he stops.

“You better get going.” Lance taps his watch. “Nine minutes.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I’ll call you.” Jonah gives me a little wave before taking off through the restaurant. Lance is in his seat before Jonah is even out of sight.

“This isn’t even a cheeseburger,” he scoffs. Pushing the plate to the edge of the table, he makes a face. “Where’d you find this guy?”

“It’s a veggie burger.”

“Did you specifically look for a guy without testosterone or did it just happen?”

“He’s nice,” I object, trying and failing, to hide a giggle.

“You didn’t think he was nice,” he mocks. “And you weren’t the least bit attracted to him.”

I wasn’t. I’m sure everyone watching us could see that. But I’m not about to admit that to Lance. Letting him think I was falling madly in love wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever done. “And how would you know that?”

He leans forward, and his cologne wraps around me. “You were sitting back in your chair, for one.”

“What?” Then I look down and realize I’m mimicking his posture and leaning toward him. I shift back in my seat. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

He shrugs. “Maybe not. But your eyes did light up when you saw me.”

“You’re delusional.”

Much to my surprise, he seems to consider this. “You may be right.” He redirects his attention to the waitress now primed at the table.

“You aren’t the man who was here before,” she laughs. “Girl, where do you find these guys? I need to hang out there.”

“You’d be surprised,” I tell her. “The other guy said he was paying the check. Can you make sure he did?”

“Wait.” Lance whips a menu off the napkin dispenser. “I want dessert.”

“Lance …” I sigh, watching him scan the menu.

“What’s good here?” he asks, ignoring me.

The waitress rattles off a bunch of choices. He’d love the peanut butter pie, but I don’t tell him that.

There’s a touch of stubble dotting his cheeks. He works his jaw back and forth as he peruses the dessert choices. It’s hard, like it’s cut from granite and angled in a sharp line. My hand starts to move, to reach out on instinct and feel the roughness against my palm, but I come to my senses in the nick of time.

“I want the peanut butter pie. What about you?” He offers me the menu.

“I thought you came in to get the apple pie the drive-thru forgot?” I remind him. “Or did that slip your mind?”

“Totally slipped my mind,” he chuckles. “I’m in the mood for peanut butter now anyway.”

“Would you like a piece too?” The waitress asks as Lance and I exchange a knowing smile. “We have a great blackberry cobbler.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Give her a slice of the lemon pie,” Lance cuts in.

“I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, you do. Or at least you can sit there and look at it while I eat mine.”

Or I can sit here and look at you and pretend you’re eating me.

Oh, God.

I can’t look away from him fast enough. Lifting my purse from the seat next to me, I scavenge through it like a girl who may perish if she doesn’t locate her phone.

“Did I say something?” he asks after the waitress is gone.

“Nope. Nothing at all. Just worried I left my phone in Jonah’s car,” I say, pulling it out like a trophy. “Whew. I wasn’t sure.”

“All righty then …”

Setting it carefully next to my glass, I exhale. “I feel better now.”

“Tell me about the hippie.”

“He wasn’t a hippie,” I insist. “He’s a doctor. Or going to be one. I think. I have doubts with his lack of interpersonal communication skills.”

“How’d you meet him? Is this the guy you’ve been seeing?” He pulls his brows together. “No disrespect, but he’s not exactly the type I thought you’d be having dinner with.”

“Well, for the record, he’s not exactly who I thought I’d be having dinner with either,” I shrug. “But it’s over now.”

“So you won’t be seeing him again?”

Considering my options, I realize I have only one. There’s no way he’d believe I wanted this guy. So, I give in. “No, I’m not seeing him again. This was a blind date.”

“Ah …” Lance’s voice trails off as he blows out a breath. “That makes sense.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I take a drink of my Coke. Just as my glass hits the table, two plates of pie slide in front of us.

“Here you go!” she chatters happily. “Does it look like rain out there? I get off in an hour and was hoping for a clear night out.”

“Um, no rain,” Lance responds.

She chatters on and on about her lack of plans. As I watch her make conversation easily, I wish I had that quality. There’s no way I could walk up to someone I just met seconds before and chatter away about my life’s hopes and dreams. But the longer I wait on her to end the conversation, the more I forget my conundrum and the more agitated I get at her for flirting with Lance.

“Excuse me,” I say, butting in. “This looks great. Thank you.”

“Oh,” she giggles. “Yes, I’m sorry. Let me know if you need anything else.” She tucks her chin and darts to the kitchen.

Lance sticks his fork in his pie, a smug look etched on his features. “Is that what jealousy looks like on you, Ms. Malarkey? I like it.”

“Why would I be jealous?” I huff, lopping a big lump of pie on my fork. “She did the same thing to Jonah so don’t feel special.”

“Oh, I didn’t feel special,” he grins. “Until now.”

“Why is that?” I ask before shoving a quarter of the pie into my mouth.

“Because when she did it to Jonah, you were looking at me. You didn’t give a fuck. But when she did it to me, you looked like you wanted to rip her throat out.”

“I did not,” I protest, gulping.

“You did and it was hot as hell.” An ember burns in his eyes so bright I can’t even look. I’ll melt. I’m sure of it.

Shoving a bite of pie into my mouth, I can’t quite get it past the lump sitting at the bottom of my throat. I cough, covering my mouth with a napkin until I manage to get it down. “That’s super lemon-y,” I eek out.

“I bet.”

“Want a bite?” I offer, trying to keep the conversation well away from the waitress and my non-jealousy.

“Nah. It’s not my favorite,” he says, taking another bite of his dessert.

“You’re lucky I like it since you ordered it for me without knowing and you don’t like it,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.

“No luck involved, sweetheart.” He takes another bite of his. “This isn’t bad, but your peanut butter icing is unbeatable.”

Charming bastard.

Sitting my fork down, I take him in. There’s no pretentiousness to his words. There’s nothing for me to get irritated about or dislike, just a kindness in his compliment that I know he means.

This is what bothers me so much about him. He keeps me off kilter on purpose.

“How did you know I’d like lemon pie?” I ask. Attempting to regroup and find my feet, I settle back in my chair and watch him.

“Because you always have a box of lemon candies in the middle drawer of your desk. I see them when you pull it out,” he adds quickly, before I can accuse him of snooping. “Do you ever make lemon cupcakes? Can you even do that?”

“Yes, you can do that,” I laugh. “I’ve made them but never gotten them exactly right.”

“After you make the red velvet, maybe you could try them?”

“I never said I was making you red velvet anything!” Lofting my straw wrapper across the table, it hits him in the chest. “Do you think I just bake to order?”

“For me, yeah.”

He hands the waitress his credit card as she walks by. “Can you ring us up?”

“Let me pay for it,” I say, tugging on my purse.

“Yeah, fucking right.”

“Sorry,” the waitress says, standing so close to Lance her hip almost touches him. She takes his card, her fingertips brushing against his. “A man like this gets what he asks for.”

“Yeah, see,” he jokes as she sashays away. “I get what I ask for.”

“Is that why you’re a brat?”

He picks up Jonah’s water glass and then sits it back down. “I almost drank from that.”

“I saw.”

“Were you going to let me?” he gasps.

“Hey, you get what you ask for,” I laugh.

He feigns irritation. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he does a speedy review of something on the screen and then pops it away. “So,” he says, leaning against the table. “What do we do now?”

“You take me home.”

“We could see a movie. Do people still do that on dates or is that old-fashioned?”

“This isn’t a date,” I point out.

He considers this. “Yeah, I think it is. You just leveled up. From hippie to me. You’re winning today.”

“Do you live to annoy me?”

“No, but watching you get all hot and bothered does turn me on.”

“Oh my God. Stop it,” I hiss.

The table next to ours apparently caught wind of his admission and look at us over their shoulders. I can’t make eye contact.

“What do you do on a date? I was serious,” he says, ignoring the hushed comments beside us.

“When was the last time you were on a date?”

Tapping his chin, his eyes sparkle. “Like a real date? Or like time with a woman?”

“A date. Dinner, a movie, a walk around the lake. Even a ride around the country,” I offer.

“I like the way you think.” A grin tips his lips. “I haven’t gone parking in years. Wanna?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Laughing, we get to our feet. He sticks his credit card back in his wallet and I wonder where her number went, but don’t ask. Just before we turn to leave, I catch him tossing a little wadded up ball on the table. He catches me watching.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say as innocently as possible.

“Can’t go anywhere and not collect digits. It’s hell being this handsome.”

We walk out of Peaches side-by-side. It’s a heck of a lot better than how I walked in.

Eight

Lance

I’m out of my fucking mind.

Don’t play with this girl, I tell myself. She’s out of your league, Gibson.

Pausing at the back of my car, I could easily tell myself it was fate that brought us together tonight. There’s leftover pizza at the house for dinner. Why I decided to drive all the way over to Peaches for takeout I’ll never know.

On the flip side, it’s a little like a ploy by Satan himself to test my restraint now that she’s in my car. I have to keep my hands to myself. I have to get in the car and pretend like I’m in there with Blaire.

Yeah fucking right.

Glancing at her through the back glass, the moonlight rippling around her like she’s some damn goddess, I want to ask the universe what I’ve ever done to deserve this … this purgatory.

My cock twists in my jeans.

Yeah, buddy, I know. Don’t explode on me until we get home.

“Hey,” I say as I open the door. It takes every bit of self-control I didn’t know I had to not just leap over the console and bite those plump, pink lips.

“Thank you for taking me home,” she breathes. “I can call a taxi if it’s an inconvenience.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Her eyes grow wide as she laughs. “No. Actually.”

Good. “You live in Linton, right?”

“Yeah. Just passed Carlson’s Bakery. Little brick house. Dog-ear fence in the back yard.”

“Ah, got ‘cha,” I say, getting into my seat. “Cross used to live there when we were growing up.”

“Who is that?” she asks as I start the car.

“He owns a gym in town. He’s good friends with my youngest brother, Machlan. Kind of grew up like an honorary Gibson boy.”

“There are more than one of you?” she asks, her hand flying to her chest. “Your poor mother.”

“Oh, no, sweetheart. There’s only one of me.”

Her eyes roll around in her head. “I’m sorry. I forgot who I was talking to.”

“I’m going to pretend I just hit a bump to explain that little eye-roll,” I tell her. “No worries.”

“I wasn’t worried about it,” she laughs.

I pull out of the parking lot and head toward Linton. She sings along softly to a song on the radio and I almost want to turn it down to hear her voice. If I do that, I’m sure she’ll stop, so I don’t.

“I have two brothers and a sister,” I continue. “Blaire is an attorney in Chicago.” I know the first rule of history: it repeats itself. You start sharing your life’s details with a woman and they think that means something. I need to stop talking. “Machlan owns Crave.”

Shut. Up.

“The bar?”

“The bar,” I confirm, giving up on myself. The chain of command from my brain to my mouth is clearly broken. “Walker took over Crank from our father.”

She taps her fingers against the console. “I grew up in Lancaster. When I got the job at the school, I rented the little house I’m in now.”’

“Lancaster’s not far. What? A twenty-minute drive?”

Her fingers stop moving. Her shoulders stiffen as she gazes out her window. I can barely hear her voice when she speaks. “You can make it in fifteen if you have to.”

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, working it back and forth. I want to reach over and pop it free. And then clamp it between my own teeth, but there’s no consent and I’m not sure she’ll give it to me. But that’s not the problem. The problem is, I’m fairly certain it was something I said that changed her spirits.

“This is why I don’t date,” I note as a car passes us without switching off its brights.

“Why is that?”

“I just said something wrong and I don’t even know what it was.”

“You didn’t say anything wrong, Lance. I just got to thinking about a phone call from my mother,” she frowns.

The street lamps get few and far between as we get farther away from town. She’s quiet for a long time.

“Want to talk about it?” I offer, needing her to come back around. When I’m the one who pisses her off, I’m okay with that. I don’t really know what to do when she’s mad at someone else.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” she admits. “My mom just … let me ask you this. Does your mom have favorites? I know that sounds ridiculously juvenile, but does she prefer one of your siblings over the others?”

“Well,” I say carefully. “My mom passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Her hand falls to my arm. Her palm is so small it barely covers half my bicep. We both look at the point of contact. I force a swallow down my parched throat, feeling the weight of her hand all the way down to my groin. My thighs ache, my balls burn, every piece of my body practically begging for more.

“I’ll be sorry if you move your hand,” I utter.

Naturally, she does.

“No,” I continue, clearing my throat, “she didn’t have a favorite. Not really. Blaire got better Christmas presents growing up because she was the only girl. Machlan had bigger birthday parties because his birthday was in December and Mom was worried it would get lost in the mix with Christmas and all that. They paid for my college and gave Crank to Walker. So, I guess I never really felt that way.” Glancing at her again, I decide to press. “Does yours?”

“It’s a fact my mom prefers my sister over me.”

“I need to meet your sister,” I mumble.

She smacks my arm. “Lance!”

Chuckling, I rub the spot she just marred. “I was kidding.”

“Sure you were.”

“I was,” I insist, looking at her until she looks at me. “I know I’m just your friendly co-worker and ride home from bad dates, and that you get off to me every night—Ow!” I yelp as she smacks me again. “Truth hurts.”

“So do lies. Wanna see?” she asks, making a fist.

“I was going to finish that by saying I can’t imagine a mother being anything but proud of someone like you.”

She makes a face like she might cry. It’s not real, it’s totally put on, but I love it.

“Think about it,” I say. “You moved out on your own, got a real job, and I bet you pay your own bills.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And,” I say, nudging her shoulder, “you’re pretty as hell, smart, and sweet when you want to be. Your mother must be an idiot.”

“Lance Gibson, that was nice. Thank you.”

“All truth, Ms. Malarkey. All truth. Even the parts you deny.” Listening to her giggle fill up my car is the best thing I’ve heard all day. “So your mom is a jerk. Do we like your sister?”

“No. Big. Fat. No.” She shakes her head adamantly. “We don’t like Chrissy.”

“Got it. Do we have a dad we like? Brother? Grandma? Aunt?”

Her head rests on the seat angled a little to the side. She looks perfectly content in the seat of my car. It’s hard not to pull over and, as weird as it is to acknowledge it, I don’t want to just fuck her. I want to hear what she has to say. And then fuck her. Hard.

It’s a thin, dangerous line and my toes are edging it.

“My parents are divorced and my dad has some trophy wife up in New Hampshire. I haven’t seen him in years. No aunts, no brothers. Grandma Betsy was amazing, though,” she whispers, more to herself than to me. Her chin drops to the side so she’s looking at me. “She’s who taught me to bake.”

“So we definitely love Grandma Betsy.”

“Definitely,” she smiles. Heaving a deep breath, she blows it out slowly. “You know what, Lance? You’re not a bad guy.”

“I’ve been telling you this.”

An easy little song hums through the speakers. She closes her eyes.

Her body sinks into the seat as the crinkle in her forehead disappears. I want to ask her another question, to hear her voice again, but I don’t because seeing her like this is new. And I like it.

I also like the look of her breasts in that red sweater.

As we drive through the night, I imagine what life would be like without my family. Even when my brothers and Blaire make me crazy, which is often, I appreciate them. We’re a tribe, along with Peck and his brother Vincent and our Nana. We’d be nothing without each other.

Imagining no Sunday dinners or church services or Friday nights at the bar with Peck getting tossed by Machlan—what would I do with my time? I take a peek at Mariah and wonder if that’s why she works a lot. She has nothing else to do. No one to hang out with, reminisce with, or enjoy a meal with.

Or bake with.

The exit to Linton approaches, the turnoff lit with a bright yellow light. I look at it, at Mariah, and plow forward.

“Hey,” she says, opening her eyes. “That’s the exit.”

“I know. I have something I need to do.”

Rubbing my forehead, I know a quick exit I can take a half mile up the road and I know I should take it. I should turn this car around and head into town and get her out of my car. Stop the madness.

Squirming in her seat, she sits upright. “Can’t you drop me off first? Or take me to Goodman’s and I’ll walk from there?”

“Relax,” I instruct.

“I don’t want to relax.”

“Clearly.” Biting my lip, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, I skip the second, and the last, exit into town. “Don’t laugh.”

“I promise nothing.” She folds her arms over her ample chest. “Where are we going?”

“I have to go by my Nana’s.”

“You’re kidding me?” she balks. “You have to go to your grandma’s at eight o’clock on a Saturday night?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Reasons.”

She flops back on the seat again with a huff. “You really can’t take me home?”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” I say with a simple shrug.

“You sure sound real sorry.”

My laugh is the last sound either of us make until my car pulls into Nana’s driveway a few minutes later. Parking behind her crossover vehicle, which she bought last year because it holds more casseroles for her church supper club than the sedan she had, I cut the engine.

“Two things you need to know about Nana before we go in,” I say as seriously as I can. It’s almost impossible not to laugh at the soberness in Mariah’s face. “First, don’t say anything bad about Elvis.”

“Got it.” She runs a hand through her long, dark locks. With every movement, the smell of her shampoo—something rich and flowery—almost kills me.

“Second,” I say, pointing at her, “call her Nana.”

“What’s her name?”

Opening my door, I climb out. “I’m not telling you. You have to call her Nana.”

She rustles around behind me then smacks the car door shut. Before I know it, she’s at my side with wild eyes. “Just tell me her name. Or I can call her Mrs. Gibson, I guess.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I say. My hands go up in defense as we climb the wooden steps Peck built a few summers ago. They creak with our weight, adding to the music from the crickets under the porch.

The house is small, built in the early nineteen-twenties. Granddad kept it in perfect condition, then Dad took over. Now my brothers and Peck and I come by and do tasks for her when she needs them done. If we don’t get here quick enough, she calls a service guy and that makes us nuts.

“This place is so cute,” she notes as we look across the back yard. The grass is freshly cut, probably by Walker. The remnants of Nana’s garden lie dormant by the shed. “It’s like a book, all quaint and lovely.”

“Quaint and lovely?” I balk, turning towards the house. “Nice vocabulary you have there, Ms. Malarkey.”

She doesn’t bother with a comeback. Instead, she files in behind me as I head for the sliding glass door into the kitchen.

“I can stay in the car,” she whispers roughly. “I don’t have to go in.”

“Do you want her coming out here to get you?”

She taps me on the shoulder. “She doesn’t know I’m here. Why would she come out?”

“Why are you whispering?” I whisper back. We’re eye-to-eye, our faces close enough that I could kiss her in a half a second. Her irises dilate as I lick my lips. “Relax,” I say turning back to the house before I do something stupid.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her start to reach for my hand. My heart jumps in my throat as I wait for it. She stops herself before our skin makes contact. That’s probably for the best because if she touched me right now, I think I’d lose it. She’d be ass up over the deck chair in front of God and Nana. I don’t even give a fuck.

Peering through the glass, I spy Nana at the farmhouse sink. She’s washing a mixing bowl while doing a little hip sway to a song I’m not privy to. I consider the ramifications of this. How she’ll be jumping to conclusions about me bringing a girl here. The fact that she’ll tell my brothers and I’ll be assaulted with endless questions tomorrow. I know she’ll even invite her to dinner tomorrow because she invites everyone to Sunday dinner. But how will Mariah take that? Will it be weird if she accepts? Will she think there’s more to it than there is?

“She’s adorable,” Mariah says beside me. “What’s on her apron? Roosters?”

“Third thing to remember about Nana. Don’t call them cocks. Machlan was a little hungover one Sunday at dinner and made a comment about all the cocks. That happened precisely one time.”

“Got it,” she giggles. “She’s just so cute. Look at her dancing in there!”

“Now you know where I get my skills,” I wink, shoving the door open. “Hey, Nana!”

My grandmother jumps, her hand going to her throat and wrapping around a necklace. “You scared the heavens out of me, Lance.”

“Sorry,” I say, picking up a cookie that’s still warm from a tray on the counter. It’s gooey and delicious as I stuff the whole thing in my mouth.

“You don’t take a cookie without hugging me first. Oh!” She gazes over my shoulder to where Mariah is standing. Her jaw drops.

Here we go.

“Oh,” she says again, her hands going to the hem of her apron. Drying the dishwater from her palms, she looks at me, to Mariah, then back to me. “You brought a girlfriend?”

“I—”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Mariah cuts in. “We’re just friends.”

Nana nods slowly. Removing her apron and wadding it in a ball, she sets it by the microwave. “Lance, I will love you regardless.”

“Regardless of what?” I ask, popping another cookie in my mouth. “These are really good, by the way.”

“Tell you what, let’s just have this conversation now. There’s no time like the present,” Nana says, throwing her shoulders back. “The doctor on television says the best thing to do when a child or grandchild tells you they’re gay is to tell them you love them anyway. That you will be their safe spot. I’m your safe spot, Lance.”

“Woah,” I say, taking a step back. Ignoring Mariah’s hiccupping giggle behind me, I look at my lovely grandmother. “Nana, I’m not gay.”

“Your parents would’ve loved you the same too if that’s what you’re worried about. And don’t worry about your brothers. They’ll understand.”

Mariah’s hand finds my shoulder. I don’t even want to look at her.

“I’ll still be your friend, Lance,” she giggles.

“Oh, stop it,” I say when my wits finally come back to me. “I’m not gay, Nana. I’m not.”

“Are you sure, honey?”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure.”

She gives me a warning look. “If you want to try coming in again, we can start over. But leave the language on the steps. I’ll love you if you love men, but not if you continue to use that filthy language.”

“Sorry.” I glance at Mariah. She’s eating this up. I can almost hear the jokes on the tip of her tongue. “You, I’ll deal with later.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she whispers, eyes dancing. She winks at me, ignoring my glower, before looking at Nana. “I’m Mariah. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You can call me Nana. And I’m so sorry for the confusion, dear. It’s just that Lance has never brought someone to my house and I just assumed that’s why he was here. To show you off.”

Mariah’s cheeks split into a grin. “Please don’t apologize. I work with him and we’ve all wondered about his sexual orientation for a long time. It’s nice to finally know.”

“Shut the fu …” I say, shaking my head.

“No wonder she’s not your girlfriend with that mouth,” Nana chastises me. “You expect her to kiss a mouth that filthy?”

My eyes drag to Mariah’s. “It’d be nice.”

She rolls her eyes, but I can’t miss the rosiness to her cheeks. “I don’t kiss boys with mouths that dirty.”

“What if I promise to never curse again?”

“You should try that,” Nana interrupts. I jump, having forgotten she was there. “I made some pudding tonight. The old-fashioned butterscotch kind. Want some?”

What I want has nothing to do with pudding or butterscotch or Nana’s fridge.

“Oh!” Mariah walks by me, heading towards Nana. “I love old Pyrex dishes.” She picks up the light pink bowl with pudding inside and caresses it like I wish she would my cock. “My grandma had all sorts of these. We’d bake until we ran out of things to bake and they’d all be lined up down the middle of her table in little dishes like these,” she sighs. “I love them.”

Nana eats this up. She’s by her side faster than I’ve seen the woman move in years.

“My Grandma Betsy had this little light pink candy dish about like this, only smaller. She used to keep cinnamon balls in there for my grandpa.”

Nana’s face lights up. “I have a whole collection of these. Follow me, sweet girl.”

This is not what I had in mind. “Hey, what about me?”

“Eat some cookies. There’s milk in the fridge,” Nana shouts as she disappears around the corner.

Sitting on a stool, I watch the doorway. Their voices trickle down the hallway and hearing them together makes me smile. There aren’t girls in our family but Blaire and she’s not a warm and fuzzy kind of person. Walker’s girlfriend, Sienna, is around now. She comes by and chats with Nana some, but I know Nana is still lonely for the kind of attention us boys can’t give her.

I consider going in the guest room with them where Nana stores her extra dishes. Popping a cookie in my mouth, I’m not really sure what to say if I go in there. It seems weird. So, I eat another cookie instead.

For just a moment, I let myself consider how this would feel on the regular. Bringing a girl by my grandma’s. Doing something on a Saturday night besides being at Crave with my brothers or fucking a girl I’ve texted a few times on an app. In theory, it’s great. If it could just be that, spending time together and hanging out with no strings attached, I could buy it. It probably wouldn’t be bad.

It’s also probably not possible.

I’m another cookie and glass of milk in before they’re done back there.

“Yes! I roll it out with powdered sugar instead of flour,” Mariah says as they come around the corner. The corners of her mouth almost touch the lashes of her eyes. Her hair is pulled back high on her head, her cheeks a gorgeous shade of pink. “You should try it. It’s a neat little trick.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I am going to try it. I’ll make the boys some sugar cookies for dinner tomorrow.”

“We’re having cookies for dinner?” I ask, trying to be relevant. They ignore me.

“I’d love to have your carrot cake recipe too,” Nana tells her. “If you share that kind of thing. Not all cooks do, you know.”

They banter back and forth about recipes and I watch dumbfounded. I’ve never seen Mariah this animated or Nana this excited. I just eat another cookie and wonder why the world works like it does. I go out of my way to be a good person. To avoid situations that cause trouble. To not harm anyone. If karma is real, why do I get put in these positions? Where everything seems perfect on the outside when, in fact, it’s not? It can’t be.

“Why don’t you come for dinner tomorrow, Mariah?” Nana asks. “I’m making pot roast, potatoes, carrots, the works. If you come early, you can show me your cookie trick.”

My breath catches in my throat. Mariah looks at me out of the corner of her eye, checking my reaction. I try my best not to. Having her here tonight is one thing. With my brothers tomorrow is another.

“I don’t think so, Nana,” she says softly.

I’m relieved. I’m also something else, something I don’t want to ponder too long.

“Well, I do,” Nana insists.

“I ...” Mariah clears her throat. “I have plans. I’m sorry.” She watches me closely as I try to remain blank-faced. “Thank you, though, for the offer. It’s sweet of you.”

“That offer extends any time, honey. I’d love to have you for dinner.”

Climbing off the stool, I need to get control of this situation. “I’d love to have you for dinner too.”

Mariah shoots me a look as I try not to laugh at my own joke.

“Nana, we gotta go,” I say. “It was nice seeing you.”

Mariah takes a step towards me and stops. “Did you do whatever you came to do?”

Giving Nana a kiss on the cheek, I turn back to Mariah. “I just did.”

“Did I call you and ask you to do something?” Nana asks. “Lord, I’m getting forgetful in my old age. If I did, I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine,” I say, kissing her cheek again. “Come on, Social Butterfly,” I say motioning towards the door. “Let’s get you home.”

Nine

Mariah

Lance is quiet as he backs the car down the driveway. The moon hangs brightly overhead, but the sky is pitch black otherwise. No stars. No satellites. No glittery planets glowing from far off.

The car is cozy despite the cool evening. A song drifts smoothly from the speakers, lulling me even more into a state of contentment. It’s that feeling you get when something really nice happens and you know you could just close your eyes with a smile on your face and drift off to sleep.

Peeking at Lance as he steers the car around a pothole, I wonder what it would be like to wake up beside him. Or to go to sleep at his side. Or spend the evening with him and his family.

I wonder what the rest of them are like. Are they all as wonderful as his grandmother?

Her declaration that he hasn’t brought a girl to her house before rolls through my mind. Am I just that good of a friend? Was it just a timing issue? Probably. I’m grateful for it either way because I haven’t felt that happy and understood since Grandma Betsy passed away.

“What?” he asks, catching me check him out. “Do I have cookie on my face?”

“No,” I laugh. “I was just wondering why you took me to your grandma’s.”

He shrugs like he hadn’t thought about it.

“Were you trying to convince her of your heterosexuality?” I tease.

“No. Clearly Nana loves me for whomever I choose to be.”

“Lucky for you.”

His lips part into a slow smile. “This night didn’t go as planned, did it?”

“Ha.” Taking a deep breath, I blow it out into the night. “It didn’t go as planned, but is it weird that I’m happy about how it turned out?”

“You are, are you?”

“I don’t think Jonah was for me,” I wince, making him laugh. “It makes me wonder what Whitney was thinking. I mean, he ordered a veggie burger.”

Lance cracks up, his hand dropping to his thigh. My eyes follow it as his fingers press lightly into his leg. The muscles in his forearm flex and I want to ask him if he lifts weights or plays basketball a lot or is just one of those people that wakes up sexy. But I don’t. It’s too dangerous. For me.

“So that was a blind date?” he asks. “You didn’t pick him out of a line-up or something?”

“Um, no. My friend hooked us up. He was cute and I think he’s probably smart if I could have gotten him to open up or something,” I shrug. “But he’s really not what I go for in a man.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere …”

“Really?” I giggle. “Where’s that?”

“What does Ms. Mariah Malarkey look for in a man?”

My mouth hangs open, but no words come out. My first reaction is to babble off hair color or nice teeth, but is that what I look for in a man?

“Cat got your tongue?” he asks.

“You know, I’m not sure what my type is.”

“How can you not know that?” He takes his eyes off the road to look at me. “Don’t women sit around and analyze it?”

“Not this woman. I haven’t ever thought about it. It’s harder to answer than you think.”

He gives me a look that says I’m crazy, so I turn the tables.

“What’s your type, Mr. Gibson?”

His response is instantaneous. “Big ass. Tight pussy. Nice lips.”

My scoff isn’t supposed to be heard. It’s supposed to stay tucked inside the judgmental sector of my brain while I play it off like his response is expected. Because it is. This is verbatim what I expected him to say.

What I didn’t expect is how my heart kind of tugged when he said it.

“What?” he pushes when I don’t say anything. “I’m being honest.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“When you’re fucking someone, nothing else really matters. Sure, I appreciate good breath and no gag reflex but I’m not picky.”

The song switches to something a little faster temp. I turn it off. He lifts a brow, but doesn’t comment.

My eyes drift closed. Fighting my brain to keep from overanalyzing every word I’ve said tonight, I try to just breathe in Lance’s cologne and enjoy the little bubble I’m in. It’s like the world isn’t here. It’s similar to how I feel when I read an amazing book, only this is real. At least for a little while it is.

How long I sit like that and ponder, I don’t know, but Lance’s hand brushing my cheek is what pulls me back to the car.

My lashes open to see him watching me with a concerned look etched on his features.

“I didn’t offend you somehow, did I?” he asks quietly. He clenches the steering wheel, his forearm flexing.

“No, of course not.” Shifting in my seat, wishing the warmth of his hand was back on my cheek again, I smile. “Why would I be offended?”

“I don’t know. You just got all quiet on me.”

“I was just relaxing,” I shrug. “And thinking. I figured out my type.”

“And?”

“He’s loyal. That’s the most important thing. And smart, someone who likes to read and wouldn’t give me crap about reading in bed.” The further I go into this, the easier it gets. “He’d want to be a father, have at least two kids, and not be mad if I let them pile up in bed with us. He’d love cake and baked stuff and wouldn’t be adverse to stopping the car and getting out to dance because a certain song had come on.”

Lance balks. “Dancing in the middle of the road?”

“Yes,” I sigh happily. “It’s so romantic.”

“Which is precisely why I stay away from romance,” he laughs. “That sounds ridiculous to me.”

“You’re better off focused on the ass, I guess.”

“Exactly.”

Twisting so I’m actually sitting sideways in my seat and facing him, I watch his jaw flex. It’s an unconscious quirk. He does it when he’s mulling something, when he doesn’t have quite the comeback he wants.

I study him for a while. He lets me. He keeps his attention on the road and doesn’t chastise me for watching.

Lance could easily be my type. He’s intelligent and funny and he works hard. His heart is good, even if his mouth is filthy, and I know he likes to eat what I bake. I’d even put money on him being a good father. I’d put even more on the table that he doesn’t want any part of that.

“Don’t you ever want to stop chasing women and just breathe?”

“That would be a no,” he cringes. “That sounds terrible.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeats. “There’s too much responsibility in relationships. You’re suddenly on the hook for someone else’s happiness.”

“I wholeheartedly disagree,” I shoot back. “The only person responsible for your happiness is you.”

He takes the exit into Linton, shaking his head. “Not true, sweetheart. If you are in a monogamous relationship, it’s your job, even if only in part, to bring happiness to the other person.”

“Maybe joy,” I argue. “But not happiness. Two completely different things. Think about it. Joy is something that can be spread. You can bring someone joy, just like the old saying goes. But happiness? That’s an entirely personal thing. Someone else can’t make me become happy if I’m not.”

The lights from Goodman’s Gas Station light up the car as we go by. His lips press together as he considers my stance. “Let’s say we’re dating,” he says finally. “And you really wanted to move to Oregon, right? Maybe it’s the fulfillment of your life’s desire to live in Portland. The job of your dreams is there or something, I don’t know. And for whatever reason I can’t go and it’s the only thing in the world that you really, truly want. I can’t give you that. If you stay with me, you’ll never really be fulfilled. You’ll never be happy. Doesn’t that make me a dick?”

“There are so many problems with that analogy,” I laugh. “First of all, relationships are compromises.”

“What if I can’t compromise?”

“Then you shouldn’t be in a relationship.”

“Which is what I said from the start.”

“But love is compromise,” I insist. “You can’t have everything you want. You have to meet in the middle.”

“Love isn’t compromise. It’s conditions,” he says, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “You love someone if. They love you if. If you don’t fulfill that condition, they leave. Ever wonder why the divorce rate is so high in this country? Because we’re a bunch of hedonistic fuckers.”

“So you’re discussing monogamy, obviously.”

Rolling my eyes, I turn to face the windshield. The car pilots onto my street. Lance turns the music back on, leaving the subject alone.

As much as I want to say he’s wrong about all of that, he’s not. I hate that he’s not, but he’s not. There are conditions to relationships and if you don’t meet them, it’s kaput. That’s exactly what happened with Eric. I didn’t meet whatever conditions he had. Probably the one about anal.

“I guess you aren’t the one-night stand kind of girl?” he asks on a half-laugh.

“Hardly.”

“So you’re a straight relationship girl?”

“I’m not anything right now,” I say, wondering if that will ever change.

“What about Jonah?”

“I hope Jonah has a nana like yours,” I laugh, making Lance laugh. “I think I should date more. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since Eric.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Do I want to ask about Eric?”

“You don’t.”

The car pulls in front of my house. Whitney’s car is in my driveway and a light is on in the living room. I realize I haven’t checked my phone all night and I laugh when I consider how many texts are probably on there from her.

“I guess this is it,” I say, grabbing my purse off the floor.

“I’m at least going to walk you to the door.”

“You totally don’t have to do that.” I laugh as he gets out of the car and jogs around to the front. His body moves so gracefully and with such ease that I wish I would’ve been taping it to watch again later. “Thank you.” I climb out of the car as Lance holds the door open and step into the cool evening air.

His hand finds the small of my back again as we walk up the sidewalk. I love how it nestles right in the curve. There’s no fumbling like with so many men. It’s almost a natural gesture and I know I’ll be remembering it later.

We get to the top step and he pulls his palm away and instantly I wish it were back where it was. I wish there were a mile of sidewalk left to my doorstep.

“In a weird way,” he says, “I’m glad I didn’t eat the pizza in the fridge tonight.”

“In a weird way, I’m glad I agreed to a date with Jonah.” The softness in his features makes me blush. “Thank you for saving the day. For giving me a ride home. For taking me to Nana’s. You didn’t have to do any of that.”

“Yeah, I didn’t. But I did.” His forehead creases, his eyes suddenly darkening. “I have a question.”

As he takes a step towards me, his palm gently caresses my cheek, and I hiccup a breath. My chest feels like I’ve already run a marathon. I can’t breathe, only watch his lips descend towards mine. “Yeah?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he gets closer, the scent of his cologne suddenly stronger. Muskier. Sexier.

My thighs clench together; my panties become pointless. As hot as every fantasy I’ve ever had about Lance Gibson was, it is nothing compared to this. Having him in front of me, looking at me like I’m it … I whimper.

“Can you change your type?” he asks, the gravel of his tone setting me on fire.

My brain screams at me to stop but my lips press together. Just as his mouth hovers over mine, the door behind us swings open.

“Oops,” Whitney winces, squeezing her eyes shut. “I didn’t see a thing. I’ll just, um, go back inside now.”

I’m going to kill her.

Lance’s forehead rests on mine as he chuckles. “Probably for the best, huh?”

“Definitely,” I say, breathlessly. If he can’t hear my heart, he must be deaf, because it’s pounding so loud it’s almost all I can hear.

Whitney is a cold bucket of water but not quite cold enough to put out the flames. If he tried to kiss me again with her watching, I’d let him. I have half a notion to raise up and do it myself, but it is really probably for the best.

“I just can’t believe you were going to let me,” he grins.

“Um, I can,” Whitney chimes in. “Damn, Mariah. I let you leave here with Jonah and you come back with that? Teach me your tricks, oh wise one.”

Lance’s chuckle turns into a full-bellied laugh. “I’m Lance. It’s nice to meet you.”

Whitney leans against the door, outright ignoring me. “It’s nicer on my end, I assure you. Should I shut the door and let you kiss her?” She looks at me and then right back to Lance. “I should. I really should. A friend would. But damn it if I don’t want to just look at you.”

“I’m gonna go,” Lance laughs. “See ya on Monday, Mariah.”

“Bye.”

My feet don’t move until he’s in the car. Then I kind of stumble in the house. Or maybe Whitney drags me. I’m not sure.

“You’re meeting him on Monday?” she gushes. “Where’s Jonah? What happened? Tell me everything.”

“No, I’m not meeting him on Monday. I …”

There are so many questions. The answers, though, aren’t as easy to find.

“Did you not look out the window?” I ask, throwing my hands up in the air. “Isn’t there some girl code that says you look out the window?”

“No,” she balks. “I mean, maybe. If I thought you were actually going to be kissing a guy, I would’ve been a little more careful. But it’s you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t boring little Jonah to death.”

“Seriously? Have you ever talked to Jonah?”

She shrugs. “No. But he’s cute.”

“I almost unfriended you over him alone. And now you’ve ruined my kiss, I think we’re done. It’s a condition,” I snort and head down the hallway.

“I said I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to take a bath,” I tell her.

“Then I’ll sit on the floor by the tub because you are answering my questions!”

Ten

Mariah

Sixteen. I feel like a freaking sixteen-year-old girl. Specifically, like the day when I was sixteen and the captain of the basketball team told me I was beautiful. Of course, he never said it again and continued on with his girlfriend who just happened to be Chrissy’s best friend. Still, I relived that moment for years.

Lying in bed with my hair still in a weird bun from the bath, I can’t wipe the goofy grin on my face. My forehead still sings with the feeling of his against mine. My cheek feels warm from the remembered heat of his palm. My heart is so full from the memories of Grandma Betsy brought out by Lance’s Nana. What a wonderful and weird evening.

Lance is a lot of things. Some of them I didn’t realize until tonight. It never occurred to me that he could be sweet or that he would go out of his way for … me. My head scrambles, trying to process too much information too quickly. I close my eyes, but just see his face.

Just like the sixteen-year-old version of myself, I’m on the precipice of falling. Whether in love or in lust or in a slight obsession, I’m not sure. I just know with absolute certainty I can’t do this again with Lance Gibson.

He’s a dead-end street. A good girl’s worst nightmare.

An unnecessary problem.

There’s so much potential beneath that sexy exterior. It’s almost possible to be tempted to give in and play his game. But I’m not just a good girl, I’m also a smart one. Smart enough to know it’s a game I’m well-versed in and one that will send me to heartbreak without passing go.

His smirk curls through my mind, like the slow, sly way the corners of his lips upturn. My back arches off the sheets, my toes digging into the mattress as I relive his touch.

My palm drags over my chest, remembering the feel of his hand on the small of my back, pulling at the towel covering my body. The air bites away at my warm skin, beading my nipples as I slip my hand between my legs. Covering the stretch of flesh connecting my thighs, a dampened heat warms my fingers.

I can’t do this every night. I can’t get myself off every twenty-four hours while pretending Lance is licking me. Touching me. Fucking me in positions I didn’t even know I could dream up.

Dipping fingertips into my soaked flesh, I release a shuddered breath. My decision is made.

I’m going to take matters into my own hands. And then I’m going to take other matters in my own hands before I’m really screwed.

* * *

Lance

Every light in my house is on. I went room to room and flipped every switch, looking for something to entertain myself. I don’t even care what it is as long as it’s distracting and fully consuming.

And not Mariah.

Falling spectacularly onto the guest room bed makes the springs squeak under my weight. This doesn’t help my current predicament. With every move I make, it sounds like a precursor to a good fuck and that makes my cock hurt worse.

“Damn it,” I growl out loud.

Hands over my face to block out the light I just turned on, my foot bounces on the floor. It’s a habit I’ve had since I was a kid and one I’m constantly on my students about. Sit still. Stop moving.

But I can’t.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t take it out. It’s a reminder that I didn’t check the message on my dating app. The one from Nerdy Nurse.

“You should log in and find someone to fuck, you asshole,” I say to myself. “That would solve this stupid little fascination you have with Mariah.”

Just saying her name makes my balls tighten.

Cringing, I unbutton my pants and try to relieve some pressure. It just gives me more room to grow.

Historically speaking, getting off cures a lot of these type of ailments. Any time I think I might actually like a girl for more than her pussy, I can just come and everything is fixed. It’s almost magic. Like my jizz is some kind of anti-ship medication, proven to wash away any thoughts of words ending with those four letters.

The problem is this: I’ve already jacked off once since I got home. Thinking about Mariah’s round ass and swollen lips only made it worse. It’s like my cock is mad at me. Like it knew it wasn’t the real thing and now feels cheated.

Sighing, I get off the bed and roll my eyes at the squeak. Even the bed is taunting me.

My phone is heavy in my pocket and I take it out. The notification is on the front screen from Nerdy Nurse. I almost open it. Almost.

I stall. I get a drink. I place my phone on the fucking counter and purposefully walk into the other room like it’s a barrel of feelings I’m trying to avoid because God knows I avoid those. But it’s not. It’s a phone. A message from a woman I’ve been happily trading messages with for what feels like a long time.

Peeking around the corner, it sits right where I left it beside the coffee pot. I kind of hoped it would just vanish.

“Get your shit together,” I warn myself. Like a man on a mission, I march into the grey and blue kitchen and pick it up. Then I open it and call the only person I know to call. It rings four times before she picks up.

“Hello?” she asks.

“Hey, Blaire.”

“Preface this conversation by telling me if anyone is in jail.”

“No,” I laugh. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “It’s Saturday night. You’re calling late. The last time I talked to you, you were giving me a dissertation on dating apps. Machlan called a little while ago and he and Peck were going at it before the call was ended.”

“I take it back. I’m not in jail. I don’t know about the rest of them.”

She releases a long, frustrated breath. “Sometimes you guys make me feel like I already have kids.”

“When you’re an excellent mother one day, you can thank us.”

Her laugh, something you don’t hear too much from my sister, rolls through the phone. “Not planning on having kids anytime soon. Maybe ever.” As if she catches herself, her laughter mellows. “That was really inconsiderate of me.”

“It’s fine,” I say, not wanting to go there. Not right now. “Blaire, I have a problem.”

“Well, kudos to you for getting to the point without me dragging it out of you. Tell Walker to take notes.” The silence between us stretches longer than Blaire’s patience. “If you aren’t going to tell me, let me get off of here. I have a brief due in the morning and, while you find yourself fascinating, I really don’t.”

“You love me.”

“Clearly,” she scoffs. “Now what is it?”

Taking a deep breath, I pace around the living room. “I think you need to commit me.”

“What?”

“Commit me. Find a nice psychiatric hospital and just put me in it. Keep money on my commissary and I’ll pay you when I get out.”

“First of all, it’s a commissary in jail. Unless you’ve committed a crime, you should be good. On that note—”

“I’m a law-abiding citizen,” I interrupt.

It’s her turn to blow out a breath. “Good. In that case, why do you need a psychiatric hospital?”

“Blaire. I’m feeling … guilt,” I gulp. “This is not funny.”

She continues to laugh at me.

“Damn it, Blaire.”

“There’s a part of me that doesn’t even want to know.”

“Fine. I’m sorry I called you.”

“Oh, stop being a baby,” she huffs. The sound of paper crinkles through the line before she clears her throat. “Why do you have guilt?”

My free hand digs into my scalp as I pace the little path I’ve made around the living room. “Okay. There’s this girl, all right? I haven’t actually met her before.”

“Is she an app girl?”

“Yeah. She’s an app girl,” I say, irritated by her unnecessary interruption. “We’ve texted back and forth for a while through the app and she’s funny, you know? Witty as hell.”

“And?”

“And nothing. That’s it about her.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Well, there’s this other girl,” I say, squirming. Stopping in my tracks, my hip against the recliner, I try to discern the correct place to start explaining Mariah.

My first instinct is to start with her smile, but Blaire won’t care about that. Probably not her icing either or that Nana basically bequeathed her Pyrex collection to her last night. Do I start with the fact that she’s a librarian or that she thinks I’m a dick or that she tried to date a dork of epic proportions tonight?

“Lance?” Blaire asks carefully. “You still here?”

“Yeah,” I groan.

“I have one question for you.”

“Okay.”

“Who did you meet first?”

“I’ve known Mariah longer,” I admit. “But, like, I haven’t. I mean, we work together, so I’ve known her like that. But not like that, if you feel me.”

“I have something to tell you and you probably aren’t going to like it.”

“Is the only hospital you know all male? Because that won’t work for me,” I tell her. “I need some action even if I’m crazy.”

She laughs again, but softer this time. “You like Mariah.”

The snort comes before I can stop it. “Of course I like her. There’s not much not to like. Except the way she razzes me. And refuses to sleep with me. And I would never tell her this, but her mint chocolate chip icing isn’t my favorite.”

“Lance.”

“You sound like Mom when you do that,” I note, a wobble in my tone. My throat goes dry as I listen to my sister.

“Is the guilt you feel because you are messing with both ladies at the same time?”

“I’ve never felt this way before,” I say through the cotton in my throat. “I’ve fucked three, four women at the same time. I mean, not at the same time because I’m not sure I even have the energy for that, but I’d try if it—”

“Lance.”

“Yeah?”

“Listen to yourself. I’ve never heard you like this. Ever.”

I slip over the arm of the chair and land haphazardly across it. “That makes two of us,” I say straight-faced.

“Break things off with app girl and see where they go with the other.”

“Mariah?”

“Yes, Mariah. Just see what happens. What can it hurt?”

“Oh, ya know,” I say, letting my head fall backwards. “Just everything.”

She rambles on about taking a risk and opening myself up. Then the conversation ventures into how losing our parents made us close ourselves off from the world and how she understands that but maybe it’s not the right thing to do.

“So, is the Ice Queen thawing?” I snicker.

“Go to Hell, Lance.”

Sitting up, I get positioned correctly in the chair. My temple throbs with every move I make. The more I think about the rest of the conversation I want to have with her, the worse it gets.

My pulse beats in my ears. My heart pounds against my ribcage. I finally get to my feet and start the pacing again because I have to rid myself of some of this stupid, worthless energy.

“What if I know I’m not what she wants,” I say, choosing my words carefully.

“Have you asked her that? Girls get upset when guys assume they know what we want. Except chocolate. It’s a freebie.”

“I’m being serious here.”

“Me too,” she sighs. “Fine. Why do you think you aren’t what she wants?”

I pace. “Okay, I probably am what she wants. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, my God.”

“But what if I can’t give her what she wants? If I pursue her knowing that, does that make me a dick?”

“You are a dick,” she points out. “But in this case specifically, I guess it matters why you think you can’t give her whatever this is.”

“What if …” My breath is shaky as I try to pull my thoughts together and not sound like a pussy. “What if I know what kind of girl she is and what she’s going to want and I can’t give that to her?”

“Lance, listen to me. A relationship is like a contract, okay? Contracts are amended all the time. Let’s say you two start something today. You start it based on the current situation. However, a year from now, things might change. They do change. It’s life. You just amend your contract.”

My nostrils flare as I exhale. “But isn’t it a waste of everyone’s time if I know there’s a needed amendment that I won’t sign?”

“Do you have a crystal ball?”

“Yeah, I do,” I groan. “I know where this would lead. I purposefully stay away from women I think I might actually like outside of bed because I don’t want to do this again.”

“She was an asshole, Lance.”

“Nah, she wasn’t. Her conditions were understandable.” I start to think of Britt, the only girl I’ve ever dated, but shove it out of my mind. “I bend over backwards not to go there and yet here I am. Feeling guilt and I haven’t even fucked either one of them.”

Papers rustle again. I wonder if she’s listening to me and working at the same time. Wouldn’t surprise me, but it’s annoying too. I’m dying here and she’s letting me.

“Are you listening to me?” I ask.

“Yes. I’m listening to you. You’re basically talking to yourself.”

“I’m just trying to explain myself. Am I not being a better man by not holding her up so that someone else can give her a fabulous life with all the trimmings. But not Jonah. Fuck Jonah.”

“Who’s Jonah?”

“Never mind,” I sigh. “I think I’ve answered my own question.”

Looking at my reflection, I realize how much I look like my father. Same hair, same eyebrows, same slightly crooked nose. I never wanted to be him, like Walker did. But I always admired how he ran his shit.

He was at every baseball game, mud-bog, cross-country race we entered. He’d stay up all night and help us with geometry, teaching it to himself as he taught us. More than that, he loved our mother. You could see it when you looked at him. My friends’ parents got divorced or separated and I never once worried about that. My parents would be together until the day they died; and they were.

That part of my father, the man, that’s who I always aspired to be. Someone to teach my kids right from wrong, to make a difference somehow by putting out these little humans into the world who were an asset to society. To someday be in Goodman’s and hearing someone brag about one of my kids or grandkids without knowing I was in there. I wanted to be that guy. And that’s the guy I’ll probably never be.

“I think you take a chance, Lance. If she likes you, she deserves the opportunity to decide whether or not you’re good enough for her.”

I’m not.

“Blaire, I gotta go.”

“You okay? Honestly. Don’t blow smoke up my ass because I’ll call Machlan.”

“I’m fine. I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Do that. Love you.”

“You too, Sis. Bye.”

Ending the call, I hold the phone in my hand. Opening the app is more because of loneliness than sex this time.

Nerdy Nurse: Fun Fact—the term boy has been used since 1154 AD to describe a male. It’s believed that the word is derived from boia, which means servant.

Me: And here I thought it came from boa constrictor. Like our cocks.

Nerdy Nurse: What are you doing tonight?

Me: Just got home.

Nerdy Nurse: Hot date?

A grin tilts my lips as I think of Mariah and our non-date date. Whether it was or wasn’t, she was hot. So that’s a yes.

Me: Maybe the hottest ever, actually.

Nerdy Nurse: I guess I have something to live up to, huh?

My fingers race across the keys. I don’t even realize what I’ve typed out until I hit send and the words are printed on my screen.

Me: Actually, I’m probably not going to be using this app much longer.

There’s a long, probably deliberate, pause and I hope I haven’t hurt her feelings.

Me: I do wish we would’ve gotten to meet though. I think we could’ve hit it off. I mean, I haven’t had a conversation this good without an orgasm for, well, maybe ever.

Nerdy Nurse: I get it. I thought maybe I could figure out how to have a one-night stand on here, but I suck.

Me: You didn’t tell me you sucked. On second thought …

Nerdy Nurse: Ha, ha, ha. Maybe I’ll meet someone in real life who will sweep me off my feet.

Me: Don’t date doctors though. I’ve heard bad things about them.

Nerdy Nurse: They’re on my ‘no go’ list.

A thought crosses my mind and I toy with it for a moment. Going back and forth, I finally decide to take a chance.

Me: Now that sex is firmly off the table because although you do suck, you can’t fuck, maybe some time we could meet for dinner. Just so we can put a face to a name.

There’s another weird pause. Her chat bubble takes forever to start dancing to let me know she’s typing. I hold my breath, still unsure as to whether or not this is a good idea.

Nerdy Nurse: I have a friend I need to check on in the morning, but I’m open after that. If you want to grab lunch somewhere?

Me: Noon-ish?

Nerdy Nurse: Perfect. Where?

Nothing too fancy, nothing too fast-food. My brain sorts through locations until I remember Peaches.

Me: Peaches? It’s in Merom.

Nerdy Nurse: That works.

Me: See you then.

Eleven

Lance

When the church bells ring on Sunday morning you can hear them all the way from the high school on the other side of Linton. You can really hear them when you have a migraine brewing and they ring out as you’re walking up the sidewalk.

Last night consisted of a lot of tossing and even more turning. This guilty conscience thing is shit. No matter what I told myself to make it stop, it didn’t. When I finally opened my eyes for good, I thought about hitting snooze but didn’t want to deal with Nana. And it wouldn’t hurt to have a bonus point with the Lord when I go to meet Nerdy Nurse.

I shouldn’t meet her. There’s really no point. There’s something about her I want to see, to put a face with the name of the woman I’ve had a running conversation with all this time. A woman I’ve spent hours wondering about, and whose image I’ve been jacking off to. Maybe we’ll meet and hate each other in person and I can write her off. That would be simpler.

On that note, I should be writing off Mariah too, but I can’t.

Maybe I can hit the altar this morning.

“Morning,” I say to the pastor, not making eye contact so he doesn’t stop me. Not the most courteous thing I’ve ever done, but I’m sure I’ll top it before the day is out.

Winding my way through the parishioners of Holy Hills, I nod and bid greetings whenever necessary. None of it registers. My mind isn’t here. Turns out that having a conscience is a real thing. Having something riding on it isn’t nearly as fun as having someone riding on your cock.

Nana and my brothers are sitting in their usual spot in the front right corner. Peck and our grandmother sit one row behind Machlan and Walker. Sienna sits in my old spot. I guess Walker felt like it was safer for me to sit next to Sienna than Machlan. I’m kind of perturbed by that.

“Hey,” I say, slipping into my seat. I look straight ahead and hope they all have hangovers and don’t feel chatty.

“Good morning,” Sienna almost sings.

“It’s too early, Slugger,” I groan. “Let’s take it down a notch, okay?”

Machlan’s head pops around Walker. “Late night?”

“Yeah, for all the wrong reasons.”

“But she was absolutely lovely,” Nana pipes in. “Just lovely, Lance. I hope she’ll come by today. Sienna will love her. Or maybe you’ve met her already?”

Their eyes are all on me. Even Cross knows something is up when he struts in and sinks into the pew in front of us. I refuse to look at them, not even Nana because my mouth wants to say a string of words she loathes. Also words not welcome in a house of God, but I’m not really sure who I’m more afraid of.

“No, Nana,” Sienna chirps, staring at me. “I haven’t met her. What’s she like?”

“Nana, let’s do this later,” I mutter. The rip at my temple starts up again right behind my left eye.

“Nope. Let’s do it now,” Sienna goads.

“Is this the leggy nurse? Peck asks. “If so, I vote to hear about it now.”

I glare at him over my shoulder. “Seriously. We are in a church, for crying out loud. Have some respect for the man upstairs.”

“Oh, like you give a damn—” Machlan’s response is thwarted by Nana’s swift hand. “Like you care,” he corrects himself. “If I remember correctly, our conversation just last week in this very pew was highly un-Christ-like.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you boys.” Nana shakes her head. “I’m going to go say hello to the pastor.”

We wait until she’s out of earshot before continuing the conversation. It’s Sienna who speaks first.

“You know she’s going to add your names to the prayer list.”

“Good. I need it,” I grumble. “I’m going to hell. My ticket is punched and I didn’t get to do anything fun for it.”

“What the hell is going on with you?” Walker asks, lacing his fingers with Sienna’s. “You’re acting like someone Lance’d you.”

My brothers snicker. All of them except Walker. He rests his and Sienna’s linked hands on his lap and watches me in a way only he can.

He has no idea why I refuse to get into a relationship, but he does know how it feels to avoid them. He fought love hard with Sienna but she broke him down. I can’t let Mariah do that to me.

“Ah, did Lance get his heart broken?” Machlan chimes in.

I narrow my eyes. “No. I did not. You can’t get your heart broken when you don’t let it get involved.”

“Then what the hell is this about?” Machlan counters. “You were up late. You apparently took a girl to Nana’s. You’re in here pussyfooting around.”

“Sounds like you when Hadley broke your heart.” Cross tosses me a wink. “What do you think, Mach?”

All heads whip to my youngest brother to see his reaction. He and Hadley, Cross’s sister, had an epic ending a while back. It’s not something any of us bring up. As a matter of fact, we kind of skirt around the issue of Hadley altogether.

I’ve postulated that Hadley is the reason why Machlan is still single. It doesn’t make sense otherwise. He’s good-looking, a near reflection of me, and he owns a bar. He’s also not averse to love. What guy owning a bar who looks like me and wouldn’t mind being in a relationship is still single? A guy who is still torn up over a girl.

“I think you can go to Hell.” Machlan doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look Cross’s way. Cross says something loud enough for only him to hear and they go at it animatedly.

“Need advice?” Sienna asks me softly. “I’m really good at it.”

“Not really. I think I’m good.”

Peck leans forward, his blond hair flopping against his forehead. “Can I say I’m disappointed this had nothing to do with the nurse?”

I contemplate not saying anything to him, but consider that if I do, there’s a chance I’ll feel better. I thought I’d be over it this morning. Instead, I think I feel even more guilty.

It’s stupid as hell. What do I have to feel guilty for? Why did my guilt button decide to turn on? Life without one is bliss. This? This is horrible.

“Cousin,” I say to Peck. “You’ll be happy to know I’m meeting her later.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

He studies me. “For whatever reason, I expected more of a reaction.”

“Well, I’m meeting her to not fuck her.”

“Wait,” Walker interjects as music begins to play. “Isn’t that counterproductive? You use the app so you can get laid, right? Or have I had it wrong all this time?”

“Nope. You got it,” I sigh.

Sienna’s eyes are wide as she tries to make sense of the senselessness. “I’m thoroughly confused, Lance.”

“Join the club.”

The choir starts singing and I bow my head and hope for some guidance.

* * *

We’re standing around Daisy, Walker’s truck, when Nana walks up. She steadies herself on Machlan’s arm.

“Who’s coming for dinner? I need an idea of how many potatoes to peel.”

“I thought you were making a roast?” I ask.

“I was, but I forgot to get the meat out last night. It’s terrible getting old.”

“You aren’t old,” Machlan tells her, resting his cheek on the side of her head. “You’re seasoned.”

She laughs, patting him on the stomach. “You coming to eat?”

“Do I ever miss a meal at your house?”

“What about you kids, Walker?” she asks.

“Sienna and I will be there.”

“Peck?”

“What are you making?” He slings an arm over the side of Walker’s truck. “If I bring stuff for a cheeseball, will you make it?”

“I already have one in the fridge,” she tells him. “Better beat these boys over or there won’t be any left.” She kisses the side of Machlan’s face, squeezing his cheeks in her hand, before turning to me. “Walk me to my car, Lance.”

Extending my elbow, she hooks her arm through it and guides me across the gravel. We walk quietly for a bit. She waves at the pastor and again at Ruby, the little old lady who runs the town library. It’s not until we’re at the door to her car that she gets down to business.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your brothers,” she sighs. “I should’ve thought it over before I said anything about Mariah.”

“It’s fine, Nana.”

“I feel like a fool.” She flings her purse in the back of the car. “I know better than that. I’m slipping, I tell ya.”

“You aren’t slipping.” Opening the door, I lean on it. “What’d you think of Mariah, Nana?”

She nearly beams. “I liked her a lot. I think she’s sweet and pretty and I love the way she looks at you.”

“What?” I ask, standing straight. “We’re not together.”

“Well, you can call it what you will.”

“We’re not,” I insist, maybe a touch too forcefully. “She’s a great girl, but she’s not for me.” Lies, lies, lies.

A hand flies to her hip. “And why not?”

The exact reason is one I haven’t ever discussed with her. I’ve only talked about it with Blaire and that’s just because she knew it before I did. I’m not sure how Nana would react to what I have to say besides throwing me a pity party and I don’t want that. Fuck that.

This isn’t about me. I’m fine with things. I made peace with that a long time ago. It isn’t about infecting others with my shit. It’s about not ruining other people’s lives because of my flaws.

“Look, Nana. I’m going to miss dinner, okay?”

She lifts a brow.

“I have some things to take care of.” I kiss her cheek and help her get settled in the car. “I’ll be there next week. Promise.”

We exchange a smile and I see the concern in her eyes. I hate it. I turn to go but stop when she calls my name.

“Yeah?” I ask, looking at her over my shoulder. Her silver hair shines in the early afternoon sunlight.

“Remember what the pastor said today,” she says. “Sometimes we search for happiness in the wrong places and in the wrong ways. Search simply, Lance. Don’t overcomplicate it.”

With a final smile, I head across the parking lot. The gravel crunches underfoot. As I climb in my car, I replay Nana’s words. Whiffs of Mariah’s perfume still linger in the air.

If only it were that simple, but this is anything but.

Twelve

Lance

This was a stupid idea.

My forehead rests on the steering wheel. It’s too early in the day to second guess all of my life choices. Blowing out a breath, I look up. Peaches sits in front of me.

Inside is Nerdy Nurse, a woman I should’ve met at a hotel and just fucked the shit out of. Or stopped messing with as soon as it was apparent that wasn’t going to happen. But, no. I’ve been getting ridiculous lately. I let the exchange be about more than just sex.

This is why you keep it about sex.

Air whistles between my teeth as I grab my phone and begin typing away.

Me: Is this thing still on?

Nerdy Nurse: I’m here. Are you?

Me: In parking lot. Figured you might’ve bailed.

Nerdy Nurse: I ordered a drink. Thought you wouldn’t show up.

Me: Why wouldn’t I?

Nerdy Nurse: Wishful thinking?

Laughing aloud, I exit the car and lock it behind me. Something tickles my gut and makes me wish things didn’t have to end between us. I don’t understand why, but I like these little exchanges.

Crossing the parking lot, I pass the spot I parked in yesterday when I came inside to check out Mariah and her date. Just like that, my need to end this with Nerdy Nurse, at least until I get my cock on straight, comes roaring back. It’s not simple anymore. I might be losing my mind. I am feeling guilt. Until I get that shit under wraps and stop this infatuation with Mariah, I need to cool it. For all of us.

Me: I’m coming in. How do I find you?

Nerdy Nurse: I’m wearing a blue shirt. The color of your balls. ;)

Me: Nice.

Nerdy Nurse: I’m next to the drive-thru. You have about two minutes or I’m going to bail. My nerves are getting to me.

Me: Slow down, speedy. See you in a second.

The hostess is the same from yesterday and she greets me with a friendly smile. “Hey. How are you this afternoon?”

“Good. Just meeting a friend.” Sticking my keys in my pocket, I rock back on my heels. “Mind if I look around for her?”

“I’ll take you to her. No problem,” she says, grabbing a menu out of a little basket on the podium. “Did you come for the buffet? You won’t need this if you did.”

I must look at her like she’s insane because she backtracks. “I’m sorry. Lots of people come in on Sunday for the buffet. I just assumed.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” I tell her. My head is so scattered I’m putting things together that don’t belong together. “I’m not sure though about the buffet. Can I take a menu and think about it?”

“Sure. That’s what she said too.”

“I …” The inside of my cheek starts to burn as I work it between my teeth. Am I missing something? “Did she say she was looking for a clueless guy? Because I’m not sure how you know who I’m looking for.”

“She didn’t have to tell me. This isn’t my first day on the job,” she snorts. “Right this way, please.”

All I can figure as I follow her through the dining area is that she thinks I’m some kind of pimp. Meeting different women here—Mariah yesterday and she had just been with another guy and now Nerdy Nurse. This can’t look good. I’ll probably have the Feds at my door when I get home.

We round the corner toward the table from yesterday and things look even worse.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Mariah’s head whips to the side, her eyes bulging. “Oh, my God. Are you stalking me?”

“No, I’m not stalking you. I had no idea you were here.”

The hostess looks between us and backs away slowly.

“What a weird coincidence,” Mariah notes, looking around the restaurant. She nibbles her bottom lip, just like she did last night. And, just like last night, I want to pop it free and suck it between my teeth.

She’s beautiful with her hair up in a messy twist. The color of her silky shirt gives her a regal, sophisticated look. It’s the color of … my balls.

My head snaps to the drive-thru window. The very same window I sat outside last night when she sat here with Jonah. The same window Nerdy Nurse is sitting beside, waiting on me.

Oh.

My.

God.

No. It can’t be. There’s no way.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

She looks around again, forcing a swallow. “Meeting someone. But, you know what, I should probably just go.”

“Who?”

“No one.”

“Jonah?” I ask, although that isn’t the answer. She just needs to say it and confirm what I fear. Or hope. Or whatever this is that’s making a mess of my senses.

“Jonah? Hardly.”

Racing through every conversation we’ve ever had, I look for some inkling that she could be Nerdy Nurse. There’s nothing. Not one fraction of a reason to even consider it was her. She’s not a nurse. She doesn’t work in a hospital or on swing shifts. She doesn’t date men or look for quick sex—that I know of. If I’m wrong about the last one, I’m gonna be pissed.

“Let me ask you something,” I say. “Why did you wear that shirt?”

I can barely breathe as her eyes meet mine. She can’t be wondering if I’m History Hunk, although it’s a lot more obvious than her bullshit profile. But she couldn’t suspect me. Or does she?

“Why did you ask me that?” she gulps.

“Curious.”

“I like the color.”

“Why?”

“I just do,” she says, exasperated. “Why are you asking me a million stupid questions?”

“Did it remind you of something?” I press.

She pales. Her phone clatters against the table. “Lance …”

My heart can’t decide whether to beat rapidly or to still altogether. It does some unnatural thing inside my chest reminiscent of dancing while drunk. It’s all wobbly and trippy and it pukes a little to boot.

“This can’t be real,” I say in disbelief. “There’s no damn way.”

She covers her face. The redness in her cheeks blazes around the creamy skin of her fingers. To give her some room to breathe, and so I don’t stand in front of her and shift back and forth like an idiot, I sit down across from her.

My brain might be confused, but my body is not. It’s rioting for me to touch her, kiss her, bend her over the goddamn table and do all the filthy, questionable things Nerdy Nurse and I have talked about.

Mariah and I have talked about.

Imagining those words coming out of her pretty little mouth makes me so hard I might explode.

“I’m so embarrassed.” It’s said so quietly I barely hear it. “I’m so, so embarrassed.”

“Why are you embarrassed?”

She refuses to answer me. Hell, she won’t even look at me. It’s like she’s frozen in place, mute to everything outside herself. The longer I watch her fight it, the more adorable this entire thing becomes.

It’s her. They’re both her.

Who knew when I took Nerdy Nurse’s words and pretended they were Mariah’s I was right. Wow. I’d say I was a lucky bastard except neither one of them want to sleep with me.

“Things would’ve been different had I known it was you sending me all those dirty things,” I admit. It’s said with as much levity as I can muster, but I’m not kidding. Not in the least. The mere thought of Mariah Malarkey discussing my cock in her mouth and the wetness of her pussy stirs something inside me I’m not sure I can fight.

“This is mortifying,” she moans.

“This is amazing.”

“Damn it, Lance.” She turns in her chair to pick up her purse. Every movement she makes is jilted, the scowl on her face cutting deep. Fuck that.

“Oh, no,” I tell her, swiping her phone off the table. It’s all I can think of to do to keep her from walking out. “You don’t get to ‘Damn it, Lance’ me.”

“Give me my phone.”

“No.”

She’s never been this angry in front of me. Her eyes glow, a ring of gold settling around the blue. The flush to her cheeks hints at what she might look like after an orgasm and it’s something I really, really want to confirm.

“Can you let me save some of the little dignity I have left?” she asks. “Just give me my phone so I can leave.”

I don’t. I don’t even consider it. Instead, I sit as far away from her as I can with her phone nestled in my lap.

“Tell me this: why are you without dignity?”

“Are you seriously going to make me address this?” she hisses.

“Um, yeah.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m calling bullshit on that,” I say, trying not to crack a smile. “You like me and so does the other you. As a matter of fact, one of you almost kissed me last night and this you, well, we both know what this you has been up to.”

“I never would’ve said anything if I’d have known it was you,” she growls.

I blink once. Twice. Three times. “So, let me get this straight. You’d talk dirty, filthy, actually, if I remember some of those conversations correctly—”

“Lance. Stop it.”

“Fine,” I say, propelling myself forward. The salt shaker rattles on the table. “You’ll talk that way to some guy you don’t even know but not to me? You would’ve let me kiss you last night, but you would’ve fucked some guy who didn’t even give a shit about you? What the hell, Mariah?”

“It’s you!” she exclaims like it’s self-explanatory. “I have to see you every day. You’re sleeping with God knows how many women—”

“Wait,” I say, my jaw tensing. “Are you sleeping with men on that app?”

Her eyes narrow. “You know I’m not.”

“I don’t know shit. I’m a little mind-boggled right now to tell you the truth.”

“It’s nothing to you, but no, I’m not sleeping with anyone at all. App or otherwise.”

“Good answer.”

“Oh, go to hell with your good answer bullshit,” she says. “How many women have you slept with this week?”

I don’t even blink. “Zero.”

She does blink.

Something in our exchange calms her a touch. She starts to talk but closes her mouth instead. We watch each other like we’re having a staring contest. The longer we sit like this, the closer she gets to smiling. I hate to tell her, but I’m content with sitting here until the buffet closes because I haven’t even begun to process this.

“Do you need anything?” A waitress approaches us, she’s unknowingly coming upon a den of wounded badgers. “Drinks? Buffet slips?”

Without taking my eyes off Mariah, I twist slightly in my seat. “I’ll tip you one way or the other, but can you give us a few minutes alone?”

“Sure thing.”

Mariah breaks eye contact and checks to see if she’s gone.

“I can’t believe this,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re History Hunk. I mean, it makes sense. I just never even imagined it.”

“Are you saying I’m a hunk?”

She doesn’t dignify that with a response.

“Nerdy Nurse, huh?” I grin. “That was tricky. Not that I would’ve expected you of all people to be hiding out under a fake name on a sex app, but I wouldn’t have looked for you as a nurse.”

“That was Whitney,” she sighs. “My friend made the account for me and kind of threw it in my lap. I didn’t want an account because of my job and working in the school and all and, besides, pretending to be someone else was fun.”

Her hands cover her face again. There’s no suppressing my chuckle this time. It earns me a glare, but there’s no anger there. Just a beautiful girl trying to hide behind a façade.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, her playing with the salt shaker and me tapping against the screen of her phone. There are questions for days I could pepper her with, jokes for years. I could pop just by watching her flush that pretty shade of pink.

“This is mortifying,” she breathes.

“What’s wrong with it?” I ask. Leaning on the table, my hands clasped in front of me, I look her dead in the eye. “I wanted to fuck you when you were Mariah. I wanted to fuck you when you were the other you. Whatever,” I say, confusing myself. “The point is this doesn’t change anything. It just means I’m insanely attracted to you.”

She bats her eyes like I misspoke and she’s waiting on me to clarify what I mean. I could keep talking but decide it’s better for the silence to make the point for me.

“What do we do now?” she asks. “I have to see you every day.”

“Is sex on or off the table? I mean, I’ll do it on or off. I have no problems with table sex,” I tease. Visions of her round ass in the air, my hands gripping each globe as I slide into her warm pussy send a shot of heat straight to my balls.

“Not what I meant.”

“Yeah, you’re right. We both know sex is on the table. It’s really a question of whether you’ll allow me to participate or if you’re just going to keep using your fingers and pretending they’re mine.”

She leans closer. “Stop it.”

I think she likes the proximity, so I back away. The corners of her lips drop just enough to be noticeable and enough to tell me I’m right.

If I back away and it makes her come around, how can I be blamed for that? Answer: I can’t. At least not in a way I could feel guilt over. God knows I’m avoiding that fucker.

“You know what?” I say, getting to my feet. “You’re right. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable and you’ve been very clear you want me to stop.”

She’s not sure whether to buy this line of bullshit or not. But as I scoot her phone across the table and it hits the side of her purse with a thud, she slumps.

This is a go-for-broke kind of thing and I don’t want to be broke. I swipe my wallet from my pocket and hope I’m a good shot.

“Did you have anything? I’ll pay,” I say, forcing myself to ignore the look on her face. I pull a twenty that’s sticking out and toss it on the table. “Want me to walk you out?”

She pulls her brows together. We both know she’s waiting on the rest of it, the very Lance-like addition to every sentence I can get away with. I surprise us both with my willpower and don’t give it to her.

But damn if I don’t want to give it to her.

“Okay.” Her possessions get compiled together as if they’re the most interesting things in the world. She stands and heads to the door. This time, I make it a point not to touch her.

Thirteen

Mariah

Each step leads me closer to the door. Each fall of my foot has me holding my breath and waiting for the moment his palm touches the small of my back. By the time I’m halfway to the door, I itch to turn around and find him. He’s there. The ripple of whatever moves between us when we’re near each other is roaring, almost knocking me on my ass.

On its own, that’s enough. But coupled with the newfound knowledge that Lance is also History Hunk, is like going from a Category One storm to a Six in a second flat. Here I am, in a little tattered sailboat, trying to navigate this hellacious situation. The only thing that might help me stay afloat is him reaching out for me.

“Let me get the door for you,” he offers. More than enough room is taken to walk around me. “Here you go.”

I look at the floor all the way out, not sure what to think of all this distance. I hate it. But something about it feels almost normal in a really sad way. It reminds me of Eric and his lack of physical attention. “Thanks.”

The sun is bright, making me squint, as I step outside. The door snaps closed but I plow forward. It’s more than embarrassment now. It’s a fear of rejection. It’s knowing who I’m dealing with and wondering how I’m going to internalize it when he’s in my office on Monday making plans to bed some other woman. What do I do? Grin and bear it? Because there’s no doubt that’s what he’s going to do. He’s unapologetically Lance.

My pace quickens and I spy my car at the end of the row. I don’t notice the custom pearly-purple paint job on the SUV on my left until it’s too late.

“Good morning, honey.” My mother removes her oversized sunglasses, her keys dangling in her hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Just had lunch.”

I’m ten, maybe twelve steps from my car. Shuffling that way, I can cut it down to eight. Possibly six.

I can’t do this today.

“I really need to go, Mom.” A dull throb begins in my temple. “I’ll call you later.”

“You can’t even make time to say hello in a parking lot?”

Her voice is too loud, too demanding, to be ignored. We’ve done this before. If I walk away, she will just increase the volume and half of Merom will know our business. Or, by her version of it, will think I’m a complete asshole of a daughter, in a best case scenario.

“Mom …”

Her attention is diverted behind me. My hips pivot to turn but I stop. There’s no need to look. It’s Lance.

Mom’s eyes go wide, the mask she uses when she’s being watched falls effortlessly over her features. I’m distracted from her performance when his arm stretches around my waist and he pulls me to his side.

He’s warm and solid and if it wasn’t already weird, I would bury my nose in his chest and just breathe him in like a bouquet of flowers. One of my hands plants in the center of his chest to steady myself. His heartbeat pounds against my palm as roughly as mine clangs in my chest.

“I dropped my keys back there,” he says, peering down at me. The greens of his eyes are filled with some nameless emotion that I could watch swim in his irises all day. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. Who are you?” My mother shifts her weight, the front of her shirt dropping. It’s a patented move and many men have fallen for it. I glance up to see Lance’s reaction.

He’s looking at me. With a wink just for me, he turns to her. “I’m Lance. You must be Mrs. Malarkey.”

“Oh, no,” she says, swishing her hips. “I’m Taylor Stevens. Mariah’s mother, yes, but her father was hell on wheels. We haven’t been together for decades now and I took back my maiden name. Couldn’t stand to be associated with that monster another day.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Lance’s fingers dip into my hip, sending a proprietary impulse darting through my veins and pooling in my belly.

I almost don’t want to breathe this close to him. I almost don’t want to if that means pushing away and stepping back into reality. Not that I know what’s real anymore. This is surely an alternate reality if Lance Gibson has his arm around me like we’re lovers.

Mom studies Lance’s grip on my side. The end of her sunglasses finds its way to her mouth as she tries to discern why a man like him would be with a girl like me.

Panic bubbles in my gut, overriding the foreplay from Lance, and I push away. “I need to get going,” I say to him.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

Mom’s huff stops me. “Mariah, you are so rude.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I sigh. “I have a migraine coming on.”

“Always an excuse with you,” she says. “Haven’t we talked about this?”

Resigned to the fight, I steady myself. “It’s not an excuse.”

“You always have one and then you wonder why you have nothing good in your life. It’s because people don’t want to coddle you, honey.”

“Woah, wait a second,” Lance says, chuckling to cover the anger I can hear just below the surface in his voice. “Mariah has a headache. Let’s take it easy on her.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper to him.

His response is to tuck me back under his arm. This time, I rest my head against him. My body sags. He squeezes me harder.

“You obviously haven’t been with her long,” Mom says, eyeing him.

“That’s true. But I know she has a lot of great things in her life. Me being one of them.”

The smolder he emits could burn down a house. It’s his special mix of cocky and confident that burrows its way into uninvited places. His rough knuckles graze the soft skin under my navel, gliding along my hip. The contact is incendiary, the friction—pure dynamite.

“Well, if that’s true, why don’t you accompany her next weekend to my birthday party?” Mom asks, trapping me.

“I’d love to.” Lance’s response is quick, too quick to allow me to intervene.

“I haven’t said I’m going yet,” I remind her and inform him. “I might have plans.”

“With whom if it’s not him?”

“I have other friends besides him.”

“You do?” he asks. He bends over as I jab him in the stomach with my elbow.

“Yes. I have more friends than just you. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I’m even your friend.” The words don’t come out without a laugh.

He pulls me in front of him, his hands locking behind me and dragging me against his body. Ignoring my mother, he grins. “I don’t need to be your friend as long as I get the benefits.”

“You mean cupcakes?” The question is breathier than I expect, huskier than I intend, but the spot in my brain that controls motor skills is host to an impressive display of fireworks going off in quick succession at the moment.

“You can call it whatever you want, sweetheart.”

I laugh, pushing him away. It’s potentially the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m the one who needs a cupcake for that bout of willpower.

“So you two will come?” Mom taps her lips with a manicured nail. “Your sister would love to see you.”

Glancing at Lance, I snort. “Oh, I bet she would.”

“Stop it, Mariah. You need to get over this. Act like the woman you are and not a child. I’m sick of your behavior.”

“Act like a woman?” I fire back.

“Yes! Chrissy is beside herself. You need to suck it up and just get over it.”

My chin tilts to the sky. It’s a perfect, cloudless blue, like my eyes, my dad used to say, and I attempt to focus on that and not punching my mother in the face.

“I tell you what,” Lance says. “If Mariah decides to come, we’ll be there. And if she doesn’t want to go, then we won’t.” He glances at me, his eyes searching mine. “But right now, we have to go. Have a good day, Ms. Stevens.”

Tears dampen the corner of my eyes as he takes my hand in his. Mom storms off toward Peaches while Lance walks with me to my car. I don’t try to slip my hand out of his grip because I’m not sure he’d let me.

The locks pop as I hit the button. My purse goes across the driver’s side seat and onto the other.

“I’m tempted to say this day can’t get any worse, but I feel like that would backfire,” I sigh.

“She’s a piece of work.”

“No kidding.”

When I turn around, he’s taking me in. Not in a way that makes me think he’s mentally undressing me, but with a gaze that’s more intimate than that. A series of goosebumps prickles my skin.

“Thank you,” I say.

“For what?”

“For coming to my defense.”

He lifts his shoulders and lets them fall. “It was really just a chance to get to touch you a lot. But if you think it was for you, then good.”

“Of course it was,” I giggle. As my laugh dies off, so does the easiness between us. The space that was filled with nonchalance is replaced by text apps and almost-kisses and fake dates exchanged between the two of us under various names and situations. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

“We’re the same two people we were last Friday.”

“That’s a bold-faced lie.”

“Fine.” He gives in. “I know you don’t like sucking cock with a rubber on and—”

“Lance,” I hiss.

“But I knew that on Friday too. I just didn’t know it was you.”

I climb into my car because I need space. When the engine starts, I crank the air conditioner, despite the reasonable temperature.

He grips the top of the door and dips his head inside. His hair has fallen to the side, and his cheeks are freshly shaven.

“You know,” I say, turning the fan down a bit, “if you kept your mouth shut, you could almost look sweet.”

“I am sweet.” A playful grin kisses his lips. The ones I almost kissed last night. “I’m settling into this role of the knight in shining armor quite nicely.”

“Is that what you are now?”

“Jonah. Your mom,” he razzes. “Who else will it be?”

Resting my head on the seat, I look up at him. A question lingers on my tongue. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yup.”

“Why were you meeting Nerdy Nurse today?”

His eyes dart first to the building, then the opposite way to the road. He swishes his lips together like he has a mouth full of mouthwash.

The answer doesn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things. He’s still him and I’m still me. But I still want an answer.

He clears his throat before answering. “You know, I’m not sure.” The tables turn. “Can I ask you something?”

“I guess.”

“Why did you send me a message on the app last night?”

Fair enough question. One I didn’t expect to have to answer. I give the possible responses consideration, all reasonable and honest in one way or another, before settling on what seems to be the truest.

“I wanted a distraction,” I admit.

“From what?”

“You.”

He looks away, a lopsided grin splitting his cheeks.

“I have no business getting involved with you in any way, Lance. I got home last night and kept thinking about you and your grandmother and Whitney’s inopportune timing and …”

“And what?”

My stomach drops. “And what comes Monday?”

“Work? Cupcakes? Avoiding Principal Kelly?”

The swallow I force down my throat burns. Glancing around, I say a prayer my mother isn’t watching and getting enjoyment out of this. She would too because it hurts me.

“Monday is going to be a lot easier for me as a bystander than someone who’s dipped her toe in the pool,” I tell him. “Whitney interrupting us was a save.”

He runs a hand down his face, his long fingers stretching over his chin. “So the message last night was really to distract you from Monday. Not from me.”

“No, from you,” I say, wiping my palms on the sides of my seat. “I wanted History Hunk to remind me I’m desirable. That when Lance is in my office after having almost kissed me and is chatting up random girls, maybe I won’t feel so boring. Or dull. Or dispensable in comparison. Because History Hunk still wanted me.”

“You think that?”

“Think what?”

His voice lowers as he peers into my eyes. “You’re dull?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is not ending up feeling like I’m being rejected by you.”

The rumble from his throat rolls by his lips. “I’ve never rejected you. I’ve practically begged you.”

“To sleep with you. That’s not what I want, Lance.”

“Well, it is but …”

I don’t laugh at his joke. It’s not funny. Whether I want to sleep with him or not isn’t the point. The point is I can’t. I won’t.

“That’s exactly what you want and I’m not mad about it. Why would I be? I just don’t want to be one of your app girls.”

“But you’d be someone else’s? You’d be History Hunk’s and that’s okay with you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I grab the handle and he steps back. I pull the door closed. Rolling down the window while I shift the car in reverse, I look at his handsome face. “I don’t want things to be weird tomorrow.”

“Are they ever weird between us?” he asks softly. “Hell, we can even be other people and they aren’t weird. I bet we’d role play like a couple of motherfuckers.”

I try to smile. I try to hold onto the Lance I hear every day. I attempt to put myself back in that box and keep things separated but I can’t.

There’s a nod. A little wave. There’s even a fake smile as he watches me back out of my parking spot and head for the street.

There’s also a feeling in the pit of my stomach that the road ahead isn’t going to be easy.

Fourteen

Mariah

All of the ingredients to make lemon bars are lined up on the counter. They’ve been sitting there since I got home. Two loads of laundry have been washed, dried, folded and put away. The new flannel sheets fit perfectly on my bed and the carpet in the living room smells like the lavender scented water I used in the shampoo cleaner.

It was enough to provide a semi-distraction from the day. The goal, however, was missed. While my body might be tired, my brain is not.

Extending my arms across the table, I rest my forehead on them. The water and soap from cleaning has washed away Lance’s cologne. I sniff around my shirt, shoulder, forearms, and it all comes back lacking his scent.

My groan is obnoxious. It’s repeated, quieter this time, as the click of Whitney’s key frees the front door.

“You home?” The door clasps shut. “Mariah!” She mumbles about knowing I’m here, that my car is out front, about what a jerk I am to make her play hide-and-seek. But when she comes into the kitchen and our eyes meet, she stops. “Um, what the hell happened to you?”

I angle my face toward the table so I don’t have to see her.

“Are you okay?” She drops into a seat next to me, her palm resting on my wrist. “Talk to me.”

“I never should’ve used that app,” I mutter.

“You used it? I didn’t know that. I’m kinda proud.”

Groaning again, not so obnoxiously since I have an audience, I drag myself into a sitting position. She performs a quick evaluation of my appearance and flinches.

“Don’t be,” I puff. “There’s nothing to be proud of in this fiasco.”

“Did you meet someone from it?” She squirms in her seat. “There are rules about meeting up with people, Mariah. You didn’t meet a freak, did you?”

Lance’s smile flutters through my memory. The way he showed up out of nowhere when I ran into my mother when he could’ve just stayed away. Remembering the way he buffered that situation makes me fill with an outrageous warmth.

“No,” I ruminate before answering. “He wasn’t a freak.” While I’m scrubbing my hands down my face, the muscles in the back of my neck become tense. “I met someone though. Someone I already know.”

“Um …”

“Yeah.”

“I’m humiliated, Whit,” I cry. “I tell students every day to watch who they are online. To not do or say things they wouldn’t say to someone in real life. I preach and preach and preach, setting out pamphlets about this topic. Hanging these cute little posters around the library to remind them about the dangers of social media, and what do I go and do? Exactly what I tell them not to.”

I could cry real tears. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I shut my eyes and feel like a fraud. “I said things to him on that stupid app that I would never, ever say to him in real life. And now I’ll have to see him every day knowing he knows that I said those things. I just …” Dropping my hand, my shoulders fall right along with it. “I just want to climb under a rock and die.”

She watches me warily. “Can I ask who this guy is?”

I brace myself for her reaction. “Lance.”

“The hot teacher?” she says, poker-faced.

“Yes,” I grouse.

“The guy who was here the other night. Who took you to his grandma’s house.”

“Yes.”

Her amusement knows no bounds. “Let me get this straight. Out of all the men on that app, you somehow managed to find him?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Or it better be because I’m not holding her hand through this process.

“It is a semi-local, kind of regional app. So it’s not entirely impossible, but I am leaning towards fate, Mariah.” She gets to her feet and floats around the room like a cartoon princess.

“Fate? Since when is fate a form of hell?”

The spinning stops and she laughs. “Since when is screwing a hot history teacher a form of torture?”

“I didn’t screw him,” I mutter. But I’ve fucked myself to thoughts of him a million times.

“That’s your fault.”

Yes, it is.

I appreciate the few quiet seconds as she flops back in the chair again. My fantasies of Lance were just that—fantasies. Make-believe. Not real. Now my reality has been skewed, flipped upside down and it’s all merging together in one ridiculously hot, yet slightly mortifying, situation.

Whitney shakes her head. “You are the only person in the universe who can find fault with an app that helped you meet a gorgeous and sexy man who already likes you to begin with!”

It’s so much more complicated than that. So complicated, in fact, that I don’t even know how to boil it down to make sense of it.

“How’d he take it?” she asks.

“Oh, he thought it was the greatest thing ever.”

“And you should’ve too.”

“Look,” I gulp, feeling my cheeks ready to betray me. “We have one relationship, for lack of a better word, at work. What we had online wasn’t really me and wasn’t really him. Or maybe it was him, actually. But I definitely wasn’t being myself.”

It’s easiest to leave it at that. There’s no sense in bringing up the fact that he’s a hook-up guy, a one-night stand—a couple nights at best. And even if I could pull off a one-night-er, I couldn’t do it with Lance.

Whitney is my best friend for a few reasons. One, she’s loyal. Two, she takes me as I am. Three, she can read all my nuances appropriately.

She gets comfortable, curling a leg beneath her. “So what you’re saying is you are the book nerd in-person and a little vixen online?”

“No,” I say too quickly.

She barely contains her laugh. “How vixen did you go?”

“I’m not a vixen.”

“Clearly or you would’ve rode his cock like any other hot-blooded female. I saw him, Mariah. Your self-control is on a whole other level.”

“Can we focus here?” I say, pulling her out of that line of questioning. “I don’t know what to do.”

I expect a quick chirp about how to have sex or something equally inappropriate, but she surprises me.

It’s a moment you can only have with someone you’re close to, a moment where you don’t have to speak but thoughts are still being exchanged. Her foot starts to bounce on the floor as she grasps my panic. I, on the other hand, inflate my lungs a little more easily than I have been able to in the last handful of hours.

“I’ll see him in the morning,” I say, resolved. “How do I navigate this, Whit?”

“I didn’t think you’d use the app, to be honest. I love that you did, but I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, me too. Surprised, I mean,” I clarify. “Not loving that I did it.”

“Let’s start there. Why did you do it?”

A sense of calm settles over me, like when you’re in trouble and finally accept that everyone knows it was you who did it. You go through the motions of telling the truth because it’s only going to delay the inevitable if you dance around it. You just want the conversation to be over and the fallout realized.

“I was sitting here one night right after I heard about Chrissy being pregnant.” My throat is scorching as I put the thoughts I’ve kept to myself into the universe. “And I guess I kind of broke down, you know. Not crying and all that, but more of a pity party. Wondering if there’s something wrong with me. Considering adopting a cat.”

She drops her jaw in mock horror.

“Anyway,” I continue, “I just needed that confirmation. I just wanted to know I could still reel a guy in. That I wasn’t lame.”

“You can’t believe that. I won’t sit here and let you say you think you’re lame.”

“You know what I mean.”

She scoots her chair closer to mine and kicks at my foot. “I know you thought you’d be in a different place right now, but you aren’t for a reason.”

“I’m fine with that. Really,” I insist when she looks at me like I’m lying. “I’m happy I’m not with Eric. But it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have some nice, sweet, cute guy want to be with me.”

The words don’t make it past my lips before Lance’s face pops back into my mind. It’s the image of him at my car, his arms stretched overhead, a soft look in his eyes that is such a contrast to the playful one I often see.

“Like Lance?” she asks carefully.

“The end of that story would be a happy one,” I laugh. “That excludes him.”

“But what if it doesn’t?”

“It does.” Getting up, I head to the oven and get it pre-heating. “He’s the most woman-hopping man I’ve ever known. Ever seen. In my office alone he talks to a different woman on the phone at least three times a week.”

“But he’s single, right?”

“Yes. He’s single. His goal in life is to be single.” The words cause a little ache to spread across my chest. “I don’t fault him for that. That’s not what this is about. It’s about me knowing I have no desire to compete with other women for a man’s attention and this guy plays that game as hard as it can be played.”

Sugar and butter go into my mixer. My hand shakes a little as the vanilla is added, but I choose to think it’s because I haven’t eaten today and not from anything else.

“Fine.” It’s a simple response with no indication she’s going to argue with me. This annoys me, but I try to hide it. “Guess you’re going to have to figure out how to balance this then.”

“That’s what I said from the beginning,” I grimace, busting an egg with a little more gusto than necessary.

“You said some, what, sexier things on line than you would’ve said in person?”

“Oh, a little.” I told him I wanted him to come on my chest. “I want to die.”

Whitney adds the lemon juice to the mixer and turns it on. “But you felt comfortable enough with him to say them.”

“Because he wasn’t standing in front of me, Whit. It’s so much easier to tell him I want him to slap my ass or make me get off on his face when his face isn’t there. When I think I’ll never have to see his face.”

“You said that? I’m impressed.”

The dam is broken so I just roll with it. “I typed worse.”

“He’s probably going insane right now,” she giggles. “And I doubt he’d qualify them as worse.”

Putting a face, his face, to those words makes me almost moan in the middle of my kitchen. Typing them out was one thing when the point was to feel powerful. Knowing it was him on the other side has the opposite effect.

“I have to quit my job,” I say gravely.

“You do not.” She turns off the mixer. Leaning against the counter, she crosses her arms over her chest. “How does it make you feel to think he knows it was you who typed those things and he still wants you?”

Biting my lip doesn’t help the smile from cracking across my lips.

“It feels good, right?” she asks.

“Yes. Fine. It feels good. But he’ll tease me about it endlessly.”

“Because he’s a boy and boys do that.”

There’s nothing boy about him.

The pre-heat alert dings and Whitney glances at the oven before speaking again. “You should’ve considered this before you met up with him. I could’ve pointed that out if you would’ve told me your super-secret plans.”

I should’ve considered a lot of things before I met History Hunk. Or before I used that stupid app.

“For some really, really dumb reason, it didn’t seem like a bad idea. Yes, most of our conversations were sexual in nature, but it was good-hearted. It was fun. Our banter was great …”

My finger presses into the butter as I turn away. Just thinking of Lance and the easiness of our chats fills me with a gooey sort of feeling.

“Like your banter at work?”

“Ugh. This is not helping.”

At all. At work, Lance treats me like an intelligent, respectable, attractive woman. History Hunk made me feel downright sexy. Alluring. Wanted. They are two very different sides of … the same coin? With the same guy? Processing this doesn’t get any easier as the minutes tick by.

Digging around the cabinet and then the dishwasher, I find my nine-by-nine pan for the lemon bars.

“Meeting this guy didn’t seem like I was meeting him for sex,” I say, searching for more butter. “It felt like meeting a friend for the first time. There weren’t expectations and I wasn’t afraid, like I thought I’d be. It was just easy. Nerve-wracking, but easy.”

The butter in hand, I spread it around the pan before I turn my attention back to Whitney. There’s a knowing look aimed my way.

“I think everything between you two is easy, Mariah.” She takes the pan and sets it next to the mixer. “Don’t you see that?”

Yes, I see it. How could I not? But therein lies the problem—it’s too easy.

The boiled-down truth is sitting on the tip of my tongue. There’s a peacefulness that goes along with finding it in the rubble of everything else.

With one last reconsideration, I go for it. “Before this weekend, Lance was Lance. It wasn’t hard to compartmentalize him in a box in my head. We’d flirt or whatever at work but there was a line and it wasn’t crossed. It started at eight and ended at four. His personal life was his thing. It didn’t involve me. His conquests didn’t matter.”

“But they do now?”

I consider her question. Neither answer, yes or no, is right. It doesn’t matter because I’m still the girl from work. But it does matter because it doesn’t feel like he’s the guy from work anymore. All of that is muddied up now because the guy I told I wanted to feel his tongue on my pussy while his cock was halfway down my throat is the same guy who hugged me in front of my mother.

Whitney laughs when I rest my head against the cool counter. “You should’ve just fucked him. That would’ve eased some of this tension.”

“Right.” Standing up straight again, I go back to my lemon bars. “I’m going to have to pretend it didn’t happen. Erase this entire weekend from my brain.”

My friend looks at me like I’ve officially lost it. “You can do that?”

“I’m going to have to.” With a cup of flour balanced in the air, I look at Whitney. I should just make the lemon bars and be done with it, but I don’t. With a hefty sigh, I just stop pretending like it’s not going to happen. “Want to make some red velvet cupcakes?”

Fifteen

Lance

She’s always early on Monday mornings. It’s one of the few parts of her schedule I can predict and one the nerd in me loves. Most people struggle on Mondays. Mariah is at the school at least an hour early on the first day of the week.

While I don’t always start the week on a low note, today I was late. I could say it was the extra two minutes it took for the shower to warm up or the fact that I didn’t sleep last night. I could even situate the blame on Machlan’s shoulders for coming over and making me some rocket fuel shit that went down way too easily, but did help the story of the afternoon come together with less prompting.

Truth is, it was intentional.

The staff meeting about homecoming festivities would’ve put Mariah and I across from one another in a room full of people. On the surface, that seems like the perfect way to break the ice. Assumptions are often wrong.

The third rule of history is silence is not louder than words. When things get too quiet historically, they’re forgotten. The chaotic moments, the ones filled with passion and emotion—they’re the ones remembered. When I see her again, it won’t be in a room full of people. I won’t be forced to be silent. The words I’ll use aren’t formulated yet, they likely won’t be until the moment comes because I’ve tried to find the right thing to say since I left her yesterday and I keep coming up empty. But they’ll come. They always do with her.

“Make sure you finish this tonight,” I tell the sophomores as they gather their things. “I will take this for a grade tomorrow. You’ve been warned.”

“Have a good day, Mr. Gibson.” Two girls, who are going to cause some poor boys a lot of trouble, wave as they strut past my desk.

“Bye, ladies.”

It takes everything I have not to get up and shoo them out the door. Glancing at the clock, I have four minutes until I usually trek up the stairs and slip into Mariah’s room while she’s getting her lunch. On most days, I’d slide my phone out of my pocket and see what my inbox looks like. Today, I slip it in my desk.

I toyed with deleting the app last night. Machlan pointed out there’s a chance she could message me and if I answered that, I wouldn’t be out of line. So, I didn’t. But I haven’t checked it since the parking lot of Peaches.

My hands undergo a quick sanitizing with some gel. I’m getting up to go upstairs when I see Ollie head away from the cafeteria. Puzzled, I go to the hallway and watch him take a long drink from the fountain. The clock ticks to ‘go time,’ but my feet remain in place.

“Hey, Ollie. Can you come in here a minute?”

He spins around, looking surprised. “Sure, Mr. Gibson.”

Stepping by me, the same tattered shirt he wore on Friday hanging from his thinning frame, he stands next to a bust of President Kennedy.

“It’s none of my business,” I say. “But why aren’t you in the cafeteria?”

“I, um, I eat by myself. The cafeteria is too loud.”

He looks at everything in the room besides me. The clock flicks past another minute and I suck in a breath, knowing this situation likely just stole the moment I’ve been anticipating since yesterday.

“Okay. Fair enough. Where do you usually eat?” I ask him.

“Just wherever.” His hand goes in his pocket as resignation settles over his face.

“You can always eat with me. Even if I’m not in here, you can come in and flip on the television if you want. Okay?”

“Thanks, Mr. Gibson.”

The location isn’t the problem and we both know it. Racking my brain for a way to fix this without making him feel bad, I tap my fingers against the desk. “I had an ulterior motive for asking you to come in here.”

He gives me a lopsided grin. “What’s that?”

“I need a favor.”

“From me?”

Nodding, I try to bring this together as smoothly as possible. “I’m on a panel of teachers the school board put together to analyze the cafeteria food. It’s not something they really want spread around because of politics and stuff like that. Anyway, I’m supposed to pick a student to get a tray every day and then report back on what they think about it.”

“Okay,” he draws out, smelling bullshit.

I need to fortify my story. “Ms. Malarkey is selecting a freshman and I thought you’d be a great upperclassman.”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Gibson.”

“Look, all you have to do is get a tray,” I say, forcing a swallow. “The school will credit your account for a tray a day for the rest of the year.”

He eyes me curiously. There’s an element of pride sitting behind his sleepy eyes, one that makes my heart drop. It also worries me that he won’t go along with my plan.

“If you don’t want to eat it, you can toss it in the garbage,” I add. “Just give me something in May that says how you liked it and what you hated and, just, whatever you think.”

“All I have to do is get a tray and give you a paper on it in May?”

“Yes. It’s not for a grade or anything. I’ll even give you extra credit or something because I know it’s kind of a pain for you to do this. I could ask someone else,” I say, going for the guilt factor, “but I really need someone who’s truthful who’ll give me the report.”

The relief is visible. I want to give the kid a fucking hug.

“I’ll call down to the office now,” I say, having to look away. “You can get your tray and start today, if you want. No pressure.”

“I could do that,” he says eagerly.

“Great.”

He heads to the door. “I’ll go now. Thanks, Mr. Gibson. If you need anything sooner from me before May, just shout.”

“Yeah. Will do. Thank you.”

Using my palm, I wipe at an eye that must’ve gotten some dust in it. I buzz down to the office and the secretary picks up.

“Hey, this is Lance,” I tell her. “Does Ollie’s lunch account have anything on it?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you that,” she says. “But …” There’s typing on the other end. “No. It doesn’t.”

“Can you stick twenty bucks on there and I’ll come down this afternoon and talk to you about it?”

“Sure can.”

“Thanks.”

My head goes into my hands. On some level, this is why I got into teaching in the first place. But it’s also the part no one explained to me beforehand. Mouthy kids, errant students, even ones who don’t give a damn—I can handle that. Hungry kids? Neglected ones? Kids who don’t have a pot to piss in? Those I can’t.

A knock raps at the door. When I raise my head, I can’t look anywhere else.

Mariah is standing there in a yellow dress that’s belted around her waist. Her hair is down today and in her hand is the little bag she carries her lunch in.

She’s prettier than ever and I realize that’s probably some sex-deprived colored glasses kind of thing. But as she tries to decipher whether or not to say something, I want to storm across the room and plant my lips on hers.

“Hey,” she says, switching the bag between her hands. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was getting my lunch and sort of overheard a part of your conversation with Ollie.” She smiles sheepishly. “Don’t even start with the eavesdropping stuff.”

“I was in my room this time,” I say, getting to my feet. The sun didn’t change positions out the window, but it sure feels a lot brighter in here now. “I do find it interesting you’d go out of your way to listen in on my conversation, even when I don’t come to you to have them. More adorable than strange, if you’re wondering.”

She grins. “I think it was my name that stopped me in my tracks.”

“Still eavesdropping,” I tease. “Would you like to come in?”

The grin falters. Reality settles in, creasing the lines on her forehead. “Should I?”

“The door is open. Pun intended.”

Her eyes roll, but it’s enough of a joke to get her to move. She comes inside and does a full three-sixty of my room. “This looks nice.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Your room looks nice.”

“So nothing about the shirt?” I ask, tugging on the neckline of my button-down. “I wore it thinking it was the color of my balls.”

“Lance …” She gulps. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I do.”

Pacing around my desk, I lean against the front. She fidgets with her bag. Her nails are a shade of pink which is weird because she usually doesn’t paint them. But I don’t ask. Now isn’t the time.

At around four this morning, as I was watching a cooking show on television, I came up with a half-assed plan. I don’t want to make her so uncomfortable that she doesn’t want to see me. While I’m trying hard not to touch her, I have no intention of ceasing to see her. I haven’t lost my mind.

“I won’t mention the app if it makes you uncomfortable,” I promise. “I will say I loved seeing that part of you—now that I know it was you—and I find it hysterical that we were messaging all this time and didn’t know it. But I’ll let it go.”

“You will?”

“I will. But if I get a paper cut, I’m coming to you for those nursing skills you promised to show me.”

She swings her lunch bag and it hits me in the arm, but there’s a happiness on her face that’s priceless. Keeping a side-eye on her, I head to the door and swing it shut.

“What day do we go to your mom’s?” I ask. “And do we get to meet the sister? Because if she’s anything like your mom, I’m gonna get a drink before we go.”

“We aren’t.” She opens her bag and takes out a baggie. “I’m not going.”

“Can I ask two things?”

“Yeah.”

“First, and most importantly, what’s in that baggie?” Raising a brow, I hold out my palm. “It looks like dessert.”

She takes a nibble and shrugs. “Lemon bars. You don’t like lemon.”

“I’m assuming you made me something?”

“Nope.”

My jaw drops. “Fine then. Second question is why are we not going to your mother’s party?”

“I am not going to my mother’s because she’s impossible. And my sister is going to be there with her husband and their child and I have no interest in seeing them.”

Reaching out, I make a point of taking a lemon bar from her bag. She watches me with a heated gaze. That part I ignore. For now.

“May I ask why?” Bringing the bar to my lips, I take a bite. It’s sweeter than I thought it would be, brighter in flavor. Not really lemon-y, but fruitier. “This is really good.”

“Thanks.”

“Back to the sister?”

“You’re so pushy,” she notes, putting the baggie back in her bag.

“And your point?”

She rummages in the bag again, but more aimlessly than before. There can’t be that much crap in there to take her this long. Still, I refrain from pestering her even if it’s harder than hell to do.

“My sister,” she begins, forcing a swallow, “married my ex-boyfriend. Like, six months after we broke up they got married.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not.”

Smacking my tongue off the roof of my mouth, things start to make more sense. “You’re thinking if she married him that fast …”

“That they were screwing around while we were together? Correct.”

I wonder vaguely what my reaction looks like from her viewpoint. Utter confusion as to how a guy who wanted to be tied down with a woman would walk away from Mariah? Pure venom spikes in my blood toward a man I don’t even know for putting that look on her face—like she’s not worthy of someone’s first choice.

Fuck that guy.

“You’re right,” I say, polishing off the lemon bar. “We hate her.”

“You have no idea,” she grumbles.

Shoving off my desk, I take a few steps toward her. Her perfume is different today. It’s still soft and feminine, but sexier instead of floral. Or maybe that’s her pheromones I’m picking up on. Either way, I feel my stomach knotting like it’s threatening to send instructions to my groin. Like I should show her just how desirable she is.

“If you change your mind and want to go, I’m happy to go with you. Just as friends,” I say, hands up in the air when she snaps her gaze to me. Because I want this to feel normal, I add a little at the end. “But if there are benefits involved, I’m game.”

She laughs. “I’m not going, but thanks. Now, back to Ollie. What’s up with that?”

“If he asks you, we’re in charge of a student panel to study the cafeteria food. You picked a kid, I picked a kid. Got it?”

“Oh, Lance,” she says, reading between the lines. “You’re kidding me.”

“I put money in his account today. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but fuck, Mariah. How does a kid go hungry in this country in this day and age?”

“Believe it or not, that’s one reason I bake a lot and bring it in.”

“I thought that was just for me?” I pout.

Her giggle winds the knot even tighter. “Sorry.” She heads toward the door, the clock threatening to tip as the bell rings. “If I can help, let me know. I’d love to.”

There’s no reply from me because nothing I could say would be well-received. I’ve managed not to blow it so far today. Keeping my mouth shut now would probably be wise.

Except, I’m not wise.

“I have things you can help with …”

She laughs, steps into the hall and disappears as the bell rings. My class begins to fill as students file in. They murmur their hellos and I ask them about their weekend on auto-pilot, all the while replaying mine in my head.

The tardy bell is set to ring when Stacy comes waltzing in. “Hey, Mr. Gibson,” she sing-songs.

“Better get to your seat before that bell rings.”

“I have something for you.”

Dropping my pen, I look up to see a red cupcake in a yellow liner sitting in the palm of her hand. “Ms. Malarkey sent this down for you.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking it from her.

“Mr. Gibson?”

“Yeah?”

Looking up at my student, I see a look of pure glee. She leans towards me and whispers, “You two would have gorgeous babies.”

“And you’re tardy,” I say, motioning toward her seat as the bell buzzes overhead.

The cupcake goes on the corner of my desk and Stacy’s comment gets filed away to a part of my brain I don’t want to revisit.

Sixteen

Mariah

“How’s it going this week?” Whitney asks. She joins me at the trunk of my car and takes in all the desserts lined up. “It kills me you make all this and give it away.” Swiping up a banana cupcake with peanut butter icing, she shrugs. “I’m keeping one.”

“Fine,” I laugh. “That can be your payment for helping me deliver them.”

“You could at least buy me dinner.”

“You could do this out of the kindness of your heart too,” I note, handing her a tray.

“All my kindness got soaked up by a screaming three-year-old at around two this morning in the emergency room,” she says, wincing. “I think I’ll abstain from sex.”

I give her a look, lifting a tray of lemon bars from the trunk and closing it.

“For like two days,” she adds with a laugh. “So, how did it go with Lance?”

We meander through the garden at the back of the nursing home. A few residents are outside, some in wheelchairs, enjoying the pretty day. The door to the game room opens into the expansive outdoor area.

I love coming here to bring baked goodies and books and sometimes slippers or lip balms. It makes me feel connected to humanity in a very peaceful way.

“It’s not going badly,” I admit. “It’s not so different from before, really. He still drives me crazy, makes lewd comments, only now he works in a lot of vague references to conversations we’ve had.”

“I love your love,” she sighs happily.

“You’re insane.”

“I’m not nearly as crazy as you are. You just don’t see it.”

I see it, but I’m not about to admit that to her. I am crazy. Ridiculously so. I haven’t been able to get off in days because the easiness of fantasizing about Lance is now too messy. Every day, every smirk, every lick of icing off his lips makes me want to freaking scream. All four afternoons this week when he didn’t make a call in my presence, when I didn’t even see his phone, made me giddy.

Tempering myself, writing notes on my desk like ‘truth’ and ‘wisdom’ don’t even help keep my spirits at a sane level. It’s going to come crashing down on me one of these days because leopards don’t change their spots and neither do guys like Lance.

I haven’t deleted the app off my phone in case he messages me at night. I want him to, even if I don’t necessarily want to see the string of those messages. Every evening when I climb in bed and scroll through social media, I have a little pep talk with myself. Tomorrow could be the day when everything goes back to normal. When the fun with me is over, and he moves on to someone new. I should prepare for that. I try. It’s occurred to me that this will be like a death—you can’t ever really prepare for it until the other person is gone.

“Ah, it’s Mariah,” Gretchen says from her wheelchair by the aloe vera plant. “What did you bring us today, honey?”

“I have banana cupcakes and lemon bars,” I tell her as the chatter increases in the room. “I have some other goodies in the car.”

“Can I have a lemon bar?”

“Let me check with the nurse and then I’ll bring you one, okay?”

After getting the okay from the staff, we start dispensing the goods. I drop off the one red velvet to Mr. Henry before working my way back to Gretchen. “Here ya go, sugar.”

“These little visits just make my week,” she beams. She takes the lemon bar and holds it in her hand. “How was your day?”

“Good. How was yours?”

“Good, good. Same old stuff in here day after day. That’s why we love seeing you.” She takes a bite of the dessert. “Tastes just like the ones I used to make.”

“I bet they’re not as good.”

She pats my hand. “Where’d you learn to bake, anyway? Your mama?”

“My grandma, actually,” I say, kneeling beside her wheelchair. “She was a lot like you. Sweet and beautiful.”

“Ah, now you’re just being polite.”

“Not true. I saw Mr. Henry checking you out when I walked in.”

She laughs, but touches her cheek as it flushes. “He asked me to play chess with him later tonight. Do you think I should?”

“Heavens yes you should! He’s handsome, Miss Gretchen.”

“He is, isn’t he?” she giggles. “What about you? Do you have a handsome man you spend your evenings with?”

“Sadly, no,” I say, thinking immediately of Lance. Wondering what it would be like to spend an evening with him, what we would do, what his habits are, I’m jostled by an elbow to the rib by Gretchen. “I dazed off.”

She sinks her dentures into the lemon bar and throws her head back. “This is delicious. Make these for whoever he is you’re thinking of and you’ll win him over.”

I study my friend. She’s one of the sweetest women I know and I look forward to seeing her every time I come here. Deciding to take a gamble, I go for it. “I made them for him,” I say.

“So there is someone.”

“Not really,” I sigh. “We’re more like friends.”

“So not the good kind?” She raises a brow. “I’m old but I’m not dead, honey.”

Laughing, I grab a chair and pull it over to her.

“Tell me about him,” she instructs, the lemon bar now gone.

“It’s long and complicated.”

“As are all the good stories.”

Looking around the room full of people on their last years of life, I wonder what choices they made they now regret. Which risks were worth it, which ones hurt badly but they’d turn around and do them again if they could.

“Were you married, Gretchen?”

“I was. For forty years. He was a good man,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “Kind of a menace when I first met him, but he panned out all right.”

“A menace? You have to explain that.”

“He was always in trouble, forever giving me grief about things. He was what my mother called a neighborhood kid, meaning the neighborhood took care of him. His mother was a wretched woman. Just awful.”

“How did you meet?” I ask, trying to imagine her when she was my age.

Rearranging the pillow behind her back, she gets situated before going on. “He was friends with my older brother. He’d tag along for meals a lot of days or Mama would leave a bottle of milk on the stoop for him to take if he didn’t stop by. One day he kissed me by the chicken coop and told me if I kissed another boy, he’d beat the tar out of them,” she laughs. “I never kissed another boy for my whole life.”

“I love that.”

“My daddy didn’t,” she laughs, thinking back. “My mother just loved him though. She kind of took him in and treated him like one of her own.”

She pauses her story to talk to the nurse. Her evening meds are delivered and it’s a process I’ve watched happen a few times. It’s so regimented and carefully executed that it amazes me they can do it correctly so fast.

When she turns back to me, she picks up where she left off. “He passed away back in ninety-four. Said his only regret was not making peace with his mother.”

A heaviness sits on my shoulders as I relate to a man I never knew.

“What is it, honey?” she asks.

“Nothing. I just have an iffy relationship with my mom too. I kind of understand where your husband was coming from.”

“Do the two of you speak?”

“Kind of.”

She takes a moment to let that sink in. “Want some unsolicited advice?”

“I’d love some,” I say, letting her take my hand in hers. “What do you have for me?”

“Don’t be a grudge holder, Mariah. I was one for years. My good friend passed away when we were in our thirties, she just had a baby, and her car went over an embankment and into a river. We had some stupid fight that I don’t even remember at this point. I was devastated for years. I still regret it. I never thought I wouldn’t get the chance to talk to her again.”

“I try,” I tell her, thinking of all the times I try to be peaceful with my family. “I answer most of her calls. I listen to her tell me what a lousy person I am.”

“Well that’s not true.” She squeezes my hand. “Maybe I should have a talk with her.”

I give her an appreciative smile as I wonder what it would be like to have someone like her in my corner for real. I can’t imagine her being disappointed in or taking sides against her loved ones.

“She has a party coming up this weekend for her birthday,” I tell her.

“Are you going?”

I make a face.

“You should go. Be the bigger person.”

“But she invited my sister and the two of them together are just poison to me.”

“Take Whitney,” she says, pointing at my friend who’s feeding a cupcake to Mr. Henry. “Take her before she ruins my chess game tonight.”

Laughing, I watch my friend tease him with a dab of icing. It’s clear Mr. Henry is having the time of his life. Still, I turn to my other friend and wink. “Whitney has nothing on you, Gretchen.”

“Damn right.” A somber look crosses her face. “I want you to remember something for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You can’t choose how people treat you or the actions they take. They get up in the morning and have to see the ugly things they do reflected in their face.” She rolls her wheelchair back and then centers it in front of me so we’re face-to-face. “You, dear girl, only have to live with how you let them affect you. When you look in the mirror, you get to see all the pretty that you are inside and which you radiate.”

“Sometimes they make me feel really ugly,” I admit.

“Because you let them.” It’s the simplest answer she could give and the one that hits the hardest. “When you get to be my age, you start thinking a lot about death. You look back on your life and think of all the people you already lost and know the people you see around this room will start dropping like gnats.”

“Gretchen!”

“It’s true,” she shrugs. “But listen to me—life isn’t that complicated. It’s meant to be lived with those we can’t live without.”

“That sounds pretty complicated.”

“It’s not.”

It’s such a simplistic way of looking at things and couldn’t possibly hold true. There’s no room in that philosophy to account for the unknown: other people, or emotions, or the bad things that can happen to us.

“You live your life and you fill it with all those people who make you feel like getting up in the morning. The ones who give you life. And the rest of them?” She blows a breath. “The rest of them you just let go.”

“Even if it’s my mother?”

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “Maybe not. Here’s a rule of thumb for you: treat people how you’d treat them if you knew they’d be dead tomorrow. Because they might be. Sometimes that means forgiving and moving on and sometimes it’s just forgiving. The key to it is finding your joy and what you need to do for you—not them.”

The events coordinator taps me on the shoulder. “We have a man who just came in from outside and didn’t get a cupcake. He’s very upset. You don’t have any more, do you?”

“You know I do,” I laugh. “I’ll go grab them.” Before I get up, I look back at Gretchen. “I appreciate you, you know that?”

“You bring me joy. Great joy, Mariah.”

I make my way outside. The sun is a bold orange with its promise to dip behind the horizon. Thinking about what Gretchen said and then about baby Betsy and my grandmother, I know what I want to do.

Unlocking the car, I get into the back seat first. My purse is on the floorboard and I pull it up next to me.

Grabbing my phone, I flip through the screen until I see the app. Just the green logo with blue letters make me feel like a different person. Stronger. More confident. And it’s not until I swipe my finger over the image and see Lance’s icon, that I realize why.

This is why it was so easy for me to open up to him. He doesn’t just make me feel good in general. He makes me feel good about me.

With each tap of my fingers on the screen, some of my confidence gets wiped out by nerves. I hit ‘send’ in a flurry before I can talk myself out of it.

Me: Any chance you’d reconsider that date?

The little bubbles appear almost instantly and I hold my breath until the words he typed appear on the screen.

History Hunk: Oh, probably. My schedule is pretty open at the moment.

What does he mean by that? Am I bothering him by asking? Maybe he’s over this. Maybe he has a date.

Chewing my bottom, lip, I type out the fastest answer in the history of texting.

Me: Well, if you’re busy …

History Hunk: STOP. I’m free. Tell me when and where.

My fingers are swift over the keys, falling right back into the groove.

Me: My mom’s house. Saturday afternoon? *bites nails*

History Hunk: I’ll bring Mace.

Me: You’re the best.

History Hunk: You haven’t seen the start of it. ;)

Me: Gotta go.

History Hunk: Chocolate cupcakes tomorrow? Peanut butter icing?

Me: Bye.

Seventeen

Mariah

“My, you look beautiful today.” Lance starts the engine and pulls out onto the street. “Did you do something new to your hair?”

“Why are you being weird?” I laugh, fastening my seatbelt. I have no idea how we can fall into such an easy rhythm, like this is what we do and nothing awkward ever happened, but we do and I’m more grateful for it today than ever.

He looks at me over his shoulder. “I read a book on manners. It said I should compliment you when I see you.”

“I believe the first thing you said to me was, ‘I knew you’d cave,” I say, yawning.

“I tried.” He wrinkles his forehead. “Sleepy?”

“A little. It hit me around two this morning what I was up against today. Makes it hard to sleep.”

The car pulls onto the highway toward Lancaster and the address I gave Lance earlier. The traffic is light, the sun bright. Now that we’re in the car and on the way, a sharp, almost bitter sensation has its claws in my gut.

Instead of focusing on that, I focus on Lance.

He’s wearing a collared shirt the color of jade with a pair of dark jeans. He’s chosen to don the pair of black glasses I love which he wears on occasion. It’s the confidence, I think, that his glasses portray that makes me swoon when I see them on his face. There’s a fraction of stubble along his jaw that lends a casual vibe to his ensemble It’s glorious.

Tucking my hands under my thighs just so I don’t touch him, I try to refocus my attention on the road ahead.

“What’s the game plan today?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, are we going eye-for-an-eye or playing nice? I can do either, but I’d like to have some operational direction before we go in.”

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I worry it back and forth.

There’s no telling how this is going to go. I haven’t seen Chrissy in forever except for an accidental run-in at the pharmacy during Easter. Every interaction between us is heated, the result of a lifetime of competition that I didn’t sign up for.

It hurts. When I was a little girl and Mom and Chrissy would take off to do a pageant or go for a girl’s day at the spa and I was left home alone, I would get angry. Not that I wanted to do those things; I just wanted to be included. Then, in my early twenties, I switched. Numbing myself from it was easier. I didn’t need them. When I met Eric I was sure I’d met the man I was going to start my own family with—and then he leaves me for them. It was like he conspired with the enemy and they all laughed in my face. The pain, the anger, wasn’t just from losing Eric. It was from losing him to them, losing him to the same people he was supposed to protect me from.

“I don’t know what the plan is,” I admit. “Maybe we should just go back home?”

Expecting a witty retort, I hold my breath and wait. Lance surprises me instead.

“I think we should go,” he states.

“Why?”

He mulls over my question, tapping out the song on the radio against his thigh. We speed around a car and he takes a drink of coffee from a to-go cup before turning to me.

“I think we should go because I’d give anything to celebrate a birthday with my Mom,” he says.

My heart pulls at his expression. He looks so lonely, even though I’m right here, so I pull his hand off his thigh and hold it gently in mine. The contact isn’t the bolt of lightning it usually is. It’s a soft, gentle buzz that I feel in every cell of my body. In return, he gives me the slightest upturn of his lips, but that’s all.

“I’m sorry your parents passed away,” I say. His hand is warm and firm, sturdy just like he is, as I roll it over in my palm. His fingers move against mine in a lazy dance that feels entirely too good.

He squeezes my fingers, holding them tight for a long second, before pulling his hand away. He uses the now-freed palm to turn the steering wheel leading us off the highway and into downtown Lancaster.

“My family isn’t like yours though,” I say. A bubble of anxiety hits me as we stop at the first light in town. “It’s almost like they aren’t my family. I’m just an attachment. I got thrown in at the last second like those apple pies at fast-food joints that you add for ninety-nine cents and then never eat. That’s me.”

“Come on,” he jokes. “You’re at least the chocolate pie.”

“I don’t know …” I say, the end of my words tinged with a laugh.

“You want to leave? We leave. You want to be the last person there? We stay. I’m here for you.” He looks me dead in the eye and I fight hard not to let him see me melt into a puddle. “If things get rough, just climb on my back and I’ll haul your ass out.” His head goes side-to-side like he’s thinking. “I might grab your ass on the way out though. Just warning you.”

“You’d hate that, wouldn’t you?”

“Hell no,” he grins. “I might do it just to show your ex what he’s missing.”

My face twists up as I come to terms with seeing Eric. There’s a question dangling in the air but Lance doesn’t ask it. I wait until we hit the next stoplight and then just ask him what’s on his mind.

“This Eric, that’s his name right?” He asks as I nod. “How serious were you?”

I think back on the day he broke things off with me. How he called me at work and asked me to come right to his apartment because he wanted to talk. How that day I thought maybe, just maybe, this was the talk I was waiting for—the one that came dotted with a simple ring and a promise of a lifetime.

This is not something I want to discuss with Lance. It’s somewhat embarrassing, even though I know it’s not necessarily a reflection of me. It took me a long, long time to even semi-believe that and I’m not to the point where I can rock that attitude like it’s my job. Yet.

“I thought I’d marry him,” I admit. “I knew he’d been looking at rings because he left a browser open on the computer. I was really just waiting on him to pop the question,” I say, refusing to look at Lance. “Then he breaks up with me out of nowhere, so I figure he’s getting cold feet. It happens. But then six weeks or something later, I’m asked to come to lunch at Mom’s and there he sits with Chrissy.”

“Your mom just let this happen?” he asks in disbelief.

“Oh, yeah,” I nod enthusiastically. “It was my fault I was boring and didn’t fix myself up or stay exciting. What’s a man to do?”

Lance’s knuckles turn white as they grip the steering wheel. The tires bark a little as we take the final turn. I watch him in awe as he physically reacts to this story. That he cares enough, in any respect, to even react at all is both a little shocking and mind-blowing at once.

As the house comes into view, my breathing becomes ragged. I blow out a measured breath as the car climbs the hill up to the driveway.

“Here we are,” he says, parking behind a giant white SUV. “If I need bail, call Walker. You’d think Machlan because he owns a bar and this is more his speed, but he’d just find Eric and go at him for round two.”

Swatting his shoulder, I giggle. “You won’t need bail. They aren’t fighting people. Just assholes.”

“Yeah,” he says as he pops open his door. “But I am fighting people and I have a thing against assholes.”

He shakes his head, warning me not to open my door as he rounds the corner of the car. I sit like a princess, waiting for my door to be opened. It’s amusing and endearing at the same time because, although he’s done this a few times, something is slightly different about it now. And I’m okay with that.

“Listen,” I say as we start up the long sidewalk lined with rose bushes. “They are different from me.”

“I met your mother, remember?” he groans.

“Yes, but today will be different. Today she has Chrissy and the baby.” My throat is tight as I force a swallow. “They’re her pride and joy. I’m used to it. I know what it’s going to be like. But—”

He whirls me around to face him. Startled, I gasp but the breath falls slowly away as my eyes catch up with his.

He peers down at me, his green eyes sparkling. “You’re here because you’re the bigger person. I’m here because I’m with you. If they try to make you feel any less than you are—less smart or beautiful or talented—it’s because they’re insecure.”

There are hundreds of responses to that, but I can’t seem to utter a single one. His compassionate words have incapacitated mine.

My heart pounds as his hands cup my cheeks. “If I even think you’re starting to let them get to you, we’re gone.” He presses a sweet, simple kiss to the center of my cheek. It’s the most unloaded kiss I’ve ever received from him, but maybe my favorite one too.

Like a fool, I just nod, unable to come up with a coherent reply.

Lacing our fingers together, ignoring my sweaty palms, he leads me to the door. He presses the doorbell, still holding onto my hand.

Each second that passes feels like a lifetime and I want to turn around and go. I have no idea what to expect other than knowing I’ll be leaving with the understanding of how much I fail to make the cut in my mom’s eyes. That’s a given.

As we wait on her, the good ol’ script that always runs through my head starts playing. It reminds me that her mother died when she was ten and her grandmother passed away before that. It’s not totally her fault she doesn’t know how to behave in this role; she’s never been shown. It’s an excuse, I know, but one that does make her inadequacy a little easier to swallow.

The door opens. Mom is standing on the other side, a baby nestled in a soft pink blanket in her arms. “Good morning, Mariah,” she says. “I’m so happy you could make it.”

The sight of her with the baby startles me. I knew Chrissy’s daughter would be here and it’s really the main reason I agreed to this idiotic idea. But seeing the little button nose sticking out of the top of the blankets is enough to sock the wind right out of me.

Lance swoops in for the save. “Happy birthday, Taylor,” he says, squeezing my hand. “It was nice of you to invite us.”

“What a wonderful surprise,” she coos. “I was sure you wouldn’t come.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks.

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sure you have more interesting things you could be doing today than accompany my daughter.”

My initial reaction is to turn away and head to the car. Her jab coupled with the sight of the baby is a bit much for the first twenty seconds, but Lance’s hand grips down on mine. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“How sweet,” she purrs. “Come in. Your sister and her husband are already in the living room. I was going to invite some friends to brunch with us, but thought we could have a family get together instead.”

It crosses my mind that she might intentionally be trying to drive me crazy as we head through the foyer. The house is nothing like I remember it. It’s nearly all-white now with lots of gold mirrors. Oversized vases sit here and there with sprays of fake flowers jutting out the top. There’s nothing comfortable or home-like about any of it, not that it felt like a home when I lived here.

We go through a newly-rounded doorway where the crystals from a chandelier send sparkles of light throughout the room. We turn a corner and I stop in my tracks.

Chrissy and Eric are standing along a wall of windows. They’re clearly awaiting our arrival. Lance takes a step closer to me as I try to maintain my composure.

My brain is muddled trying to decide what I should say or need to say or whether or not I should say anything at all.

Chrissy looks older than the last time I saw her. Her hair is now a reddish brown and her cheeks fuller than before. She reminds me of our father, in a way, and I wonder if she’s seen him lately.

Eric sports a beer belly that sticks out over the buckle of his belt. His hairline is receding slightly, even earlier than I predicted. There’s no twinkle in his eye, no joke on the tip of his tongue, and I wonder what I ever saw in him to begin with.

“Hello,” Lance says, breaking the ice. “How’s everyone doing?”

Eric darts across the room. “Hi. I’m Eric.” He offers Lance a hand, pointedly ignoring me. Lance bites back a smile as he shakes Eric’s hand.

“I’m Lance. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” He looks at me and then right back to Lance. “That’s my wife, Chrissy, and our daughter, Betsy.”

Lance forces a swallow. “This is my girlfriend Mariah, but I think you already know that.”

My elbow finds his side and I can feel his body shifting with a silent chuckle.

“Nice to see you, Mariah.” Eric nods in my direction before rejoining my sister a few feet away.

I don’t want to look at any of them. It’s safe tucked against Lance’s side, depending on his predictable way of taking the reins when I need him to. I just wish we were some place else together.

“How are you, Mariah?” It’s Chrissy’s voice, soft and careful, that breaks the awkward silence.

“I’m good.” I pull my gaze away from Lance and settle it on my sister. “How are you, Chrissy?”

“I’m good.” She tries to give me a smile, but seems to be unsure whether it’s the right thing to do.

“Mariah,” Mom calls out. “There are appetizers in the dining room. I know how hungry you get and it’ll be a few minutes before brunch is ready.”

It’s a dig. It’s a dig as deep as the Mariana Trench. My teeth grind together knowing it’ll likely be the first of many.

Lance crooks his head so he can look me in the eye. It’s like he pulls me in, reminding me of who I am and who I’m not. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Giving him a quick smile, I turn to my family. Mom is still snuggling the baby on the sofa. Since she’s the real reason I agreed to this, I make a play. “Can I hold Betsy?”

Mom seems thrown by my question. My sister looks at me, slightly less thrown than our mother.

I don’t say anything and neither does she, but we quietly agree. Heading to the sofa, I wait as my mom lays the baby still swaddled in pink in my arms.

“Oh,” I say softly, pressing the blankets down so I can see her face. My eyes fill with tears as I take her in. Chrissy’s long, dark eyelashes and Eric’s full lips are present. I gasp when I see her tiny birthmark just above her upper lip like mine. “Hey, you,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “I’m your Aunt Mariah.”

I feel a connection to this beautiful little angel that supersedes the emotions I have about her parents. She’s tiny and innocent and deserving of so much love that I hope I can be a part of her life in some meaningful way.

Raising her to my lips, I press a kiss to her sweet-smelling skin. My heart clenches as I hold her close, rocking her gently back and forth. When I open my eyes, I’m looking at Lance.

His brows are furrowed, his jaw working back and forth. He doesn’t look angry as Chrissy approaches me. He doesn’t look worried either. He looks like he’s thinking about something that is taking every bit of his mental power to process.

“Isn’t she perfect?” Chrissy whispers, coming up beside me. There’s a hesitation in her tone, like she’s feeling me out.

“She’s beautiful,” I say softly. “She has my birthmark.” I pull her away from my chest and look at her again. “You are so pretty, Miss Betsy. Your great grandma would’ve loved you so, so much.”

“Let me see her,” Lance says, reaching for the baby.

I’m not sure I heard him right. But, sure enough, he takes the few steps toward me with his arms outstretched. He holds my gaze as I lay the baby in his strong arms.

Our skin brushes against one another’s as we make the transfer. It sends a rush of warmth down my spine that I can’t explain, but know I want to experience again.

I watch Lance take in Betsy from a few steps back. He looks so big holding the tiny little baby. She doesn’t even take up the distance from his hand to his elbow. He holds her like he’s done it a million times, like holding a baby is a routine thing he does every weekend. There’s no clumsiness, no protest from Betsy to give her back to someone who knows what they’re doing. She sleeps just as soundly in his arms as she did mine.

“You’re a cutie,” he tells her. “You look a lot like your Aunt Mariah and that’s totally a good thing.” He lifts his eyes to mine and then drags them to my sister. “She’s gorgeous. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Um, she has so much hair,” Chrissy says, a nervous edge in her voice masked with an abundance of cheerfulness. “I hope it stays kind of curly like this.”

I’m not sure who she’s taking to so I don’t bother responding.

With a final look at the baby, Lance offers her back to me. “You want her?”

“Yes,” I say, feeling her nuzzle up to me. It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world. Her little eyes open slowly as she gets comfortable. “Hey, there,” I say, as she tries to focus on me. “How are you, sweet baby?”

Her lips twist in a cry that’s not really a cry.

“I think she’s hungry,” I say, turning to my sister. I hand her over, still unsure how to navigate this with Chrissy. I can tell she wants to talk, to pretend like we’re long lost friends, but we aren’t. We were never friends and I haven’t forgotten.

Once the baby is settled in Eric’s lap with a bottle, I exhale. “Congratulations,” I tell both of them. Or neither of them. I don’t know.

“Thank you,” Chrissy says. “I’m glad she got to meet you.”

“Me too,” I say, rocking back on my heels.

“I’d like to add to this little tribe,” Mom declares out of nowhere. “Do you think you and Mariah will be discussing children soon, Lance? I’d love her to finally settle down.”

“Really, Mom?” I ask, disdain thick in my voice. “Are you really going to do this today?”

“Do what, honey? I’m just asking about your plans. That’s all.”

Lance lays a hand on my arm. He looks at my mother. “Whoever Mariah chooses to be the father of her children will be a lucky man.”

“Are you saying you’re not up for the job?” She doesn’t even try to pretend she’s not putting him on the spot. “Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Mother,” I growl, glad I’m no longer holding Betsy. My fists are clenched at my sides as I watch her play one of her maddening games.

“I think you should let your daughter decide who she wants to procreate with and you should worry more about whatever is burning in the kitchen,” Lance shrugs.

As soon as he says it, I smell the odor of burnt toast. Mom must too because she gets to her feet and heads towards the kitchen.

“Babies come when the time is right, but I’m starting to wonder if she will ever find a man to settle down with,” Mom says dryly like she just commented on the color of the sky.

“That’s none of your business,” I sputter.

Lance smiles at my mom. “Maybe Mariah is pickier than most women. Maybe when she does settle down, it won’t end in divorce.”

With her eyes narrowed in our direction, Mom heads through a doorway to the right. The room heaves a collective sigh as soon as she’s out of sight.

“You have to cut her some slack,” Chrissy says. “She’s under a lot of stress right now.”

I must not have heard her correctly. “She’s under stress?”

“Yes. You know she doesn’t handle it well.”

“And how does that make up for the other years I’ve been alive?” I ask.

“It’s not you, Mariah,” she contends. “She just can’t deal normally like you or I can.”

“It is me and that’s fine. It can always be me,” I shrug. “I don’t care anymore. That’s where you both lose.”

There’s something freeing about putting that into the world. A weight is lifted off my shoulders as I watch Chrissy’s reaction to my words.

“Mariah …”

“No, Chrissy,” I say, shaking my head. “No.”

“I …” Chrissy looks at Betsy on Eric’s lap before looking back at me. “I’d like to talk to you alone one of these days. Do you think that’s possible?”

There’s no easy answer to this. I have so much to say to her and yet nothing at all. So many years’ worth of questions but none of the answers even matter anymore.

I look up at Lance and he smiles down at me.

“Maybe,” I say to Chrissy. “Let’s talk about it later.”

Chrissy agrees, forcing a smile. “Come on, Eric. Let’s check on Mom.”

Lance’s chin dips as soon as they disappear. “I’d like to talk to you alone one of these days. Do you think that’s possible?”

“You’re talking to me alone right now.”

“Talking was a euphemism.”

I giggle, twisting in his arms so I’m facing him. If there is one easy part of today, it’s being with him.

He looks at me with an incredulous, almost reverent glimmer in his eye and the entirety of it—that look, his gorgeous face, the way he stood up for me today and let me lean on him—is too much.

I’m sure I could’ve faced this on my own, but it was so much easier with him by my side.

Every brick I’ve stacked between us is starting to fall down. It’s getting harder and harder to remember why I shouldn’t want anything to do with Lance. It’s becoming impossible to tell myself to stay away from someone I’ve been attracted to for so long, especially now that he’s showing me so many sides of himself.

He rests his chin on the top of my head, lacing his fingers together at the small of my back. It feels good to be able to rest on him for a moment, feel the strength of his arms around me.

“What the fuck is wrong with your mom?” he asks.

“I warned you,” I giggle.

“You couldn’t have prepared me for that. Wow.”

“I’m never prepared, even though I know what’s coming.”

He kisses me just behind the ear. I’m running on adrenaline and his touches; his sweet little gestures are enough to make my head nearly explode.

“You’re driving me crazy,” I breathe, feeling my body go limp in his arms. “Seriously, Lance. I can’t take it.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Be a dick,” I laugh. “Stop being sweet and kind and touching me …”

He rolls his hips ever-so-slightly against me. “Do you feel how hard I am for you?”

“I think you’re always hard.”

“This isn’t for some app girl or another version of you. I’m so fucking hard for you, Mariah Malarkey, that I can’t stand it. But I will stand it because you hold all the cards. Why I’m okay with that, I have no fucking clue and it might be my undoing,” he chuckles.

Feeling more confident, more brazen than I’ve ever felt in my life, I turn and stand on my tiptoes. It’s my mouth on his ear, my breath hot against his skin. In a voice so low I can barely hear it myself, I whisper, “I’m so wet for you, Lance Gibson, I’m going to have to take my panties off.”

His jaw falls to the floor. I get a quick glance at it before I have to look away so he doesn’t see the pink in my cheeks.

“Come on. Let’s get lunch,” I call out, walking away as quickly as I can.

Eighteen

Lance

“He’s a monster,” I add, not sure what more to say. Eric has been attempting to make small talk the entire meal. Two things are clear: one, he’s no Einstein and two, his sense of humor is nil.

He continues on about the new fighter out of Crew Gentry’s gym in Boston like he knows something about fighting. His terminology is all wrong, explanations of fighting styles downright backward, and he fumbles through it with the confidence that only an idiot can have. It’s kind of impressive in a strange, uncomfortable way.

Keeping an eye on Mariah, I take off my glasses and clean them with a napkin. She’s said just enough during the meal to remain polite and sophisticated. Her back, though, is rigid. Her shoulders are as stiff as a board.

While I listen to Eric babble on, I rest my arm over the back of her chair. She leans toward it. I only notice because I’m paying attention.

My hand goes to the back of her neck, working the tense muscles back and forth. My touch alone causes her to relax some, but as I press back and forth, her entire body slackens.

She molds to my hand. She bends as I press on her delicate skin and she shifts in her seat. My fingertips stroke up her spine and draw back down. Listening to Eric’s stumbling story takes more effort than I care to spare.

“I hear what you’re saying,” I say in an attempt at getting him to shut up, “but Pike isn’t as strong on the ground. I know he’s with Gentry now and that was his specialty, but he doesn’t have the skills Crew had. Not yet, anyway. Watch his footwork while he’s standing and then watch him scramble when his back hits the mat. He wants to be upright.”

“I guess you’re right.”

No shit.

Betsy’s cries can be heard softly from the living room. Chrissy shoves away from the table, but Taylor gets to her feet first. “Let me go, Chris. I can’t enough of those precious snuggles.”

Chrissy settles down across from Mariah once again. While she chitchats with Eric about Betsy’s feeding schedule, Mariah focuses her attention on me.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine. You?” she asks sweetly, like she already knows the answer. She rests her palm on my thigh. Her fingers flex against the denim, taunting me with how close she is to my cock.

I haven’t been able to erase her tease from earlier. I’ve sat the last forty-five minutes wondering just how wet she really is.

It still surprises me when she says things like that, things that remind me of Nerdy Nurse. It was sexy before, but paired with the proper librarian I know from my nine-to-five makes it perfection. This is the thing songs are written about.

Dirty, raunchy, hip-hop songs.

Maybe sweet country ones too.

This is my problem.

We trade a secret smile. My hand clasps around the corner of her shoulder, pulling her closer to me. Eric’s gaze sits square on the side of my face. I want to look at him and tell him exactly what he’s missing, everything he tossed away. The problem is he’s been inside her and I haven’t and that little detail gnaws away at me until I’m almost raw inside.

It’s not a competition. She doesn’t want him. It’s my thigh her hand is on. But there’s a carnal need swirling around my gut, begging me to mark her. To leave an imprint on her that she won’t be able to forget as easily as she’s forgotten him. To bind her like she has bound me.

Drawing a line down her arm, I lean towards her, angling my head away from the others, I whisper, “Still wet?”

“Are you still touching me?” she breathes. “Pretty self-explanatory.”

“Your hand is killing me,” I warn. “If you move it any closer …”

She leans her head just enough to block anyone from seeing my reaction as she glides her palm down my swollen shaft. Hissing, I move in my seat, trying not to make a spectacle but almost coming undone.

“You’re evil,” I tell her.

Mariah’s eyes dance with a lightness I’m not sure I’ve seen before. It makes the entire dinner, including the forced conversation with Eric, and even the weird looks from Taylor worth it to see her this way. Her laughter pulls Chrissy’s attention our way.

“So,” Chrissy says, hands clasped together, “how long have you two been together?”

“Oh,” Mariah says in surprise. “Um, well, we …” She grips my thigh as if jostling me to help.

“We’ve known each other a while,” I explain. “A couple of years, actually.”

“That’s great. You look very happy,” Chrissy coos.

“We are,” I reply, trying to smoothen my features. “I feel like I’m constantly finding new layers to her I didn’t know existed.”

Mariah’s nails bite into my thigh as she scoots herself closer to me. “How sweet,” she says. Her arched eyebrow is nothing less than a coded go fuck yourself. It’s all I can do to not laugh.

“You’re sweet,” I wink, watching the arched brow go higher. “Then you’re …” The words fall as her hand rests on the crotch of my pants. It’s like she’s hit the mute button and I suddenly can’t speak. Every bit of focus is now directed to the spot where her palm sits heavily on my dick. “You’re full of surprises.”

Pressing my palm on top of hers, I wait for her to pull back. She doesn’t. Suppressing a growl, my insides rioting with all they have, I work her hand harder against me. My cock is so swollen there’s no way I could stand up right now.

Mariah, on the other hand, just looks at her sister with the most subdued look on her face. “We are. Just having fun.” She turns to me sweetly, as she inches her fingers even closer to my shaft. “Are you having fun today, Lance?”

Chuckling to cover the burn in my throat, I swallow. “Absolutely.” Lifting my hand from hers, I scoot it onto her lap. I work her dress into a ball. “I think you’re a barrel of fun.”

As soon as my skin touches the silkiness of her bare thigh, the hand that was touching me goes to her throat. A small laugh escapes as she responds to something her sister says, but she doesn’t look at me.

I turn in my seat, angled towards her, and toss a few words back at Eric to keep him talking. Moving my fingers towards her inner thigh, I let the weight of each fingertip rest against her before moving the next. Each touch dries my mouth, tangles my gut, and sends my heartbeat soaring in my ears.

She’s soft and smooth. The muscles in her legs tighten as she spreads them, moving one in my direction, opening herself up for me, making my blood turn to fire.

“Yeah, not much of a hockey fan,” I tell Eric when I realize he’s waiting for a response. He’s satisfied with this and goes back to whatever he’s watching on his phone.

Chrissy is telling us about Betsy’s last doctor’s appointment, lost in the flow of a story that is sure to take a while. Mariah watches her with what would seem to anyone to be rapt attention—anyone but me. I know her better than that.

The heat from her pussy reaches my hand as I move my fingers forward. I cup the inside of her thigh just inches from her panties. She steadies her features but doesn’t flinch.

Studying the side of her face, my skin suddenly not big enough to contain everything trying to spill out of me, I lift one finger. With my palm pressed into the top of her leg, I creep one digit towards the apex of her thighs.

Her breathing shakes as she pulls in lungful after lungful of air. My chest matches hers move for move.

Her skin is damp from the heated desire nestled between her legs. The edge of her panties form a distinct line around the curve of her hip to a sweet spot beneath her. I fix my gaze on the pout of her lips and try to remember that there are other people here.

“Eric,” she says, “how is your mother?”

My laugh is covered by a cough as I drag the edge of my finger beneath the lace covering her slit. It’s wet even there, the dampness creating an all-too-easy path along the side of her pussy.

She laughs again, this time with a tremble. Her body flexes forward as if she’s craving the contact as badly as I am. There’s no way that’s true. I’ve wanted this woman for as many days as I’ve known her.

Betsy’s cries from the other room pulling her parents’ attention elsewhere. Mariah sags back in her chair, a move that just gives me more access. As our lunch partners murmur amongst themselves, I slip my finger to the edge of her opening.

Her cheeks burn red. She reaches for a glass of water as I shift in my seat, the tightening in my balls so fierce I cringe. She’s so wet that her juices trickle down my finger, so hot the moisture from her body dampens my hand.

Just as the glass reaches her lips, I sink the tip of my finger into her opening. Her eyes fly wide as her shoulders drop in relief.

Eric’s voice is on the periphery of my senses. It’ll have to wait. With every push of my finger into her body, her muscles tense around my pointer. My stomach twists into a knot I’m sure I’m not going to be able to unthread.

“I’m going to check on Betsy.” Chrissy’s voice is barely audible over the rush of blood pounding in my ears. I follow Mariah’s eyes which are trained on the couple leaving the room.

“God,” she moans as I slip in a second finger. “I want to hit you for doing this right here.”

I still. “Want me to stop?”

She gulps a breath before turning to me. “Yes.”

My fingers withdraw immediately, the knot in my stomach straining.

She looks around in desperation, her eyes darting in a circle around her. Shoving away from the table, she yanks the hem of her dress back down. Her eyes hood as she looms over me.

Mariah has turned me on so many times. But not a single one of them, neither as Mariah or when she was promising me filthy things under the alias of Nerdy Nurse, has made me harder than I am right now.

“I’m losing my mind,” she breathes, a roughness to her tone that is the final fray of my self-restraint. “Follow me.”

She takes my hand, guiding me to my feet. Our footsteps tap across the tile. We go through an arched doorway and take a right.

Rounding a set of stairs, there’s a room tucked in the back. She twists the knob and we enter a butler’s pantry. It’s painted light grey with a set of cabinets lining the smallish, rectangular space. Shelves hang on the top starting a few inches off the cabinets and extending to the ceiling.

The door shuts behind me, a lock clicking into place. I look over my shoulder.

She’s standing in the middle of the room. Her eyes are almost feral as her chest bounces with each hefty breath.

A series of thoughts sweep through my mind as I look at her. I have no problem with one-night stands. I prefer them. I own them. But a rustle of uncertainty surges through me when I take her in and she doesn’t look like a one-night stand and I don’t know what that means.

“Are you sure?” I ask her.

“Shut up, Lance.”

My hands are on her face, my lips crashing against hers before either of us see it coming. Her back slams against the door. A box of cereal rattles off a shelf and falls to the floor.

Her mouth works effortlessly against mine, her hand tangles in my hair. She tastes of cherries as her mouth opens for me. My tongue parts her lips, lapping against hers. She moans, but my kiss swallows it.

Each second together feels like it took a second too long to arrive. Each moment bleeds into the next creating a dizzying high that rivals any I’ve ever had. I break contact with her mouth only to dot kisses across her chin and down the gentle slope of her neck.

Her body bends to mine, continuously moving to scratch the itch that is only going to be soothed with an orgasm.

“This,” she gasps, as I pull her dress over her head and toss it onto a nearby shelf, “is so inappropriate.” She leans forward, dragging our mouths together again.

“Like you care,” I say between kisses, fumbling with the latch on her bra.

She opens her eyes. Narrowing them as she bites down on my bottom lip, she shimmies her shoulders out of her straps. Her breasts are held up only by the cups of the soft pink bra that barely contains the gorgeous mounds.

“Fuck,” I hiss, kissing down her neck, yanking down the satin cups. Her breasts spring free. With one in each hand, I pull her taught nipple into my mouth. Mariah’s hips roll into me as she moans, her fingernails scraping against my scalp.

Hooking my fingers through the delicate bands of her panties, I give them a pull. They break free as easily as my willpower.

I take her in like a teenager seeing a woman naked for the first time. She’s so fucking beautiful with curves around her hips, her breasts, and a softness to her legs and stomach. I wish I had more time to appreciate this, to revel in how lucky I am to be the one with her right now, but I don’t. That’ll have to come later.

“Why do you still have clothes on?” she pants.

“Because you’re naked,” I say, kissing a line across her from hip-to-hip. “It’s kind of hard to stop licking you.”

“If it’s only kind of hard, then we better stop.”

I stop. It’s actually painful to break contact, get to my feet, and face her without touching her again. But I manage. Somehow.

Slipping off my shoes, then my socks, I kick them to the side. I refuse to let her look anywhere else as I unbutton my shirt and send it flying. My pants and navy boxer briefs drop to the floor and go skidding to the side with the rest of my shit.

A smile tickles her lips as I palm my cock.

“Is this hard enough for you?” I ask.

The air between us sizzles, our gazes heating the space until it’s too much to take. We meet somewhere in the middle, our lips crashing against one another. Her hands wrap around my neck, her legs around my waist. I press her back to the door again, the shelf on the wall rattling at the force.

My shaft is buried between the ridges of my abs and the softness of her belly. She reaches down, touching the pre-cum glistening on the head.

“I have no condom,” I say, pressing my lips against the top of her shoulder.

“Now’s not the time to tell me that.” Her head hits the door, the sound thudding through the room.

“I’m clean,” I promise. “Had a check-up last month.”

She cups my cheeks, pulling my face to hers. “Why should I trust you?” she asks, nibbling my bottom lip.

Squeezing the cheeks of her ass, I groan. “Because I’m not an asshole. Good enough for you?”

“Fine. I’m on the pill.”

“Fabulous. But are you clean?” I tease, sliding my tongue into her mouth.

She laughs, pulling away. “Fuck you.”

“I want to, but I have to be safe too.”

“Yes, of course I’m—”

I’m inside her with one thrust, parting her flesh with a single, solid stroke. She yelps as her muscles pull at mine, cinching my cock like a sheath.

“I’m inclined to believe you haven’t done this in a while,” I chuckle. The head of my dick is pulled back so hard by the tightness of her pussy that it almost hurts.

“Just shut up and fuck me, Lance.”

“Yes, madam.”

I bury myself in her. She’s soaked, her pussy burning inside for me. I shove myself inside her again, feeling her pulse around my throbbing cock.

She softly moans, her eyes fluttering open like she’s in a haze she’s can’t get out of as I pound into her. If I had my way, I’d keep her here permanently.

She feels too good wrapped around me. Too good in my arms. Too fucking gorgeous, and she’s glowing from what I’m doing to her. Me. A man who has no business touching a woman like her.

I’m an animal, a guy that intentionally keeps emotion out of the equation when sleeping with a woman. So why in the fucking hell does this not feel like a normal, run-of-the-mill fuck?

“Hey,” she breathes.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t stop.”

* * *

Mariah

A slow, sexy smile stretches across his face as he presses himself all the way until he hits the back of my pussy. I’m held between him and the door, his body sweaty against mine.

The butler’s pantry smells of sex and sugar mixed with Lance’s cologne.

I can barely breathe from the adrenaline, barely process the fact that he’s inside me. I’m dying for him to move, dying over the fact that he’s looking at me in a way I can’t deal with.

His chin lifts, his throat on full display. It leads to a set of muscled shoulders, a symmetrically perfect chest, and abs that make me whimper.

Tilting my hips forward, he doesn’t miss a beat. He rolls into me again, filling me with his rock-hard length.

He works himself against me, swirling across my clit. With each movement the door rattles, the cookbooks lining the door above us rustle against the shelf.

“Hold on,” he says.

Wrapping my arms around his neck and legs around his waist, he cups my ass in his hands and walks me to a counter. Pushing aside a cookie jar and a canister of flour, he sets my ass down on the cool marble.

My legs dangle off of the edge. My breasts sit on the top of my bra, my hair hangs in my face which is assuredly smeared with make-up, but I hold my breath as he takes me in.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he growls.

I’m sure I’ve looked prettier, but I’ve never felt it more than I do right now with this man eyeing me like he wants to devour me.

“Show me,” I whisper.

His hands grip my hips almost too hard, dragging me towards the end of the counter. I reach for his cock, but he squats down instead.

He parts my legs and crouches between them, giving me a mischievous grin. His face inches closer to my opening until his tongue slides between my legs and laps at my wetness.

“Oh, my God,” I groan, my hands propping me up behind me. All I can see is the green of his eyes dancing with mirth as he watches me absorb the pleasure he’s doling out.

“Sit. Still,” he says, pressing on my stomach to hold me down.

“You’re so good at this,” I say as he inserts a finger into my hole. His tongue licks up to my clit before he sucks it into his mouth. “Fuck you for being so good at this.”

He chuckles against me, the humming of his throat making everything worse. Better. I don’t freaking know. My head spins, the relief I need is so close I can taste it.

“I’m going to come,” I groan.

Then he stops.

“What are you doing?” I ask through gritted teeth. I feel like a baby when I almost whine as he stands. “Lance!”

“Yes, you are.” He scoops me back up. I link my ankles at the small of his back. “You’re going to come on my cock.”

He’s inside me, splitting me in two, pounding me with no fucks given about the noise we’re making or the sensitivity of the situation. My back slams into a wall next to a rack of spices as my body screams around him.

His eyes are trained on me, his jaw tense. I want to return the favor, watch him watch me, but I can’t keep my eyes open as the pressure inside me soars.

“I’m so close,” I beg as he slides inside me again.

“Mariah?” A voice comes from down the hall.

I snap my attention to Lance through a blur. It’s just clear enough to see him grin.

“Bite my shoulder,” he instructs, “because I’m not stopping.”

“Mariah?” My mom calls out again.

He twirls his hips as he’s balls-deep inside me. It’s enough to tip me over the edge. My legs shake, my body goes slack. I bite down on his shoulder.

His skin is hot and hard in my mouth as he pounds into me. Growling under his breath, he presses me harder against the wall. His cock swells as he empties himself into me. It only makes me shudder even more.

Every muscle in my body aches. The light in the pantry is too bright. The bolt of delicious orgasm melts me from the inside out as it rolls through my veins with every movement from Lance.

His thrusts weaken while my bite turns into a slack-jawed kiss. I pop a final, lingering press against the center of his shoulder before pulling away.

He quiets, still inside me, as I take in the definite circle marring his tanned skin. He looks at it too and laughs.

“Sorry,” I say, half-heartedly.

“I’m not.” He slips out of me and drops me easily to my feet. Kissing the top of my head, he lets his lips linger a moment longer than necessary. “I’ve fantasized about the things you’d say while you come.”

As I smack his chest, the buzz of the orgasm starts to dissolve and a tinge of reality works its way back in. I slip my bra back up and find my dress as the truth of his words hits me. Pausing, I look at him. I almost don’t want to ask in case I heard him wrong, but I do want to know. “You’ve fantasized about me, huh?”

He scoops up his clothes and starts covering up the body I could look at forever.

“Yup,” he says, buttoning his shirt. “But not one of them was as good as that.”

My cheeks ache from the smile stretched across them as I search for my panties. I never thought he fantasized about me. Not really. Maybe wanted me for a quickie here or there, but never an all-out fantasy.

“Mariah?” A knock comes against the door. “Are you in there?”

Grabbing my panties from behind an oversized can of soup, I whip my head to Lance. He looks no worse for the wear.

“What are we going to do now?” I say, half in shock. “Oh my God, Lance.”

He snakes his arm around my waist and puts his lips to my ears. “I think you need to go to the restroom and clean yourself up. I just came so fucking hard.”

I swat his shoulder. “I’m serious!”

“We walk out like two consenting adults. Ready?” he winks.

“Not that I care, but what is she going to think?”

“That you’re one lucky lady,” he laughs.

Before I can overthink it anymore, he tugs open the door. My mother is standing on the other side. She looks at me, then at him, in surprise.

“Oh,” she says, swallowing roughly.

“Mrs. Stevens, you need to have someone look at this lock. It’s sticking,” he says blandly.

“Really?” She looks at him, then at me. “I haven’t had any trouble with it.”

Lance grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. He looks at me. “Trouble seems to creep up in the strangest places.”

My brows pull together, a question on the tip of my tongue, but my mother speaks before I can.

“Did you like what I’ve done with the pantry, Mariah?”

Starting down the hall, Lance right behind me, I call out, “Your pantry is memorable, to say the least.”

Lance laughs, the sound wrapping around my heart. I just hope this isn’t one of those strange places where trouble creeps up.

Nineteen

Mariah

“Thank you for lunch.”

I take a step away from my mother. Physical interactions are something I haven’t mastered with her. They always seem contrived or like they’re only done in a room full of people because that’s what’s expected of her. They’re never warm, never safe like I imagine a mother’s hug should be. This time is no exception.

“I’m so glad you came, Mariah. And I’m even happier to see you with a man.” She turns to Lance, pulling him into the same generic embrace. “I know Mariah is a little difficult to deal with, but I hope you’ll stick around. Maybe encourage her to spend some time with her family, get out and do something besides sit in that library all day. She has so much potential.”

“I can’t even with this,” I mutter. “Are you serious right now, Mother?”

“Mrs. Stevens,” Lance says, pulling away. He casts me a warning glance over his shoulder. “With all due respect, maybe if you were a little nicer to Mariah, she’d come by more often.”

“I see,” she nods. “She’s played the victim card with you just like she does with every man.”

“The victim?” I ask. “Me? That’s a new one.”

“She just means you—”

“You probably should stay out of this,” I say, cutting off my sister. “Nothing good will come from you chiming in at this point.”

She gets a disapproving look, one she’s practiced for years. It used to scare me as a child. I’d immediately back down for fear she’d charge forward and call me names or hurt my feelings. As we stand just a few feet away from each other, she tries it again. Maybe even unknowingly. I can’t find a fuck in me to give.

Lance laughs, reaching for my hand. “Thanks for lunch. You ladies have a wonderful afternoon.”

He guides me out the door. My mom’s sharp goodbye as we leave, Chrissy’s request to call me sometime—none of that matters enough to even turn around and acknowledge it. The only thing I want to do in this moment is suck up every minute with Lance.

Unlike the times before when he’s touched me, this feels different. More intimate. Maybe it’s just because I know what it feels like to have him inside me, I don’t know. But it sends a whirl of emotions through me that I don’t have time to sort.

The late afternoon sun isn’t as warm as it was earlier and I shiver. He pulls me into his side, running his hand up and down my arm as we descend the stairs to the sidewalk.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” I note, looking up at him. My hand shakes as I place it on my chest, the excitement from the day starting to wear off.

“You were so tight …”

“Not what I meant,” I laugh. Each echo of my chest feels like I’m sloughing off some of the stress from the day. Like I’m casting all of that off and leaving it here, in Mom’s yard, behind me.

“That’s totally what you meant and, if it’s not, I didn’t do you right.”

“Oh, you did me right,” I say, blushing. “We just had sex in my mom’s house. What is wrong with me?”

“Hopefully just a very sore pus—”

“Stop it,” I giggle as he opens the car door.

He spins me around to face him. “You were brilliant in there today and I’m not just talking about the pantry. Although, your performance in there …”

I smack his chest. He tosses me a wink as I climb in the passenger’s side.

His shoulders seem broader, his chest fuller, as he crosses in front of the car. I can smell him on my clothes, taste his kisses. Feel the remnants of his onslaught between my legs.

Clenching my thighs together as he climbs in, I watch him get settled. Much to my surprise, he doesn’t look at me or say a word. He flips on the engine and pulls around the circular driveway and onto the road.

I wait for him to crack a joke or to reach out and touch my leg. He does neither. When he does move, I hold my breath until I realize he’s switching on the radio and not coming near me.

It’s odd that he’s not brushing my shoulder or touching my leg. I can’t help but notice it. I tell myself it’s just because I want the contact and maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe it’s just everything from the day taking its toll, but there’s still a tangled up ball of nerves that’s starting to fray in the pit of my stomach.

Watching the scenery pass, I want to say something to break the silence. I hate it. It’s not what we do. I hate it more that I don’t know why we’re doing this now.

Summoning all my courage, I twist in my seat to say something when he speaks first.

“In all seriousness, you handled yourself so well today.”

“Thanks.”

“Your sister seemed to put her claws away.”

“Yeah. I haven’t processed that yet.”

“Your mother, on the other hand …” He makes a face.

I settle back in my seat and try to find our normal rhythm. “My mom is a piece of work who will never change.”

“What about Chrissy?” he asks carefully. “Do you think she could’ve changed? Or is this just an ‘I know when to put it on’ kind of thing?”

My shoulders rise and fall. That’s been in the back of my mind too all day, but I haven’t sorted it. “She’s always been able to turn it on and off, but today she was almost … nice.”

“I agree. Definitely worth a thought,” he notes. “And can we discuss Eric?” He presses his lips together. “He has the personality of a sloth. But sloths are kinda cute in their own way, so I feel bad even equating them to him.”

“Hey,” I giggle. “I saw you two chatting it up. I thought you were besties now. Which, by the way, was a super strange feeling.”

Lance gapes at me, stopping at a red light. “Am I that good at acting? They pay them a hell of a lot more than teachers.”

“But you didn’t hate going today, right?”

“Nope. Didn’t hate it.” He looks me up and down for a moment too long. The car behind us blares their horn. “Might’ve liked it too much.”

We speed forward, quiet again, as we mull over his words. There was a sincerity to them, a lack of playfulness I’ve come to expect from him, that has me a little worried. That too much might be a bad thing.

Closing my eyes, I remember the look on his face as I had him follow me from the table. The look in his eye as the pantry door snapped shut. The glimmer in those jade orbs as I asked him why he was still dressed.

That was me. How, I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like that and to think I just did it, to Lance, no less, has me not wanting to ever look him in the eye again.

But I process the afternoon as we make it back onto the highway on the other side of town and hit the exit towards Linton, and I can’t find an ounce of regret.

Today I was powerful. I made choices and decided what I let impact me. I was in control. I was a version of myself I really like.

“Thanks for coming with me today,” I say quietly. “I appreciate it but, um, don’t want what happened between us to make things weird.”

I think he’s going to ignore me or at least come back with something I don’t want to hear. When his palm rests on my thigh, I instantly melt into the seat.

“I think I could’ve fucked you in the middle of the table and things might’ve been weird for your mom, or Eric, but not for me,” he grins. “Come to think of it, I wish I could’ve shown that bastard what he was missing.”

“Trust me, that’s not what he was missing,” I scoff.

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on,” he chides, bumping my arm with his. “Spill it.”

“Let’s just say there was no pantry sex with Eric.”

“So, you didn’t bite his shoulder?” he teases. “Or coat his balls with your come?”

“Oh my God,” I say, burying my face in my hands.

“That was hot as hell.”

“I can’t talk about this.”

“Why? You should own that, Mariah. You’re sexy as fuck.”

I start to respond but give up and just look out the window instead. Without the hormones flooding me, it feels a lot different to say these things.

“You’re back to the librarian, huh?” he chuckles. “Imagine if I could get you that worked up in the library.”

“Will you stop?” I laugh.

He squeezes my thigh before removing his hand. “I loved seeing you like that back there.”

“Oh, I bet you did.”

“Not just naked, but let’s just put it out there right now that I’ll never, ever forget that sight.”

I look at the floorboard, concentrating on a stray piece of napkin.

“But more than that,” he continues. “You were confident. Classy. In control.”

“I don’t know what happened to me,” I say. “I usually let my annoyance at my mom win and kind of blow up or don’t show up to start with. Today felt … good.”

He’s grinning when I look at him.

We ride along in silence until we hit the exit for Bluebird. I can’t help but think of how different things are as we pass Goodman’s than they were when we passed it a few hours ago.

I think I won a little in the power balance with my mom. Maybe my relationship can be repaired with Chrissy. And Lance …

He handles the car with ease, singing the words to a song on the radio to himself. There’s no doubt he’s mulling over a thought, one I’m not sure I want to know. One I’m not sure I know how to process.

I’ll never look at him the same. It has nothing to do with knowing how he feels inside me or what his lips taste like after they’ve been all over my body. It has everything to do with him going with me today, providing a shield when I needed it.

I’ll never look at him the same, but yet nothing’s changed between us. We’re still two people with an insane chemistry that we can never let combust.

As the wheels hit the ramp, Lance speaks. “Want to take a drive? I know a little place we could go.”

While the thought of curling up next to Lance and watching the sun start to dip behind the trees is, by definition, an excellent thought, so is the idea of not getting my heart broken by him.

“I better get home,” I tell him instead. “I have some cupcakes to make for tomorrow.”

“Lemon?”

I let the sunlight warm my face. “Is that what you want?” When we pass Carlson’s Bakery and he still hasn’t answered, I look at him. There’s a look in his eye I can’t place. “Lance?”

“I was debating between lemon and red velvet.” He pulls his car against the curb in front of my house. “I can never quite make up my mind.”

“Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

He squeezes my leg a final time before getting out. Before he closes the door behind him, he pokes his head back inside. “You always surprise me, Mariah.”

By the time I get my purse, he’s opening my door. The walk to my stoop is slow and I wonder if he wishes the day didn’t have to end just like I’m wishing too. Tomorrow brings another day filled with unknowns. There’s a fear replacing all of the excitement inside me, a fear that I’ll second-guess my decisions today, all night, and tomorrow I’ll realize I somehow didn’t see the whole picture.

But when I look at him and he touches the side of my face as I stand in front of the door, I know that’s partially not true. I won’t regret today for as long as I live. And if this is the whole picture, if only for today, then I’ll have to deal with the rest of it as it comes.

“Thank you for letting me accompany you today,” he says.

My heart melts. “Thank you for accompanying me.”

I hold my breath as he draws his face lower, pressing a kiss to the apple of my cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I sigh.

I wish I could ask him in or tell him I changed my mind, to take me on that drive after all. But I just had sex in my mother’s pantry. I have to balance that out with logic at some point.

Turning to unlock the door, I yelp as Lance’s hand swats my behind. He’s jogging down the sidewalk when I turn around.

“What was that for?” I ask.

He stops at the car and grins. “I just wanted to touch your ass.”

“You’re impossible.”

He climbs in the car and starts the engine, honking as he speeds away.

Twenty

Lance

I’m about to throw back a shot of tequila when the doorbell rings. Setting it down with more force than necessary, a little splashes onto the dark kitchen countertop.

Unbuttoning the second button of my shirt, I yank open the door. Peck is standing on the stoop, a plate covered in tinfoil in his hand.

“Nana sent leftovers.” He says this like I couldn’t have guessed.

My stomach growls. “Guess it’s good timing.” Popping open the door, I step aside so my cousin can walk in. “You just leave Nana’s? It’s late.”

“Nah, I’ve had that in my car a while. Ran by Crank to work on a motor I took apart yesterday and got caught up in it. Didn’t realize I was there so long.”

“I do that grading essays,” I say, taking the plate from him.

“You could’ve said anything and I would’ve agreed. Television, a book, porn. But essays? Fuck that,” Peck laughs. As we enter the kitchen, he motions towards the shot of liquor. “That good of a day, huh?”

Hunger forgotten, I slide the plate down the bar. It hits the coffee maker with a thud.

I’ve paced these floors all damn evening trying to work out this kink in my brain, this fucking blip that seems to be overriding all sense and sensibility.

Lifting the shot glass, I swallow the tequila in one gulp. It burns like hell, making me cringe. “That shit is horrible,” I say, smacking my lips together. “Reminds me why I stick to Old Fashioneds.”

“So, why are you shooting tequila?”

“Peck. I have a problem.”

He eyes me warily as he pours himself a shot and downs it.

“How do you do that without flinching?” I ask.

“Practice. Lots and lots of practice,” he says, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his flannel shirt. “Wanna talk about that or your problem?”

Pulling out a chair, I sit at the table. Peck follows suit.

“Fine,” I say, wishing I would’ve brought the tequila to the table with me. “I have this … what word do I want to use? This … discomfort,” I say, not happy with the word selection but going with it to hurry this along.

“Um, I think this is a discussion to have with Nana. Or your doctor.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I laugh. “It’s not like that, asshole.”

“Good because I love you and all but I don’t love you enough to hear about excretions and shit.”

I reach as far as I can to the side and grab the bottle of tequila. One more time and I have the shot glass too.

As I’m pouring another swallow of fire, I ignore Peck’s curiosity. I pretend like he’s not there until the shot has settled in my stomach and I feel the tinge of numbness only a good tequila can bring.

“Okay,” I say, licking the bitterness of the drink from my lips. “I think I’m experiencing feelings, Peck.”

His laughter is unexpected. It bounces off the walls of my kitchen, the sound amplifying as it rattles around me.

“If I hadn’t drunken this shit, I’d be knocking you off that chair.” I laugh, not able to keep a straight face.

“You’d be trying, lover boy.”

“Have I ever told you I hate you?”

“Not in a while,” he grins. “Good to know you haven’t lost all of your damn mind.”

The tequila sloshes in the bottle as I spin it around and around. “I might’ve. Or I might be. Fuck this shit.”

“All right. Slow down. What’s happening? Or who is happening?” His eyes light up. “The nurse. It’s the nurse, isn’t it?”

“She’s not a nurse.”

Peck leans back in his chair. “Okay.”

“It was the nurse, only she wasn’t a nurse. I actually know her in my real life. Not that the app isn’t real life, but you know what I mean.”

His smarmy smile from the other side of the table makes me pour another shot.

“I do know what you mean,” he says. “Continue on.”

“I told myself I’d just fuck her. But that was before I knew who she was. When she was just the librarian—”

“Wait.” Peck shoots up, leaning forward on the table. “The nurse is the librarian? The one you’re always talking about who bakes cupcakes and stuff?”

“That,” I say, pointing a wobbly finger his way, “is true.”

He motions in a circle and laughs. “Keep going.”

“So now I’m in this Catch-22, right? I mean, as the librarian, I like her as a person, but I totally want to fuck her. And as the nurse, I totally want to fuck her, but I kind of like her too. Now they’re the same person and I like her and want to fuck her and I did fuck her at her mom’s house today and now I have all these weird thoughts in my head that I can’t get rid of and I think …” I down the shot.

Peck takes the tequila bottle and places it in front of him. “I think you got more than a little pussy today, cousin. I think you went and got yourself fucked.”

My forehead hits the table. The room spins but I’m ninety-nine percent sure that it’s just my imagination, just like I hope the rest of this fuckery is my imagination too.

I was this close to not taking her home. It would’ve been so easy to just drive to my house or to Bluebird and spend a few more hours together.

Why do I want to spend actual time out of bed with a woman?

I don’t want to want this. I don’t want any fucking part of this but it doesn’t seem like I have a voice in the matter.

I love touching her, feeling her light up as our bodies connect. It doesn’t even have to include my cock, which is a new thing for me. I can control my dick. Plenty of practice there. But the rest of this? Wanting to hold her hand? Touch her face? Fucking talk to her about cupcakes and books and family stuff? What the hell do I do with that? Who am I?

And since when does thinking about a woman screwing another man bother me? It’s a given. People aren’t monogamous. Having to interface with Eric today and knowing he had her before me, that somewhere in her beautiful little mind she remembers what his cock felt like, made me want to knock him out. I want to erase that from her brain and fill it only with memories of me.

Fuck. This.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here. I’m not saying this for your ego,” Peck says, “because we all know that isn’t an issue.”

“Go to Hell,” I groan, my stomach twisting with the drink.

“No, I don’t think I’ll join you tonight in Tequila Town. I like my insides just the way they are.”

“I hate you.”

“You’ve said that.” He chuckles at his own stupid comeback. “Anyway, I’m going to assume she likes you.”

This is enough to get me to lift my head. “Of course she does. Everyone likes me.”

“How could they not? Feel that charm?”

“She was feeling something and it wasn’t just my charm.”

“Good God,” he scoffs.

“She said something similar, yeah.”

He gets to his feet, taking the tequila with him. “If she likes you and you’re all crybaby over her, what’s the problem?”

My head throbs as I raise it solely for the purpose of glaring at him. Instead of narrowing, my eyes close. All I know is that Peck’s hand on my shoulder keeps me from falling out of my chair.

“Get me some water.” I place both hands on the table. “Who let me drink that shit?”

“You’re a grown up. You did it yourself.” The faucet turns on and off, then a glass sits in front of me. “Here. See if this helps. Did you eat today?”

I grin up at him and he shakes his head.

“Food, Lance. Did you eat food?”

“Yes, Peck. I ate food.” I sip the water, but the extra fluid in my stomach doesn’t help anything. Scrubbing my hands down my face, I try to wake up and pay attention. “Okay. What did you ask me?”

“I asked you what the problem was.”

I could tell him the truth. Mariah is way too good for me. I could tell him the other truth—that I would never be able to meet her conditions. I could go further and tell him the rest of the truth but I don’t really want to say any of that out loud. Just thinking of it has the alcohol sitting at the base of my throat.

“I’m going to tell you a little something about relationships, Peck.”

“Gee. I can’t wait.”

My glare is better this time. He at least sits down.

“They all come with a condition,” I tell him. “Like, we can be together but you must not have sex with other women. Or I must be able to go through your phone at any time to ensure you’re behaving. Or you must make a certain amount of money.” I force a swallow, the saliva hitting the pool of acid in my gut. “Or you must be willing to father x-number of children and have a house by the lake. That kind of thing.”

“Sounds about right.”

“I could never meet Mariah’s conditions.”

My stomach rolls and I have to close my eyes to keep it from spilling over. I blame it on the tequila, which I don’t consume much, but I’m fairly sure I’d feel just as sick saying that out loud even if I weren’t half-inebriated.

“Do you know that?”

“Yup.”

“You’ve had this conversation then?” he asks, the lines on his forehead creasing. “You’ve asked her to have a relationship?”

“Fuck no,” I wobble. “But I know her well enough to know what her conditions would be.”

Or what they should be. She should want everything the world has to offer her. She probably does. Nah, she does. I know she does. Why wouldn’t she?

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “I love how you think you know what she wants.”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“And those are completely unacceptable to you? You’d rather not be with the only woman I’ve seen fuck you all the way up than compromise?”

I nod slowly to keep from puking all over the table.

“What do you want from me?” he asks. “Sympathy?”

“I don’t want your sympathy. I didn’t even ask you to come here with your dumbass questions.”

Peck leans back in his chair, tapping a boot-clad foot against the hardwood floors. He crosses his arms over his shirt and watches me for a long time.

I sip the rest of the water, trying to clear my head. If Peck hadn’t shown up, I could’ve been in bed by now. Asleep. Not thinking about Mariah.

“What’s her condition?” he asks.

My lungs constrict as I consider telling Peck the one thing no one knows but Blaire. My head feels heavy, threatening to fall off my shoulders and roll around on the floor. I may as well let it because as soon as I say this, my nuts will be gone.

“Remember just after I graduated high school?” I ask. “And I was in that car wreck down by the lake? It was right before the Water Festival.”

“Yeah. You missed the entire festival that year. Were in the hospital for a couple weeks, right?”

I nod. Focusing on the knives stuck to the magnetic wall behind the stove and not on Peck, I decide I can’t talk to Blaire about this. Even though she knows, she’s too clinical about things. I couldn’t tell Walker or Machlan. All that leaves is Peck.

He sits across from me like he has all the time in the world. There’s no judgment in his eyes and I know even after I tell him there won’t be. It’s not who he is.

I clear my throat. “My lung was punctured. A broken rib. Whatever.” I cough once more, like somehow it’s going to help my lungs fill with air. “Um, I also found out then that I most likely cannot have kids.”

Peck’s leg stops tapping. His arms fall slowly to his sides, dangling towards the floor.

My brain replays those words in a sick-mashup with the doctor’s face as he told me the results from my scan. The way Blaire’s hand felt as she held mine. The feeling of having fatherhood stolen from my body.

I get to my feet and shuffle to the counter and pour myself another shot. Peck doesn’t stop me.

“So, there you go,” I say, looking at the overfilled glass.

The room is quiet except for the hum of the ice maker. I don’t know what I want Peck to say, just that I want him to say something.

“Guess you see my point now.” I stare at the pool of liquor. “I might be an asshole, Peck, but I’m not cruel.”

“The only cruel part of that is the universe’s cruelty to you.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Leaning against the counter, I look at Peck. He’s younger than me by five or six years. A good guy, hard worker, heart of gold. Someday he’ll make a woman a good husband and a kid or two a great father. Something he’ll never know how much I envy.

My heart shreds in my chest as I allow myself to think about the future. How I felt when my parents died and realized one day my siblings would all have families of their own and I wouldn’t. No one would want someone as broken as me—not for the long haul. Not to build a life together. I could adopt, want to adopt, actually, but a woman isn’t going to willfully give up her ability to look at a child and see her own face, those of her mother and grandmother first. I couldn’t even ask that of someone.

“I went into teaching because I love kids,” I say, hearing a crack in my voice I hate.

“Do they know that for sure?” Peck asks. “I mean, maybe things have changed.”

“They haven’t changed. I’m infertile. My balls don’t work.”

I eye the tequila again. This time, I shove it away.

The words coming out of my mouth are mine, but damn it if they don’t sound like they’re a million miles away. Maybe it’s my wishful thinking that I weren’t here right now having this goddamned conversation.

“I don’t know what to say, Lance. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He stands, pushing in his chair. Then he leans on the top, his arms dangling over the top rung. “This explains a lot though.”

“Like what?”

“The dating app. Why you never bring girls around. You were shoving everyone away, huh?”

Making a face, I shrug. “Not really. Just not letting them get close enough to have this conversation, you know?”

“Does this mean you love me?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I laugh.

He joins in, his chuckle a lot freer than mine. “Look, I admire your consideration for this … what’s her name?”

“Mariah.”

“Mariah,” he repeats. “I appreciate how considerate you’re being. But shouldn’t you see if it even gets to a point where this conversation would take place?”

“Are you fucking serious? I’m not so drunk I just misheard that, am I?”

“You don’t know what will happen.”

I swipe up the glass and down it. It’s not as bad this time. “I know exactly what will happen with her, Peck. Ex-fucking-actly.”

“The fact you can say that when you’re drunk as hell is impressive.”

I let my stomach settle. My language skills while drunk aren’t what’s impressive, but I don’t tell Peck that. I don’t explain it’s the fact I can still think logically and reasonably that’s surprising.

That I want to call her but I don’t.

That I want to drive to her house and feel her skin on mine but I don’t.

That I got the woman I’ve wanted for a long time for a few hours to myself today and it wasn’t nearly enough, yet I back away.

That I have no fucking clue how tomorrow at work is going to go knowing I was buried inside her this afternoon.

All of that? That’s impressive.

“This girl isn’t one I can forget. She’s not another pussy, another screen name, another color hair in a hotel bed that I’m reminded of when looking at a box of crayons.”

“So you love her.”

“Hell no.”

“Sounds like it to me.”

“And you also think you love Molly McCarter. I think your reasoning skills are inept.”

He laughs. “And you’re batting a thousand tonight, buddy.” He heads to the bottle and pours himself a shot. “You can drive a man to drink.” The liquor goes down a lot smoother than it did for me. “What’s your plan?”

“My immediate plan is to go to bed, jack off, and then sleep.”

“I’m thrilled to know that.”

“You asked,” I point out.

“I meant with Mariah.”

Of course, he meant with Mariah. I just don’t want to answer that.

How do I tell him on the heels of telling him I can’t have kids that watching her with Betsy today made me wonder what she would look like holding our baby? I wanted to know what if felt like to be Eric and standing at lunch with my wife and child?

That I never wanted to know what that would feel like until I met Mariah.

There’s an emptiness in my soul, a hollowness I haven’t felt since Britt left me shortly after the accident. When she told me she loved me but couldn’t imagine not being a mother and packed her bags and left for LA.

That hurt. That felt like an ice pick straight in the gut and I didn’t even necessarily want to have kids with her. It was a talking point only. A possibility after two years together. But imaging those words coming out of Mariah’s mouth seems to hold a whole hell of a lot more potential to inflict a pain I couldn’t absorb.

I also couldn’t live knowing she’d never know the sound of a baby’s heartbeat from inside her womb. Or what it was like to buy maternity clothes. Or the feeling of being sick in the mornings from incubating a life inside her because of me.

Sure, there are sperm donors and all kinds of other ways to be a parent and that’s all fine. But I couldn’t give that to her and that kills me. It feels like I’d be lacing my problems onto her and I wouldn’t do that to anyone.

“I need to go to bed,” I mutter, squeezing my temple. “Can you let yourself out?”

“Yeah.”

Shuffling to the doorway, I partially lambaste myself for drinking so much and partially rip my own ass for not going back in the kitchen and finishing off the bottle.

“Lance?” Peck calls out behind me.

“Yeah.”

“I’m really sorry.”

I head off down the hall. “Me too, Peck. Me too.”

Twenty-One

Mariah

“What did you make today?” Tish breezes in the doorway, catching me before I head to the lounge for my lunch. She peers over the tin of desserts. “Lemon and red velvet?”

“It was a long weekend.” I type away at the keyboard to avoid her gaze. “Help yourself.”

I almost called in sick today. The anxiety of seeing Lance almost got to me. I was up all night, until a quarter to four, thinking about this mess.

If I only think about the good parts, a smile graces my lips that I can’t wipe off. If I think about reality, it fades pretty quickly.

“What’s that all about?” Tish asks, pointing my way.

“What’s what?”

“That snarl.”

“It’s not a snarl,” I laugh, giving up the typing ruse and turning to face her. “You’re a pain in my butt.”

“Mhmm,” she says, biting into a lemon bar. “These are good.”

“Thanks.”

She finishes off the piece before dusting her hands over the trash. “Now spill it, sister.”

“I have nothing to spill.”

Her hand settles on her popped-out hip. She gives me her no-nonsense look.

Looking out the door, I don’t see Lance. I’m typically downstairs and back up in about 4 minutes from now and he’s waiting for me. Whether he will come up today or not, I don’t know. But I don’t see him.

“Tish, let me ask you something.”

“Sure.”

“When you were dating around, would you ever have messed around with a man who you knew wasn’t what you wanted?”

“I’m going to need more to go on.”

Sighing, I look out the door again. “Let’s say you wanted to settle down, have a quiet little life somewhere. Raise a family. That kind of thing. And then you met a guy who just … makes you laugh and smile, makes you feel confident in yourself. I don’t know how to explain it. But what if you knew that guy was never going to be the guy in the little house with the little kids.”

“I’d say he was a waste of time then.”

My heart drops. “Exactly.”

“Unless,” she says, pulling her shirt snug over her chest, “he looked like him.”

“Who?”

“Hey, ladies,” Lance calls, stepping inside my office. “Do I not get my two, three minutes of privacy in here before you come in?”

“Yeah, Mariah. Step outside so Lance and I can have our private time,” she coos, ending it with a laugh. “Looking sharp today, Mr. Gibson.” She steps around him, mouthing something I can’t even begin to make out as she leaves the library.

My palms sweat as I take him in. Dark pants and a crisp white shirt with a green tie the same color as his eyes hanging down the center. The tie is loose, like he’s been working it all day.

“Good afternoon,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

“Hello.”

“You look beautiful today. I love that color on you.”

“Stop with the book manners stuff,” I laugh.

He shrugs, heading for the cupcakes. “Ah, you made both.”

“Only because I was bored.”

I watch him select the one he wants, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. His cheeks lack the color they usually have and the greens of his eyes are a little duller than normal.

“Up all night?” He asks, peeling away at a red velvet cupcake. “Thinking of me?”

“Hardly,” I scoff. “I made those and was in bed by eight-thirty.” Lies, lies, all lies.

“Better than me. My cousin came by and I may have had a little too much tequila.”

“I can’t drink that,” I say, frowning. I wonder if what happened yesterday afternoon had anything to do with him drinking so much. I don’t recall seeing him with a hangover ever before. The idea leaves me feeling uneven.

“Does it make your clothes fall off? If so, I have a flask in my car I can go get.” He bites into the cupcake. “Big fan of the cream cheese icing. Not quite as good as the peanut butter, but close.”

I go back to my computer screen, needing a distraction from the way his mouth works back and forth. Things are too normal, too we-didn’t-fuck-like-monkeys-yesterday.

The room becomes too small for the two of us as I remember the heat of the pantry yesterday as we slipped off our clothes. His cologne reminds me of the taste of his skin when I bit into his shoulder and I wonder if my teeth marks are still there.

All night I wondered how he would react once the orgasm wore off and reality set in. How he couldn’t just not message me back because he would see me every day unless one of us changed jobs. I’m not egotistical enough to think I’m any different than anyone else he sleeps with. Not really. Maybe we know more about each other. Maybe things between us have taken some obtuse turn. But none of that changes the fact that Lance is Lance and I’m me.

“I wasn’t going to come up here today,” he admits. “I was going to stay in my classroom like a responsible professional and work through lunch.” He chomps down on another cupcake. “Yet, here I am.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Why wasn’t I coming up here or why did I decide to?”

“Either,” I offer, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

My hands drop from the keyboard, my attempt at distraction pointless. There’s no way I’m going to be thinking of anything other than him. I haven’t in the last however many hours. I’m certainly not going to pull it off with him standing in front of me.

He takes another bite and considers this. “I thought maybe you wanted space or that I should give it to you. Or, quite possibly, it’s just what I do historically after sex.”

“Fair enough.”

“But,” he adds, almost taking a lemon bar but picking up a third cupcake instead, “I then realized that was ridiculous. We were friends before you came all over me. So why in the hell can’t we have both? We’re very, very good at both.”

“Because your language is horrible, you eat all my cupcakes,” I say, “and your come was still leaking out of my vagina this morning.”

I didn’t mean to say that. But as the cupcake falls out of his hand and lands icing-first on top of book order forms, I’m glad I did. It takes him a full five seconds to regroup.

“See?” he says, his white teeth shining. “I come in here to be friendly and you make it dirty.”

“Yeah, I made it dirty because I’m the one who brought up our interaction yesterday. Try again.”

“No, I brought it up but it’s still your fault.”

“Oh, really,” I laugh, crossing one leg over the other. “And how do you figure that?”

He leans forward, his grin as mischievous as I’ve ever seen it. “You make it impossible not to want to lay you on the top of this desk and see if I can’t fill you up again.”

My thighs burn I’m squeezing them so hard, my mouth watering at the thought of his body on mine. He knows exactly what I’m thinking and, by the look he’s giving me, he’s thinking the same thing.

“Are you wet for me?” he goads, thinking he’s getting the best of me.

Game on.

Holding his gaze, I make a point of slipping my hand under my desk. His pupils widen, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watches me. My finger glides through my slickness. I hold it in the air, inches from his face. “I’d say so.”

His eyes burn, his temple pulsing, as he watches my finger move in the light.

“The question is, Mr. Gibson, are you hard?” I drag my gaze from his face to his swollen crotch and nod. “Looks like a yes.”

“Why do you do this to me?” he asks, sticking out his bottom lip.

“You asked. You didn’t have to know. I could’ve sat here all day with my thighs stuck together and nobody would know that but me.”

A low rumble escapes his lips. “What are you doing after work?”

“I have plans. You have icing on your lip.”

He ignores the second part of that. “Cancel them.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I want to take you somewhere.”

“The last time I went out with a boy as friends we went to the arcade,” I sigh.

“Were you twelve?”

“Eleven. That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, Mariah?”

The atmosphere shifts in the room, the question that’s been on my mind all weekend now spoken aloud. What is the point of all this? A good time assuredly, but can I make it just a good time?

How am I going to feel next week when he’s making plans with another girl or stops coming in for cupcakes? Pretty freaking shitty and that’s after sleeping with him one time.

Sex is great. Really, really great. But I can’t break my own heart—because it would be me doing it at this point—just to get off a few times.

“Lance,” I say, “this isn’t a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Turning the tables, I look at him. “You want to know why? Fine. This is why: there’s nothing good that can come out of this.”

“I thought you came just fine.”

I roll my eyes. “We can play word games all day but it doesn’t change reality. We are co-workers.”

“We’re both incredibly good-looking.”

Although I smile, I keep going. “We have a friendship of some sort that doesn’t seem to be impeded by our activities this weekend. Let’s keep it that way.”

“But why? Clearly we can play both sides of the coin and not impact the other. You’re just as argumentative and hard-headed today as you were on Friday.”

“And you’re just as infuriating and difficult, but that’s not what I’m talking about. We want different things, Lance.”

“You don’t want to come?” he grins.

“No. I mean, yes. Ugh.” I lock my jaw and stare at him. “I hate when you do this.”

He plants his hands on my desk. “If you say no, then no. I’ll not ask again.” His eyes darken with resolve. “I’ve struggled with this all night. As long as we’re clear that we’re just having fun, like what you were looking for on that app, then why not? We’re adults. We enjoy being together. Why can’t it just be that simple?”

Because it never is.

I breathe in his cologne, knowing exactly what the scruff of his face feels like against my belly, and consider telling him no. It can’t be that simple. It’s not that simple. In a month’s time I’ll look back and be so head-over-heels for him that I won’t be able see straight. Back-to-back broken hearts isn’t on my agenda.

The thing is, even though I know it’s best for my heart, I can’t do it. Being around him makes me feel alive. Strong. Smart. Sexy. I like who I am when I’m with him.

Before I can make a decision, there’s a knock at the door. Lance gives me a quick look, one that says this isn’t over, and opens the door. Ollie walks in, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his oversized jeans.

“How are you?” I ask, getting situated behind my desk

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Ollie says.

Lance puts a hand on his shoulder. “Ms. Malarkey and I were just having a quick planning session.”

“About the lunch program?” he asks.

“Yup.” Lance looks at me and grins. “What can we do for you, Ollie?”

“I need some help and, um, I didn’t know who else to ask.”

The frivolity of the last few minutes is erased from Lance’s face. In its place is somberness and a compassion for this kid that reduces me to a puddle of goo.

“Sure, buddy,” Lance says. “What do you need?”

Ollie looks at the floor, shuffling his feet back and forth. “Well, I need to pass Family and Consumer Sciences. I missed a midterm test and Ms. Holden said I could do it if I could find someone to supervise me by Friday. She has a Beta thing and can’t do it and I didn’t know if maybe you could stay after school one day to help me out?”

The look on his face is downright pitiful. His hair, in desperate need of a cut, is flopped on his forehead. Eyes that could be full of joy are filled with an anxiety no high school student should know. My heart breaks for this kid.

“What’s the test?” Lance asks.

“I have to make a cake.” Ollie shrugs. “It’s that or a casserole but a cake seems easier.”

“Cakes are my thing,” I say, shoving my chair back. “Can I help?”

He looks at me like he’s just seeing me. “You want to help?”

“I mean, I could,” I offer, looking at Lance for relief.

Lance takes a cupcake and hands it to Ollie. “Here. Taste this. Homegirl here can outbake anyone.”

There’s no way not to beam at his compliment.

“Mrs. Holden said it had to be a teacher though,” he notes. “Are you a teacher, Ms. Malarkey?”

“Oh. No,” I reply. “I’m not.”

“Well, this guy is,” Lance says, wrapping an arm around Ollie’s shoulders. “And I’d love to watch you bake a cake. I have to monitor detention tomorrow, so I’ll move those rascals into the Family and Consumer Sciences room and we’ll whip up something to rival these cupcakes.”

The relief is evident. Ollie’s shoulders fall as he peels the paper away from the cupcake. “Mr. Gibson, that would be great.”

“No worries.” Lance is cut off by the bell sounding. “Now get to class and I’ll be down there in a second.”

“Bye, Ms. Malarkey. These are great, by the way,” Ollie says, motioning towards his half-eaten cupcake.

“Thank you, Ollie. Have a good day.”

He’s out the door as the library begins to fill with the sixth period study hall. Lance turns his back on the doorway but before he can speak, a freshman sticks his head in the door about a book rental.

By the time I get the student taken care of, Lance is gone.

I recover the cupcakes and get situated back at my desk. Fingers flexed, ready to type, I mentally remind myself: falling in love is the objective, but not with Lance Gibson.

Long game over short game. Marathon over sprint. Love over lust.

I think.

Twenty-Two

Mariah

The door to Carlson’s swings shut behind me as I step into the late afternoon sunshine. A take-out bag in my hand, I hit the sidewalk for the short walk home.

Lance was gone before I left work. It’s not altogether unusual, but I expected him to hang around to finish our conversation. When his car wasn’t in the spot next to mine and he didn’t jog up behind me, my spirits sank a little.

“How’d your day go?” Whitney asks.

“Fine,” I say, juggling the phone between my hands.

“I’ll try again. How’d your day go, Mariah?”

Laughing, I shake my head. “It was fine.”

“Did you see Lance?”

“Yes.”

“Stop it with the short sentences.” The line gets crackly as she sighs into it.

“Okay. Yes, I saw Lance. Yes, he was gorgeous today. Yes, he brought up the weekend and asked me to cancel my plans tonight and I told him I couldn’t.”

She snorts. “You don’t have plans tonight.”

“So?”

Stopping on the curb to let a car go by, Whitney reads me the riot act. She blabbers on about not knowing a good thing when I see it and how I can’t win at anything without taking some risks. She clamors on and on until I’m on the other side of the street.

“Will you quit it?” I ask, exasperated. “Taking risks means there’s a potential positive outcome to a situation. There’s not with this.”

“How do you know that? Have you asked him?”

“I know that because I know him, Whit.”

“Sounds like a load of bullshit to me.”

Switching hands with the phone and my take-out, I attempt to fortify myself for this conversation. “It’s not bullshit. I’m not judging him. I knew who he was well before I ever let my feelings get involved. I just need to keep a foot in reality over here.”

“Have you asked him what his reality is? He should get a say, don’t you think?”

“Of course he has a say and he’s made it very clear.” My heart drops at the thought. “I need to be just as clear about what I want and what’s real.”

“This is about Eric, isn’t it?”

I wish I could say it’s not. I wish I could say none of what I feel, none of what I worry about, comes from that place. When you’ve been hurt as badly as I have, the pain might go away but it leaves a scar behind to remind you not to repeat it.

“I’m not like you,” I remind her. “I get swept up in my feelings and fall in love way too easily. Hell, I was thinking Eric was going to ask me to marry him and he was screwing my sister.” I kick at a pebble on the sidewalk. “It’s too easy to forget what I know in general. But with Lance, he could wipe out my entire brain if I let him.”

“I still think you should see what happens. People have a way of changing what they want, Mariah.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” A horn blasts me from behind. I grit my teeth. “I gotta go, Whit. Call me later.”

“Ok. See ya.”

Spinning on my heel, ready to give someone the finger, I almost stumble over my own two feet. A car pulls up beside me, the driver’s side window down, and the most handsome face I’ve ever seen smiles at me from inside. “Hey, you,” Lance says.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, not quite believing my eyes.

“I told you to cancel your plans.” He stops the car next to me, shutting off the radio. “Considering you had no plans, I figured I was safe to pop by anytime.”

My heart leaps in my chest. I didn’t plan on seeing him tonight but now that he’s here, I love that he is. I can’t let him know that though. At least not readily.

“I did have plans,” I tell him.

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “You had plans. But you cancelled them, right?”

“No.”

He doesn’t flinch. “All right. Well, cancel them now so we can get on with it.”

I start walking down the sidewalk. His car rolls alongside me.

“You look beautiful,” he offers.

“Will you stop the manners thing?” I laugh.

“I didn’t use it that time. You’re supposed to follow a compliment with another line. This time, I spoke from the heart which is in the manners book, but not a method I’ve tried until now. Like it?”

“You’re impossible.”

Stopping at the base of the path leading to my front door, I feel my confidence wobble. I’m not sure what to do now that he’s here. Surely him being here means something. But when you’re trying not to read too much into it, you lose perspective.

Before I can think about it too much, Lance directs the conversation for me.

“Go grab a book and come on. That’s all you’ll need,” he says. The car goes in park. “Maybe a jacket if you get cold easily.”

“I haven’t even eaten yet.” It’s a weak argument, but at least it’s not me giving in right away.

“Bring it with you then.”

“Fine,” I say, heading up the walkway. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Don’t forget to cancel those plans!”

I flip him the bird as I unlock the door. It takes a couple of minutes to spritz myself with some perfume, grab my sunglasses and a jacket, and to swipe the book I’ve been reading off my nightstand. It might only be two or three minutes, but it’s long enough for logic to kick in.

This is not going to help anything. There’s no way we can keep our hands off each other and each touch frays my judgment.

Pulling open the curtains just enough to see him in the driveway, I notice he’s out of the car playing with the neighbor’s puppy. He throws a stick and the little black ball of fur goes after it, topples head-over-paws, and then races back for a scratch behind the ears.

Damn it.

I think back to what Whitney said. That maybe people change. Could Lance change? Could he want to be the type of guy who settles down to raise a family? Could I change? Could I just go with the flow and see what happens?

He tosses the stick again for the puppy now ripping across the lawn. If I don’t go, if I play it safe, I won’t spend time with him again. I’ll stay inside and maybe bake something or open a book or clean the bathroom. But if I take a chance, I get to feel this little zip of excitement. Feel like a person who has something to wake up for tomorrow. I get to smile again.

I’m sliding into his car before I even realize I’ve left my dinner in the foyer. He wastes no time jumping in, switching on the engine, and backing out of the driveway.

The windows are down, the fresh air whipping through the car. I pull my hair up into a quick up-do to keep it from tangling. Lance watches me with rapt attention.

“Road,” I say with an elastic between my teeth. “Watch it.”

He laughs, nodding. “What did you get at Carlson’s?”

“A bacon, avocado, and tomato sandwich but I forgot it at home.”

“Excited much?” he grins.

Jabbing him with my elbow, I get my hair twisted and secured. “What do you get from there?”

“Roast beef, usually. They have a really good pesto wrap thing that I only order when no one is around.”

“Why?” I giggle.

“Because what man orders a fucking wrap?”

“You, apparently.”

“And if you ever tell anyone, that’ll be it for you.”

“Gonna kill me?” I tease.

“No. Withhold the dick.”

“Oh, gee. Please. Not that,” I fake cry. He glares, making me laugh.

The car takes a quick left and into the parking lot of Goodman’s.

“What are we doing here?” I ask.

“We need drinks and they have the best ice.”

“Truth. I found the pebble ice here my first day in town,” I say, getting out of the car and closing the door. “Their Coke is good too.”

“It’s a fountain machine. They’re all the same.”

“They are not all the same. Some machines are better than others.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know so,” I tell him as the automatic doors slide open.

Goodman’s is a typical Mid-West gas station filled with pre-packaged donuts and the scent of too-strong coffee. Old men in bib overalls stand around the corner talking about crops and combines and farm animals.

There’s something I love about this place. It might be because whenever I walk in, everyone stops and waves or that the time I had a flat tire, every old man in here tried to help me fix it. It’s an old-fashioned sense of camaraderie in the small town that I appreciate.

“Hey, Lance!” A man three times his age with duct tape around the top of his shoe calls out, coffee cup in hand. “How are you, bud?”

“I’m good, Dave. How are things with you?”

“Not bad. I told Walker last week I hadn’t seen you in a while.”

Lance waits for me to join him at his side. “Been busy,” he says. “You been hanging around Crank?”

“Ah, a little. With my wife gone now, I’ve been trying not to sit at home all the time.”

Lance frowns. “Her funeral was really nice though. I’m sure she would’ve loved all the carnations. I think every carnation in town was at her service.”

Dave beams. “It was. Made me proud.” He pulls his attention away from Lance. “I’m Dave,” he says, extending the coffee-free hand my way.

I take it and give it a soft shake. “I’m Mariah. Nice to meet you.”

“You Lance’s lady?”

“Ah, well …”

“Yeah. She’s my lady all right,” Lance grins, wrapping his arm around my neck and pulling me towards him as I blush. “You know how it goes. You have to keep reminding them until they believe it.”

“This one here is a good one,” Dave says, shaking a finger my way. “Comes from good people. All of those boys are good.”

“But I’m the best,” Lance whispers into my ear. “Dave, we gotta go. I’m taking her up to Bluebird before it gets too dark.”

The old man tosses a wink, like he and Lance share some secret. “You kids have fun.”

“Give Walker a hard time for me,” Lance tells Dave as he moseys out the door.

We make our drinks and Lance pays. We’re almost back to his car when a cute guy with blond hair comes our way. A hat is pulled snugly over his forehead, a Metallica t-shirt that’s been washed a time too many is stretched over his broad shoulders. On his face is a shit-eating grin.

“What’s going on?” he asks, coming around my side of the car. “Is this Miss Mariah?”

“How do you know my name?”

Lance drops his head and sighs. “Mariah, this is my cousin Peck. Peck, yes, this is Mariah.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says. He smells like engine grease and Old Spice as he pulls me into a hug. I look at Lance but he just throws up his hands and unlocks the doors. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“No, you haven’t,” Lance corrects him. “Now get out of here.”

Peck’s eyes are a pure blue, the color of the ocean in pictures of exotic places. There’s nothing but kindness reflecting back as he looks at me.

“You have, have you?” I ask. “What’s he been saying?”

“Oh, just that—”

“Peck, I’m warning you,” Lance growls.

“Just put your glasses on and get in the car and read a National Geographic for a while,” Peck teases him before looking at me. “How do you deal with him?”

“It’s hard,” I say, looking at Lance over my shoulder. “He gets so grouchy. And bossy. Is he this way with you?”

“Nah,” Peck laughs. “He’s just showin’ off for you. Around the rest of us, he knows his place.”

“That’s with my foot in your ass in a minute,” Lance tosses over the roof of the car. “Can we go now?”

Laughing, I turn back to Peck. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Same.” He salutes Lance. “Have fun.” With a final grin, he jogs into the building, the purple bandana in his back pocket flopping in the breeze.

I get settled in the seat next to Lance. “I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“I don’t want to make this weird between us at all …”

Just saying that makes it weird. I look at the floorboard where a piece of gravel sits all bright against the black carpeting.

“Mariah? Ask me,” he says.

“Fine.” I take a deep breath. “I guess it’s not so much a question as a statement.”

He lifts a brow. “Fine. Say it.”

“Fine.” I take another deep breath. “I really do like spending time with you. People always make assumptions and that has to put you on the spot a little because I know what you think about those type of things, but—”

“Hey.” He waits for me to stop talking before he continues. “I like spending time with you too. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t keep doing it.”

“Okay,” I say, looking straight ahead. “I just wanted to get that out of the way.”

He laughs as he pulls out of the gas station. “I’m glad we got that settled.”

Twenty-Three

Mariah

“Wow,” I say, stepping into the soft grass. “This is amazing.”

Lance leans on the hood of his car, an arm extended towards me. Like on auto-pilot, I step next to him and take in the view.

The entire city of Linton can be seen from up here. There are pine trees and tulip poplars dotting the hills that flow on all sides of this peak. On the left there are fields with muddy ruts and to the right the trees have been knocked down on the gentler slope.

“This is Bluebird,” Lance says, resting his cheek on the top of my head. “We used to come up here drinking when we were young and dumb. And in the winter, my brothers and I still get together at least once and slide down that side just to prove we aren’t too old to do it.”

“Looks painful.”

“It can be,” he chuckles. “Peck always devises some crazy sled and tests it out. One year it was an inner tube sprayed with cooking spray. Last year he used a piece of Plexiglas that almost killed him.”

“He seems really nice,” I note.

“He is. We all give him hell, but he’s a good guy.”

We stand still for a few moments, taking in the scenery. Lance’s heart thumps steadily, his chest rising and falling in a way that could put me to sleep if I let it. Every time I’m with him, I just want to be with him more. Every time I want to be with him more, I know I better watch myself because if the rug gets pulled out from under me, it’s going to hurt like hell.

“What do you do up here?” I ask, pulling away.

“Lots of things,” he says, strolling to the back of the car. “But today, I have about a hundred essays to grade.”

“Sounds awful,” I kid, joining him at the trunk. He pulls out a blanket and a worn leather briefcase before latching the lid.

I follow him to the front of the car where he spreads the multicolored blanket out on the grass. “Nana made this,” he tells me. “She made each of her grandkids a blanket when we graduated high school.”

“And you’re putting it on the ground?”

“Trust me. She’d be happier to hear I’m using it than have it rotting in a closet somewhere.”

We grab our drinks and my book and settle on the blanket. The sun hovers over the tops of the trees, a large, orange circle that seems to shine just for us.

The only sound is the crinkle of Lance’s papers and the occasional swirl of the pen against them. The air is tinged with the scent of pine and the spice of Lance’s cologne.

My book rests on my lap, a love story with a heroine loved by two drastically different men. I’ve wondered what it would feel like to be loved by two heroes, but now that I sit on top of this hill with Lance at my side, I wonder what it would feel like to be loved by one, everyday kind-of-guy.

A guy like him.

“What?” Lance’s voice startles me, bringing me out of a daze I didn’t know I was in. He removes his glasses and wipes them on the end of his shirt. He watches me with a careful curiosity. “Something wrong?”

“No. Nothing is wrong.”

“Um, yeah. Something is going on. I can tell by the way you’re looking at me.”

I’m not about to tell him what I was thinking, so I glance down at the stack of papers next to his side. “What made you want to be a history teacher?” I say off the cuff.

“Honestly?” He places his glasses on his lap. “I couldn’t imagine working for an asshole eight, ten hours a day. I saw what my dad went through owning his own business and I didn’t really want that either. I didn’t want to spend my entire life at work like everyone else.”

“But why teaching?” I ask.

“Well, I dislike most adults,” he laughs. “Kids have always been more my speed. They’re pretty innocent most of the time and you can still mold them into becoming something good for the world. So, it was either that or becoming a veterinarian and I don’t like getting bitten. Most of the time.”

We exchange a grin as he clamps the shoulder I marred a couple of days ago. My body hums with the memory. Instead of going there, I keep us focused.

“Was there a moment though when you knew teaching was it for you?” I ask.

“What’s with all the teaching questions?”

“I’m curious.”

“When did you know you wanted to be a librarian?” he asks, turning the tables.

“When I was eight and we took a field trip to the library,” I say easily. “I walked in that building with its dusty shelves and tattered covers and knew it was where I wanted to spend every day for the rest of my life. Now you. When did you know?”

He stretches back, his hands on the line where the blanket meets the grass. His watch sparkles in the sunlight, his forearm flexed beneath it.

“When I was in high school, there was a girl in my grade who was going through some shit at home. We all knew it. It was a different time then though, people didn’t get in other people’s business like they do now. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah. It was a different world then.”

He nods, gazing off into the distance. “Her dad killed himself accidentally in a hunting accident the year before and she never really got over that, I don’t think. I remember her sort of not being in the gymnasium, not being in the cafeteria, not really participating in classes we had together.”

His tone gets soft on the last few words. He works his jaw back and forth as he relives a memory I’m not privy to.

“What happened?” I ask.

“She killed herself.”

The sentence is harsh. Black-and-white. So final. The reality of the end of a little girl’s life, a child I didn’t know, spirals over my skin, chilling it to the core.

“Oh, Lance. I’m sorry,” I say.

“We all went to the funeral,” he continues, not moving his eyes from the tree line below. “I remember sitting there and wondering why no one helped her. How all of these people sort of let her down, you know? I think I knew that day I’d be a teacher or somehow working with kids. I’d be the guy who maybe sees those things and helps somebody out.”

“That’s why you’re so great with Ollie, huh?”

He shrugs. “It’s hard to explain.”

“You explained it just fine,” I promise, resting my palm on his calf.

“My mom was always beating us on the head to be decent people,” he says, dragging himself into a sitting position. He takes my hand when I start to pull it away and places it on his knee, his hand pressing on top of it. “She had four kids. All of us were healthy. All of us were bright, capable kids. Almost every night at dinner, piled around a round table in her kitchen, we’d say our prayers. When we’d open our eyes, she’d be sitting there, one hand holding Dad’s, just watching us almost in awe.”

The picture he’s describing comes to life in my imagination, a woman with dark hair like Lance’s and brighter eyes, smiling back at him. I can see them all sitting at a table, passing around bowls of homemade dishes, the room full of a love I’ve never known.

My heart aches at the vision. It squeezes, craving to have something fill it in a way Mrs. Gibson’s heart must’ve been full.

“She would tell us,” he continues, “that we couldn’t rest on our laurels. That we were given more blessings than other people for a reason and that was to help those who needed a hand or an extra set of eyes or ears.”

“She sounds amazing. I can’t imagine being raised by a woman like that.”

He chuckles. “She was tough as nails though. There were expectations and we had to meet them.”

“Like grades and stuff?” I ask as he squeezes the top of my hand.

“Kind of. I guess we had to work to our potential. But she better not catch you back talking or driving by a broken down car or not holding a door open at the grocery. That happened to Machlan once. Poor guy,” he says, smiling at the memory.

“She sounds lovely.”

“She was lovely.” He sighs, seemingly content with the conversation. So, I press my luck.

“What was your dad like?”

He wiggles on the blanket, taking a moment to get comfortable again. “Dad got up every morning at four forty-five. He was out the door by five-thirty and rolled in a few minutes before six every evening. We had supper at six sharp and then he’d take out the garbage while two of us kids did the dishes and Mom relaxed. Then he’d take one of us outside to do something. Throw a ball, work on a car, head to the bait shop. Whatever it was that needed done or we wanted to do.”

“I love that he made you do the dishes,” I giggle.

“Oh, trust me. These hands have met their fair share of dishwater,” he laughs. “If it needed done, he didn’t care if you were a boy or a girl. Blaire took out the trash, she took her turn mowing the lawn. Us boys would clean toilets and mop floors. You were never too good to get your hands dirty,” he smiles.

“I think I would’ve loved him.”

“I did,” he admits. “I always envied my dad in a way. He was a man’s man, you know, without the chauvinism. He was proud of his family. Proud of us. But if someone said something cross to him, he’d kick the fuck out of them.”

I burst out laughing, my hand slipping out from under his. “I didn’t see that curveball.”

“Let’s just say Machlan got it honest,” he laughs. “I guess Dad was a ruffian back in the day too. I hear stories now sometimes about him in the eighties in the pool hall downtown.”

“Days of the pool halls,” I sigh. “I had this little fantasy for a while growing up that I would walk into a pool hall and some bad boy would whisk me away.”

“Sounds like you watched too many Patrick Swayze movies.”

“There’s no such thing,” I giggle. “My first crush. I wanted to have all his babies.”

Lance’s smile falters. He scoots around again, a wrinkle dotting his forehead. “What about now?”

“What about now what?”

“Do you still want to have babies?”

I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t look at me when he says it or if it’s the tone he uses to pose his question, but it feels like it’s a set-up of some sort. I give him a second to turn to me, but he doesn’t. He keeps his gaze across the hills towards the setting sun.

“Yes. I want to have babies,” I say, my voice soft. “I’ve always wanted to be a mother. What you had growing up, I didn’t and I always wanted it. I wanted to create my own little family who had dinners together and took vacations together and built forts together with blankets in the living room on rainy days.”

He nods his head, working his jaw back and forth. “You’ll be a great mother.”

“Thanks,” I whisper. “I hope so.”

There’s really no reaction from him.

“What about you?” I ask. “Do you want to be a father?”

He starts to laugh, but the little lines around his eyes that come out when he’s amused aren’t there. There’s a crease instead, one that is foreign to me.

Sitting up, he licks his lips before turning to me. His eyes shine with something that causes my heart to ache.

“I always wanted three boys and a girl, just like my dad. I wanted the girl to spoil like he did Blaire and the boys to tell about my glory days.” He almost smiles, but not quite. “I think I grew up in such a comfortable, happy home that I just wanted to replicate it.”

“Can I ask you something?”

He shrugs.

“Why are you so anti-relationship now? It seems counter-productive if having a family is what you want.”

“Maybe …” He forces a swallow. “Maybe I’m not sure how much like my dad I really am after all.” He swipes up his glasses and puts them back on his face. “What about your dad? What was he like?”

It’s a definite, intentional change in topic. There’s so much more to his story, one I want to know. I can’t press it; it’s not my place. And as that little piece of reality splashes me in the face, I feel like I’ve been hit with a bucket of cold water.

“My dad was meh,” I say, trying to move my thoughts to the new conversation. “He calls sometimes, but I think he really just said ‘screw it’ and wrote us off.”

“I can see him writing off your mom, maybe even your sister. But not you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m inclined to think I should’ve been more unforgettable too,” I laugh.

“Have you heard from Chrissy?”

“Nope. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I’m not hedging my bets either way.”

“Do you want her to?” he asks, wrapping his hand around my ankle.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Can people like that change, Lance? Can she go from being a total, outrageous asshole and then become this sisterly person?”

Could you go from being a man whore to a monogamous man?

Biting down on my tongue is the only way to keep that thought from slipping out of my mouth.

He squeezes my leg and thinks. “I used to say no. Tigers, stripes, all that. But lately I’ve been considering maybe people can change. I don’t know.”

“Okay, let’s say they can. But do they always revert back to what they were?”

“Maybe people are less like tigers and more like … onions.”

“People do stink,” I giggle.

“True,” he says, shaking my leg. “But maybe they’re also layered.”

“So what you’re saying is that as you go through life, you shed layers?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “Or, as you go through life, it sheds them for you. I think of Cross, right? He dated this girl named Kallie for years. Cross was a pure hell raiser and Kallie had enough and left. Maybe if she would’ve stayed, he would’ve still been high on her sofa,” he laughs. “It’s possible her leaving made him shed a layer. Now he’s an all right guy.”

“Maybe,” I sigh. “Maybe having Betsy made Chrissy shed a layer.”

“And maybe it didn’t,” he adds. “Whether we want to think people can change or not, we have to remember that history says things are not only cyclical but also fairly predictable. Remember that.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

“What’s that look about?” he asks.

“What look?”

“That one.” He points at my face. “The one that looks like you were ready to cry.”

“I was just thinking about cycles and predictability and how I hope I don’t try blue eye shadow again.”

His laugh is free and loud. He leans back again, the stress melted away from his shoulders. “I bet you look just as pretty with blue eye shadow on as you do now.”

“That’s a bet you’d lose, Mr. Gibson.”

“I can’t imagine you wearing anything and looking bad.”

I bask in his words, feeling the wash of power settling over my skin. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He bites his bottom lip as he takes me in. “Want to shed something for me?”

“What do you have in mind?” I ask, fluttering my lashes.

Resisting the urge to reach up and kiss him takes everything I have. I want to climb on top of him, inside him, surround myself with him in every way. My skin craves his hands on my body, my lips die for his mouth on mine. When he’s in control, all I can do is relax and feel a way I can feel with no one else.

Biting my lip, I wait impatiently so I don’t appear too needy.

He laughs. “Just come here, will ya?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He lunges towards me, knocking me on my back as I yelp into the evening air. My laughter fills the top of Bluebird Hill as Lance hovers over me.

Looking down intently, his chest matches the rise and fall of mine. He brushes a strand of hair out of my face as he studies me.

“Some people have to peel away their layers to get to the good stuff,” he says. “You’re already there.”

“Stop being so sweet,” I whisper. “It makes you irresistible.”

“I’m irresistible way before I kick in the sweet factor,” he teases.

I pretend to mull that over as he lowers his face to mine. Our mouths move together in an effortless, easy dance that distracts me until I can’t think of anything else.

Twenty-Four

Mariah

The lavender scented bath water laps against the sides of the tub caressing me. The candle I lit on the vanity flickers in a delicate sway. Shadows are cast against the white tile walls of my bathroom and I close my eyes and just breathe in the peacefulness.

Lance dropped me off a few hours ago. He walked me to the doorway and kissed me like it was the end of a date. Like there was a promise of more. Like tomorrow might have him pulling up beside the curb to see me again.

Even though I love his angular jawline and fiery eyes and funny sense of humor, what makes me feel the giddiest is the way he looks at me.

I run a hand from the base of my throat, between my breasts, and into the water. It skims over my rounded stomach. It’s a part of me I’ve always hated—the pooch, I call it. No number of crunches, sit-ups, or planks would rid me of the excess belly fat surrounding my belly button. Tonight, though, with my hand clasped over that area, the grimace I usually wear while touching that part of my body is gone.

In its place is a small smile as I think of Lance placing kiss after kiss on my navel as if it were the sexiest stomach he’d ever seen. I remember how he touches me in every possible place and does so almost reverently. How when he looks at me, it seems like he’s only seeing a beautiful woman and not all the flaws I see when I look in the mirror or put on a pair of jeans.

Now that I know Lance, he’s not what I expected. He’s somehow more than all his parts combined. He’s more than the sexy, intellectual from school and more than the alpha, quick-tongued womanizer from the dating app.

I don’t think I was quick to judge Lance Gibson. I just think, maybe even hope, I might’ve pegged him wrong.

* * *

Lance

The water is hot as it flows over my body with the shower head on its strongest setting. The spray pelts my skin on a selection that works well in the morning to wake me up but right now is just another uncomfortable annoyance for me to have to deal with.

The look in her eyes tonight was my own doing. She wouldn’t look at me like that if I would just leave her alone. I know the way it is when we’re together, there’s this intoxicating chemistry that I’ve never experienced with someone else. A connection I’m not sure I’ve ever even seen another two people have—it’s that good.

This isn’t lust. I could write a book on that. It’s not an obsession, either, or one of those situations where you want someone you know you can’t have. Been there, done that—on both the giving and receiving end. What exists between Mariah and me is altogether different.

Am I in love with her? I hate to think so. Am I that hedonistic? Do I have that little self-control?

The fact that it even crosses my mind is enough to make me shudder despite the temperature of the water dousing me from above. I thought I had the love and commitment issue covered. Thought I had a shield up to prevent me from having serious feelings towards anyone ever again. But even with Britt, I didn’t feel this gone. I just know that when I think about the future, I associate it with Mariah and it’s cast in gold.

It makes me sound like a pussy I know. But it’s the truth. And whether I’m a pussy or not doesn’t make it any less true.

In a perfect world, she would be the one for me. Hell, even in this imperfect world, she’s the one for me. But the one we live in is colored by an accident from years ago that made me less of a man than so many of my contemporaries. And while the thought of her with someone else makes me want to rip them apart limb by limb, I also want to smack myself when I consider what it will do to her if I keep up this charade.

She’ll have to decide at some point whether she wants me or wants the future she’s always imagined. Sure, I could let her decide as Blaire and Peck suggested. But that’s the biggest dickhead move—to force her to choose. To make her be the bad guy. Fuck that.

There’s no way I can put her in a position where she can’t win.

I’m not stupid. I know the shaded signals, what the meaning is behind her touch, the look in her eyes, the smile that she only gives me. She’s falling in love as fast as I am. And, if I truly love her, and I’m inclined to think I do, I can’t ask her to make that choice.

Twenty-Five

Lance

My bag hits the chair with a thud.

“Brandon, you sit over there,” I say, pointing to a little table in the corner of the Family and Consumer Sciences Room. “I don’t want to hear a peep out of you unless it starts with, ‘Excuse me, Mr. Gibson’ and is followed by a question pertinent to the subject matter you should be studying as defined by the State of Illinois. Got it?”

“This is gonna blow,” he groans.

“It’s detention. It’s supposed to blow. That’s the point.”

He tosses his books on the desk and collapses in the seat like he’s been sentenced to the electric chair. I toy with the idea of pointing out he’s being a baby and cause and effect and all that jazz, but choose to pick my battles with this kid instead. This isn’t the one to fight.

I left the door to the room open on purpose. With each squeak or tap of soles down the hall, my eyes flicker to the opening to see if it’s Mariah.

It’s funny how routines become your norm. Then when change comes to your habits, even simple little differences, you feel thrown off in every aspect of your life. Tugging at my tie, I keep my gaze on the empty the hall and hope she walks by. She does not.

I haven’t had a drink since the night with the tequila and Peck, yet I feel drunk. Or hungover. Just a cloudy-headed haze that I can’t clear out. Decision making skills are one of my finer assets. I pick a direction and go. But I’m so unsure about what I should do with Mariah right now that I question my sanity.

As my tires hit the asphalt parking lot this morning, I was adamant I was backing off. Not being a dick, just giving this thing between us some time to cool down. Then as my ears picked up the lunch bell this afternoon, I found myself standing outside of the library warring about whether I should go in or not.

I did, but by the time I made that decision, half of the lunch period was over. It was just enough time to wet my whistle. I left her office needing to see her again but knowing more than ever I really, really shouldn’t.

“Ollie,” I say, spinning around. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t sound so excited.” Patting his shoulder as I walk by, I enter one of the little kitchenettes lining the back wall. Each kitchen station is separated by a counter top. “Did Ms. Holden give you a recipe or something to go off of?”

“It’s right here.” He points at an index card on the counter.

“You mean the instructions to bake a cake fit on that thing? She did give you instructions, right?”

Ollie grins. “That’s all I’m allowed to use. No online resources, no video tutorials.”

“She’s hardcore,” I say. I slip my phone, that I’d pulled out to look up a cake baking how-to, back in my pocket.

“My ma cooks,” Brandon calls out from the corner. “You have to get out all your ingredients first.”

“That did not start with ‘Mr. Gibson,’ Brandon.”

“I’m trying to be helpful,” he contends.

“Doing the history assignment I gave you today would be helpful.”

He rolls his eyes, but goes back to the paper in front of him.

Ollie fumbles his way around the little island, checking the index card and pulling various items from the drawers and mini-fridge. Next, he goes to the cabinets and pulls out measuring cups and spoons.

I hop up on the counter, pretty certain this sort of thing is against the health department codes, and watch him try to figure out what to do.

“First step,” he says, running a finger down the card, “is creaming.”

“That’s what she said!” Brandon shouts from across the room.

I look at Brandon with a sigh. “Really?”

“Mr. Gibson, that was funny as hell,” Brandon laughs. “He walked right into that one.”

“Just do your work,” I tell him. “Focus.”

Ollie goes back to work, digging around under the sink until he finds the stand-up mixer. He lugs it to the counter. He then searches in the drawers for the paddles.

Silverware clamor together as he makes the simple task sound like a bull in a china shop. Brandon starts to comment on it, but wisely refrains and goes back to what is most likely drawing inappropriate images on his notepad.

Ollie pounds around for a while longer until the paddles are snapped into the mixer. He drops the butter into the bowl and plugs it in. Nothing happens. “Mr. Gibson? Do you know how to turn this thing on?”

Hopping off the counter, I head his way. “I’m not supposed to help you, but that thing should’ve come with an owner’s manual.”

“It probably did,” he shrugs. “And we were probably taught how to use it in class.”

This straddles my teacher conscience. Thinking it over quickly, I turn to him. “Ollie, do you have any plans to go into baking?”

“No.”

“Cooking? Chef school—culinary school?”

“Um, no.”

That’s enough for me. I search the thing all over and can’t find the switch. Next thing I know, Brandon is at my side looking too.

“How can it be this complicated?” I mutter. “Didn’t either of you pay attention in class?”

“No,” they say in unison.

“This is ridiculous,” I sigh. “Look, people made cakes long before they had mixers. Read the instructions. Does it explicitly say you have to use the mixer? Or can we get out of this on a technicality?”

“Beat in the mixer on medium-to-medium high for three to four minutes,” Ollie reads.

“Naturally,” I groan.

Brandon lifts the cord and the red light on the front of the machine turns on. “It was right here,” he says proudly.

“I wondered how many of you it would take to get that thing on.” Mariah’s voice rings from the doorway.

My head snaps in that direction to see her leaning against the door jamb, a coy little smile on her lips. Her bag is hanging at her side, her hair falling around her shoulders. I wonder if this is how she looks coming home after working all day. That thought gets shoved right out of my mind for all of our sake.

“This is unnecessary,” I say, knocking the top of the machine with the back of my hand. “Just another overpriced gadget.”

“Like the stereo system in your car?” She shoves away from the door and struts into the room.

“No, not like my stereo system,” I say, looking at the boys like she’s crazy. They laugh. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“It looks like Ollie needs help.” She drops her bag at the station next to us. “What are you working on?”

“Hey. He’s supposed to do that on his own.” I shake my head at her.

“I’m not doing it for him, but I think I’ll supervise. You know, since it took three of you to turn on the mixer.”

She tosses me a wink before turning back to the students. “Chocolate cake?”

“I haven’t had chocolate cake in forever,” Ollie sighs. “This is a butter cake recipe. Can we make it chocolate?”

They all look at me.

“Talk to the supervisor.” I throw my hands up before hopping back up on the counter.

Mariah moves effortlessly around the kitchen, giving Ollie tips and chatting with the boys while she takes inventory on what’s already out and what’s yet to be done. They laugh at her jokes and lend her a hand when she tries to reach the vanilla from the top of the cabinet above the sink.

There is a bundle of papers I need to sort in my briefcase—a stack I planned on going through while Ollie made his cake. If it were just him making the cake, maybe I would. But there’s no way I can take my eyes off her.

“Add your sugar and get it creaming,” Mariah says, pushing her sleeves up.

I watch them for a minute, Brandon specifically. He’s paying less attention to the baking than he is the curve of Mariah’s hips.

“Brandon,” I call out. “Head back to your desk.”

“But I really want to help,” he grins. It melts off his face quickly as he sees my reaction. It takes just a few steps for him to make it to his seat and slink back in.

I remind myself he’s a teenager. Mariah’s not interested in him. Still, he has testosterone and my natural reaction is to get him away from her.

I’m so fucked.

Mariah helps Ollie measure the sugar. I’m pretty sure he could’ve done it himself, but he seems more than delighted in a very innocent way at having her help him.

“Does your mom bake with you?” she asks, handing him a spatula.

“I’m a foster kid, Ms. Malarkey.”

“Oh.” There’s a squeal in her voice before she composes herself. “Does your foster mother bake with you?”

“I’ve been in six foster homes in the last ten years. I can only remember one doing that kind of thing with me,” he shrugs.

There’s a sense of defeat in his tone, a finality that shows he accepts this is the way things are. This is the way they’re meant to be. I glance over at Brandon and he’s watching too.

“That must be rough,” Mariah says. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that.”

“Better than staying with my sister. The last time I remember seeing her she had a needle sticking out of her arm.”

I have to turn my head so they don’t see me cringe. Rubbing at my forehead like I have a headache, I try to wrap my head around his situation.

“Well, I can kill two birds with one stone.” The baritone voice rumbles through the room. The football coach stands a few feet into the room, a collared shirt with the team logo on the chest. “How long is detention, Brandon?”

“Another hour,” he replies.

“Okay. Get to the War Room as soon as you’re done. You’re getting behind with these detentions.”

“I know, Sir. I’ll be there.” Brandon lifts his pencil and does a great job at pretending he’s working on his paper.

Coach Collins’ gaze then roams across the room and settles on Mariah. “Mariah, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.”

She’s all too chipper as she prances to the doorway to talk to the new coach who’s fresh out of college. I’ve seen him around outside of school and, much to my chagrin, he comes across as a pretty decent guy.

I want to snatch her up, wrap my arm around her waist and pull her back to me. Whatever he’s saying to her isn’t library-related. There’s nothing about the library that would make her head fall back in laughter like that.

Mother fucker.

My blood threatens to pop the confinements of my veins. My temples throb as I try to appear impassive despite being on the edge of exploding.

Ollie flips on the mixer. The roar of the machine grates through the room, flipping butter and sugar together in a bowl that squeaks every time the paddles turn inside. Gone is the sound of Mariah’s laugh. I can no longer hear broken pieces of their conversation and it’s all I can do not to march over there and insert myself in the middle of whatever they’re talking about.

My phone buzzes beside me. A message bar is positioned across the screen, reminding me to update my dating app.

Pursing my lips together, I look back at Mariah. I wonder if this is how she felt when I was in her office talking to other women? She couldn’t have, not really. I wasn’t seeing her. Not like we have been now. Still, I would’ve felt a variation of this even before I knew she was Nerdy Nurse.

What the hell does that mean?

Coach leans towards her his hand pressing on the wall just above her head. She doesn’t seem to mind as she looks up at him and laughs. It’s too close, too intimate. My hand shakes at my side, twisting into a tight ball, as I watch this asshole think he’s making a move on her right in front of me.

He touches her hand as he talks and I think I’m going to come out of my skin.

“Ollie!” I call out over the roar of the mixer. “That’s good.”

He flips the switch. “But it needs another two minutes.”

“Call it two minutes. Move along.”

The coach reaches out and places his hand gently on her shoulder. I slide off the counter and head to the window before I do something stupid.

The courtyard outside is bright and peaceful. A few birds play in the grass. A heaviness sits in my chest as I realize this isn’t going to get any easier. My reaction to her isn’t going to ease up and other men aren’t going to stay away from her because I’ve somehow invisibly marked her as mine.

“Mr. Gibson?” Ollie says from behind me. I hold up a finger without turning around.

Sucking in a deep, ragged breath, I turn around. Brandon is standing next to Ollie, holding a spoon.

“What are you doing Brandon?” I ask, annoyed.

“He needed help and you ignored him.”

Taking off my glasses, I head across the room just as Mariah finishes with the coach. She’s all smiles as she joins us.

“What are you doing?” she laughs.

“Sifting dry ingredients,” Ollie shrugs.

“You’re wearing more of them than anything.” She pulls him to the side and dusts him off, white flour puffing off his shirt. “Why are we doing this today again?”

“I missed it the first time and it’s a requirement,” Ollie explains.

“Why’d you miss it?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Overslept.”

“Get one of those new alarm clocks that flash color,” Brandon says. “That thing scares the shit out of me every morning.”

“I could sleep through a war. By the time I finish at the farm after school and then put in a couple of hours cleaning carpets with Red Henry, I’m beat.”

Mariah takes a step back. “You work two jobs?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t there a law about that?”

“Probably,” he says simply. “I’ll be eighteen in six months. I don’t have a choice, really.”

“I’ll be eighteen next month and I’m not working two jobs,” Brandon chips in.

A ripple flows through my stomach as I take in what Ollie’s saying. Mariah chews on her bottom lip, her eyes meeting mine.

“You won’t be homeless on your birthday either.” Ollie’s statement is harsh, but said with enough kindness that it doesn’t feel as sharp as it is. “As a foster kid, I get some basic government services for a certain time. But I can leave if I want and, well, my foster family is pretty shitty.” He lowers his head. “That makes me sound ungrateful, doesn’t it? I’m not. I swear. I just don’t want things held over my head anymore.”

I think Mariah is going to hug him. She leans forward like she does before she reaches for me, but her arms don’t extend. It’s like she’s not sure what to do. I can’t blame her because I don’t know what to do either.

My mind starts racing, trying to figure out how to fix this.

“So you just … what?” Brandon asks, walking back to the kitchenette. “You live in a box?”

“I won’t because I have some money saved.” Ollie sprays a pan. “But if I didn’t, maybe.”

“That’s a bunch of shit.” Brandon looks at me. “How’s this true, Mr. Gibson?”

I can’t find the words for a minute, nor can I find the gumption to get on him for his language. “I don’t know,” I admit. “Ollie, if you need a place to stay, tell me.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Mariah walks to the counter where I was sitting, her back to us. I want to go to her and hug her. Make her laugh like she did with Coach Collins. Instead, I take in the two boys from very different backgrounds looking at me for answers.

“This isn’t fair,” Brandon insists. “This is so far from fair it’s fucked up and I know you’re going to tell me to watch my mouth but that’s the only way to describe this.” He looks at me, at Mariah, at Ollie, and back to me.

I think back to my life growing up, a semi-charmed one in comparison. How we took vacations and had pets and didn’t have all the things we wanted, maybe, but we always had enough. I think of the accident and the way it tore our lives apart. How Britt left and then my parents died and how I worked for years to protect myself from any sort of pain or from causing pain to someone else. And how now I’m in love with the woman I’m more or less sure was created with me in mind. It must’ve been a version of me who didn’t go on that gravel road back in the summer over a decade ago though. Because now the life we could’ve had, the one I know we would’ve had, should’ve had, is impossible.

“Life isn’t fair, guys.” I hold the bowl while Ollie scrapes the rest of the batter into the pan. “You’re born with a hand of cards.”

“Like in poker?” Brandon asks.

“Kind of. And each year you go through life, your cards change. Let’s say Ollie was dealt a shittier hand than you, Brandon. That doesn’t mean he can’t play his cards smarter than you and in ten years be sitting on a royal flush while you have eights and nines.”

Ollie likes this, smiling as he puts the cake in the oven.

“Or maybe Ollie makes a bad call and wipes himself out and has to rebuild at twenty. That can happen too,” I add. “The key to life is to play your cards smart. Don’t take anyone else’s and don’t trick them into playing theirs by lying or cheating the system.”

My mouth is dry as I look over my shoulder at Mariah. She’s looking at the spot where my phone lays.

What cards do I play now?

“Okay,” I tell the boys. “Get those dishes washed up and let’s make the icing.”

Twenty-Six

Mariah

After drying off my hands from the dishwater, I check on the stir-fry finishing off on the stove. It smells spicy and delicious. I don’t make it often because I hate cutting all the vegetables and chicken, but it seemed simple enough to make before Lance shows up for dinner yet complicated enough to be semi-impressive.

I’m not sure when he’s coming. He said he had a few things to do before he could make his way over here, but I had some time and figured we could re-heat it. He seemed as surprised as I was that I invited him. I think I was so shaken from seeing the app still on his phone and listening to Ollie’s story this afternoon that I just needed some comfort.

I haven’t been able to shake Ollie from my mind all evening. There are kids worse off than him—I know that. I’m not oblivious to it. But to think a kid right under your nose, in the same school that you work in, has no parents. No one to love him. No one to make sure he doesn’t starve to death or have a dry pair of socks once he hits eighteen is just heartbreaking.

There have been a lot of accomplishments I’ve achieved on my own. Applied and got accepted to college. Paid off my car loan. Found a house to rent and got a job at a high school that was my first choice. Those all felt like huge burdens to bear at the time, but not compared to what Ollie faces.

As I flip off the burner, I think back to the discussion Lance and I had as we straightened the Family and Consumer Sciences Room after Ollie and Brandon left. He insisted his brothers would be able to help him find Ollie housing and a job. Apparently, they’re connected around town. I promised to help with the deposit if needed.

Lance’s face as we talked about this caused my heart to swell and sink at the same time. I love that he cares so genuinely about this kid. The way he was so gentle with Betsy this past weekend, yet so firm with Brandon makes him feel so … sturdy. Like a man.

“What do I know about that?” I scoff, setting the spoon down. My phone blares from the living room and I jog that way to answer it. It’s a number I don’t recognize and having just told Ollie to call me if he needed anything, I worry it’s him.

“Hello?” I say.

“Hey, Mariah. It’s Chrissy.”

I wanted to be more prepared in case this call ever happened. My stomach twists so hard it burns. Even though things went decently between us over brunch, I hadn’t yet processed it all the way through.

“I know you weren’t expecting to hear from me. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Just making dinner,” I say. “What’s going on?”

I switch the phone between my hands, my palms sweaty. My sister clears her throat.

“Nothing, actually. I just, um …” She clears her throat again. “I wanted to have a chance to talk to you without people around, you know?”

“I … Chrissy, I really don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just agree to meet me for coffee and I’ll do all the talking.”

Pacing a circle around my sofa, I wish Lance were here. He couldn’t make this decision for me, but he’d make me feel better about whatever decision I’d make. Just feeling his arm around me or seeing his crooked grin makes everything feel better.

“My schedule is pretty full,” I tell her. “Why don’t you just say what you need to say over the phone?”

“I deserve that.”

“This isn’t about who deserves what,” I sigh.

“Mariah … I’m sorry.”

The words I’ve wanted to hear my entire life are there, out in the open. I still, waiting for the relief that I expect to follow but nothing happens. “What are you sorry for?” I ask.

She groans. “I’ve been pretty horrible to you our entire lives. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I agree. I’ve agreed for the last twenty-seven years.” Bowing my head, the muscles in the back of my neck stretch. It seems to pull up a sickness in my stomach, though, as floods of memories cascade around me. “Why now, Chris? Why all of a sudden are you so sorry? Do I have nothing left you want?”

I don’t mean to spill such nastiness over the line, but it feels like a dam is broken. It’s like I’m stepping out of a shell I’ve worn for so very long and now I’m me, the little girl who has been tempered inside who can now come into the sunshine.

My laughter isn’t from joy or even amusement. It’s more from a disbelief that this conversation is actually happening.

“I mean it,” she insists. “This conversation should’ve happened a long time ago and I was too self-absorbed to see it.”

“So, you woke up this morning and realized what an asshole you’ve been to me? And you grew a conscience? Why is that hard to believe?”

“Because that’s not the way it happened,” she counters. “I’ll be honest, as terrible as this is going to sound, but the day I realized it—got an inkling of it—was the day I got married and you weren’t there.”

“Can you blame me? You were marrying the man I thought I would be marrying.”

“No, I don’t blame you,” she scoffs. “And I’m not sorry I married Eric because I believe he’s my soul mate. But I am sorry it hurt you and I want you to know, as unbelievable as this sounds, we didn’t get together until you were broken up.”

I had an entire little speech planned for this moment, one I didn’t think would ever come to fruition. It consisted of a bunch of name calling and fact pointing and trying to humiliate her to a level from which she would never recover.

Now that the moment is here, none of it will come to mind. All I can think is thank God. Thank God that prayer went unanswered. Praise Jesus that Eric didn’t ask to marry me. Where would that have landed me?

Glancing down at my shirt still wearing the signs of the flour from earlier, I feel a peace settle over me.

“You know what?” I ask, swallowing hard. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter, Mariah.”

“It doesn’t.” I wait for regret to hit me. “It doesn’t. Eric and I not being together was the best thing that ever happened to me in retrospect.”

“You really like Lance, huh?” she asks softly.

“Yeah,” I grin. “I do.”

The line rustles as she moves on the other end. “He seems like a great catch.”

“I haven’t quite caught him yet,” I laugh, the words coming easier now that I’m on my turf. “But I wasn’t really trying either.”

“That’s funny. I want you to catch him if you want to catch him. I want you to be happy.”

“I want to be happy too.”

I look at the tray of empty cupcakes from today. Lance makes me happy and I think I make him happy. But if I do, why does he still have the app updating on his phone?

I didn’t mean to see it and I almost wish I hadn’t. It’s just enough to make my anxiety need a shot of whiskey to settle. It’s probably nothing and he has every right to use the app. I just wish I knew for my own good.

My next statement is on the tip of my tongue and I try to taste it, work it around, before I say it. “I want you to be happy too, Chrissy.”

“I am,” she whispers. “I carry this burden around every day and I don’t expect you to forgive me for being so awful to you. I just hope maybe one day we can start all over or start as the grown-ups we are now.”

“Can I ask you something?” I ask, heading back into the kitchen. “Why were you so awful to me? Why did you always try to trump everything that meant anything to me?”

The line quiets as I get out plates and dip out some stir fry. I think she might’ve hung up when she finally speaks again.

“My room was by Mom and Dad’s,” she says, so softly I almost don’t hear her. “I used to listen to them fight. Dad used to tell her he was leaving and they’d fight about us and he’d always say he was taking you. That you were the only one of us who had any sense.”

My jaw drags the ground at her confession. Is that true?

“I was jealous,” she says crisply. “He wrote off everything I liked as frivolous. He praised your grades. He loved your paintings and thought you were the next Monet and I couldn’t do anything to get his attention.”

“So you were a jerk to me?”

“I’m sorry, Mariah.” She hesitates. “When I had Betsy, one of the first things I noticed about her was her birthmark. It felt like the universe was mocking me, that I was so horrible my sister wouldn’t even be there with me. And then I imagined having another daughter and having one of them treat the other the way I treated you and I think I cried for two days.”

“Probably post-partum,” I say, taking a bite of chicken.

I hear Betsy cry in the background. Chrissy coos to her as the phone gets jolted all around. “Eric! Are you in here? Can you help me for a minute?”

“Hey, Chrissy,” I say, setting down my fork. “Go take care of your baby girl.”

The thought of that precious baby’s face makes me soften.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “I, um …”

“I’m sure. Thank you for calling me and for all the things you said.”

“I meant them, Mariah.”

I look at my reflection in the window over the sink. My little birthmark looks a little darker, a little more noticeable for some reason.

“I know you did. Just give me some time to think about things.”

“Absolutely. Thank you for taking my call.”

“Sure.”

“Goodbye, Mariah.”

Ending the call, food forgotten, I head into the living room and lay on the couch. The entire conversation, line-for-line rolls back through my mind as I dissect everything we both said.

I’m scared to believe her. I’m scared not to too.

* * *

Lance

“Hand me another box of nails,” Peck shouts from overhead.

Machlan grabs the last box on the tailgate of his truck and climbs the two bottom rungs and hands them to Peck. There’s a little patch of roofing on Nana’s shed that she uses to store her Christmas decorations and yard ornaments that she needed fixed. My skill set usually has me coming by to check her taxes or deal with insurance, but when Machlan and Peck said they were coming over, I figured it was better than sitting around the house ruminating.

Cross flies down the driveway in his Jeep, kicking gravel all over the yard. We laugh, knowing Nana will have his ass when she sees him again.

“Typical,” Machlan shouts. “Show up when the work is about done.”

“I’ve been on the phone.”

Machlan holds the ladder steady as Peck’s boot hits the top rung. “I bet.”

“Hadley called.” Cross gives Machlan a ‘you asked for it’ kind of look.

“How is she?” I ask.

Machlan glares my way, disappearing to the other side of the shed so he doesn’t have to hear. A part of me feels bad for asking knowing how hard it is for my brother to hear anything about her at all. Even though none of us are one-hundred-percent sure what actually transpired between them, it was enough to keep Machlan from settling down again.

“She’s good,” Cross says. “Had a question about the guy she’s been seeing for a while. Can’t say I like him much, but it seems like he’s around for the long haul.”

Peck’s hammer taps against the roof before he whips around and sits on his behind. “Here I am, doin’ all the work, and you guys will go inside and tell Nana what a great job you did. Such bullshit.”

“Keep it up and that ladder just might give out on ya on the way down,” Machlan says, coming back into view.

Peck grins, resting his arms on his knees. “So, Lance. With all this talk about Hadley, what’s going on with Mariah?”

“I wish I knew,” I say, feeling my stomach bottom out.

“She dump you already?” Machlan asks with a smirk.

“No, asshole, she didn’t.” Leaning back against Cross’ Jeep, I sigh. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Women always are,” Cross notes.

“She’s not hard to explain. The situation is.”

Cross looks at me funny. “If she’s not hard to explain, marry her. Now. You’ve found a one in a million.”

“No shit,” Machlan adds.

I shove off the hood and start picking up stray nails. There’s no way to tell them Mariah doesn’t have a damn thing about her that makes her undesirable or off-limits or makes me not want to see her again. They won’t understand.

“You’re scared shitless, aren’t you?” Cross cracks.

Peck just watches me from his perch, a hammer dangling from his hand. He raises a brow but chooses to remain silent.

“You’re not getting any younger, you know,” Machlan notes.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for pointing that out.”

He shrugs.

“Believe it or not,” I say, dumping the nails in a discarded box, “this really has nothing to do with her.”

“Oh, so this is one of those ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ kind of things?” Cross jokes. “You better get something better than that before you go fucking up all kinds of shit.”

“Kind of.”

“You’re admitting you have flaws?” Machlan asks. “I didn’t think we’d see the day.”

“I’ve never said I didn’t have flaws. I just said I didn’t have as many as you fuckers.”

They all laugh, Machlan holding the ladder as Peck climbs to the ground. “Tell you what,” my youngest brother says. “I have a feeling there’s a lot more to this conversation than you’re letting on. But I’m not a pushy guy. When you’re ready to get slammed and pour your heart out, I’ll have an Old Fashioned ready for you at Crave.”

“Gee, thanks.”

We work together to clean up the mess. Nana calls from the house, ordering us inside for sandwiches before we leave.

“Hey,” I say, pulling my thoughts away from Mariah. “Do any of you need someone to do some odd jobs or have an apartment for rent?”

Machlan looks up from the toolbox. “Maybe. Why?”

“There’s a kid at school. He’s a foster kid. Good boy. He’s turning eighteen soon and apparently he’ll be on his own as soon.”

“No shit?” Cross flinches.

“I wanted to see if I could help him find something.”

“If not, I could take a roommate,” Peck offers. “And I bet if you call Sienna, she’d make Walker give him a job.”

We all laugh, knowing that’s true.

Machlan and Cross get in their cars and drive a few yards to Nana’s back door. Peck and I load the rest of the tools and then stand next to the bed.

“If I can do anything to help that kid, let me know,” Peck says, shaking his head. “That’s gonna bother me all night now.”

Laughing, I take off his hat and throw it at him as I walk by. “He’ll be fine. We’ll work it out.”

“What about Mariah? You gonna work that out?”

My steps falter as I make it to my car. Head hanging, spirit deflating, I sigh. “I don’t know, man.”

“Did you even talk to her?”

“I talk to her every day.”

“You’re a dumbass,” he says.

The sun begins to set, the evening air cooling. A heaviness settles around me, a sadness, almost, that I haven’t felt since my parents died. It’s not the same, not as tragic, but not entirely different either.

I’m on a precipice of losing something important to me and I don’t really have a choice.

“You ever think of adopting?” Peck asks quietly. “I mean, there are ways to build a family without using sperm.”

“I’m not against that. I think it’s a damn good idea. But that’s a choice for my life and I’m not at liberty to make that choice for her.”

He grins. “I don’t think that girl would let you make any decision she didn’t want.”

“Probably right,” I laugh, thinking of how hard-headed she can be. The toe of my boot scrapes against the ground, sending a load of pebbles scattering off the driveway.

“I love her, Peck.”

“I know you do.”

“Why am I not terrified about that? How can you be so fucking sure and so fucking scared at the same time about the same thing?”

“Because you love her,” he laughs. “I think it’s only terrifying when you aren’t sure. And if you aren’t sure, you probably don’t.”

“How’d you get so wise?”

He takes his hat off and wipes his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “Baby, I was born this way.”

Shaking my head, I open the door to my car.

“She doesn’t love your sperm count,” Peck notes. “Remember that.”

“So eloquent.”

“You don’t pay me enough to be eloquent.”

“I don’t pay you at all.”

“Good point,” he says, pulling a drink out of the cooler in the back of his truck. “Look, I feel invested in this relationship. I need you to tell her you love her.”

“Not happening,” I say. I climb into the driver’s seat.

Peck just shakes his head. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“I’m also a liar,” I tell him, starting the car and revving up the engine. “This isn’t only about her. It’s also about me.”

“What about you?”

“I’m a pussy who can’t admit my weaknesses.” A resolution slides over me. “Do me a favor and tell Nana I got sick or had to do something, okay?”

He gasps. “You want me to lie to Nana?”

“Just pretend it’s you telling her you didn’t sneak in here and eat all the leftover fried chicken last weekend.”

“How’d you know about that?”

I tap the side of my head. “I know everything.” Closing the door, I throw the transmission in reverse and head down the driveway.

Unfortunately, I do know things. Even the things I was happier not knowing. Now I just need the balls to pull the trigger.

Whipping out my phone, I search for Mariah’s name.

Me:Something came up I have to do tonight. I won’t make dinner. I’m sorry.

Before I can change my mind, I turn my phone off. Tossing it in the back seat, I take off down the road, gravel crunching beneath my tires.

Twenty-Seven

Mariah

Whitney pushes her plate to the center of the table. It’s streaked with stir fry sauce and a few pieces of cooked onion. “That was really good.”

“Thanks.” Whether she’s lying to me or not, I don’t have a clue. My taste buds are gone. That or my brain is too occupied at the moment to really taste anything. “How’s work?”

“Eh, about the same. I think I might be moving floors though.”

“We’re happy about that?”

“Yes,” she gushes. “My schedule would stabilize and I’d have more daylight hours.” Taking a sip of her water, she watches me over the rim. “Jonah asked me out today.”

My jaw drops. “He did not.”

Her laugh floats easily through the air. Mine isn’t as easy, nor is it as engaged. I just don’t feel it.

“I turned him down. I mean, you dated him—”

“I so did not date him,” I insist. “That wasn’t even a date, let alone dating.”

“Fine. But he’s not my type either.”

“But you thought he was mine?”

“I thought you were desperate,” she laughs. “He was a good starter date.”

My hand smacks my face. “Starter date? Men aren’t objects, Whit.”

“Nah, they kind of are.” She runs a finger around the edge of her glass. “Speaking of men, I’ve refrained from asking about Lance so you could bring it up. But, you haven’t and I’m tired of waiting.”

“You’re so kind,” I groan.

“Not really. Spill it. What’s going on?”

What is going on? Hell if I know, but something is because I can feel it. It’s that sixth sense you get when something is awry. That niggle in your stomach that doesn’t quite feel like you have to puke but makes you a little leery of getting too far away from the restroom.

It’s in my scalp, that prickly sensation like my hair follicles are standing on end, waiting for me to process whatever unknown that’s coming.

I’ve told myself over the past two hours that it’s nothing. From the second Lance’s text came through, I’ve passed this sinking feeling off as leftover stress from the day. The problem is, I can’t work it out enough to believe myself.

“Nothing,” I say, getting our plates together and carrying them to the sink. I busy myself with scraping leftover bits and pieces down the garbage disposal and rinsing off the rest. When I finish, she’s still watching patiently like she’s expecting more from me. I toss down a dishtowel. “What?”

“You don’t cook like that just for you. And when I showed up, it was already done, which tells me you had plans. If that’s true, then what happened to them? Because that would explain this ‘my goldfish just jumped out of the bowl’ thing you have going on.”

“Really? Goldfish?”

“Yeah, goldfish. You aren’t crying, so it’s not one of your thousand fictional cats,” she laughs. “People don’t get as attached to goldfish unless they’re like six.”

“Fair enough,” I sigh, collapsing back into my chair. “Dinner was for Lance. He was supposed to come over but I got this short text that he ‘couldn’t make it’ and then my return message wasn’t delivered.”

“So, you think he shut his phone off.”

“Yup. Or it died, I guess, but …” I flex my neck, that half-cringe thing people do when they’re working something out in their heads that I never understand. It’s like the universal delivery, the same as opening your mouth to put on mascara.

The honest way of answering that question has me one step closer to needing the toilet. I’ve been in an anxiety spiral since seeing the app earlier today, but then with Chrissy calling and Lance calling and his phone dying, it’s all adding up to more than I can handle and I’m clinging to reason to keep from toppling over the edge in a freak-out fest.

“What’s the rest of it?” she asks.

“Probably nothing.”

“But …”

“Can’t you let it be?” I laugh, a nervous energy in the words that Whitney doesn’t miss.

“I wouldn’t be your best friend if I let it be. Might as well spill so we can move on to dessert.”

My eyes close and all I see is that little notification on his phone. The green square with the pink splash of color, the same icon I hit every night to talk to him for weeks.

“It’s no big deal,” I say, wiggling in my seat. “I just saw today that he still had the app where I met him. Well, where Nerdy Nurse met him.”

She lifts a brow. “Do you still have it?”

“I deleted it after we went to my mom’s. There was no agreement to delete it. I mean, we aren’t even in a place where that’s a conversation we’re having, you know?”

“But you feel like maybe it was an unspoken agreement?” she asks guardedly.

Groaning into my hands, I try to settle myself. “Apparently, but I shouldn’t.”

“You aren’t wrong to feel this way.”

I hear her but I don’t hear her.

“Maybe it’s nothing, Whit. It’s an app. It means nothing.” Scraping my teeth over the inside of my bottom lip, the words echo in my brain. Like if I hear them enough, I’ll believe them. “It means nothing.”

My friend looks at me, her head tilted to the side. “What brought this on?”

“I saw it on his phone today. It was lying there. I wasn’t snooping.” I try to reason with myself, fighting a surge of bile in my stomach. “I’m just paranoid, I think.”

“You think?” she asks, trying to override the laugh that wants to permeate the words.

“Insecure. Do you like that word better?”

“I don’t like any of them, to be honest.”

Me either.

My muscles pull tight across my back, my neck tensing as I struggle to stay even-keeled. I’m a ball of taut, twisted emotions on the inside and out and a good, loud scream is the only way I can think of to release some of the energy. But that’s what crazy people do and I’m not going crazy. Not today, at least.

“I’m just struggling with being smart and being open at the same time,” I explain. “I want to be open with Lance, give him all the benefit of the doubt. I don’t want to burden him with Eric’s sins.”

“Sounds very reasonable of you,” she grins.

“But, at the same time, I did that with Eric and look where it got me. That wound still stings and if I don’t pay attention to that, I might get stung again.”

Whitney chuckles. “It must be terrible to be so logical. You can’t even have fun.”

“I know,” I whine. “This is the first time since Eric where I’ve felt like maybe I’ve put those rose-colored glasses back on. Like maybe I was seeing what I wanted to see and not what was real. I refuse to do that again, you know? I won’t be that blind girl ever, ever again.”

“You aren’t blind. You’re nervous and nervous is good. Nervous is smart. But you being nervous makes me want dessert.” Whitney stands, slipping her sneakers back on.

“I think I have leftover brownies,” I offer without a lot of initiative.

“Come on,” she says, pulling me up. “Let’s go buy overpriced slices of cheesecake at Peaches. We’ll bring them here and binge watch a show.”

I don’t love television, but I also don’t love sitting around sulking. Or worrying. Or lamenting over a man I’m not sure is mine.

“I don’t even have a show,” I note, shoving Lance out of my mind.

“Oh, girl, I’ll fix that.”

She gives me a complete list of all the offerings currently available on my subscription service as we get in her car and head through Linton. The streetlights are on, casting a pretty glow over the little town I’ve come to love.

“The one about royalty is my pick based off your fabulous descriptions,” I add, watching Dr. Burns’ office pass by.

“You’ll love that.”

“I don’t want to watch it if you’ve already seen it,” I protest.

“Only one episode,” she insists. “Besides, I watch so many shows I can’t remember what they’re about. It’s one of the fabulous things about being me—”

“Hey.” I lean forward quickly, the seat belt snapping me back in my seat. I try to see down the side road leading to Crave but we’ve gone by it before I can get turned around. An eerie calm fills my veins as my brain clears out everything that’s not absolutely necessary. “Take a right up here and go around the block.”

“Why?” she asks as she hits the breaks to slow down for the turn.

“Just do it.”

My breath steams up the window as I pant against it like a puppy. Using the sleeve of my shirt, I wipe off the fog so I can see.

The side streets are fairly empty except for a few cars sitting on the street in front of houses. There’s a dog in the yard of the large Victorian house I love on the corner as we turn and make our way back toward Beecher Street.

My breath is the only sound in the car as I pull oxygen in through my mouth. There’s a burn in my chest, like the bitter fluids from my stomach have somehow escaped and now fill my entire cavity.

Whitney pushes the car slowly up the road. There, just a few slots back from the corner, is Lance’s car.

“Son of a bitch,” I whisper. My clothes feel too clingy, everything too tight, too itchy, as we pass the parked car. There’s nothing around open this time of night in this part of town except Crave.

He did blow me off.

Mentally, I start linking things together, things I hope don’t belong together. Things like a broken date with me, his car at the bar, the app I saw today.

Stop it.

My hand shakes as I toy with the necklace rising and falling with every harsh breath. I tell myself the gut instinct I had today that something was wrong was actually right and I should have some sense of comfort in that. But I don’t. I don’t when it’s still churning, warning me there’s more to come.

“You think he’s in there?” Whitney asks, watching me out of the corner of her eye.

Gulping, I nod. “Yeah.”

“It was rhetorical,” she sighs, pulling through the stop sign as a car comes up behind us. “Where else would he be?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, picking at the corner of my fingernail. “Just head to Peaches and let me think about it.”

“By thinking do you mean talking? Because I have opinions.”

“I’m sure you do,” I grumble. “His brother owns Crave,” I note. “Maybe he’s there talking about something with him.”

“Maybe.” She doesn’t sound persuaded.

“Maybe.” Neither do I.

Twenty-Eight

Lance

I’m not sure how the temperature dropped quickly enough to have me shaking. I’m also not one-hundred-percent sure how long I’ve stood on Mariah’s doorstep, but it’s been long enough that her neighbor has looked out the window twice.

The kitchen light is on and I can see through the opening in the curtains that her purse is sitting by the sofa. I ring the bell again. Rocking back and forth on my heels, I pray she answers. Then I turn around with a follow-up prayer that she doesn’t.

If I fail to come out hitting hard tonight, and I’m not even in a place to appreciate the pun, I won’t have the balls to do it tomorrow. There’s a chance I don’t have the balls to pull this off now either but the fact I’m standing on her porch, fortified with a little tequila thanks to Nora at Crave, I’m as close as I’ll ever be.

It would seem I have two choices: to tell her I love her or to tell her it’s over. That, however, is not the case. There is only one possible answer and it’s the one ripping my insides apart.

I love this girl, so it has to be over. It’s some fucked-up mathematical equation that reminds me why I went into history and not algebra. Then again, history says the best offense is a strong defense, so here we are either way.

I’ll miss the quiet times with Mariah as much as the loud ones, the moments where we’re in the car and not saying a word. Those times almost soothe me somehow. I’ll crave for the rest of my life the look she gets when she sees me for more than what I present to the world. She sees the good in me, the potential, the man who’s capable of more than a quick, amazing fuck. There won’t be a way to replace the privilege of being the guy she chooses to spend an evening with.

Blaire says there’s always hope, but I’m not sure if I even want to go there. What can I hope for at this point? That she moves on from me? That I don’t miss her so much I lose my mind? That she doesn’t feel half the pain I’m going to feel if I manage to go through with this?

I turn toward my car when a set of headlights comes down the road. It slows as it nears, pulling up the driveway at a crawl.

Scratching the side of my neck, the feel of my nails digging into my flesh is barely discernible in relation to the tight pain stretching across my chest. It’s hard to even take in enough oxygen to stay standing as Mariah gets out of the car. She gives a quick goodbye to whomever is driving, not even looking my way until the car has backed out onto the road.

She fiddles with a take-out bag in her hand as she makes her way toward me. Her steps are methodical, one in front of the other. Each one ratchets tighter on my nerves.

“Hey,” I say as she draws near. The frog in my throat is obvious and I swallow to press it down. “I hope it’s okay I’m here.”

“Sure.” She plays with a lock of her hair. “I, um, went with Whitney over to Peaches to get dessert.”

“What’d you get?”

“Cheesecake.” She flips her gaze to mine, her baby blues filled with unease. “We were going to bring it back here and watch some show about the royals, but we ran into Coach Collins and the new guy the school board hired for soccer.”

His name alone creates a storm inside me. My hands ball into fists at my sides as I try to remind myself I can’t be jealous. She’s not mine. And that right there is the most frustrating part of this whole damn dilemma.

“What’d he want today, anyway?” I ask, unable to help myself.

She pops the key in the lock and swings the door open. “Just to see about the delivery of some books and manuals I ordered for the football program.”

“Oh.”

“Why?” She steps inside the house, taking her shoes off by the door.

“It just seemed like a lot of talk and laughter over football manuals.”

Her shoulders lift and fall. “He’s nice.”

There’s more to it than that but she’s not going to give it to me.

My body burns from the tension in my muscles as I watch her busy herself with a hundred things besides looking at me. Each tick of the clock that goes by reduces my frustration over the fucking coach and moves it more toward a hollow sensation that tells me something is wrong.

“Are you going to come in or not?” A look is cast over her shoulder, one that can only be defined as on guard.

Before I step inside, I rethink what Nora told me at Crave: how you only come across true love once in your life, the kind of love that sets your world on fire. Love that makes you happily lose yourself in the smoke because you’d rather die from the fumes than live without it.

That’s Mariah for me.

For the first time in my adult life, a relationship is not just about the sex. With her, it’s more than the conversations we have, or the way she looks at me, or the way she makes me want to consider what impact my actions have on the world. She doesn’t just make me want to be better for her. She makes me better in every way.

Nora said coming over here and breaking it off with her was the stupidest move I could make. She’s seen me do some seriously stupid shit too.

I agree. This is so fucking stupid. It’s stupid in the same way chemotherapy makes you sick but you have to undergo it to rid yourself of cancer. But, just like chemo, this is best choice I can make under the circumstances.

I cross the threshold and shut the door behind me. She stands in the little hallway that leads to the kitchen, the light illuminating her from behind.

There’s a suspicion, a leeriness to her gaze that seems so utterly unfair. It’s the most cutting thing I’ve felt in a very long time. I want to whisk her up into my arms and kiss the hell out of her. I want to tell her to stop looking at me like that. I want to tell her I’m standing here wondering what she would look like under the kitchen light at three in the morning when she comes down for a glass of water and I follow her because I can’t stand to be in bed without her. That I wonder what she’d look like in this position in the middle of the night prepping a bottle while I lie in bed with a baby awaiting her return. What she would look like coming in after a concert she’d always wanted to see.

All of this confession is on the tip of my tongue, ready to be screamed from the deepest recesses of my consciousness.

“How was your evening?” she asks, choosing each word with the care of a surgeon.

“Good. Helped Machlan and Peck fix Nana’s shed.”

She arches a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Exhaling a hasty breath, she turns away. Her hand plants on the refrigerator door. “What’s wrong, Lance?”

I take a step back. I’m not ready for this conversation. I thought I was in control, still figuring out how to bring it up, and I’m sure as hell not ready to go there yet. There was supposed to be time to figure this out first, to get a game plan, to maybe hold her one last time.

“Lance?” She turns on her heel and leans against the counter. “What’s the matter?”

“Why do you think something is the matter?”

Her arms cross her chest. “I don’t know what all of this is, but it’s not us.”

This is the opening I need, handed to me on a silver platter—one I’m trying to shove right back her way instead of just accepting.

My heart clenches as I read all the messages her eyes are telling me. “What is us, Mariah?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Goddamnit.

Not yet.

I’m not ready.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask, wrapping my hands around the posts of a chair.

“You just did.”

Cracking a smile, I can’t find it in my heart to fire back at her with some innuendo-filled response. “What do you want?”

“You mean like pizza?” she gulps.

“I know you like pizza.”

“And sushi,” she adds, her bottom lip starting to quiver.

“And tacos, right?”

She nods, sitting at the table with her hands in her lap. I don’t trust myself to move because I know exactly what I’ll do—It’ll end with her in my lap, putting off this conversation.

“I meant more like …” I think about how to phrase it. “What are the most important things you want out of life?”

Pretending I’m just waiting on her reply, I send her a silent plea that tells her to answer in a way I can feel good about. I want her to talk me out of this.

Her features soften, letting go of the fear that had crept into the lines of her face. She pulls her knees to her chest. “Night kisses,” she says just loud enough for me to hear.

I look at the ceiling as her words slice open a wound across my heart I’m certain will never heal.

“I don’t want anything fancy,” she says softly. “Loyalty from those I love. Feeling safe, like I don’t have to compete with anyone for anything.”

“You deserve all of that.”

“I think I do.” She puts her feet back on the floor as I look down at her. “What do you want, Lance?”

I pace a circle around her kitchen, my hands in my hair, tugging at the roots. I wish I could tell her what it is I really want.

Her.

Just her.

“I don’t know what I want,” I lie, unable to even look at her as I say it. My teeth clench, trying not to let the words by.

“I see.”

No, you don’t see!

Panic gathers in my core, melting everything in its path as it spreads through me like a virus. I pivot on my heel and look at my girl.

There’s a steeliness there. It’s cold and guarded and not at all the way she should look. I hate that I put it there. Me. I put that look of distrust on the woman I just want to protect and love and shower with kisses day and night.

I imagine the war that would be waged in those beautiful baby blues when she had to pick between the experience of a lifetime, of carrying a child, and of loving a man who is, by all accounts, unworthy of that love. The truth is, I know she loves me. Maybe even as much as I love her and the fact I’ve let this happen is heartbreaking.

She deserves so much more than me, a broken version of a teenage boy who’s gone to bed after eating everyone’s cookies.

“You know I don’t expect anything from you, right?” she asks.

“Mariah, wait …”

She gets to her feet, pushing in her chair. “Lance, it’s fine. I—”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” My chest rises and falls like I’ve ran a marathon, the air rushing out of my body in sharp, painful bursts. “It’s not you, Mariah.”

She smiles, but not at me. It’s directed inwardly, I think, like she predicted this.

I can predict too. I know she’d choose me over children. And my fear is too fucking deep that one day she’d turn forty and realize she’d given up something she could never get back just because I wrecked a car at eighteen and fucked up my life.

It’s unfair for someone’s tragedies to bleed onto another. I won’t do that to her, even if this kills me.

“Look,” I say, fighting the blaze in my ribs, “this isn’t about you.”

“It never is.” She shakes her head, turning away from me. “You’ve been kind and—”

“Mariah, stop it,” I say, barely able to utter the words past the lump in my throat.

“You don’t owe me an explanation. You don’t owe me an excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

She pulls her hair to the top of her head, letting a tendril fall to her right temple. I want to tuck it behind her ear, kiss her just below the lobe, and feel her lean against me. But I can’t. Ever again.

“I think, um …” I say, clearing my throat. “I think things were getting too complicated.”

The stinging in my eyes appears for the first time since my parents funeral as I realize the death of my dreams. I’ve fought so hard never to find her, although I didn’t know she was the one I was trying to run from.

I’ve used dating apps, blown off calls, purposefully ended communication with women, done everything I could to never get to this point in a relationship. And here she sits, at the very apex without me ever having seen it coming. I was head over heels for this crazy girl before I even realized what love felt like. Now I have to break my own heart so that I won’t ever have to break hers.

God, I love you, I want to tell her. I’m so sorry it has to be this way.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice raw. “Complicated. That’s true.”

The air around us twists and turns, seeping through the entangled lies we’re both telling. She steps to the left. I step to the right. She looks at me. I look away. I look at her and she turns to the sink and becomes fascinated with a dishrag.

“I have some things to do …” Her voice trails off and she doesn’t even try to finish the sentence.

Still, I can’t go. “Mariah …”

“Lance.” She clears her throat and turns back around. Her shoulders are back. Her eyes clouded with tears. Her face more beautiful than I’ve ever seen it. “Please go.”

My voice shouts inside me, tries to be heard outside my head. My mouth moves, but I don’t know what I say, only that she nods and looks down as she walks around me.

I find myself following her to the front door and stepping through it as she opens it. I’m on the porch, the cool night air whipping at my skin when I get myself together enough to realize … this is it.

“If you need anything—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“I know where to find you. Goodnight, Lance.”

And the door shuts.

Twenty-Nine

Mariah

“Thank you, Joe,” I say. The maintenance man puts the few tools he needed for this task back in his little metal container. “I’m sure installing a lock on my door at six in the morning wasn’t your idea of an emergency, but I really do appreciate it.”

“It was this or go clean out a toilet in the boys’ bathroom,” he chuckles.

“Glad I could help you.”

He tips a beat-up Dodgers cap, before moseying out of the library. I round my desk and try the lock. It snaps with the crispness of not having been used before.

It breaks my heart.

I just stare at the brass latch, like somehow if I look at it long enough, everything will be different.

I won’t get on the app. I won’t humor Lance when he comes in here every afternoon. I won’t cry.

I lie to myself over and over again, making promises I know I’m going to turn around and break.

The sun hovers at the horizon, rays of orange sunshine spraying up from the tree line across the soccer fields. All night I lay in my bed and wondered how I’d feel when the sun came up. Daylight has a way of making prospects look different. Somehow it didn’t seem like the sun, moon, or stars would make the words Lance spoke last night seem any better.

Tears dot the corners of my eyes as I look at the corner of my desk. The absence of baked goods just drives home the certainty that my life isn’t the same. The pang in my chest is a guarantee that I will never rebound. Not fully.

I dated Eric for years. I thought I would marry the guy. He ended up marrying my sister, which was the most painful experience I’ve ever been through and it doesn’t hold a candle to this.

Eric said he loved me and that felt good. It was nice having a companion, someone to build something with. I would tell him I loved him all the time, so much so that it would annoy him. I thought it was a habit back then, but now I think maybe I needed to hear it out loud. I needed to remind myself, which is how I know I didn’t really love him.

I’ve never said out loud that I’m in love with Lance. I never needed to. He’s my first thought when I wake up and what I’m smiling about when my eyes shut at night. He’s who I consider when I’m baking brownies and the person I want to tell when my sister decides to finally call me. It’s Lance I wait for at lunchtime and who I’m reminded of when I hear a song on the radio.

I never knew this definition of love. It’s not a thing, a word, a piece of paper, or a joint bank account. It’s not a last name or a mortgage.

It’s a tingly feeling in the pit of your stomach when you hear their name. It’s a grin stretched so hard across your face when you get a whiff of their cologne. It’s the touch of his hand when you need it most, a silly laugh when you’re ready to cry. It’s standing up for you when you feel weak and letting you fall when you can no longer be strong.

You don’t love because you’re required to, like my mother does with me. You don’t love out of guilt, like Chrissy. You don’t love because it’s the right thing to do and what’s expected of you, like Eric. Love is a choice. It’s a connection with someone else that can’t be explained, a relationship with someone who both helps you feel your best and reciprocates the good you have to give.

I love Lance Gibson and locking him out of my heart will be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. There’s a vacancy in my chest, an ache that hurts just as much mentally as it does physically. How he managed to dig his way in my psyche despite my best efforts to keep him out, I’ll never know. Why I was stupid enough to let my guard down—I’ll never know that either.

Taking my seat, I sort through emails from the staff. The list of books they requested is enough to distract me for a few minutes, at least until there’s a knock on the door.

My heart beats me to the doorway and falls as spectacularly as my spirits when it’s Tish who’s looking back at me.

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” she chirps, sauntering in. “Why you here so early?”

“Lots of emails,” I say, nodding towards my computer. “What about you?”

“Science projects.” She makes a face. “I’ve seen every possible experiment in my teaching career. I get that it’s not about me, it’s about the kids, but is it wrong for me to just give them all the solutions and take a field trip instead?”

I try to smile. I really, truly do.

“Did you run over a puppy this morning?” she asks.

“No. Why would you ask me that?”

“Because the look on your face is the one I’d wear if I had.”

“Yeah. About that …”

“What happened? And why are there no browniessss …” Her eyes go wide. “Oh.”

Sighing, I find a spot on the opposite wall. “That about sums it up.”

“Okay, I knew you were all flirty with each other. But was it more than that?”

Yeah. No?

Dragging my gaze to hers, I just shrug.

“Do I need to make his life hell?” she asks. “’Cause I can. I have connections. I can even get him on Homecoming Committee and that’s just about equivalent to ordering him into the pit of Hades.”

“Don’t do that,” I sigh again. “It’s fine. We had a little fling. I guess. I don’t know but it’s over now so let’s try to be as normal as possible.”

She sits where the cupcakes usually go. “Either he’s a terrible lay, which I’m inclined to toss out based on looks alone, or he’s a dick. I feel like that’s probably not true either.”

“Guess you’re as confused as I am.”

“You honestly don’t know what happened?”

I mull this over for the eighty-ninth time. At least it’s a little numb now, a little gift from above that I expect to wane by the time I leave school today. Or, more likely, as soon as I see him.

“I know this,” I offer. “I knew better than to do this with a guy like him. In his defense, he never treated me badly. In mine, he made it way too easy.”

My lashes flutter in a desperate attempt to hide the tears that surge at my lash line. I can’t look at Tish. I can’t look at the computer. I just sit like a bump on a log, saying a quiet prayer that I can manage myself like the grown woman I am.

“Honey, it would be easy for anyone to lose themselves in that man.” She gets situated on my desktop. “And he’s so cute with you. I’ve seen it myself.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel so cute this morning.”

“I bet not,” she frowns. “I have a meeting with Principal Kelly in ten. I might just suggest Mr. Gibson to help with the floats for the parade.”

“You do that.”

“I will.” She lifts up, the wood creaking as she moves. “I’m here if you need me, Mariah.”

“Thanks.”

I wait for her to leave, until I hear the main library doors shut, before shutting the door to my office and crying my eyes out.

* * *

Lance

My pen hits the desk.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

It’s been the longest morning of all time, partly because I didn’t even make it to bed last night, let alone sleep. Partly because I know she’s just a floor above me and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Around four o’clock this morning, I was in my car, engine started, a spiel sitting on the tip of my tongue. I sat there for fifteen minutes, trying to talk myself out of going to her house and just spilling my guts.

I brought my lunch in a little brown bag, figuring I could keep myself busy and not be tempted to go to the library. No such luck. I look at the clock, watching each minute click by. With each number that rolls over, my heart gets a little crazier. With each second that ticks, my feet become a little more desperate to move. Not until ten minutes after the normal time I head upstairs do I spy a book that doesn’t belong to me on the table under the window.

Jumping up so fast I crack my knee on the desk, I hold it in my hands like a prize. Stamped on the bottom of the title page is LINTON UNION HIGH SCHOOL. Bingo.

I take the stairs two at a time, berating myself for wasting time by thinking I was capable of not coming up here. We’re still friends. This is what we do. It would be abnormal if I didn’t go check on her today. I’d be a dick not to make sure she’s okay.

The main library doors swing open. I’m across the burgundy carpet in half the time it usually takes.

How I’ll keep my hands off her, how I won’t just break down and end this insanity is beyond me, but it’s a risk I have to take.

Her door is closed as I approach, which isn’t unusual. The little apple cutout that hangs near the window is cockeyed and I make a note to fix it for her when I leave. Grabbing the handle, I push forward and take a step with it … and run right into the wood.

I flick the handle again.

It’s locked.

Glancing over my shoulder, I confirm I’m alone. I test the handle again, peeking in the blinds to see if I can see her. It takes three different angles to confirm: she’s gone.

My back hits the wall, a poster of the new hit young adult novel comes unattached on the top and falls partially to the floor.

This must be what it feels like to have your heart sliced into little pieces and fed to you. The tinge of bitterness in my mouth is enough to make my stomach recoil.

I asked for this. Every motherfucking day I walked up those stairs in the afternoon to see her, I asked for this. I knew. Deep down, I knew I was getting too close to the edge of not just being acquaintances before I found out she was Nerdy Nurse. Back then, what feels like forever ago, I’d wonder on the weekends what she was doing or if she’d like the book I was reading. We’re friends, I thought, even though I knew where I was headed wasn’t a place you go with a friend.

Allowing my head to fall against the wall, a sense of hopelessness envelops me. This is all too new to process. Do people survive this?

I look at the door, the cool drywall at my back only adding to the frigidity of the moment. There’s nothing warm about this moment, nothing warm about my life.

Everything I used to enjoy all seems lackluster now as I consider going back to the way things were before. I could pull out the app, make some arrangements for the weekend, humor myself until work is over. But … why?

My body trembles with a shiver. It’s not the external cold that’s causing me to move; it’s the thought of never being with Mariah again that makes me feel like I’m freezing.

This can’t be it. This can’t be where our story ends, our jokes stop, our lunches completely halt because I was stupid enough to fall in love.

No. Fuck that.

This can’t be it. There has to be a way around it.

Do I wait? Do I pick the lock and wait inside her office? Do I call the main office and have her paged?

It all seems logical, completely rational, and I’m one step from picking the lock when the library doors open.

My hand goes into the air to tell her not to turn around when I realize it’s Ollie. He sees me and stutter-steps, a puzzled look on his ruddy cheeks.

“You okay, Mr. Gibson?”

“Yeah. Fine. Just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”

“I can come back later …” He thumbs over his shoulder toward the doors. “It’s no problem.”

“No, no,” I sigh. “It’s fine, Ollie. What can I do for you?”

His grin could light up the entire city. “I wanted to say thank you to you and Ms. Malarkey. I’m going to pass Family and Consumer Sciences. Ms. Holden was impressed.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Me too.”

Pulling my head out of my ass, I remember I’m a professional and an educator. Also, that I have news for my favorite student. “I have something to tell you too.”

“Okay,” he says.

“I talked to my brothers and it turns out they have rooms available. Maybe even some jobs, if you’re interested.”

His eyes match the sparkle of his smile. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” And as I am about Mariah. I glance towards the doors again, wondering if she went home sick or something. Her car was here when I got in at seven, hoping it was early enough to run into her in the parking lot.

“Well,” Ollie says, pressing his lips together in thought. “I might take you up on that. I, um, this is really weird and all, but I stayed at Brandon’s last night. His parents are really cool and, um, I’m not sure if anything will come out of it or if they meant it, but they used to have foster kids. They know how the system works and said maybe they could help me work some stuff out for college or something. At least put me in contact with the right people.”

For the first time in a couple of days, I feel hope. “Ollie,” I say, my voice rough, “that’s seriously great.”

“It is. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I think maybe …” He smiles again. “So, thank you, Mr. Gibson.”

“Anytime, Ollie. And my offer stands. No pressure,” I say, holding my hands up. “But if you need anything, come to me.”

“Will do.” He turns and heads back to the door, pausing before he shoves them open. “And Mr. Gibson?”

“Yeah?”

“You and Ms. Malarkey will be great parents some day.”

“Oh, Ollie,” I say, my throat raw. “That’s not, you know, probably in the cards.”

He sends me a knowing look, one only a kid like him can decipher. With a small nod of his head, he sighs. “I thought I’d never find people who gave a shit about me—sorry for the language,” he adds. “I used to go to people’s houses and try to be what I thought they wanted to see thinking that would make them accept me.” He takes a step back my way, his voice growing stronger. “There was a family that was super religious once. I read the Bible every night. I can almost quote it for you,” he chuckles.

“That’s not entirely a bad thing,” I laugh.

“I guess not. But there was another family who thought they were mobsters and I promptly wiped all that religious stuff from my brain and filled it with … a lot of things a kid should never know.” His lips turn down. “You and Ms. Malarkey make me feel good just for being me, you know?”

“You’re a great kid, Ollie. You just do you.”

He tilts his head to the side. “You just do you too, Mr. Gibson. It’s all you can do.”

I’m left standing, poring over his curious words, as he exits the room.

Thirty

Mariah

“Thank you.” I take the change, three dollars and thirty-three cents, and want to toss the cashier a penny back just to get away from all the threes.

It’s been three days since I talked to Lance. Each day gets a little easier and a little harder.

I’m not the same person I was when I logged onto the app for the first time and found History Hunk in my matches. Even though he doesn’t want me the way I want him, as someone I’d like to test out forever with, I feel confident that someone great will someday. That my love of books and desire to curl away from the population isn’t a complete turnoff. My pooched belly isn’t as horrendous as I’ve believed my whole life. How could I believe that when Lance Gibson has kissed every inch of it?

But it’s more than that. It’s something deep inside me that knows I can handle shit. I can handle life. I can handle my mom and Chrissy. I can call the shots with them for the first time in my life with no hunkering down and no caving to their wants or exploding with rage. Lance not wanting me is not breaking me—bending me until the point I can hear the straps creaking, but not breaking. Maybe he doesn’t love me, but I do. I love me again. I’ll always be thankful that he showed me how.

It’s the wee hours of the night when I wonder if I’ll ever fall in love again. They say it happens once and it wasn’t with Eric. I know that now. I fell in love with Lance. I’m in love with Lance. And if I never feel this way about another man, that’s a soul-crushing realization to consider.

With Eric, I thought we’d go through the motions of life—engagement complete with photos that would make me cringe in ten years, marriage with overpriced wedding hors d'oeuvres, honeymoon, kids, blah, blah, blah. The blahs though were filled with enough excitement to make me think I wanted it. Maybe I really even did. But with Lance, if I let myself consider what life would be like with him, there were no blahs. With him, it wouldn’t have been about the milestones and checking off each box that adults are supposed to check. It would’ve honestly been about the journey—the cuddles on the couch and arguing over what movie to watch, the snowy afternoons in front of the fireplace spent reading books and discussing thoughtful passages. It would’ve been a life filled with fountain Cokes and Bluebird Hills and maybe some of Nana’s Pyrex dishes brimming with leftovers. Maybe I could’ve made Sunday dinner with her and gossiped about her grandsons and really have become a part of that family.

“Ma’am?”

I jolt back to the present, stuffing the change in my pocket. “I’m sorry. I dazed off,” I tell the cashier.

“No problem. Have a great day.”

The sun shines happily through the door and I have to squint as I approach. When it opens, the glare goes down just enough for me to focus my vision. Then I stop.

Peck with his floppy blond hair and adorable grin stands in front of me. Beside him is a darker, stockier version of Lance on one side and a slightly shorter, huskier version on the other.

My throat goes dry, my drink almost falling from my hands. “Shit,” I mutter, getting it right side up.

“I have that effect on women,” the stockier one smirks.

“Shut up, Machlan,” Peck laughs. “How are you, Mariah?”

“Oh,” Machlan nods, a look of approval shifting over his rugged features. “You’re Mariah.”

“I am,” I say, looking back at Peck. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you. This is Machlan Gibson,” he says, pointing to the darker man. “And that is Walker Gibson. Lance’s brothers.”

Walker twists a toothpick around his lips. “This explains a lot.”

“No shit,” Machlan laughs. “It’s nice to meet you and I’m sorry for whatever idiotic thing my brother has done.”

“What makes you think he’s done something?” I ask.

“Because you don’t look crazy.” Walker shrugs.

“I’m not following you …”

“Look,” Machlan says, waving at someone across the store, “Lance is all kinds of fucked up right now. Your boy is drinking more tequila than I’ve ever seen and I can’t even add it to his tab because he’s so pathetic.”

Peck winces. “Pathetic, Machlan? Let him keep his balls.”

“Fuck his balls,” Walker snorts. “He’s driving me nuts. Whatever he’s done, Mariah, just forgive him. Make him grovel and buy you something nice but just get on with it.”

“Before I go broke,” Machlan adds.

I can’t help but laugh at their camaraderie, the easy way in which they play off each other. Being with them seems like the best family vacation ever, filled with lots of ribbing and jokes and overall shenanigans. I also can’t help but notice how every woman who walks into this place immediately looks our way.

Individually, they’re all incredibly good-looking. Together? Together it’s hard to take.

“I hate to break it to you guys,” I say, gathering my pride, “but I don’t know why he’s being an asshole.”

Walker looks at Machlan. It’s Peck who looks at me.

There’s a kindness resting there that gives me something to latch onto for a moment. I have no idea if he knows Lance broke things off with me, but something tells me he does. Maybe he even knows why. But there’s no pity in the pools of his irises and I appreciate that.

“I need to get going,” I tell them. “I have a bunch of cupcakes in the back of my car to deliver to the nursing home over by the church.”

“Lance is outside,” Walker says, twisting that toothpick again. “He’s especially irritating today, so be warned.”

My heart clamors around my ribs, pattering so loud I struggle to block it out. I look out the windows, shielding my eyes with my hand, but I don’t see him.

“He’s in that truck over there,” Peck tells me, pointing to a silver truck.

“Feel free to take him with you,” Machlan jokes.

I suck in a breath to steady myself, keeping my eyes peeled on the truck. “I might just wait in here until you leave.”

“I’d say you have a minute before he comes busting in here looking for you,” Walker notes. “Might be easier having a conversation outside.”

Naturally, my car is parked right beside the truck so I can’t even sneak out a side door. Besides, I feel his gaze on me through the glass and it only makes me miss him more.

“It was nice meeting you all,” I say. With a quick smile at the Gibson Boys, I step into the sun.

Keeping my head down, I make a beeline for my car. I can’t hear anything over the steps of my shoes against the asphalt—that is, until Lance says my name.

Despite my brain saying, ‘Don’t look up,’ I look straight up into his eyes.

They’re the same beautiful green I remember, and the ones I see every time I close my own. There are bags underneath them, lines creasing from the corners announcing that he hasn’t been sleeping well. Or at all.

I hate seeing him like that. I hate him making me feel like this. I hate this whole damn thing.

“Hey,” I say as evenly as I can manage. It’s not even at all. It’s a shaky mess of a voice that I’m half embarrassed about. “How are you?”

He leans against my car as I unlock the door. “Shitty. How are you?”

“Fine.” My cup goes into the cup holder. The little buzzing sound that drives me crazy starts chirping, reminding me I just stuck my keys into the ignition. I want to ask him about the tequila, ask him if he lost his comb, but I don’t because those things are none of my business. “I need to go.”

“Where you going?” he roughs out.

“I baked for the nursing home. I need to get them over there before their dinner time.” I look at the blacktop beneath my feet. I’ve given him more information than he deserves, even though none of it really matters. Still, I need to stop this and get on with my day. “I really do need to go, Lance.”

He shoves off my car and stands just a few feet from me. “Talk to me.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” he sighs. “Why’d you put a lock on your door?”

“To keep you out.” I lift my chin and look at his five o’clock shadow. “I need some space, okay?”

“Mariah, I—”

“No.” My answer is firm, my tone strong. It’s a good launching point. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you. But I’m very tender right now and I need to shore myself up some before you come back in. Okay?”

I put my hands behind me just so I don’t reach for him as he skirts his fingers over his face. He lets out a low, frustrated groan and I want to kiss his cheek and make him laugh, but I don’t because it’s not my place.

“This is the best thing for you.” He blows out a breath as I wonder if he meant that for me or for him. “I know you don’t understand that, but it’s true.”

“You know what I don’t understand?” I ask. “I don’t get why you let me in so much, knowing you didn’t want to keep me there.”

He looks at the sky, stretching his neck all the way back.

“You knew my reservations,” I tell him. “And if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you drug me in just to see if you could.”

His eyes fly wide. “That’s bullshit.”

“I know it is,” I say, biting back a lump in my throat. “But pardon me for feeling like you made me fall in love with you and then slammed that door shut.”

The words are into the universe with no way to reel them back in. His mouth hangs open like it’s some kind of epiphany and that just annoys me more.

There’s a bubble threatening to burst, one I’ve held back from exploding since he broke things off with me. But standing here in this parking lot, looking at him like he’s the hurt one, makes me want to scream.

“I have to go,” I say, climbing in my car with a hurried frenzy.

“What did you just say?”

I turn over the engine. “You heard me.”

“Mariah …”

With a final look his way, I smile sadly. “Goodbye, Lance.”

The door shuts as he continues his protest and I pull out with only a quick glance in the rearview mirror.

Thirty-One

Lance

I hate this fucking place. It’s no place to spend a Saturday morning.

My shoes sink into the soil. It’s never solid. For whatever reason, the ground is always soft here and I don’t even want to imagine why that is.

Machlan comes here a lot. He makes sure the stone is decorated for each holiday and that the crew that mows the cemetery doesn’t damage the headstone my siblings and I had designed when our parents died. Machlan says he finds peace here. Well, he doesn’t say it like that, but it’s what he means. It doesn’t do that for me.

My steps fall with trepidation at seeing the black stone sitting near the back. There are purple flowers in the urns. It was Mom’s favorite color and although Machlan acts like a badass, and is one, really, he’s the one of us who remembers things like that.

“Hey,” I say to the stone, a flock of birds taking flight at the sound of my voice. “I know you aren’t here and that I’m talking to an inanimate object. Yes, Dad, that worries me too.”

There’s a bench Mom’s bowling league asked to place on their grave perched right next to the stone on the slab. I sit, feeling the sun on my face.

Despite the warmth, I haven’t felt alive in days. It’s funny, really. I’ve always been a guy who springs out of bed in the morning fairly excited about my day. But since Mariah and I stopped talking, since she goes out of her way to avoid me, none of that is true.

“You always taught us to be a blessing to others,” I say out loud, wishing my parents were here to answer me. “Told us we had so many advantages, so much to offer that was given to us by no work of our own, and we had to share that.” I stroke my chin, trying to get my thoughts together. “How do you decide what’s a blessing to someone and what’s a curse?”

“Depends how you figure.” The voice rings out behind me, making me jump. I spin around to see Machlan standing a few feet back. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“What are you doing here?”

“The landscaping crew left a bunch of trash the mowers cut up around the cemetery, so I picked it up and threw it in the garbage over there,” he says, motioning over his shoulder.

“Where’s your truck?”

“I walked down here. Not too far from my house.”

“Yeah. Guess not,” I say, getting to my feet.

“What were you talking about?” he asks. “Yeah, being nosy, but you have a lot of shit going on and I’m starting to worry a little. You haven’t told us one fuck story in weeks.” He looks at our parents’ stone. “Sorry, Mom.”

Shrugging, I look at my little brother. “I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“That spells trouble.”

“Right?” I sigh. “Mom always preached about blessings and all that, but …”

“Look,” Machlan says. “If you take one thing away from our parents’ lives, take this.” He bends down and circles the date of their death. “Take that.”

The numbers are etched into the stone, a stark reminder that the end of their lives was marked on a certain day, month, and year. Still, his point is lost on me.

“I don’t get it,” I tell him, still looking at the etchings.

“Did any of us expect them to die that day? Hell, no. If you would’ve gone with them, you would’ve been right beside them in the ground and I’d be sticking flowers on your grave too.”

The thought makes my skin crawl. We were all supposed to be with them that July afternoon on the boat. We all opted out, choosing instead to do our own thing. When the news reached us, it was devastating to a degree I didn’t know existed. Every time I think it could’ve been me sends a shock wave up my spine.

I look at Machlan. He doesn’t flinch.

“How different do you think things would’ve been if they’d lived?” I toss the question out there, not sure if he’ll answer. It’s all a guess anyway.

“Who knows? I think it’s safe to say it’s changed us all in one way or another.”

“I’ve been thinking about Mom a lot,” I admit. “I wonder what she’d have to say about the choices we’ve made in our lives.”

“She’d be pretty happy more or less. More about Blaire’s successes and Walker settling down, less about my arrest record and your fighting this thing with Mariah.” He gives me a look, begging me to argue with him. I don’t. He sucks in a breath and blows it out slowly. “We can keep pussyfooting around whatever the reason is you’re here or you can just tell me. But I do have shit to do today.”

“I didn’t come here to see you. Let’s remember that.”

“Guess it’s your lucky day I showed up then, huh?” He sits beside me, his elbows resting on his knees. “What’d she do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing as in you aren’t telling me or nothing as in it was you that fucked up?”

I hang my head. “Nothing as in it was me who lied to her.”

He works his head in a circle, realizing this is a little deeper than some one-night stand I have to figure out. “What’d you lie about?”

“Listen, if I tell her the truth, it’ll put her in an impossible situation.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “Answer me this: did you cheat on her?”

“Nope.”

He seems shocked but continues on without commenting. “Did you hurt her in some way?”

“Nah, but I’m trying not to. If I tell her the truth, she might get hurt eventually.”

“Lord, you’re such a girl.”

“I am not,” I say, tossing him a dirty look.

“We’re in the twenty-first century, bud. Women can make choices. They like them. And, quite frankly, they get a little pissy if you try to take them away. Just throwing that out there.”

My stomach knots up as I consider what he’s saying. Mariah is an intelligent woman. She’s capable of handling her own business. Should I have just laid it all out there, no matter how embarrassing to me it is?

“I don’t know,” I groan, still unsure.

“Even if it means not getting her back?”

I hate the way he put that. It feels … final. I’m considering that when he taunts me more.

“Even if it means never feeling her—”

“Our mother is right there,” I say, motioning towards the ground. “Have a little couth.”

“Fine. Even if it means never feeling her in your arms again,” he says with a mock-sweetness. “I don’t know what you lied about. But I know you’re in love with that girl and you’re going to feel this way for the rest of your life if you don’t grow a pair and at least come clean. Maybe she loves you too.”

I’m zapped right back to a couple of days ago at Goodman’s when she said she loved me. She glossed right over it, but it’s the only thing I remember hearing her say.

I’ve replayed that single line over and over and held onto it like a life raft.

Women have said they loved me before. Lots of them, really. But even when they were looking me in the eye and professing their undying devotion, it didn’t register like Mariah’s words did. It didn’t feel the same. Not even Britt, the woman I thought I loved. The woman I’m sure now I didn’t. Not even close.

“You’re overcomplicating this,” Machlan tells me. He ponders this for a second. “Let’s go back to the blessings, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Mom didn’t say all blessings were pretty. She just said to find them, identify them, and use them. That they were given to us so we could do something with them, right?”

“I guess …” I try to follow him, but the surge of adrenaline in my veins starts to make it difficult.

“Take Britt, for example. If you hadn’t had that accident, you’d be married to her sure as shit. If that happened, we wouldn’t be here right now all pussy-whipped over Mariah.”

I turn my head to react to that, to smash him in the arm, but the weight of his words stops me.

Oh.

My.

God.

He’s right.

“What if Mom and Dad had lived? Yes, we’d all make that happen if we could, but we can’t,” he continues. “Let’s look for the blessings. Well, Blaire is a hotshot at her law firm in Chicago. Walker happened to be at my bar the night Sienna rolled into town. Us kids are really fucking close, something that might not have happened had we not had to rely on each other.” He looks at me. “You feel me, Lance?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, trying to keep up with the thoughts pouring through my head. “I think I do.”

“Good.” He stands and stretches his arms over his head. “I got shit to do. Come by and see me at Crave if you need more professional opinions.”

He cackles to himself as he walks away, leaving me on the bench alone.

I consider everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, the things that have really affected me. Getting to know Mariah, hearing Ollie’s story, seeing Brandon start to turn around—all of those are blessings. But what if my story took a turn the day I had the accident? What if the one thing I considered a stain on my manhood is actually a blessing in disguise?

I plant a kiss on top of the tombstone and let my gaze linger on that date for a long moment. Then I turn and head to my car, my shoes sinking into the ground once more.

Thirty-Two

Mariah

“The three most popular answers are on the board. Name a place you go where you can’t touch anything.”

“Work,” I deadpan, popping the rest of a brownie into my mouth. Flipping off the television before I can hear the answers, I toss the remote onto the couch.

Whitney called earlier to see if I wanted to go to the movies and I told her maybe later. I’m probably going to have to pass altogether. The sun coming up this morning didn’t bring me the relief I’d hoped.

Last night was the worst night yet. I’m sure the fact it coincided with seeing him at the gas station isn’t ironic. Or that Gretchen gave me the best hug at the nursing home when I told her what was going on. Or that I was really bored and loneliness is the biggest bitch I know.

Dressed in sweatpants riddled with holes, ones I can’t make myself throw away because they’re so perfectly soft, and a t-shirt with a logo from Ruma, a restaurant I loved in California, I get off the couch and look for my phone. I find it where I left it last night, sitting on top of a book about finding inner peace. I’ve never read a book that made me so hateful.

Leave nothing unresolved. Accept what is.

It can fuck right off.

I switch to a playlist that aligns with my mood and am ready to hit play on some girl power jams when the doorbells rings.

Working my hair into a makeshift ponytail, which is harder than usual because I haven’t even brushed it today, I pull the door open with one hand without even looking through the peephole. If someone wants to try to kill me on the other side, bring it. Today’s their day.

Or maybe it’s mine.

Lance stands on the stoop, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. A plain black Henley hangs from his frame; his hair is a mussed-up mess.

The look on his face is somber, pained, almost, and as my hand falls to my side, my brain issues orders for it not to reach for him. And don’t invite him inside.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I want to talk to you.”

“I’m busy,” I lie, bouncing on my toes to the lyrics in my head.

“Doing what?”

“Feeding my fish.”

The corners of his lip quip up. “You have fish?”

“No,” I shrug, narrowing my eyes. “Get the picture?”

“Give me ten minutes.” There’s a smirk hidden in those full, delectable lips and I want to kiss it and smack it at the same time.

Damn him.

“Nope,” I say, pulling the door closer to me so he can’t see inside. I have no idea why I do this. It just feels like the right thing to do.

“Mariah.”

“Will you stop?” I bark, losing my grip on the door. I ignore the way he melts me with his gaze, how my knees wobble as he makes no secret of sliding his eyes down my body and up again. “You’re driving me absolutely insane. Is that what you want? I have never in my entire life met a man as frustrating as you are, Lance Gibson, and it’s so mean for you to show up here and want to talk to me after breaking my heart—”

My words are stolen as his lips crush mine. I’d fall on my ass if his hands weren’t holding my face, cupping my cheeks like he might not ever let them go.

I raise my hand to smack his chest, but my arms fail to take commands. Instead, like the loser I am, I give in and kiss him back.

His lips take control, leading mine in a motion that feels like a lot more than a kiss. Lucky for me I’m still riding the tail-end of my all-nighter and don’t have the clarity to listen to whatever it is he’s trying to convey.

His grip loosens just a bit on my face and my eyes pop up.

Stop doing this.

My palm connects to his shoulder and I shove him away. It’s certainly not the punch I’d like to deliver, but it’s enough to make him step away. But, when he does it, his eyes are on fire.

“Feel better?” he asks.

“No. You’re still here.” My voice is wobbly now, his stupid kiss throwing me off my game. “Please leave.”

“Just talk to me. Or let me talk to you. You don’t even have to say anything.”

“Can I ever not say anything?”

He laughs, his hand moving through his silky locks. “Good point.” He tucks his fingers back in his pocket, his smile starting to fade. “Please let me come in. Ten minutes. Tops.”

With every decrease in his smile, my willpower goes with it. “Fine. But you aren’t coming in. I’ll come outside.”

His eyes spring open. “Fine. I won’t come inside. Let’s go for a drive instead.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“It’s chilly out here and I need to have your undivided attention for a couple of minutes, okay?” He looks at me without a trace of humor in his eyes. “Give me this and if you insist I don’t come back again, I won’t. You have my word.”

The thought of that twists my insides into a bundle, but I have to hold firm. “Not even to my office?”

“You installed a lock.” He raises a brow.

“Yes,” I say, reaching inside and grabbing my keys and a jacket. “I did.”

He waits as I lock the door, his proximity messing with my head. I can feel his energy swirling around me, teasing me, luring me in like the tempo of a Marvin Gaye song.

I start down the sidewalk but shoot him a look when I sense his hand nearing the small of my back. As badly as I want that contact, I know I can’t have it. Boundaries and all that.

He does open the door and I let him, climbing in and settling into the seat. I grin as he nearly runs around the front and jumps in, pulling the car onto the street as if I might change my mind before he gets us gone.

“I want to tell you I only came with you because I’m weak,” I say, looking straight ahead. “I won’t always be weak, but I will always hold it against you for doing this to me.”

“Doing what to you?”

“This.” I look at him out of the corner of my eye. “I’m taking some of this blame. I knew this wouldn’t end well. But I do feel like you pursued me, knowing I would fall in love with you and you would break my heart. So, at the end of the day, you, Lance Gibson, are a cocksucker.”

One hand releases the wheel, resting on the console between us as he laughs. “I’m happy to know how you feel.”

“Yup.”

“I am, in fact, a bigger cocksucker than you know.” The laugh falls from his voice, his hand going back to the wheel. He takes a turn at Carlson’s towards Goodman’s Gas Station as my heart falls to my feet.

This is going to be bad, worse than I thought. Not that I knew what to expect. I honestly didn’t think about it enough.

Damn it, Mariah.

“Why don’t you take me home?” I ask. “This conversation isn’t necessary if that’s what you have to tell me.”

He turns the opposite way of my house, heading towards Bluebird.

“I dated a girl once,” he says, his eyes trained out the windshield. “She—”

“I don’t want to hear about your app girls.” I grip the door handle to steady myself. I’m weak to him, even though I don’t feel it, and I’ll be damned if I sit here and listen to him talk about some girl I’ve already decided I hate.

I think he’s going to smile, but he doesn’t. “She’s not an app girl.”

He looks at me, the emotion in his irises bombing my soul. It shreds me, rips me apart, and I don’t even know what it’s about. My heart just hurts for him because I know he’s hurting and I’m pissed at myself for that, but what can I do?

I love him.

“I’ve been with two girls who weren’t app girls in my life,” he says, his voice barely audible over the roar of the engine. “One was the reason I started using apps, the other was the reason I quit.”

My breath stalls in my chest, the burn from not breathing only acceptable because I’m not thinking about it.

The other was the reason I quit …

“It’s not fair to do this to me,” I say on an exhale. “Do you hate me? Is that why you won’t just leave me alone?”

The car slows down as we hit a gravel road, the sun filtering through the trees. It’s gorgeous here, a lake to our right and a cow pasture to our left. We ride a few minutes in silence as I fight tears.

I won’t look at him. If this is what he’s doing, he doesn’t deserve to see me cry. Then again, maybe it would be good for him to see my pain.

“See that hill over there?” he asks, bringing the car to a crawl. He points to the other side of the lake. “This road used to go right through there. That lake was really two lakes until a few years ago. We had a flood and they joined, the road went underwater, and they never separated.”

“I didn’t even know that could happen,” I offer.

“One night, when I was younger,” he gulps, clearly fighting with the words to this story, “I was out here screwing around with a friend. We’d been to this campfire at a barn out that way and were racing to see who could get to town first.”

The car stops along the side of the road. He turns the top of his body to me, but his eyes are glued to the hill.

I look from where he’s looking and back to him. “What happened?”

“I was going too fast. My tires hit the gravel the wrong way and I caught air.” He cringes, balling one hand in a fist. “It rolled, almost going into the water right down there.” He points again to a little spot dotted with tall grasses.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” I gasp.

He nods, forcing a swallow. “I am. It’s one of those blessings Mom used to talk about. Out of a really ugly situation came one positive. I survived.”

Reaching out, not sure who needs the contact more, I place my hand on his arm. I feel him relax beneath my touch, but he doesn’t say a word about it.

Instead, he takes a deep breath. “I ... um .. I was dating a girl then. Britt was her name. And she broke up with me right after that.”

“Good for you,” I tell him. “She sounds like a jerk.”

The car fills with a silence that comes right before a shoe drops. The air is heavy, pregnant, even, and I can barely breathe through the weight of it all.

I drop my hand as he puts the car in park and flips off the ignition. I consider getting out and walking back to town because I’m not sure if I want to hear whatever it is he’s going to say.

“Lance—”

“A couple more minutes. Please,” he chokes out. He waits for me to indicate my willingness to hear him out before continuing. “You don’t deserve to think that me telling you this won’t work out between us has anything to do with you.”

“Lance, stop it.”

“I should’ve been completely honest with you. I thought … I thought I was protecting us both by just walking away. I’d keep you from having to make a hard choice and me from having to hurt my ego a little.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my heart threatening to beat so hard it sends me into cardiac arrest. The uncertainty about where he’s going with this is killing me and my hand is on the door to get out of the car. It feels too cramped in here, too small, not nearly big enough for whatever this bomb is that’s going to fall.

“Britt left me because I couldn’t meet the conditions she had for her life. She, like you,” he says, eyeing me carefully, “wanted the entire thing—marriage, a little house … a family.”

“I don’t understand …”

The gorgeous green eyes I love blur with unshed tears. It causes mine to react the same way, even though I don’t know why.

I grab his hand, holding it in my own, even though I shouldn’t. Even though I know better than to get any more tangled up with this man who’s already broken my heart once.

“Mariah …” He looks at me completely unguarded. Completely broken. “I can’t have kids.”

I feel myself flinch, hear the rush of a swallow drop into my stomach. “What?”

“The accident fucked me up.” He hesitates. “I’m sterile.”

Sterile.

I sort through my mental dictionary and make sure I’m not confusing that word with another. This is not a word you mistake and react to incorrectly.

As it dawns on me what he’s saying, his features smoothen into an emotionless mask, it breaks my heart. This is why he lied to me by omission.

“Oh, Lance,” I say, the words bound up together as I force them by my lips.

He works a finger around the inside corner of his eye and then around his nose. He sniffles, like he’s just clearing out his nostrils, but I hear the fear, the sadness.

I reach across the console, my arms going around his neck. Right or wrong, I can’t stop myself from hugging this beautiful, broken man as a tear slips down his cheek. He squeezes me so tight I can barely breathe, but I’m positive I don’t need air to survive right now. I just need him and for him to know I’m here.

We sit for a long time wrapped in each other’s arms. A truck goes by all too fast, rocking Lance’s car back and forth. We just sway along with it, unable, or unwilling, to pull apart.

With a kiss to the spot just below his earlobe, I finally lean back. My heart is so swollen it puts pressure on every other organ in my chest. Brushing a strand of hair off his forehead, I search his eyes.

“Fuck her,” I say, trying to get him to smile. “There are so many ways to build a family. Fuck her for not seeing that.”

His forehead creases as he now leans away from me. “I can’t blame anyone for wanting kids.”

“Then she didn’t love you.” I fall back into my seat, my eyes blinking back tears. This time, they’re for me.

I wouldn’t have left him after the accident. I wouldn’t have left him if it left him in a wheelchair and I had to take care of him every day for the rest of my life. Because even if that were my day, it would still be a day with him.

Tears slip down my cheeks, burning hot as they fall to my shirt.

Why can’t he love me as much as he loved her?

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Now you see why I didn’t tell you.”

“Well, I’ll hate her for the rest of my life.” I dab my eyes with the neck line of my shirt. “She gets to walk away with your heart and—”

“Woah,” he says, shifting in his seat. “Hold up.”

“No. It doesn’t seem fair.”

He presses his lips together. “What doesn’t seem fair, Mariah?”

“That you still love her.” My words are woven in the emotion pouring from my heart, the tears flooding my lips as I try to speak. “That she gets to break your heart and …”

I stop talking when he starts laughing. It’s not one of his belly laughs like I’m ridiculous. It’s more like he’s in disbelief.

“What?” I ask, sniffling.

“Mariah, this isn’t about her.”

“No, it’s about you,” I acknowledge.

“No. This is about you.” He looks at me, puzzled. “You are the blessing in all of this, even if I didn’t see it like that before.” He shakes his head, like his thoughts aren’t coming together right. “I didn’t tell you this before because, for one, it’s kind of humiliating in a way.”

I watch him bite his lip, flex his fingers and wonder what it felt like to tell me that. If the roles were reversed, I think I’d be terrified. I’d feel … like something was wrong with me, even though logically that’s just ridiculous.

“Why?” I ask, dumbfounded. “It’s like me being embarrassed because I have small boobs. I can’t help it.”

He shakes his head, almost laughing. “It’s not the same, crazy lady, but okay. We’ll go with that for now.”

I shrug.

“I …” He looks down. “I love you. And I thought if you loved me too, you’d have to pick between me and having a baby someday.”

I don’t move. I don’t even blink. I’m not sure I even breathe.

He loves me?

He loves me.

It’s a few seconds before I realize he’s still talking and I’ve heard none of it.

“Hey, Lance,” I interrupt, waving my hand in the air. “I’m still back there on the you love me part.”

“Yeah? What about it?” He stares at me. “You didn’t hear anything I said after that, did you?”

“Nope.” I crawl across the console, wedging myself between him and the steering wheel.

He laughs, moving the seat backwards so I’m not hitting the horn with my butt. I get settled, his hands locked at my waist. We’re eye-to-eye with no place to go.

“There,” I say. “Now let’s go back to that part.”

“I love you.”

I must beam or do something similar because he laughs.

“This conversation was me explaining to you how I can’t ask you to choose between me and your conditions.”

I brush his hair back with my palm, searching his eyes for something to make me resist. Or hesitate. Or not trust him. All I see is a man who’s asking to be loved despite his imperfections.

It seems silly that he’d think I’d hold his imperfections against him. Lord knows I have my own. I have terrible bedhead in the morning, I fall in love too fast, and I need to hold his hand whenever he’s remotely close.

It all makes sense why he didn’t tell me and although it frustrates me and we’ll definitely have a conversation about it later, it’s not what I want to focus on now. Right now? He needs me. And I need him.

“Good. Don’t ask. I’ll choose on my own.” I kiss the top of his nose. “I pick you. We’ll craft our life together.”

“You need to think about this, Mariah.”

“Are you telling me that if I were to develop ovarian cancer and couldn’t have babies, you’d leave me?”

“No.” His answer is quick. Sharp. Decided.

“Then why would you think I’m so shallow that I would basically do the same to you. That hurts.”

He pulls me to him, closing the half an inch that separates us, until there’s no air left between our bodies.

“This hurts a little too,” I grumble.

He pops open the door with one hand. I climb off him and into the afternoon breeze. He never lets go of my hand.

The air smells of water and dirt and my hair is going haywire in the wind. He takes both of my hands in his and pulls me close.

“I love you,” I tell him. “In case I haven’t said that.”

“I’ve known that for a long time. I mean, how could you not?”

Snorting, I let him bend me backwards in a long, leisurely kiss. Once I’m upright again, I take a deep breath.

“If Britt comes back, you’re done with her, right?” I tease.

“Who is she?”

Laughing, I snuggle against his chest. His heartbeat is steady, predictable, as we sway back and forth in the middle of the road.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks.

“I’m sure if you ask me that again, I’m going to throat punch you.” His chest shakes under my cheek. “If this works out between us, think of all the kids we could adopt. Kids like Ollie. We could have a house full of them.”

He kisses the top of my head.

“I do have one condition though,” I say, looking up at him.

“Good. Me too.”

“You first.”

“The lock on your door has got to go,” he growls. “I’ve never been so pissed off in my life.”

Laughing, I watch as our fingers lace together. “Fine. Joe won’t be happy he has to take it right back off, but I’ll make it happen.”

“I’ll take it off. It’ll make my day.”

“Fine. Done. Now my turn.” A nervous wiggle spirals through me. “I don’t want to be the kind of woman who tells you what to do. And I’m not sneaky and snoopy because if I have to do that, I don’t want to be with you anyway.”

“Just tell me what it is,” he chuckles.

My cheeks heat. “I want you to delete the app.”

“I already did.”

“Really?” I ask, not sure I believe him. “I didn’t mean to see it on your phone when we were baking with Ollie, but it was sitting there and an update came on and …”

“And that’s when I deleted it. I hadn’t used it since you messaged me there last and the update notification reminded me I still had it.”

Swinging our hands back and forth, I breathe in the clean, country air. I’m not sure if it’s that, or Lance’s cologne, or the way he presses a kiss up the side of my neck, but I tug him back toward the car.

“What are you doing?” he laughs, following me.

“You need to take me home. Your ten minutes are up.”

He spins me around and pins me against the side of his car. “If I wasn’t completely clear, I want you. Only you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

I don’t respond because I can’t. My throat is too tight, my eyes too watery, my mind too buzzed by the look in his eyes.

This man, Lance Gibson, the man I’ve wanted and fantasized about since the first day I met him, the man who promised me he’d never settle down with one woman, loves me.

Me.

How this is even happening, I don’t know. The last few months feel like a blur but the only thing that matters is he’s standing in front of me, imploring me to listen.

I’ll listen. I’ll listen as long as he’ll speak.

“Nana told me to search for happiness in the right places. I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you,” he whispers.

As I take in the two of us, I realize how sometimes the most complicated relationships really aren’t all that complicated. At the core, Lance and I love each other. Everything else is just noise.

“There have been a lot of dark times in my life,” he says. “I prayed for a lot of things and didn’t get many of them. Now I see why.”

“Why is that?”

“They were all a path to get me to you, so I’d be the right man for you when I met you. Without the accident and Britt leaving and even my parents’ death in a lot of ways, I wouldn’t be the same person I am today.” A slow grin slides across his lips. “I wouldn’t be nearly as smart.”

“Is that so?”

“Or as handsome,” he adds.

“Right.”

“Or as charming.” He takes my hand and guides me around the car. “I’m about to say something I never thought I’d say.”

“Oh, I can’t wait for this,” I say, looking at him.

“We’re in a word ending in ship, right?”

“A relationship?” I tease. “If you’d like to ensure I don’t call the coach back and take him up on his offer of dinner …”

“I’ll kill him,” he growls.

My giggle pierces the air. “Then I guess we are.”

“I guess we are …” His voice trails off as he goes to the front. He pauses by the hood and looks at the hill that changed his life. Then he looks at me and grins. It’s that look, one filled with a soft strength, that changed mine.

Thirty-Three

Mariah

The door to my house swings open. Lance is behind me, his hand on the small of my back. I don’t think he’s broken contact since he got back in the car.

We step inside and he closes the door behind us; the Mandarin orange candle I burned last night scents the air.

“Two things,” Lance says, taking a moment to take in my living room. “Make it three.”

“Okay.”

“First, let’s reiterate we’re exclusive. No apps, no coaches, no random men or women in the grocery store that ask for our numbers. Cool?”

I grin. “Does that happen to you often?”

“Look at me. Of course, it does,” he winks. “It’s actually never happened to me there, but I wanted to cover all our bases.”

“I can agree to that.”

“Good. Number two,” he says, sauntering over to the window. His muscles work under his shirt, the light hits it just perfectly so I can see every ripple in the fabric. “We have to be honest. Maybe that’s a normal requirement in a relationship,” he cringes, “but with the divorce rate as high as it is in this country, I’m not sure.”

“I’ve been honest with you. It’s you who’s been the little omitter.”

“No omissions,” he says, turning around. The sincerity on his face slays me. “We have to make this work and ground rules at the beginning seem the smartest way to go.”

“What’s number three?” I ask.

“That I can touch you any time I want,” he grins, stalking towards me.

He lugs me against him, his body as solid as a rock. His kiss is slow, methodical, his breath hot against my mouth. He works his tongue across my bottom lip and I melt in his arms.

“Hey,” I giggle, as he presses kisses across my jaw. “I have a thing too.”

“What’s that?” he asks against my throat.

I pause to release a moan as his hands grip the globes of my ass. “I’m not sure you’re going to like this one,” I tease.

He jolts me forward, pressing a wet, loud kiss to my lips. When he pulls back, his eyes are wild, just a few seconds from losing control.

“What is it?” he asks.

Stepping back, feeling his gaze scald my skin, I lift the hem of my shirt over my head. His eyes get darker, broodier, as I get wetter. I’m tempted to stop all of this and just race into my bedroom, knowing he’d follow, but I enjoy this feeling a little too much. Besides, the rest will come soon enough.

“Well,” I say, slipping off my shoes and hooking my thumbs under the waistband of my sweatpants. “Since we’ve been honest with each other and we’re firmly in a word ending in -ship,” I say, “I’d like an agreement we don’t use condoms.”

He closes the distance between us in a half a second, picking me up before my pants are even off my feet.

“Lance!” I giggle, my legs thrown across his arms. “Stop it.”

“You’re driving me crazy on purpose.” He kisses me as he heads down the hall, my feet knocking a sconce off the wall on the way. He doesn’t care. Neither do I.

I’m tossed on the bed. The pillows bounce along with me as I look up at him. He stands next to the bed, his clothes coming off as quickly as he can possibly shed them.

“Is that okay?” I ask, working the latch of my bra free. “I really like the feeling of your cock sliding into me.”

He crawls across the bed, his shoulders flexing. My mouth goes dry as I part my legs so he can hover over me.

“I hope you like it,” he whispers. “I’m going to be sliding into you for a long fucking time.”

Raising my hips, I lock my heels at the small of his sculpted back. “What are you waiting for?”

He presses into me, filling me inch-by-inch. This time it’s different.

It’s not simply a give and take of pleasure, an exchange of satisfying sensations like it was before. It’s not a kiss here, a stroke there, a lick for good measure—a “I need you right now” type of thing that has a start and an end.

As he touches me, and not just on my skin but rather in places untouchable by the hand, he reaffirms the things he’s told me, the things he’s all but promised me.

He shows me he thinks I’m beautiful, tells me I’m worthy. Not just of him, but of the one part of yourself you can give to only one person—his love. He caresses me tenderly and slams into me without mercy, owning me and building me and giving me the freedom to explore who I am in the safe bounds of his arms.

This is different. A prelude to something else.

And when he looks at me and gives me that cocky smirk, I laugh.

“This is nothing to laugh at,” he warns as he shoves himself completely inside my body.

“I wasn’t laughing at you. Or at this,” I add, raising up and kissing his shoulder.

“Then what were you laughing at?”

I don’t know how to explain, especially in this moment, that it was a laugh of joy. Of pleasure. Of feeling this comfortable in my skin.

Instead, I look at the vaguely purple circle on his shoulder. “I was thinking of biting you in my mother’s pantry.”

He rolls over, bringing me with him and positioning me so I’m straddling him. “You know what?” he asks, his voice gravely.

“What’s that?”

“I think I loved you then.”

I capture his lips with mine. He sinks back into me.

The sun sets long before we’re finished. My stomach growls, the only part of me not satiated, as I curl up under his arm and close my eyes.

His breathing behind me is steady, his heart beating at my back in a gentle, continuous strum. I look out the window at the stars sparkling in the sky and fall into a peaceful, easy sleep.

Epilogue

Lance

“Peck! Come on,” Nana hollers out the door.

The rest of the family settles at the kitchen table, ready to dig in to a Sunday dinner of fried chicken. Machlan grabs a drumstick, bringing it to his mouth as discreetly as he can.

“Don’t you think about it,” Nana warns him, swatting the back of his head as she walks by. “We haven’t said grace.”

Machlan posts an argument, mostly for Nana’s benefit. She loves that Machlan loves her fried chicken—she told everyone at church today she’d have a hard time keeping him out of it until dinner was ready. This is his way of humoring her, making her feel good.

I look to my right, at the beautiful woman moving Nana’s water glass so she doesn’t spill it as she sits down.

It’s been a few weeks since the start of our relationship and the fact that the word almost makes me happy is still so weird. But if that’s what it takes to keep Mariah in my bed, in my bathtub, in my car for quick make-out sessions during lunch breaks, then so be it.

Sometimes I look at her while she’s sleeping or reading a book and wonder how in the hell I got so lucky. That she, a smart, kind, classy woman would take an animal like me as her own. An animal like me just the way I am.

I grab her hand as she sits back down and pull it to my lap. She smiles, used to it by now, because I can’t help myself but to touch her when she’s near. It’s not always a sexual thing, which surprises me as much as anyone. Just the feel of her skin reminds me she’s real, she’s mine, and she wants me. It’s like the best Christmas present ever every time it happens.

Peck comes in, Cross at his side.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Nana says, pointing towards a chair by the window. “Get a chair.”

“I’ll get you a plate, Cross,” Sienna offers.

“Let him get his own damn plate,” Walker says.

“If he goes in there, he’ll make a mess and Nana will end up going after him and then Machlan will eat the chicken and Lance will pop something off to Peck and they’ll go at it,” Sienna says, making us all laugh. “I’m saving everyone time, babe.”

She gets to her feet and disappears into the kitchen, returning with a yellow plate for Cross.

“Thanks,” he says, smiling sheepishly, knowing he’ll get the raw end of this later from Walker.

Peck removes his hat and says grace as is customary on Sunday afternoons. Mariah leans close, her head on my shoulder, as I trace a little heart with the pad of my thumb on the top of her hand.

“Did you make these rolls?” Walker asks, looking at Mariah as we pass the plates of food around the table.

“I did,” she beams. “It was my grandmother’s recipe.”

“They’re great.” He stuffs a half a roll in his mouth, much to Sienna’s chagrin.

“I got the recipe, but I’m not making them if you’re going to eat like a barbarian.”

Walker chuckles. “I thought you liked when I ate like a barbarian.”

I choke on my potato as Machlan bursts into laughter.

“Ha,” he says, covering his mouth with a napkin. “Getting a little risqué there, aren’t you Walk?”

Sienna’s beet red as she tries desperately to change the subject. “Want to go to the lake with me this weekend?” she asks Mariah.

“Sure,” Mariah replies, looking at me. “We have dinner with my sister and her husband on Saturday night. I could try to get out of that.”

I flash her a huge, annoying smile. “No. We are having dinner with Chrissy and Eric.”

Sienna laughs. “I don’t want to know what that’s about.”

“It’s about me trying to reconcile with my sister,” Mariah says, rolling her eyes at me. “Lance’s idea.”

“Lance’s great idea,” I insist, sitting back in my seat so she can see Sienna again.

“We could leave in the morning and be back by late afternoon, if that works?” Sienna asks.

“I’d love to,” Mariah says. “Maybe Lance can get Walker to come over and help put up our new bed.”

“Break it already?” Cross asks, picking out a chicken thigh. “You work fast, Lance.”

“No comment,” Machlan says, stuffing his mouth full of potatoes as I glare his way.

Peck signals my attention and winks when I look at him. “Hey, Cross. I heard at the gas station Hadley is coming to town.”

All eyes go to Machlan. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of water and does not look at Peck or Cross.

Cross clears his throat. “Well, she called this morning and said she’d be coming to town next weekend for Homecoming. I just, uh, hadn’t had time to tell y’all, really.”

Machlan shoves away from the table.

“Machlan, where are you going?” Nana shouts after him.

“Let him go,” Walker tells her “Better he break shit outside than do it in here.”

“Watch your mouth, Walker,” she chastises him. “Maybe you should go check on him.”

“I’m not.” Cross shakes his head. “I’m always the bad guy when it comes to those two. Sick and tired of it.”

Peck rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet. He searches for the plate of fried chicken only to find it empty. So, he takes a chicken leg off Machlan’s plate. “I’ll go find him.”

“You’re a good boy, Peck,” Nana tells him.

“Sienna, you know who to call if I need medical attention,” Peck sighs before disappearing around the corner.

I settle back in my chair and take in my family. Walker and Cross are explaining the Hadley situation the best they can to Sienna and Mariah while Nana talks about antique china.

This is a situation I never thought I’d be in, one I didn’t really know I wanted to be in. I was always the observer, always the one not quite participating.

My arm lays across the back of Mariah’s chair, her hair brushing against my arm. As I watch her laugh at a lame joke Nana made about banana bread, I think of all the things I’ll tell her tonight when we get home. How I noticed the swell of her breasts as she passed out pamphlets at church. How I heard old man Dave talking about her to the farmers in the parking lot of the gas station. How I read somewhere that you can’t understand the word unconditional if you don’t understand conditions. How you can’t truly fall in love with someone if you don’t love yourself first.

It took me being me—the real me, the flawed version I thought no one would ever want—to be open enough to love.

Maybe there’s something to that.

Mariah turns in her chair, her hand cupping my cock under the tablecloth.

I look at her like it’s hard to believe she’s my girl. Because it is and she will be until the day I die.

I’ll tell her all those things after I fuck her. Because, after all, I’m still me.

THE END

Copyright (c) Adriana Locke, 2017

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to event, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Cover Art: Kari March, Kari March Designs

Cover Photos: Adobe Stock

Editing: Becca Mysoor, Evident Ink

Marla Esposito, Proofing Style

Books by Adriana Locke

The Exception Series

The Exception

The Connection, a novella

The Perception

The Landry Family Series

Sway

Swing

Switch

Swear

Swink

Sweet—coming soon

The Gibson Boys Series

Crank

Craft

Crave

Crazy—coming soon

Dogwood Lane

Tumble

Tangle

Standalone Novels

Sacrifice

Wherever It Leads

Written in the Scars

Lucky Number Eleven

For an email every time Adriana has a new release, sign up for an alert here: http://bit.ly/AmazonAlertAddy or text the word adriana to 21000

Note from the Author

Dear Reader,

First of all, thank you for picking up Cross.

I want to clarify a couple of things before you dig in. First, Cross is a novella. I wrote it initially for the Team Player Anthology in the winter of 2017. Since that anthology isn’t for sale now and will never be again, I thought I would publish it on my own. Please keep in mind it was designed as a novella. That means it isn’t a full-length story with every detail fleshed out. It’s a sweet, shorter tale of characters that I love and hope you enjoy.

Also, I’ve written two short stories about Gibson Boy characters that were published on Free Romance Collections; they are no longer available on that site. Many of my readers have asked where to get them and, because there isn’t a place, I thought I would offer them in the back of this story. Therefore, you will get two short stories after the conclusion of Cross. Please expect this if you watch your completion percentage at the bottom of your device.

I hope you enjoy Cross and Kallie. Machlan’s story, Crave, a full-length novel, will be out this summer. I can’t wait for you to really get a deep look at him. (He makes me swoon. Just saying. )

Thank you for reading. I appreciate you!

Sincerely,

Adriana

One

Cross

“Where have you been in that thing?” Machlan shouts.

The roar of his muscle car’s engine winds down and he clicks the transmission into park. The purplish-black paint shines in the early afternoon sun.

Having just backed out of a parking spot onto Main Street, I check my rearview mirror. No one is coming. “Bluebird Hill,” I tell him. “After all that rain last night, I figured I’d test the new tires Walker put on my truck last week.”

“You’re a fuckin’ kid.” He laughs.

“Says the man driving that,” I tease, pointing at his ride.

“I’m not sure what your point is. This car is the baddest thing in town.” He punches the gas, the motor roaring like a banshee.

Glancing around at Doc Burns’ office with two cars in the parking lot and the Linton County History Museum across the street that only opens for the Water Festival once a year, I grin. “That’s not saying much.”

“Go to Hell.” His hand slips through his dark hair and over his chin. The amusement in his features evaporates as I watch … and cringe.

I know this look. I know all of his looks, actually, a by-product of being his best friend as long as I can remember. Many of them concern me and a lot of them worry me. But this one? It’s a flashing red sign with Vegas-inspired lights.

The thing is, I can’t just ignore it. When this look comes, so does the topic of my sister and, even though I love the both of them, I wouldn’t mind seeing them in a padded room until they fix whatever it is between them that is so broken.

With a sigh, I jam my truck into park too. “Yes,” I say, answering the question he’s yet to ask. “Hadley called and isn’t coming home this weekend. She said maybe next week.”

His jaw works back and forth as he stares down the street. “Why?”

That single word is spit with a lifetime of emotion. Machlan has loved my sister since the day she moved to Linton with our father and me when our mother died. She was fourteen and innocent and he was fifteen and infatuated. Through the years, they were off and on and together and not—at least officially. Everyone knew Machlan and Hadley were one and the same.

I’m not sure why she moved away from here. Being both her brother and his best friend precluded me from certain information, which is for the best. They both drive me nuts without having the details.

“Not sure,” I reply. “She left a voicemail last night saying she wouldn’t be home today. She didn’t pick up when I called her back.”

He flips his gaze to me. “You didn’t talk to her after that?”

“She’s a big girl, Mach,” I mock. “I’m sure she had shit to do.”

“Yeah.” His fingers regrip the steering wheel as his jaw goes back to work again.

“I’m gonna go wash this before I head back to the gym—”

“She’s all right, though. Right?” he interrupts. His face is stone-cold sober. “I mean …”

“She’s fine.”

He waits. Blinks. Re-grips the wheel again. “That’s it?”

Popping my truck into drive, I blow out a breath. “Yeah, that’s it. You want to know more? Call her. What a fucking amazing concept.”

“Yeah. I’ll get right on that,” he snips back.

“You should. Then you could quit this whole thing.”

“Got nothin’ to quit, man. Just being a decent guy.”

A decent guy. It’s my turn to turn my knuckles white on the steering wheel.

Machlan isn’t a decent guy. He’s a fucking great one … much better than the guy Hadley is seeing now. A guy I haven’t mentioned to Mach since I got home a couple of weeks ago from visiting her. I’m not mentioning him, either. I’ll save the boyfriend an ER bill and myself the bail money.

I can’t blame him. It has to be hard to see Hadley with another guy when, in Machlan’s mind, she’s his girl.

My stomach twists like it always does when my mind goes down this road. At least my girl didn’t bring other guys back with her. Hell, she didn’t even come back at all.

“Here comes Kip,” Machlan says, bringing me out of my reverie. Nodding toward the road in front of him, he laughs. “I’m not moving.”

I twist in my seat to see the sheriff coming toward us. He blares the siren twice as if to get us to move. We don’t.

Machlan pokes his head out of the window. “Need somethin’?” he shouts.

Laughing, I watch Kip’s car slide carefully between Machlan’s and the curb on the other side.

“You can’t park in the street!” Kip yells.

“What are ya gonna do about it?” I holler.

“Take ya both in.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Machlan asks. “Someone to protect and serve? Or service, if I know you?”

Kip shakes his head as Machlan flips him the bird. The sirens come on again before Kip hits the gas and speeds off down the street and vanishes over the hill.

When I look back at Machlan, his attention is on his phone.

“What?” I ask, curious about the smile on his face.

He looks at me and laughs. Sticking the phone in the cup holder, he shrugs. “Nothing. But can you do me a favor?”

“No.”

“I need help moving a couple of things at Crave. Come help me. Just for a few.”

“What’s in it for me?” I ask.

“A beer?”

Throwing the truck in neutral, I rev the engine. It barely sounds before his is screaming over top of mine and we jet off in opposite directions. I get to a stop sign at the end of the street and do a quick one-eighty to head to Crave.

Two

Kallie

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Nora’s question drifts through the warm summer breeze. Glancing over my shoulder, the amusement dancing on her face makes me laugh.

“What? A girl can’t smile?” I ask.

“Absolutely she can, but can’t her friend ask why?”

I try to shrug off her observation as I kick at a pebble lying on the sidewalk, watching it fall into the storm drain. “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe it just feels good to be home.”

We stop for a handful of cars along Beecher Street before we make our way onto Main. Nora takes out her phone when it chirps and whips out a few texts while I take in the town I grew up in.

Linton, Illinois is pretty much the same as it’s always been. A traditional small, Midwestern town, the most noticeable changes over the last few years seem to be minor. There’s a fresh coat of white paint on the post office and moss rose instead of impatiens filling the ever-present whiskey barrels lining the streets.

Closing my eyes, I breathe in the air, which is cinnamon-scented thanks to Carlson’s Bakery and their famous coffee cake, a staple of my childhood. The scent brings back memories of summers with the windows down, Christmas caroling along Main Street in snow up to my knees, and the Water Festival in the fall that the entire town waits for all year. It’s hard not to smile thinking about all that.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Nora says, running a hand through her short blonde hair as we start across the street. My best friend since elementary school, she screamed when I showed up unannounced on her doorstep this morning. “When do you start work?”

“Next week. I’m starting over in the Merom office. Apparently, their attorneys have been sharing a paralegal and it’s a mess.” A hasty sigh sweeps past my lips. “I’m sure it’s going to be a circus in there for a while.”

“Yeah, but at least you’re here. Linton hasn’t been the same without you.”

My laugh is light and free. “I bet.”

“No, it true,” she insists. “It’s just me and the Gibson boys these days. Can you imagine how hard it is for me, the only girl, the only one trying to keep those boys in line?”

My smile falters, wobbling on my lips as I think about them. I have to look away from Nora.

“I mean, Molly McCarter tries to wiggle her way in there,” Nora continues, scowling. “Every time I turn around, she has her claws bared and ready to dig into one of them. You should’ve seen her trying to land Machlan last weekend. It was disgusting.”

“I forgot about Molly. What’s she up to these days?” I haven’t forgotten about Molly and I don’t have one care in the world about what she’s up to, but if I can shove off discussion about the Gibsons for a while, that’s a win.

Nora snorts. “Besides whoring around? Nothing that I know of.”

“What’s she ever done to you?” I laugh, attempting to dissect her reaction. To hear her talk badly about anyone is strange, and there’s a little more venom dripping from her words than I can just let go.

“Nothing. Nothing directly.”

“Uh-huh,” I tease, my curiosity more than a little piqued. “Because that’s a normal reaction for someone to have for a person who hasn’t ever done anything to them.”

She shoves her hands in her pockets, setting her gaze on some point in the distance, broadcasting pretty clearly that it’s futile for me to press the issue.

We step across chalk artwork on the sidewalk outside the library and wave to Ruby, the seventy-something-year-old librarian who used to chastise me for bringing in Goldfish crackers during story hour when I was a kid. Her silver hair is pressed to her head by a pair of glasses, and a floral-print bag is draped off her narrow shoulders. I give her a little wave.

“Well, look who it is!” Ruby calls out, her frail little hand going back and forth in front of her. “Are you in town for a while, Kallie? It’s so nice to see you, sweetheart.”

I pause at the base of the steps leading up to the oversized doors of the library. “It’s nice to see you too. How have you been?”

“I’m heading now to see Dr. Burns. I just have a little gout but he wants to run all these tests. The man doesn’t have the sense God gave a goat.” Ruby comes down to the sidewalk.

“Oh, Ruby.” I giggle, helping her down the steps. Her hand clasps against my elbow as she steadies herself. “You should listen to him. He is a doctor, you know.”

“Those fancy letters after his name don’t mean he has any sense.” She pats my hand and turns toward the parking lot. “Come by and see me, Kallie, and bring back that book you took out, Nora. The one about the…well, you know.” She flits my friend a knowing look before unlocking her car door. “Kids these days.”

“What are you checking out?” I ask Nora, curiosity piqued again.

“It’s that one with grey in the title.” Ruby shakes her head. “I had to order another copy because she hasn’t brought it back in six weeks. Six weeks!”

“Just put my business out there, why don’t you?” Nora laughs. As my laugh mixes with hers, Ruby shakes her head and climbs in her little maroon car. With a small motion of her hand as a goodbye, she pulls onto the street toward the only doctor’s office in town.

“So, you love that book so much you can’t bring it back?” I tease as we head down the sidewalk again. “You could’ve just bought your own copy instead of stealing from the library.”

“Machlan has it.” She sighs, rolling her eyes. “I took it to the bar one night when I figured we’d be slow and found him kicked back at a table reading it while I made drinks. He refuses to give it back to me. What am I supposed to do?”

“Machlan Gibson was reading that?” Eyes wide, I bite my bottom lip. The vision of one of the infamous Gibson boys—the too-hot-for-their-own-good guys I knew growing up—reading that book makes me shiver. “I don’t think I can deal with that if he’s even remotely as hot as he used to be.”

Nora ponders this for a second. “You know how people age? Like wrinkles and beer bellies?”

“Unfortunately.” Without thinking, my fingers pat at the crow’s feet lining the corners of my eyes.

“Well, Machlan doesn’t,” she says easily. “I have no idea how he’s still single with the women who throw themselves his way every night at Crave. I tell him one night I’m going to have to stage a diversion just so he can get home unscathed.” Pausing to shoo away a dog yapping at the edge of a lawn, she turns to me again. “They’ve all aged well, Kallie.”

I try to remain unaffected, to pretend like discussing our old group of friends is no big deal. It wouldn’t be if we could stop with Machlan, Walker, and Lance Gibson and their cousins, Vincent and Peck, but we won’t. It’ll also include Cross Jacobs, and I’m not ready to do that quite yet.

“If Mach’s still single, maybe you should hook up with him,” I suggest. I know she’ll shoot it down and she does—promptly.

“What?” she barks. “Are you kidding me?”

Laughing, I bump her with my shoulder. “It’s not the craziest suggestion in the world. You’ve known him forever. He’s freaking gorgeous. You like him.”

“All of that’s true, but I didn’t say I was attracted to him.” She makes a face like she’s just bitten into a lemon. “He’s like a brother to me now…sort of.”

“Remember that time…” The sentence trails off as I catch myself, the rest of the words hiccupping in my throat. “Never mind.”

“I know what you were going to say.”

Peering up at her, I try to force the corners of my lips to turn up, but they refuse. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. When is the last time you talked to Cross?” The hesitation in Nora’s tone only feeds the anxiety bubbling inside me, and hearing his name doesn’t help either.

I’ve spent the last three years trying to forget Cross Jacobs. Trying is the operative word.

I don’t have to ask if he still looks the same. I know the creases in his forehead that developed over the last year and a half like the back of my hand. I’ve watched through social media as he started to wear his inky black hair just a little longer than the buzz cut he used to sport, have noticed how he still gets it cut the first Monday of every month, like his father taught him to do. The playfulness I remember seeing in his jade-colored eyes has dimmed, replaced with something more stern. His shoulders are more broad, his body stockier than the man I used to curl up next to every night.

What I don’t know these days is the sound of his voice at two in the morning or if he wears the same woodsy cologne, a scent that stops me in my tracks whenever I get close to someone wearing anything remotely similar. I wonder if he still favors basketball shorts to sleep in and who is there to time his boxing rounds like I used to do when he was training for a match.

My heart wrestles in my chest as I look at my friend, trying desperately to get myself in check. “When was the last time I talked to Cross?” I stop walking and glance up at the antique sign over our head that reads CRAVE. “The last time I stood here. That’s the last time I talked to him.”

I wait for Nora to push, but she doesn’t. Instead, she tosses me a slight smile. “I need to run into the bar really quick and see if Machlan has my check ready. I don’t work tonight and don’t want to have to come all the way back to town later.”

“Is it even open?” I ask, looking at the unlit open sign.

“It doesn’t open for another two hours, but Machlan will be here. He practically lives here.” The door swings free with a simple tug, the cool, salty bar air rushing out onto the sidewalk. “Come on. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Following her inside, my eyes adjust to the dim light. Alcohol ads glow from various positions on the walls, and strings of Christmas lights outline the mirror behind the bar and drape along a set of bulletin boards as I walk by.

All of that is hard to focus on with Machlan Gibson sitting at the bar. He leans back in the chair, dropping the remote for the television hanging in the corner onto the countertop with a flourish.

“Kallie Welch,” he says, folding his arms over his chest as a smirk pulls at his lips. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“How are ya, Mach?” I grin.

He gets to his feet, a wide smile splitting his cheeks. “It’s been a long time.” Enveloping me in his arms, he gives me a warm hug. He’s thicker, his back more muscled than the goodbye embrace he gave me before I left town in my little Honda Civic. “You home for long?”

“Yeah, actually,” I say, pulling back. “The attorney I was working for in Indy got into some legal trouble of his own, and Mom’s here alone now that Skylar moved to Wisconsin with her boyfriend.”

“That explains why I haven’t seen her around lately,” he says. “Someone said she met a guy in Chicago, but you never know what to believe.”

“She did. He’s a nice guy. His family is from up there so Skylar moved up to be with him, which left Mom on her own, and I feel guilty about that.”

“Because you’re a good girl.”

Nora clears her throat. “Now that’s over with, you got my check ready?”

There’s something Machlan wants to say as he processes Nora’s question. He watches me carefully, like he’s connecting some invisible dots scattered over my face. “Yeah, I got your check. Be right back.”

He moves easily through the bar with such command that I imagine if people were standing in his way, they’d move. It’s amazing to see him in this light. I knew he’d bought the bar, but seeing him as a legitimate business owner and not the immature party boy I knew before is almost unbelievable.

Turning toward the bulletin boards, I sigh. A warmth I haven’t felt in so long causes the stress in my shoulders to melt away. Maybe it was the friendly hug from Mach, or maybe it’s being back home in Linton.

“Want to get something to eat?” I ask Nora, scanning the boards.

“Sure. We could run to Peaches. They have great fajitas.”

“It’s still weird that a place called Peaches serves Mexican food,” I say with a laugh. Running my finger across a set of papers advertising handymen services, I chuckle at one particular set of ‘services’ offered on a napkin. “This is ridiculous.”

Nora laughs. “We take the really bad ones down—you should see some of them after a rowdy Friday night.”

“I can only imagine.”

“I can imagine a lot of things.” The shock of the deep, husky voice behind me causes me to jump, but as the timbre of the tone settles, the familiarity washes across my heart.

I suck in a breath, capturing a gasp, though I’m not sure if it’s is mine or Nora’s. Inhaling the rich, almost velvety scent from behind me doesn’t help the shakiness in my hands as I bring one to my throat.

One of my unknowns is answered: Cross wears the same cologne he used to.

Three

Cross

If Nora weren’t standing beside her giving me that look, I’d swear to God I was seeing things.

The swallow I force down my throat is hot and heavy, as if it were laced with a shot of whiskey. It burns as it barrels its way to my stomach, but I don’t register the drop into the pit of acid churning in my gut.

I can’t do anything but stare at the back of Kallie Welch.

Her hair is pulled into a ponytail. I used to bury my face in the crook of her neck and kiss the top of her shoulder. She loved it. She loved me.

My stomach sinks as I take her in, fighting with myself not to reach for her. It’s almost impossible to keep my hands to myself as I see the woman I think about every fucking day standing in front of me.

Nora looks my way before dropping her gaze and slinking to the side. The sound of her shoes against the floor as she makes her way to the back of the bar is barely heard over the white noise coursing through my veins.

I take a half-step back as I wait for her to turn around. She sighs, lets her hand fall to her sides, but doesn’t move.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is rougher than I intended.

“Nora is picking up her check.” Her voice is just a whisper, quieter than I expected.

“That’s not what I mean.”

She brings a hand up to the side of her face, the simple diamond stud in her ear catching a ray of sun streaming through the windows. As my lungs fill with air and refuse to let it go, I drag my gaze down her slender neck, over her dainty shoulders, and down her arm until it rests on her left hand.

My jaw sets, my teeth grinding so hard I can nearly hear the squeal of enamel scraping against itself. It takes everything I have not to lurch forward and jerk her hand toward me so I can see if she’s sporting a wedding band. She keeps it angled so I can’t see it; whether it’s on purpose or not doesn’t matter. Whether it’s ridiculous of me to get pissed about something like that doesn’t matter either. Just when I’m ready to pounce, she moves her wrist just enough so I can see her finger is bare.

“I, um, I’m moving back—I moved back,” she corrects, nodding her head once.

I don’t say another word. I don’t move a muscle. I just stand in place and listen to my heart beat so hard, like it’s chanting her name so she’ll turn around and look at me.

Her shoulders pull back as she pivots, turning her body so she’s facing me. Finally.

Remaining impassive is impossible as I take in the girl I once thought I’d marry. She’s more beautiful than ever with her porcelain skin, full lips, and intense brown eyes. I look ridiculous standing in front of her, not saying a word, but all I can do is fight every instinct shuffling inside me.

“How are you?” I finally ask, shoving my hands in my pockets as a security measure.

“Good. Fancy seeing you here, of all places.” She flinches as she says the words, a throwback to the fight that finally ended things between us for good. She takes a step toward me, her eyes wide. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Cross…”

Her eyes flood with a mix of emotions swirling so hard I can’t separate them out. I could do what people do—pick out the one I want to see and roll with it—but I’m not most people, and I’m not a pussy.

“You look good, Cross,” she whispers, quieter this time, studying me.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

She shakes her head, running those ring-free fingers through her hair. “That’s a nice thing to say. Total lie, but nice, anyway.” She laughs.

“Why is that a lie?”

“Look at me.”

“From where I’m standing, time couldn’t have been any sweeter to you, Kallie girl.” A smile tickles my lips as her cheeks flush. This is the girl I remember and, if I’m not careful, the one I’ll once again be jacked up over in a heartbeat.

“Look at you being all charming.”

“It’s a new trick I picked up while you were gone. I figured I needed to round out my game a little.”

“How’s that working out for you?” She tries to play her question off like it’s routine banter, but I know her too well. She’s digging, prying, asking what I’ve been up to without having to ask.

“Win some, lose some,” I say, looking her in the eye. Rocking back on my heel, I narrow my eyes. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Am I winning or losing right now?” My mouth fights the twitch of a smile crawling up my lips.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “I’d say if we’re taking into consideration the previous rounds, it’s a split decision. This round doesn’t look bad, but the ones before it weren’t too pretty.”

Trying to hide my amusement at this girl using, of all things, a boxing metaphor on me to describe our relationship, I shrug. “I don’t think all the previous rounds were bad. I distinctly remember winning a couple of them. Hell, I thought I had the thing won a couple of rounds ago.”

“You almost did,” she says carefully, her voice steady now. “But that slip in the last round cost you the whole fight.”

“I didn’t slip,” I insist, taking a step toward her. “I had a bad game plan.”

“I can only score it as I see it.”

There’s a blip of pain in her eyes as her uncertainty fails to mask the wavering in her voice. The sound batters my heart, just like it did when she and I were together and I’d see a similar look on her face. I hate it.

We stand in the middle of Crave and don’t say a word. The only sound is the shaky breaths escaping her sweet, full lips. A part of me wants to fight with her, tell her how stupid she was for walking out of my life and destroying everything I had planned for our future. Another part of me wants to toss her to the floor and fuck her so deeply, so completely that she remembers the connection and chemistry only we have together. Yet, there’s another piece of me that wants to grab her and wrap my arms around her waist and hold her close if for nothing but to make sure she’s all right.

“You said it’s a split decision,” I say, standing so close to her, our chests are almost touching. She smells of vanilla and the shampoo she always uses, the one in the red bottle. I fill my lungs with the scent of her and blow it out slowly. “Does that mean there’s still a fight?”

She tucks another strand of hair behind her ear. “The bell rang on this fight a long time ago, Cross.”

“Maybe the scorekeeper was wrong.”

“Maybe—” She’s cut off by the sound of Nora and Machlan behind me. She looks at the floor and takes a step back, like we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t.

Looking over my shoulder, I shoot a glare at my best friend. “What’s up, Machlan?”

“I hate to bother you two, but I gotta get this place ready to open. You can use my office, if you want.”

“I think we’re ready to go,” Kallie says, peering around me. “You ready, Nora?”

“If you are.”

“Kallie, wait.” There’s no denying the eagerness in my voice, but I’m too focused on not letting her out of here without some sort of commitment to worry about it.

She keeps her sights set on Nora. “What, Cross?”

“What are you doing tonight?” I ask. “Or tomorrow night?” My mind races through my calendar, trying to figure out on the fly how I’ll rearrange my appointments if she takes me up on one of my offers.

“I’m pretty busy…”

“Oh, you are not.” Machlan smirks, leaning against the bar.

“Stay out of this,” she says, flashing him a look. “This has nothing to do with you, Mach.”

“Everything that happens inside my bar has something to do with me,” he teases. “So, let’s cut the shit: you really have nothing to do but you’re still pissed off about something that happened years ago. Sound about right?”

“Enough,” I say, firing a warning shot at him.

He laughs. “Fine. Just thought I’d help you two get to the point. See you tomorrow, Nora?”

“Yup,” she says before looking between Kallie and me. “I’ll be outside.”

My eyes lock with Kallie’s as the door latches behind Nora. “Name the place and time and I’ll make it happen.”

“Make what happen?” She sighs.

“Coffee. Dinner. A fucking slice of watermelon from Dave’s Farmstand, if that’s what you want,” I joke…kind of.

“Is that still open?” Her eyes sparkle, the easygoing Kallie I remember starting to come back. “How many watermelons did we eat from there over the years?”

“I think the two of us kept him busy.”

“Do you remember when Peck tried to make his own watermelon moonshine?” She laughs. “He was sick for a week, and then you all were trying to find a nurse to check him out so you didn’t have to tell his mom.”

“I forgot about that.” I chuckle. “He was sick as hell. Lance finally found a nurse somewhere.”

“Leave it to Lance.” She giggles, wiping a tear from her eye.

“We loaded Peck in the back of Walker’s truck and met her at the Four-Way Bridge to get checked out. What a mess that was.”

“Does Walker still have Daisy?” she asks, alluding to the big black pickup Walker has driven since his senior year of high school.

“I think Walker will drive Daisy until he dies. He loves that truck,” I say, shaking my head. “But back to the watermelon—Dave closed it down a while back. His wife got put in a nursing home and she passed away not too long ago.”

Kallie’s face falls. “She was so sweet. That makes me sad.”

“I see Dave sometimes over at Crank,” I say, referring to Walker’s car repair shop. “Ran into him at Goodman’s gas station a couple of days ago too. He asked about you.”

“Why would people ask you about me now?” She considers this for a long moment. “Doesn’t that seem strange?”

“Maybe it seems perfectly normal.” Unable to resist any longer, I cut the distance between us in half. With a calculated move, I raise a hand and touch the side of her face. She sucks in a breath, her skin warm and smooth under my calloused palm. “This seems perfectly normal too.”

“Cross…” She pulls her cheek away, her chin dipping to her chest. “I can’t with this.”

“You’re right,” I say, stepping back. Her gaze shoots to mine, surprised etched on her pretty features. “This isn’t the place. Meet me at the gym tonight at six. We’ll grab something to eat and take a ride or go for a walk or sit on the mats and shoot the shit.”

Before she can decline, I head for the door.

“Cross! I didn’t say—”

The door shutting behind me as I walk outside cuts off the end of her sentence. Nora is waiting.

“Kallie giving you a hard time?” she laughs.

“Never.” I chuckle, shaking my head.

“I think she’s a little shocked.”

“One question,” I say, turning around and walking backward toward my truck, the sun warming my face. “Did you know I was here?”

“Well, I knew Machlan wouldn’t have my check until Monday, and I also know you drive the silver Dodge Ram parked right over there, so you figure out what I did and didn’t know.”

A laugh I haven’t felt slip by my lips so easily in years bellows out. “Nora, I owe you one.”

“Yes, you do.”

Four

Kallie

“Do you still want to go to Peaches?” Nora asks. There’s a forced easiness to her tone, like we just didn’t walk all the way to the car and drive almost the entire way to my mother’s house in silence.

“No.”

Every step we took from the bar had me wanting to look over my shoulder in hopes of catching a glimpse of Cross. Every mile we pull away has me wanting to yell at Nora to turn around.

My head spins with the offer to see him again. My cheek sings with the memory of his touch. My heart aches as it absorbs the instructions from my brain to not forget the bad in favor of the good.

The endless partying with Machlan. The gossip. The rumors of wild nights without me in tow.

The two times I had to bail him out of jail for reckless driving and disorderly conduct.

His failure to take anything seriously or make a plan for the future.

A chill rips through me despite the warm summer sun.

“I really wanted a margarita,” Nora says, turning toward my mother’s house. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to Peaches?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re not hungry or you’re mad at me? I’m really feeling like ‘I’m not hungry’ is a passive-aggressive and untrue response.”

“I’m not mad at you,” I say finally, watching the bright green grass roll by. “Although I know that was a setup.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Don’t lie to me.” I laugh. “You totally set that up.”

“What can it hurt?” She sighs, turning into the driveway. “I know it’s none of my business, but…”

Her forehead is creased and her knuckles re-grip the steering wheel. Settling into the soft leather seat, I lean my head against the headrest. The adrenaline recedes, leaving me with a sluggish, almost hangover-style feeling in place of the excitement from a few minutes ago.

“He always asks about you,” she says softly. “I never told you that because it felt like it didn’t matter, but he does. Every time I see him, he says hello and then his features fall a little bit and he asks how you’re doing.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “He’s not a bad guy, Kallie.”

“He never was.” The words land on my own ears and my spirits fall. “He’s just not a guy that equals forever for me. Too much bullshit with that one, no matter how much I want to pretend it’s not true. I walked away once for a reason.”

“Maybe he’s not the guy you remember.”

“Leopards don’t change their spots, Nora,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt and grabbing my purse. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Call me tomorrow. Let’s do lunch or something.” She touches my shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Climbing out of the car, I shut the door. Nora honks the horn twice before pulling onto the street.

My mom’s home sits in front of me, a little white square with dark green windows. There’s a carport on one side that offers little protection from the wind in the winter, and my stomach twists that I’ve not been able to get it replaced yet.

“Someday,” I mutter as I climb the stairs to the front door. It opens before I get to the top. “Hey, Mom.”

“I thought I heard a car out here. I’m not used to having visitors.” She smiles, letting me by. “Did you have fun with Nora, honey?”

“Yeah. We walked around town, and I talked to Ruby at the library. I can’t believe she’s still alive.”

“Kallie Rae!” She laughs as she follows me to the kitchen. Pictures of me from various ages line the walls of the hallway. “See anyone else?”

“Machlan.”

“How is he?” she presses.

“Good.”

Pulling out a chair, she drops into the seat. “I saw him a few weeks ago at the post office. Good-looking boy.”

“He’s all right,” I say, shaking my head.

“All right? Sometimes I’m not sure you’re my child.” She chuckles. “If I were your age, I’d have snapped up one of those Gibson boys in a heartbeat.”

Turning away, I look out the window over the sink. The small back yard is tidy, her trash and recycling cans in a neat line by the gate. My old brown swing set still sits by the fence in the back, and the picnic table where I had dozens of chats with my friends growing up is in need of a good dose of paint.

All of these things are better topics than dating, or Machlan, or the one I know is coming: Cross.

My mother loved him like he was her son. She made sure he had homemade macaroni and cheese when he was over for dinner and always had his favorite soda in the fridge. When we broke up, she supported me, but I know down deep, she wishes things had worked out.

Maybe I wish that too.

Maybe wishes are pointless.

“We could get some paint tomorrow and redo the picnic table,” I say.

“I wouldn’t be able to move for a week.”

The room gets quiet. The quieter it gets, the louder I hear my heartbeat.

“I’m supposed to go to my women’s club meeting this evening with Dina. Do you want to go?” she asks. “Or did you make plans with Nora?”

Glancing at the clock, I see I have an hour until Cross asked me to meet him. My chest rises and falls, my fingers tapping on the counter.

“Well, you’re invited if you want to come.” She groans, getting out of the chair. “I’m leaving in about an hour. Let me know if you want to join, honey.”

Her steps get softer as she pads down the hallway, and I’m left standing in the kitchen with nothing but a decision to be made.

* * *

Slipping on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top after my shower, I make my way into the living room. The hardwood floor creaks as I traverse the room and plop unceremoniously onto the plaid sofa. The remote is on the other side of the room and I don’t have the energy to get it. Besides, the quiet is something I kind of love.

Living in the city made me forget what silence really is. There are no tires squealing or sirens blaring, just an occasional dog barking from the house across the street.

The room is filled with mementos of my life that could only be collected by a mother. A frame hangs to the right with every school picture I ever took. An art piece I created in fifth grade is propped up on a bookshelf, and a trinket we bought on a vacation at Lake Michigan sits next to the television. Each one of those things has a memory of Cross tied to it.

My heart sinks as I squirm on the sofa. There’s a hole in my chest that seems to have reopened since I pulled back into Linton, a big, gaping crevice that I was able to fill well enough in Indiana with work and hobbies and remembering things how I chose to remember them, but now? It’s not that easy.

I had to force myself to get into the bath and shave my legs so I wouldn’t run to the gym to see him on a whim. I washed my hair twice and then used a conditioning mask just to kill time. By the time I got out, I knew he would be gone.

A low rumble from the other side of the wall sounds through the air. Swinging my legs to the floor, I sit up and listen. It trails to the front of the house and stops. There’s a long pause, then a squeak, and then it starts again. Jumping up and heading to the front window, I peer out of the curtains.

My breathing halts, my hands shaking as they hold the lace fabric out of the way.

Cross is dragging my mother’s trash can from the back of the house to the street. He lines it up next to another one and brushes his hands off. Without looking up at me, he disappears into the back yard again.

“What the hell?” I whisper, dropping the curtain.

Finding my sandals, I slip them on and scurry to the kitchen door. When I step into the yard, he’s latching a cable through the handles on the doors of the shed in the back corner.

Wearing a pair of grey jogging pants and a red t-shirt, he looks tall and lean and as broad as the shed. A darkened spot between his shoulder blades flexes and pulls as he works the cable. The fabric pulls tight along his muscles, giving me an idea of their definition and making my knees weak.

He turns around abruptly, catching us both off guard.

“Hey,” he says, stopping in his tracks.

“What are you doing here?”

There’s a smile that flashes briefly, but it doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies. “I’m not here to bother you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Cross…” A lump takes root in my throat as I step across the soft grass. Sitting on top of the picnic table, I look at him still standing by the shed, just a few feet away.

So many summers we hung out back here in a swimming pool that’s since been removed. We played badminton when I went through an obsessive stage with that game and watched the fireworks from a big trampoline we sold in a yard sale the summer before I left.

Our first kiss took place back here under the oak tree, and we buried Fluffy, my poodle, together near the back fence.

All of this hits me like a flood as my gaze locks with his, and when he speaks, the tone of his voice makes me think maybe it hit him too.

“I take your mom’s trash to the road every week. While I’m here, I do some odds and ends I see she needs done. It’s not a big deal,” he says softly.

My heart slams against my ribcage, knocking the wind out of me. “You do? Since when?”

“I’ve done this for a long time, Kallie. It’s no big deal.”

“But…why? Why would you do this?”

His shoulders rise and fall. He rocks back on his heels, twisting his lips together. “What does it matter?”

“I had no idea,” I say, forcing a swallow.

“I asked her not to tell you.” He heads toward the gate, taking a curved path so he doesn’t get too close to me.

“Cross, wait,” I say, jumping off the table. The words are out of my mouth before I even know I’ve said them, and I have no idea what to follow them up with. There are so many things in my brain competing for a chance to roll off my tongue, and I know I better weigh them all carefully before I choose a thought I don’t want shared.

He turns to face me, his brows lifted toward the sky. “What?”

Sucking in a breath, I plead with my brain to use the right filter and go for it. “Thank you.”

He averts his jade eyes, settling his gaze somewhere in the distance. I take the opportunity to study him without the usual glare of a computer screen.

His jawline is more defined, the angle visible even under the day-old scruff. His lashes are thicker and darker, outlining the set of eyes that seem to have seen so much and, when they turn back to find mine, it causes me to jump. He tries not to notice, but his sly smile gives it away.

“Sorry,” I grumble, fiddling with a strand of hair.

“Let’s flip the script for a minute and you tell me why you moved back to Linton.”

Clearing my throat, I pause. “Well, my old boss seems to be heading to jail for a while. Skylar moved away so Mom was alone, and it’s easier to start again here than in Indy.”

He doesn’t blink.

“What?” I ask, furrowing a brow at his lack of a reaction.

“Just waiting for you to tell the truth.”

“Um, I did.” On instinct, I tilt my head at him, annoyed.

“Uh, ya didn’t.”

“Whatever,” I huff, walking away from him. I stop at the fence and look over the top at the setting sun, feeling a little peace fall over me. The sky is painted a beautiful mosaic of pinks and purples, like a painting done by a master artist. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

His hand touches the small of my back as he steps beside me. Suddenly, the sky isn’t on my radar anymore. All I can focus on is how his hand feels on me, how every nerve is acutely aware of his presence and the pull of his body on mine.

“It is beautiful out here tonight,” he says softly, “and the sky is pretty too.”

My cheeks flush as I look at him. “You really can turn on that charm, huh?”

“I don’t try it too often, but I’m hoping it works out for me today.”

“Why are you helping my mom, Cross?”

“Well, the way I see it,” he says, leaning on the rail, “she took care of me for a lot of years when I needed it. She hemmed my baseball pants, went to bat for me when Mr. Varian suspended me my junior year…and how many nights did she have something hot and ready for me to eat after practice?”

“A lot.” I smile. “How many times did she make corn because you liked it and not green beans because you didn’t? I hated you because green beans are my favorite.”

We exchange a laugh that’s easy and carefree, like two friends on a level most people never ascend to. Once our voices have died down, he pulls away and looks me in the eye. “For the record, I’ve never hated you. Not even when you left here with half of my heart.”

I don’t know what to say to that, but even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. The searing gaze penetrating mine halts any words from flowing through my lips.

“I want you to know that.” His head dips, his sneaker running back and forth across the lawn. “I take responsibility for everything that happened between us.”

“Cross—”

“No, it’s my fault. I was the shithead who couldn’t get my life together.” He raises his eyes, a glimmer in the jade orbs. “I admire you.”

“Me?” I snort. “Why?”

“You were smart enough to know your worth.” He lays a hand over mine, his palm hot and heavy and swamping mine in size. I can’t look away from them, his tanned skin sitting atop mine. “You taught me a lot, made me who I am, in a roundabout, heartbreaking kind of way.” He chuckles.

“Aren’t you full of surprises?” I ask, his words wrapping around my chest and squeezing it so tight I can barely breathe.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

There’s a niggle in my stomach, something rooted terribly deep, that tells me he’s being honest.

“Strangely, I believe that,” I admit.

He twists around and leans against the fence. “Good. I’m an open book, you know. Want to talk? Ask questions? Kiss me?”

“No.” I laugh, taking a step back for my own good. “I just got out of a job that had federal investigators asking me a million questions, and then I packed up my things and moved home. I don’t need any more complications for a minute.”

“Maybe I won’t complicate it.” He shoots me a grin that melts me from the inside out.

Pointing a finger his way, I giggle. “You always do.”

“How’s that?”

“That grin—it complicates everything, every time.”

It stretches across his face, reaching from ear to ear, and it pulls mine right along with it. We stand in the setting sun, grinning at each other like two kids as my mother wanders into the back yard.

“What are you kids doing out here?”

My entire body sags at the interruption as Cross snickers.

“Just taking the garbage to the road, Brenda.”

“Looks to me like you were doing more than that, Mr. Jacobs.”

“Oh, Mom, hush.”

Her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “I just want to say seeing you two together makes this old woman’s heart feel full. Reminds me of old times, my two kids happy and together.”

“That sounds disgusting and illegal,” I say as I laugh.

“Good thing I’m not known for my law-abiding tendencies,” Cross chimes in, looking at me out of the corner of this eye.

Mom and I laugh as I punch him in the arm. He feigns injury, shaking his bicep back and forth.

“Stop it,” I say, shaking my head.

“You have a terrible punch. It’s embarrassing.”

“What? If that’s embarrassing, it’s your fault.”

“How do you figure?” That grin still plays on his lips.

“You’re the one who taught me to punch!”

“Oh, no,” he says, pressing his lips together. “I didn’t teach you that. Don’t blame that crap on me.” He captures my gaze, his eyes sparkling. “If you want me to teach you again, I’m happy to.”

“I don’t really punch people a lot.”

“Never know,” he teases. “You wouldn’t want to rest on those laurels.”

“You’re an ass.”

He pretends to consider this as he circles me and heads to the gate. “Trash is out, Brenda. Fixed the latch on the shed—try not to break it again.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promises. “Want to come in for dinner? I brought home Carlson’s.”

He stops at the gate and looks at me over his shoulder. My heart skips a beat as I watch him make up his mind. I wish I could ask him to stay, wish I could enjoy our banter for a little while longer, but as he looks back at my mother, I know I’m better off if he says no.

“I have a private session in fifteen minutes with a client. I better go, but thanks for the offer.” With a final look at me, he opens the gate. “See ya around, Kallie girl.”

I hope so.

Five

Cross

A beer slides across the bar in front of me, stopping only when it hits a set of hands at the end. Machlan’s brother, Walker, snaps it up and shoots me a curious look.

“How’s it goin’?” he asks, sitting on the stool next to me.

“It’s goin’.”

“That good, huh?” He takes a long, steady gulp of alcohol before letting the bottle plunk against the wooden bar top. “Peck took a last-minute job at the shop tonight and I’m just getting out of there.”

“Should’ve left him there with it,” I offer.

“Yeah, but he had to jack this piece of shit up in the air and, my luck, I leave and it falls on him or something.” Giving me a frustrated glance, he takes another drink. “In retrospect, may not have been a terrible idea.”

Peeling at the label of my own bottle, I feign interest in the television. It does no good.

“Not that I give a fuck, but what’s wrong?” Walker asks.

“Not a damn thing you want to hear about.”

“That’s true, and I don’t even know what it is.” He grins. “But, Machlan is keeping his distance, so that means it might be interesting.”

“It’s not.”

His chest rumbles with a silent chuckle before downing the rest of his brew. I consider getting up and heading to the pool tables in the back just to get some privacy. If I thought it would actually work, I’d try it, but it won’t—not with this bunch.

Machlan and I grew up with his brothers, Walker and Lance, and their cousins, Peck and Vincent. We were all close in age and have been tight since preschool.

If I get up and head to the back, Walker will signal Machlan over and he’ll tell him what’s going on. Walker will rib me for a minute, and if I’m lucky, Peck and Lance won’t join in. Walker will then proceed to tell me I’m a dumbass while giving me some token of advice.

The problem? I don’t need advice. I need a damn smack to the side of the head.

Running my hand down my face, frustration jumps back into the driver’s seat of my life. My stomach twists, sloshing the two beers I’ve nursed since I came in this evening.

“Okay, I won’t play dumb. I know Kallie’s back,” Walker says, stopping for a moment to acknowledge a woman who stopped to whisper something in his ear. Once she’s gone, he turns back to me, but now he’s sidetracked. “That’s the problem with the world right there.”

My gaze trails after the girl I’ve seen work in the post office then I refocus it on Walker. “What? Easy pieces of ass with great legs?”

“Yup.” He motions for Machlan to bring him another beer. “Those girls ruin it for everyone.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Good idea,” Peck says, slipping onto the stool on the other side of Walker. “Don’t follow him. This fucker will lead you astray.”

“Seriously?” Walker looks at his cousin out of the corner of his eye. “When have I led anyone astray?”

“I think I need to join this conversation,” Machlan says, handing Walker a beer. “When has Walker led anyone astray? What about the time you added a little engine to my skateboard and the thing bolted then tossed me off the ramp you built in the back yard and I broke my collarbone?”

“That was your fault.” Walker laughs. “Your balance is shit. I had forgotten about that.” He scratches his chin. “You know, that was really a good concept.”

“I remember that,” I say, looking at Machlan. “I think my last words to you were ‘This is not a good id—’ I didn’t even get ‘idea’ out before you were on your ass.”

“Face,” Peck inserts. “I think he was on his face, legs kicking in the air.”

“Which, in a really weird way, takes us back to pieces of ass with great legs,” I say, circling back to the original point. “How is that the ruination of the world?”

“Whoever said that, I agree completely,” Machlan adds, shoving off the counter. “The better the ass and legs, the leerier I am of a woman. You get those chunky thighs around your face and—boom! The next thing you know there’s a pink toothbrush next to yours in the bathroom.”

Walker laughs. “So is Kallie’s toothbrush back in your bathroom, Cross?”

Peck’s eyes widen, but he wisely doesn’t say anything. Instead, he hops the bar and rummages through the beer cooler. Machlan lectures him on the law, that he can’t be on that side of the bar without a license, but Peck doesn’t listen. He never does.

“You saw her,” Walker states.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

I shrug. Twisting the bottle in my hands, I realize Walker may be the best person in the world to get advice from about this after all. “Fine. I saw her today. We talked for a few minutes and then I saw her again when I went by to do a few things for Brenda.”

“You have plans to see her again?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to. I tried to cast out some bait, but I’m not sure she took it.”

He tips back the new bottle, his eyes focused on the television. A vein in his temple pops, and I wonder what he’s going to say. It could be anything with this guy. Whatever it is, it’ll be what he believes to be the truth. That’s all you get from Walker Gibson.

“Well, in my humble opinion, I say don’t,” he says.

The finality in his tone irks me. “What do you mean?”

“Look, I know you liked her—hell, we all did. She was a cool girl and you spent your entire adolescence glued to her hip. Trust me,” he says, staring off into space, “I get that. You have history with her like you never will with anyone else.”

“It’s not that…”

“It is.” He turns his attention back to me. “But don’t do that. She left you once. I know that makes me an asshole to say it bluntly like that, but she did it, not me. You tossed that line out there tonight and she didn’t take it. That’s enough for me right there. Fuck her,” he says, bringing the bottle back to his lips.

My jaw sets, the pulsing almost cracking my back teeth. “Easy there.”

Peck leans on the countertop and looks at Walker and then at me. “Don’t listen to him unless it has an engine and weighs at least a ton.”

“Just offering my opinion,” Walker says, getting up. He takes his drinks and meanders toward the back of the bar.

“Listen,” Peck says, looking at me with his brows tugged together, “he’s wrong.”

“How the hell do you know?”

“Because my balls aren’t the ones that ache so bad I can’t see straight.” He grins.

“If I were giving myself advice, I’d say to forget it too,” I admit. “I see Walker’s point. She left when it got hard. She fought with me back then every fucking day over nothing. I couldn’t do anything right. But then I think about how many nights I go to bed wondering where she is and how often I miss her. Then it seems stupid to pretend I don’t at least want to get to know her again.”

“You’ve answered your own problem.”

“How do you figure?”

Peck shakes his head, downing half his bottle. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he sighs. “You said you could pretend, which means…”

“Yeah…”

“You have two options here,” he declares. “You can either let this thing go or you can see what you can make out of it. If you pick option one, get over it. You’ll have to, but because I know your ass and know you won’t just get over it because you haven’t since that fight outside of Crave years ago, option two should come with a lot of consideration. You feel me?”

“I feel you.”

“Good. Now that’s done, I’m going to see what kind of trouble I can get into tonight.” He winks before disappearing into the growing crowd of bodies behind me.

I sit for a long while, returning hellos and chiming in to basic chitchat when required. All the while, my mind is replaying the interactions with Kallie from today. With every second that goes by, I feel a burn in my gut grow hotter.

Leaning forward, I grab my wallet out of my pocket and find a twenty. I put it on the counter and set my beer on top of it. “Hey, Mach! I’m out of here,” I say, nodding to the money.

“Tell her I said hi.” He grins.

“Fuck off. I’m not going to see her.” I look down at the money and then back up at him again. “Maybe tomorrow after work.”

Machlan laughs. “Make some time in that busy schedule of yours for me. I want to talk business.”

“Will do. Later.”

“Later.”

Six

Kallie

“You shouldn’t be doing this, Kallie.” Rolling my eyes as I head across the parking lot, I set my sights on the building nestled between the laundromat and a secondhand store. “Now I’m talking to myself—totally losing it.”

My feet stop and I stand on the edge of the curb, peering into the windows of the gym. The early morning sunlight shines through the glass. Cross is standing in the middle of a stretch of blue mats in a sleeveless shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. A short, caramel-haired woman in all spandex stands in front of him. She’s facing me, her hands running through the air as she tells Cross a story. He’s watching her, his arms folded in front of him, one eyebrow cocked in the air.

My skin suddenly feels too tight, too unforgiving as I try to draw air into my lungs. When her hand rests on the curve of his bicep, I squeeze my car keys so hard that the alarm goes off behind me.

“Shit!” I mumble, twisting around and shoving the keyring toward the parking lot. “Stop it. Stop it!” Pressing the button repeatedly, the frantic beeping finally stops. “Sorry,” I call out to a woman and her child as they climb into the car next to mine. She gives me a look like I’m crazy before speeding off.

I take a deep breath as I feel a gaze on my back. Turning around, I see Cross and the woman in the gym are watching me. I contemplate saving some face and fleeing, but Cross is stalking toward me before I can make a break for it.

He shoves the door open, the muscles in his arms flexing as he holds it. “You all right out here?”

“Yeah.” I wince, tucking my keys in my pocket. “My alarm is faulty. Probably a recall or something.”

“I bet.” He tries to hide his amusement, but fails. “Wanna come in? I mean, I’m assuming you weren’t coming this way to do laundry.”

Blushing, I walk past him and into the gym.

“Do you know Megan McCarter?” he asks.

“I don’t think so. I’m Kallie Welch. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she says in a way that lets me know she doesn’t think there’s anything nice about meeting me at all.

“Wait, McCarter? Are you related to Molly?”

“She’s my older sister,” she says, eyes glued to Cross. “Want to show me that move one more time? I think I forgot it already.”

“If you forgot it already, you aren’t going to remember it next week either,” he replies. “I think that’s it for us today. Good work.”

“I…” She looks at me, then back at Cross. “See you next week.”

We wait as she takes her time gathering her things, including a glittery pink water bottle, and heads out. Once the room is free of her noxious perfume, Cross speaks.

“What brought you down here?”

It’s the question I asked myself on the car ride here, the one I still haven’t answered. All I know is I thought of him all evening and dreamed of him last night. There was no awkwardness in my dream, no feelings of anything other than happiness. I woke up wondering how much of that was just the dream and how much of that was reality. It was hard to tell the two apart.

Shrugging, I look around the room. One half is set up like a gym with treadmills and free weights, and the other has mats and a makeshift boxing ring elevated in the corner. The walls are white with posters of motivational sayings hanging here and there. It’s impressive.

“Guess I just wanted to see what you were up to,” I say finally. “Is this place yours?”

“Yeah. I opened it a couple of years ago. Have another one in Fairview too.”

“Really?” Turning a small circle, I take in every little detail. “That’s amazing. Is it just a gym?”

“Just a gym.” He snorts, heading to the mats. “It’s definitely not just a gym, thank you.”

“How do I know?”

“You don’t, until you ask.” He winks. “It is a gym. People pay a membership fee to use the facilities, but I also train a couple of amateur fighters and have a boxing program for kids. That’s really my favorite thing. They love it for the love of the art, you know? Not because they can whip ass in a bar or flex around town.”

“You used to do both things,” I point out, moseying my way toward him.

Leaning against a wall, his face sobers. “I did. I still do, if it’s warranted, but that’s not what I’m about anymore.”

The way he speaks the words, the level of sincerity in his tone…it has my heart swelling in my chest. It’s a reminder that I don’t quite know this man anymore and it raises a host of questions, including how different he just may be now than he was when I left.

“What are you about these days, Cross?”

“I’ve settled down some, I suppose. Don’t interface with the law much these days.” He grins. “I work a lot, either here or over at the Fairview gym. I do some online coaching and personal training sessions.”

“Like with Megan?”

He shoves off the wall, a twinkle in his eye. “Like Megan,” he goads. “Did that bother you?”

“What? Megan? No,” I insist, brushing it off. “Why would it?”

“Just an inkling.”

“Your inkling would be wrong. How is it my place to have any feelings about what you do in your business?”

“It’s not.”

It’s a simple statement, two little words that pack so much of a punch. It’s not. It’s not the words that irritate me so much; it’s the reason for needing them. Even as I stand here inside his gym, even though I feel this link to Cross and have since I saw him yesterday inside Crave, he’s nothing more to me than somebody I used to know.

“I don’t train many women,” he says, picking up a couple of towels along the mats. “I only agreed to three sessions with Megan because someone bought them for her birthday. She has one more and then it’s over.”

“You aren’t training her any more than that?”

“Nah. She knows it. It’s ridiculous, really. She doesn’t want to know how to box any more than I want to know how to bake a cake.”

Laughing at his analogy, I grab a few dumbbells off the floor and put them back in the rack. “I’m glad you found something to do with your life that makes you happy. I always worried you’d float around and get stuck doing something you hated.”

“Come on,” he teases. “You were really worried I’d end up in jail or on your couch.”

“True.” I giggle, turning to face him. “But I like this version of you, all grown up.”

“Well…” He blows out a breath. “You can thank yourself for that. If you’d have stayed here, I don’t think I ever would’ve realized what a punk I was.”

“You weren’t a punk.”

“I was. I did whatever I wanted and had no plan for going anywhere. Then you left and I realized…” He looks at me and then at the floor. “I realized I’d already lost the best thing that would ever happen to me.”

There isn’t a reply to that. I just hold a breath and watch his beautiful eyes soften.

“So,” he goes on, “one night I decided I was going to do something with myself, and if you ever came back, maybe I could show you I wasn’t a loser.”

“What if I never came back?”

“Honestly? I’d have been a little relieved.

“Gee, thanks.”

“What?” He chuckles, motioning for me to follow him. “Is it wrong that I would’ve found relief in knowing I wouldn’t be falling in love again? That shit hurts, Kal.”

I stop walking. “What if I did come back?”

He pauses too and turns around. Running a hand through his thick, silky locks, his cheeks redden. “Then I’d fight like hell to get you back.”

“You’re just being charming again,” I whisper, knowing it’s a lie as soon as I say it. There’s no denying the stripped-down emotion on his face, the crinkle in his forehead just between his eyes. The corners of his lips flicker, almost pulling into a smile, but not quite.

“Come on,” he says, turning away. “Let’s teach you how to throw a punch.”

Seven

Kallie

“I like this one too.” I point at the screen toward a small one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment.

“It’s so small,” Nora remarks. “That bathroom is barely big enough to turn around in.”

“True. But it’ll be just me. I don’t need tons of space.”

“If you use more than five cosmetics at one time, you’re screwed. Just think about that.”

Nora sinks into the pillows on her sofa as I readjust the computer on my lap. We’ve been at this for a while now and my friend’s patience is running thin—not because of the house hunt. Because I’ve not brought up Cross.

Just thinking about him in theory alone causes my stomach to go crazy and, when I allow my brain to focus on his face or his smell or his touch, it’s lights out. I can’t focus on anything else. It’s a Cross Show and I don’t necessarily want a ticket.

Nora does, though. Her gaze is heavy on the side of my face as I pretend to be immersed in the hunt for an apartment.

“What about this one?” I ask.

“Stop ignoring me.”

“What are you talking about? I’m talking to you. That’s hardly ignoring you.” I laugh, feigning ignorance.

She sighs dramatically. “You aren’t giving me an opening.”

“An opening for what?”

Scrambling to sit up, she throws a pillow at me. “I know you saw Cross.”

My head falls to the cushion at my back. Just like that, the weight that had been sitting on top of us is now squarely on my shoulders. I close the computer lid. “And how do you know that?”

“I saw your car at the gym. I just happened to be heading to Crank to take Walker and Peck a sandwich and saw it there.” Her bottom lip juts out. “You didn’t even call me.”

Laughing, I lift my head. “I don’t have to call you with every little thing, Nora.”

“This is not a little thing! You saw Cross. Privately. Alone.”

“And it was private,” I say, shaking my head. “Do you know what that means?”

“Yup. It means it’s for the two of you and me. Besides,” she says, rolling her eyes, “everyone knows. Machlan asked me about it while we were closing tonight.”

“Oh, good grief.” I groan.

My eyes close as I prepare to either answer or do my best to deflect her questions. But, when the peace is supposed to come, Cross’s handsome face comes instead. I feel a smile inch across my lips as my insides grow warm.

My hips sing as the memory of his hands gripping them yesterday as he showed me how to punch again lights up my mind. The heat of his breath on the back of my neck. The wicked combination of tenderness and ferocity that danced in his eyes.

It’s only natural to be almost-smitten already with him, but it’s also irresponsible. I’m not a child anymore, hardly the teenager that fell in love with a boy a couple of years older than her with the crooked grin.

I need to adult this relationship. Potential relationship. Letting my walls come down without realizing my fears are still absolutely warranted would be careless. And stupid. And so, so easy.

“So?” she prods.

“So, what?” I ask. “Yes, I saw him. He’s …”

She watches me carefully, not saying a word. I don’t either. I have no idea where to go with this statement. I could say he’s more handsome than he was when I left. It’d be honest to say I didn’t want to leave him last night. I’d be lying if I said I’m happy he didn’t kiss me or that the look in his eye didn’t make me feel all sorts of things. All of that would be true.

But I could also tell her I was up all night worrying about it. That it’s all too soon. That I’ve been poked enough in the last year between my job and my ex-boyfriend to want to get into anything serious again. Especially with Cross. One toe in with him is as good as diving in headfirst and I don’t need that risk.

“Come on, Kal,” she says. “I know him. I know you. I know him and you together.”

“No, you don’t.” I set the computer on the table in front of me to mask the epic gulp of air I take. “I don’t even know who he is or who I am, let alone who the two of us are together.”

“That’s not true. I’ve been your best friend all these years plus I’ve been around to watch him. Maybe the part about me not knowing you two together now is kinda true, but I can imagine.” She swipes her thumb over her lips. “So, you still love him.”

“No,” I insist, swinging my head side to side emphatically. “I don’t. Stop that.”

She holds her hands in front of her, signaling she’s done with that line of questioning but the harm is done.

So, you still love him.

My feet beg to hit the floor and pace a good, solid circle to get rid of some of the energy bursting through my veins. Instead, I fiddle with a piece of fringe on the pillow next to me. It’s less panicked-looking.

I’d always hoped if I saw Cross again that it wouldn’t feel like the Fourth of July. That somehow, I wouldn’t be drawn to him like a sunset to a horizon. I told myself it would be like meeting any other man I’d known and would prove the thing between us was just a juvenile obsession.

Damn hopes, anyway.

“He’s all grown up now,” Nora says, like she needs to point that out. She laughs when I give her a blank stare. “Maybe things could work out.”

“I don’t want them to. Not with Cross, not with anyone.” My feet hit the floor and I scamper across the room. “I want to breathe, Nora. I want to not worry about someone else and their life and how their decisions might impact me. I want to just do what I want to do for once.”

“So … do Cross.”

“Nora!”

She giggles in response. “Sometimes I hate they all feel like family to me. Except Lance,” she says, referring to Machlan’s other brother. “I’d do Lance but now he has Mariah so that’s out.”

“You need a man.”

“Oh no.” She laughs, getting to her feet too. “We’re not turning this around on me. We’re talking about you here.”

Hands on my hips, I take in Nora’s amused grin. She finds this entertaining; all she can see is the happy at the end. I know better. I know the feeling, quite vividly, of the doldrums of a relationship, with Cross specifically, and that happy is a hard-fought battle to win—if it can be won at all.

That’s what really scares me. What if you have to settle in life? What if you can’t really ever be totally satisfied in a relationship? What if you never have the confidence in yourself, or them, or you together to not go to sleep with a nagging in your gut?

What if the stars never align like you hope as a little girl?

“What is it, Kallie?” she asks, her grin faltering.

“Is it fair to just be … scared?”

“Of what?”

“Of … life? Of falling in love.” I gulp. “Of trying and not getting the things I want out of life?”

“Where’s all this coming from?” she whispers. “What’s going on?”

I plop into the chair next to me and take in a long, deep breath. “I’ve been thinking a lot about things. Life, I guess. Think about it,” I tell her. “What are the odds you’ll find someone that has the same goals as you? The same dreams? Enough love for you to want to see you do the things you want to do? It’s not good, Nora.”

“People do it every day,” she says, sitting on the arm of the chair.

“No, people settle every day. Look around at the people you know. Most of them settle. They take what’s available out of fear they won’t have what they really want and they’re halfway miserable their whole life. That was me with my ex. I realized that too late and wasted way too long.”

“Okay,” she says like I’ve lost my mind. “What makes you happy? Let’s start there.”

“I don’t know.”

Her hands go in the air as she laughs. “I quit.”

“Good,” I say, partially relieved and partially wishing she’d press the issue for once.

“Let’s go get milkshakes.”

“Fine. But you’re buying.”

* * *

Cross

I add a scoop of protein powder to the blender, put the cap back on, and press the button. It whirls, the contents of the glass container smashing around with no fucks given, kind of like my brain. It’s like a box full of noisy items in the hands of a toddler. Everything is banging around.

Busying myself with pouring the drink into a cup, I whistle as I work. The house seems so quiet. Too quiet, even, to do the usual bookkeeping for the gyms or research exercises as I usually do. It’s too quiet for anything.

I lean against the counter and take a gulp of my drink. The glass leaves a dampness on my palm, the remaining ice chunks rattling around in the mixture. I hold it to the light and laugh. It’s light grayish in color just like my favorite set of eyes.

Damn it.

The cup hits the counter with a thud.

“What are you gonna do now?” I ask myself. “’Cause you’re gonna have to do something.”

Rolling my shoulders around, trying to work out the stress captured at the base of my neck, I head into the living room toward the sound of my ringing cell phone. “Hello?” I ask.

“Hey, big brother,” Hadley chirps through the line. “How are you?”

“All right. What are you up to?”

She sighs. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why?” I ask. I watch as the neighbor’s kids kick a ball back and forth on the other side of the road.

“I hear it in your voice. You’re … blah.”

“I’ve never been described as blah.” I laugh.

“You have now.” She giggles. “So, what’s up?”

The ball goes back and forth. The little girl rockets it across the lawn and the boy misses, his leg sweeping right over the top before he falls to the ground.

I feel for him. I have half a notion to head over there and help him up and give him some advice on being ready for the hardest shot. To always protect yourself. To never let your guard down.

Especially with girls.

“Kallie is in town.” I say it as easily as I can, as if it’s no big deal that the girl I’ve been torn up over for years has reappeared. My sister, though, doesn’t need all the bells and whistles to signal an issue. She knew Kallie. She knows me.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” she mutters.

“That would make two of us.”

“Have you seen her? Like, just the two of you?”

“Yeah.”

“And? How’d it go?”

As the little boy gets back to his feet by way of a proffered hand from the little girl, I turn away from the window. “It went better than I expected in some ways and a little worse in others.”

Hadley pauses. “How is she?”

“Good. Beautiful. What else can I say?” I sigh. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

“It’s never easy to see someone you love—or loved,” she adds quickly. “There’s always that feeling of what could’ve been.”

“Talking about Machlan?” I tease.

“No, I’m not talking about Machlan,” she mocks … and lies. “I know what that would’ve been. A big, ridiculous mess.”

“Sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

With a snort at how confident she doesn’t sound, I head back toward the kitchen. My stomach rolls the protein shake over. It has nothing to do with the ingredients, though, and everything to do with the topic of conversation.

I’ve been with a number of women since Kallie left. A lot of them, really. And at the end of the night when they’d leave my house or I’d pull on my jeans and leave theirs, I’d do one thing immediately: take a shower. The smell of a woman on my skin drove me insane. It didn’t matter how hot she was or how much I did or didn’t like her, she didn’t belong on me. It was like my skin itched with the scent of her until I sent it down the shower drain.

I’d kill for Kallie’s shampoo to be on my shirt. Her perfume mixed with my body oils, her kisses lingering on my skin.

The more I think about it, the more panicked I get. I want it too much. Hell, I’ve always wanted it. I’ve always wanted her. And now that she’s here and I realize nothing has changed in that regard, it’s scary as fuck.

“Hadley? Let me ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Let’s pretend for one second that Machlan’s not Machlan.”

“Yeah right.” She laughs.

“No, really. Play along.”

She groans. “Fine.”

“What if you were the problem between you and a guy—”

“It’s Machlan’s fault,” she interrupts immediately.

“But this isn’t Machlan …”

“Oh, yeah. Continue.”

Laughing, I wipe my hand over my face. “Okay. This guy, not Machlan, and you were together. And it was your fault. And now he’s back and he’s giving you the time of day, which you didn’t expect, and all you can think about is getting him back. But you—”

“Go get her,” she interrupts again. “Just go see her. No expectations because you were the problem in that relationship.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know it. I’m not going to lie to you.”

Blowing out a breath, I look at the ceiling. “What if it’s just that she’s so familiar to me, Had? What if we broke up for a reason and I’m an idiot to want something again? I mean, I don’t even know her these days. What if I’m relying on this idea I’ve had in my head all these years?”

“Then you go get her, like I told you. Take her to lunch. Take her for a walk,” she says. “Just spend some time with her. If it’s some stupid crush from back in the day, you’ll toss her out like you do the rest of the whores from the bar.”

“Be nice,” I tease.

“I’m not about to be nice,” she states. “Crave is the worst thing to happen to you and Machlan Gibson ever.”

A smile tickles my lips. “I thought we weren’t talking about Machlan.”

“We aren’t. I gotta go. I have a date with a guy that isn’t an egotistical bar owner.”

“Oh, the pudfucker I met? The one that looks like he has a corncob stuck up his ass?”

“He’s nice, Cross. You should be happy I met a nice guy.”

“You met a pussy, that’s what you did. He’s your version of a bar whore.”

“I met him in a library,” she deadpans.

“Okay. Book whore.”

“That’s not how you use that term.” She laughs.

“It’s a term? I thought I made it up.” I shrug.

“You didn’t. And I gotta go. Have a good night, brother.”

“You, too, Had.”

“Night.”

“Night.”

Eight

Cross

It’s a gamble, a big risk, one I’m not entirely sure is going to pay off, but one I feel absolutely certain about making. My conversation with Hadley last night put a few things in perspective and, although I’d never tell her she might be right, she might really be. It’s worth a shot, anyway.

Taking the steps two at a time, I press my finger on the doorbell. Footsteps fall against the hardwood floors on the other side before the door pulls open.

My chest fills like it does every time I see Kallie. I fight the stupid smile that plays on my lips, but it’s no use—I’m grinning like a fucking loon.

“Hey,” she says, her fingers playing at the hem of her shirt. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was driving by Carlson’s a bit ago and saw they had Cobb salad on the sign. I thought maybe we could grab a bite to eat.”

“You remember that I like Cobb salad?”

“With extra avocado and bacon, no egg, right?”

Her eyes light up as she grins. “Yeah.” She laughs. “That’s right.”

“So, wanna go?”

She looks over her shoulder before turning her attention back to me. “Um, sure. Let me get my shoes and purse and I’ll meet you outside, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

In a few minutes, we’re sitting in the cab of my pickup and heading down the road.

“My shoulders are sore,” she says, working her arm in a circle. “How do you punch all day and still have use of your extremities?”

“You get used to it. Do it long enough and your muscles get built up.”

“That explains a lot.”

I look at her quickly before turning my attention back to the road. “That explains what?”

“Your arms,” she gushes, wrapping a hand around my bicep. “They’re ridiculous, Cross, and your back. Is that from boxing?”

“Been checking me out?” I love that she’s looked hard enough to take notice.

“No. Well, yeah.” She smirks. “It’s kind of hard not to. You look good.”

“And here I thought it was my charm drawing you in.”

She smacks my arm before pulling her hand away. “Your charm is better, but it’s still not your forte.”

“So you only want me for my body? That’s what you’re saying?” I joke.

“No!”

“I mean, it’s okay. I have no problem being wanted for my body—none. I’ll strip right now if it’ll help.”

“You’re too much.”

Chuckling, I pull the truck into the parking lot of Carlson’s. We climb out and meet at the front then, without thinking, I take her hand in mine. Her small palm is delicate and fits inside mine like it was designed for this purpose alone. I expect her to pull it away, but much to my surprise, she just looks up at me and smiles.

Once inside, we take a seat next to the front windows. Before I can get a word out, Veronica is halfway across the building. “Kallie Welch!” she squeals. “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Hi, Veronica.” Kallie gets to her feet and greets Veronica with a hug. “How are you?”

“Better now that I’ve seen you,” she says as Kallie settles back in. “Where have you been? Are you home now?”

“Yeah, I’m home now. Cross saw you had Cobb salad on the menu for today and picked me up.”

Veronica raises a brow. “I see. You and Cross back together, huh?”

“Oh, no,” Kallie replies quickly, shaking her head. “No, not like that.”

“And why not? Have you seen this boy lately? He’s a catch, Kal. Every girl in town has tried their hand with this one.”

“Should I walk away for a while? Because this is a little awkward with me sitting right here.” I chuckle.

“Every girl, huh?” Kallie puts her face in her hands and watches me. “Do tell.”

Shaking my head, I grab a menu out of the holder and flip my attention to the words on the plastic. “I’ll have a ham and Swiss on sourdough, cheddar and sour cream chips, and a pop. Kallie?”

“Cobb salad, extra avocado and bacon, no egg, and a water.”

Veronica disappears into the back after whispering into Kallie’s ear. Once she’s gone, I breathe a sigh of relief. “So…”

“So…” she says, taking my menu and sliding it back in its spot. “Did you have a lot of clients today?”

“None as fun as you,” I say with a wink.

“Oh, I bet. I was a barrel of fun.”

“What did you do today?” I ask, watching the sun stream onto her face. It creates a halo effect around her blonde hair, which seems fitting.

“I had breakfast with Nora. Ran into Peck at Goodman’s—he hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Nope. He’s the same thirteen-year-old boy he always was.”

She laughs, relaxing back in her seat. “I hope he never changes. He’s so sweet and kind and handsome.”

“Do I have competition?”

She doesn’t answer, just rolls her eyes.

Plates of food are set down in front of us, Veronica making small talk with Kallie about her mother and once upon a time when Kallie worked at Carlson’s. I don’t touch my sandwich. Instead, I watch the girl in front of me act like she hasn’t been gone a day. On the other hand, it seems like she’s a completely different person.

Her old soul is still there; that hasn’t changed. It’s one of the first things I fell in love with. Her ability to think clearly and make good, solid choices was something I couldn’t do, and it drew me in like a magnet. It didn’t hurt that she was gorgeous, made straight As, and was the captain of the cheerleading team.

She was also too sweet, too forgiving. I took that for granted like a young, dumb motherfucker.

“What?” she asks, catching me staring.

“I was just thinking about you.”

She stabs a chunk of avocado and pops it in her mouth. “What about me?”

“Wondering why you really came home.”

She chews slowly, as if biding her time. The lines around her eyes crease as she considers her response. “I told you,” she says, pausing to take a drink of water. “My job got a little crazy and Sky moved. It was the right time.”

“That’s not true.”

“How do you know?”

Setting my fork down on the side of my plate, I rest my elbows on the table. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I don’t care, as long as you’re safe and you’re here. That’s all that really matters.”

“I’m fine, Cross. Safe and here,” she says, extending her arms to the side as if to say, Look! Here we are! “Maybe I just…” Her arms fall to her sides and she takes a gulp of air. “Maybe I got tired.”

My heart twists in my chest and I reach for her hand. She allows me to take it. I turn it over, palm up, and press my thumb in the middle.

“I’m not complaining,” she says quietly. “I don’t want it to come across as a pity party, but I’m just tired. I’ve worked my ass off since I was fifteen years old.”

“I know. No one can ever say you’re a slacker.”

“Not with a straight face.” She sighs. “I loved my job in Indy. It was exciting and challenging and something different every day. When my boss was indicted, it shook me to the core. I had no idea he was doing anything wrong,” she insists. “All of a sudden, what little time I did have was spent with investigators, telling them everything I knew so I didn’t get in trouble too.” She takes a napkin off the table and dots the corner of her eye. “I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. My stomach was in knots. I remember sitting on my bed one night at three AM and just thinking, ‘Why am I doing this?’”

Squeezing her hand, it takes everything I have in me not to bolt around the table and sweep her up in my arms.

Her chin dips down as she removes her hand from beneath mine. I want to snatch it back up, pull her over the table and onto my lap, and kiss the hell out of her.

As I watch her mind go elsewhere, mine goes back to the original question. “That all makes total sense,” I say carefully. “But it’s not enough to make you uproot your life.”

She lifts a brow.

“It’s not,” I insist. “I know you. Something else happened. What was it?”

Leaning back in her seat, she shakes her head. “Everyone else just took the story and ran with it. Why can’t you?”

“Because I know you?” I offer, suppressing a chuckle. “Because that look in your eyes wasn’t put there by some boss who did something stupid and caused all these problems.”

She watches me for a long moment, the internal war she fighting plain as day on her face. Finally, she rushes out a breath and leans forward. “My boyfriend cheated on me, okay?”

“Boyfriend?” I ask, lifting a brow.

“Ex-boyfriend,” she corrects. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Yeah, it bruised my ego a little but—”

“I’d love to see the girl he cheated on you with.” I laugh, not even trying to hide my amusement. “Or maybe it was a guy—that would make more sense.”

“Cross!”

“I mean it. There’s not a woman better than you in the entire world. Maybe there’s a guy.” I shrug. “I wouldn’t know because I’m not looking over there.”

“But you’re looking at women?”

“Don’t distract me,” I admonish, wagging a finger in the air. “That’s not what we’re discussing.”

“Maybe it’s what I want to discuss.”

“Too fucking bad.” I grin. “So, some asshole broke your heart?”

A shadow drifts across her face as her features soften. “That was a few years ago,” she almost whispers. “This guy just hurt my feelings.”

I shouldn’t want to smile at that, but I do anyway. It should incense me that I broke her heart, but I’ve had a few years to deal with that guilt. All I can process from that sentence is what I can read between the lines, and that shit makes me happy.

She wasn’t in love with him.

“Yeah, well, you know what they say.” I shrug.

“What’s that?”

“If you break something, it’s your responsibility to fix it.”

“If you break something, you’re generally not trusted with it again,” she tosses back.

“Oh, come on,” I scoff. “That’s like telling a man he’s not allowed to eat off the good china because he broke a plate when he was a baby.”

She makes a face. “That’s a terrible analogy.”

“Whatever. You know what I mean, and I know just what you need tonight.”

“I bet you do,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “One track mind, Cross?”

Grinning, I lean forward. “I think we have two different things we’re thinking of, but by the look in your eye, I’m more than happy to go with yours.”

“What are you thinking?”

Picking up my sandwich, I take a bite. “Eat up. Then I’ll show you.”

Nine

Kallie

“Oh my God,” I squeal, bouncing in the seat of Cross’s truck. “Storybook Village! I thought they shut this place down!”

The truck slides into a spot in front of a cutout of a giant shoe. I take in the ducks waddling around and the smell of manure as the engine stops.

“They did,” Cross says. “I think it was down when you left.”

“It was. It hadn’t been open for a few years.”

“Well, this guy named Charlie bought it and opened it back up, last summer, I think. I thought maybe we could play a round of putt-putt.”

Like a kid on Christmas morning, I clap my hands. “You’re going down, Cross.”

“We’ll see, Kallie girl.”

We get out of the truck and enter through the little doorway where the frame around it is painted like a pirate ship. This was where our class had our senior pictures taken because we’d all spent so much time here in the summers growing up.

Storybook Village was a small-town version of an amusement park. The only ride was a little train Paul would start up when enough people were visiting, and it took you on a tour of the entire setup.

Growing up, this was as good as going to a far-off country. There were peacocks and giraffes, a bear and a tiger. I could spend all day milling around, feeding the ducks handfuls of corn, then ending the day with a round of mini golf.

“Nice to see you, Cross,” an older lady says as we enter the little check-in area.

“How are you, Maggie?”

“Good, honey. I’m good. What can I do for you?”

“Two for a round of putt-putt,” he says, placing a twenty on the desk. “I’m gonna show this girl how it’s done, Mags.”

“Whatever,” I scoff, picking out a pink ball. “He doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.”

Maggie laughs candidly as she sorts through a bag of change. Handing Cross the difference, she tells us to grab our equipment and start through the door on the left.

The afternoon sun is warm as we step into the golfing area, and a giant plastic giraffe greets us.

“Do you remember when Peck tried to climb up the legs and get a picture taken on its back?” I laugh. “I thought old man Paul was going to have a heart attack.”

“I forgot about that. Do you remember when Machlan tried to capture a peacock? And it trashed the hell out of his arm?” Cross laughs. “Apparently it was mating season and the male thought he was competition for his woman.”

We exchange smiles as I set my ball on the little circle to start. One crack of the club and it misses the blade of a giant pinwheel, making it to the other side through a little tunnel. With one more putt, I’m in the cup.

“Beat that,” I say, marking me down for two strokes.

He takes his green ball and sets it on the tee. The club looks so tiny in his hands, and he almost bends in half to take a swing. Once he does, the ball rips through the tunnel, runs a circle around the rim of the cup, and sinks in.

“Dammit.” Narrowing my eyes, I head to the second hole. “You got lucky.”

Lining up my ball, I get into position to hit it. Before I do, I feel him behind me. My heart flutters in my chest like it has the wings of a butterfly. Holding my breath, I wait as I feel his proximity grow near, my body pulled to his like there’s an invisible wire connecting us, reeling me in.

“You’re right,” he whispers, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. “I did get lucky.”

Instinctively, I sag backward, my back resting against his chest. It takes about half a second for his arms to wrap around my waist, pulling me into him. His face finds the crook of my neck and he breathes in, the air trickling over my sensitive skin and making me shiver.

The air is saturated with the scent of his cologne, infiltrating my senses and making me lightheaded. I grab his arms where they’re locked at my belly to steady myself. His forearms are roped, thick with muscle, his skin coarse against my fingers.

A flood of emotions comes raring back. Suddenly, I’m reminded of the uncertainty of him staying out all night with Machlan, of being rumored to be with another girl every other Friday night, of him showing up late for everything and his failure to get a job.

Cross sweeps the hair off the back of my neck and presses a soft kiss just above my shoulder.

“Cross?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I trust you?”

He presses another kiss to the same spot before raising his face and resting his chin on the top of my head. “You can never go by what someone says to that question, Kal. You have to go with your gut.”

It’s the right answer, but it’s no help. I don’t know what in the world my gut is saying. I can hear my brain, feel my heart, experience the throb between my legs, but my gut? No clue.

He moves slightly behind me, just enough so his hardness presses into my back. I gulp, the length rock solid as he stills.

Everything picks up pace, my sensations overloading as I run my hands up his forearms and close my eyes. There’s not a thing about this moment that feels wrong or out of place, not one single thing that screams at me to stop or reconsider.

“How dedicated are you to finishing this game of golf?” I ask, subtly pressing my ass against him.

“All I want is a hole in one.”

Spinning around, I catch the grin on his lips. “That’s a terrible line.”

“Can’t win ’em all.” He laughs. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Depends on where we’re going.”

His gaze drags down my body, blazing a trail as he works his way back up to my eyes. Licking his lips, he takes the club out of my hands. “My house is closer.”

“What are we waiting for?”

* * *

Kallie

The door creaks as Cross twists the knob and presses it open. We enter, stepping into a little foyer that has dark hardwood floors and beige walls. He’s decorated the place sparsely, with few pictures and little else.

“Live here long?” I ask, looking at the three little images framed near the doorway to the living room. There’s one of him and Machlan on their high school graduation day, another of him and the Gibson boys at Bluebird Hill in the middle of winter. The last one is of himself, one hand raised in the air at a boxing match. “I remember that,” I tell him, pointing to the last one. “You won by knockout.”

“I did,” he says, placing a hand on my hip. “You were there, two rows up.”

“You were so good. I’d never seen anything like that before. So controlled, so careful.”

“So not like me every other minute of my life, huh?”

Turning to see him, I cup his cheek in my hand. “That’s what confused me so much. You were so talented, so cautious. Then outside the ring, you were the opposite.”

“In the ring,” he says, pulling his brows together, “someone cared. My trainer wouldn’t let me get by with crap or acting like an idiot, but outside of the ring, no one cared.”

“I cared.”

“Maybe a part of me thought you shouldn’t.”

“Maybe…maybe I should’ve cared more.”

“Oh, no,” he says, sweeping an arm under my legs and picking me up in a bridal carry. “We’re not going down that road.”

He carries me with ease, a teasing grin on his face as we walk down a blank hallway and into a room at the end. There’s a huge bed with silver-grey blankets and more pillows than any one person should ever need. Instead of laying me down easily, he tosses me into the center. I bounce as I hit, sending a few pillows toppling to the floor.

Everything smells like a mixture of his cologne and soap, a scent I could fall asleep and wake up to with no problem, a scent that reminds me of Cross. It’s a scent that warms my heart.

His phone begins to ring and he pulls it from his pocket. After a quick glance, he holds the side until it stops and then tosses it on a dresser. A few seconds later, he’s stretched out his long frame beside me.

“Was that important?” I ask as he rolls over on his side to look at me.

“Nope. Nothing is more important than you in my bed right now.” One hand rests against my stomach, just below my breasts. He tenses his fingers and they press lightly into my skin. “I’m going to kiss you.”

“It’s about time,” I tease, my breath coming out in ragged heaps.

“I’m warning you, because once I start, I won’t be able or willing to stop. It’s a very slippery slope.”

He’s giving me an out. I do a quick internal inventory, looking for a reason to get up and walk out. There’s nothing to warrant that, but there are a hundred reasons to reach over and wrap my hand along the back of his neck. I guide his head toward mine, and our lips touch.

Immediately, every muscle in my body relaxes, every care in the world dissolving under his touch. His lips move tenderly, but there’s an undercurrent of possession that is undeniable. It’s freeing to be in his hold, to know that it’s him guiding me, protecting me, because if there’s one thing about Cross I’ve never once felt unsure about, it’s that he’d never let anything happen to me.

Being with other men was never like this. It was a mess of awkward touches, weird hang-ups, and a strange dance between the two of us that demonstrated how unsure, how wrong we were with one another.

I lie on his bed, his body hovering over me, his lips kissing every thought and feeling into mine. Our mouths move together, mine opening, his tongue slipping right past my lips, as if this is the way things are supposed to be.

Lifting the hem of his shirt, I drag it up and over his head. He breaks the kiss just long enough to let the fabric rush by then crashes his mouth to mine again. The silky strands of his hair glide through my fingers, the stubble on his cheeks roughing up my palms as I find every way possible to make contact with his body.

The muscles of his back flex as he moves off me, the lines in his sides stretching as he climbs off the bed and to his feet. He grins salaciously, panting as hard as I am.

“Why do you still have clothes on?” I ask, running my eyes down his tanned, taut skin.

“Why do you?”

I flinch for one brief moment, waiting for the fear I have of getting naked in front of another person to kick in. At that exact second, when I feel the niggle of embarrassment start to work its way in, Cross decides to smile—not the sexy one, the one that makes me want to take off my clothes because my libido is running wild, the other one…the shy one, the one that builds me up in a way that makes me want to be with him. They are two very different things.

Lifting my hips, I skim my shorts down my legs and kick them off. They sail through the air then he catches them with one hand.

“Best answer ever,” he says, tossing them to the floor.

“I didn’t think you’d mind, but you still have your pants on, and that’s a problem.”

His chest rumbles with a chuckle as he works his pants and boxers down his body one glorious inch at a time. “It’s gonna be a big problem.”

I see what he means.

He palms his cock in his hand, the tip of it almost reaching his belly button. It’s swollen, ready for me, a bead of pre-cum sitting at the top as he squeezes the shaft.

“It’s a good thing,” I begin, twisting around on the bed so my feet aren’t dangling off the end, “I’m a good problem solver.”

The mattress dips with his weight, my skin burning as his swipes against it. He sits back on his knees at my feet and looks down at me. “Promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest. The way he looks at me steals my breath, knots my stomach into a bundle of emotions I can’t begin to unravel right now. It’s as if he’s not just seeing my body, or my anticipation of his next move. He’s seeing me in a way that’s bare and has nothing to do with a lack of fabric on my body.

“You’ll stay with me for a while tonight.”

“Why?”

He plants his hands on either side of me, leaning down just enough so his chest touches the peaks of my nipples. “Because holding you in my arms is my favorite part.”

“Oh, Cross,” I whisper, my heart melting on the spot.

Wrapping my legs around his waist, I press my lips to his. He nips at my bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth. I can’t stop the moan that escapes my throat as I tilt my hips up to his.

His cock is at my opening, teasing me. It dips in, parting me with its girth before slipping back out again. He does this over and over, swiping at my swollen clit with each pass. His hands cup my breasts, kneading them in his coarse palms.

“I want to touch every inch of you,” he whispers, sliding his hands up my chest and across my collarbone. “I need every piece of you to remember it belongs to me.”

I whimper, trying to move as he slides into me.

“You’ve always been mine, just like I’ve always been yours.”

“Yes,” I eek out. “Gah!”

He slides inside me, almost like he teased himself too long, like he couldn’t wait a second longer to get inside me.

“I’m glad I didn’t bother asking if you were ready,” he says, closing his eyes as he sinks into me again. “So…damn…wet.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, a low guttural groan originating somewhere deep inside. I could almost get off just watching him enjoy me.

Dropping my knees wider, I roll my head to the side to allow him to bury his head in the crook of my neck. “You are so sexy,” he whispers through gritted teeth.

“Go deeper,” I pant, locking my heels around him. It puts me in a position I know he loves, an angle I know he can’t resist.

“God,” he groans, thrusting harder. “This feels so good.”

“So good.”

He kisses me at every possible point, doing just as he promised—touching me in every place he can. He holds my shoulders, pinches a nipple, cups the side of my face, the outside of my thigh, making every possible connection he can between us.

Up, up, up I go, pulled into a swirling state of bliss between the friction of his cock and the sweet words he whispers in my ear. It’s a heady mix, a complicated yet simple combination that is as irresistible as he is.

“Cross,” I pant, my legs shaking with the impending climax. “I can’t…you…”

My eyes squeeze shut with the force of the eruption that’s starting to build in the bottom of my belly. Like a slow-burning fire, the heat rolls out to the tops of my thighs, into my chest before radiating into my toes and the top of my head.

“Cross!”

He pounds me into harder, his breath whispering over my skin with each push. He mutters something under his breath, but I can’t make it out over my moans.

My body falls apart around him, my mind reeling with an influx of sensations. I feel him tense, his body shifting on top of me before he enters me hard and holds the position with the tip of his cock at the back of my pussy.

As he slips it back out and milks his orgasm, he flutters his eyes open. Instead of the lust I saw a few minutes ago, all I see now is something different, something soft…something I want to hold on to for a very long time.

He presses a soft kiss to my lips before pulling out and settling on the bed beside me. Pulling me into him, he nestles his face into my hair.

“I know you need to get up,” he whispers, kissing a spot just above my ear. “But give me a few seconds first, okay?”

As I drift off to sleep, I keep reminding myself to get up and go to the bathroom, but I don’t. This feels too good.

Ten

Cross

“Are you ready?” I ask.

Taking Kallie’s hand, I help her out of my truck. The wind moves little wisps of hair around her face as her feet hit the asphalt. She’s gorgeous in cutoff blue jeans and a plain, navy-colored T-shirt. Maybe it’s from the shirt—I don’t know, but the gray in her eyes almost looks blue tonight.

Her palm rests in mine, her skin soft and warm. I have half a notion to throw her back in the truck and take her home with me, but that’s not what tonight is about. Having her in my home, in my bed, for the last couple of days has been a dream come true. Tonight is about showing her how good we are together outside of the bed. Outside the gym. In front of all our friends.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks, looking up at Crave.

“Hell, yeah I’m sure about this.” I’m sure about a lot of things. I squeeze her hand tighter. “It’ll be fun.”

The door is pushed open from the inside and a couple exit. I usher Kallie in front of me as a stream of music and laughter fills our ears. My hand rests on the small of her back and I hope she takes it as a sign I’m here for her. In reality, it’s to sturdy myself.

My usual ability to stay calm despite the situation is gone. My fingers flex against the fabric of her shirt, my blood pounding through my veins. This is the one thing I’ve always wanted: my girl walking with me on a mundane Friday night.

Heads turn as we enter and shouts of “Hey, Kallie!” echo over the music. She waves at a few tables of people we know as if she just saw them yesterday. It’s as natural as the day is long and a smile tips my lips.

She reaches for my hand. I take it and then tug her, bringing her to a stop. Her back to my chest, I hover my lips near the shell of her ear.

“If you decide you want to leave,” I say, my arm going around her and my fingers splaying against her belly, “just say the word.”

Her head falls back to my chest as her perfume floods my senses. “Keep it up, bud, and we won’t get a chance to sit.” She presses her ass backward.

“Kal …” I growl before her giggle cuts me off.

“Behave, Cross.” She flips me a look before heading toward the bar. “Hey, Peck!”

Peck sets a bottle down in front of him and grins. “Hey, Kallie. I’d hug you but I don’t want to get knocked out.”

“Smart guy,” I say, helping Kallie onto a stool next to him before climbing on one myself. “What’s happening, Peck?”

“Not much. Just got off work and thought I’d come by and see what I can get into.”

“How was Walker today?” I ask.

“The usual.” He groans. “On the phone with Sienna. Watching Sienna’s ass when she comes in. Texting Sienna. Super fucking annoying.”

“Like that wouldn’t be you with Molly McCarter,” Machlan says, planting his palms on the bar.

Peck tips his bottle Machlan’s way. “One day it will be. One day.”

“Only if the universe hates you.” Machlan winks. Then he turns to Kallie. “Well, if this isn’t a sight for sore eyes.”

“Better be talking about us together and not her. I’m not above busting your ass, Mach,” I say, half-kidding.

He stands straight and holds out his calm, even hand. “I’m shaking.”

“Fucker.” I laugh.

“How are you tonight, Machlan?” Kallie asks, looking at him sweetly.

“Can’t complain. Actually,” he says, leaning against the bar, “I’m probably a little better than usual now that you’ve taken that asshole off my hands.” He looks at me and grins.

“Can you get me something to drink?” Kallie asks Machlan.

“Sure. What do you want?”

“I don’t know. I don’t drink much.”

Machlan chuckles. “What level we looking at? Buzzed? Karaoke? One-night stand?”

That last part was for my benefit. I try not to react.

Kallie’s hand hits my thigh just a half an inch from my groin. I cup mine over hers and hold it in place.

“Probably buzzed. I don’t sing and your buddy here might have something to say if I went with one-night stand.”

“Damn right,” I say, stroking her hand with my thumb.

“I vote for the one-night stand,” Peck chimes in.

“Peck? Today’s not the day,” I warn.

He peers at me around Kallie. “And why is that?”

“I told you to behave,” Kallie says, swatting at me. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room. Is Nora around?”

“She’s in the back talking to Kip.” Machlan rolls his eyes.

“What did she do?” Kallie asks, mouth hanging open. “Kip is the sheriff now, right?”

“I’d guess she did him.” Machlan snorts. “I just stay away from the store room when he needs to debrief her.”

Kallie makes a face as she gets off the stool. “Ew. Okay. I’ll avoid that area. Be right back.”

I watch her walk away, ignoring Peck’s comments. She stops a few times and says hello to random people and it’s all I can do not to follow her.

“You got it bad,” Machlan says, pulling my attention away from the bathroom door.

“Nah,” I say, taking the beer bottle from him.

Machlan taps the top of the bar and ventures to the far side to take an order.

Once he’s gone, Peck leans toward me, twisting his cap around backward. The typical goofball look on his face is gone. It’s replaced with one that has me biting my lip.

“She’s a good girl. I know you know that,” he says.

“Then why are you telling me?”

He grins. “You know she left before because you were a shithead, right?”

“Again, not sure why you’re telling me this,” I say, taking a swig of beer in hopes the alcohol kicks in quick.

“Look,” he says, leaning on the bar. “You didn’t ask for advice—”

“Exactly.”

His grin digs deeper. “But I’m gonna give it to ya anyway. Just don’t fuck up and everything will be fine.”

His words slice through the worry I’ve tried to keep stuffed. My gaze snaps to the bathroom to see her standing, arms over her chest, talking to Megan McCarter. I gulp. “I hope so, Peck. Damn it, I hope so.”

“It’s all in your hands, man. She’s your girl. She knows it. You know it. I know it. Hell, Megan knows it and that’s why she’s over there trying to plant some seed of doubt in her brain.”

“Megan wouldn’t do that,” I scoff. “There’d be no point. I’ve never fucked her or given her any idea that I even like her.”

Peck’s shoulders rise and fall. “I know y’all write off most of what I say, but I see a lot. You should listen to me.”

“You see a lot and then you still have the hots for Molly McCarter?” I laugh. “We’ve all seen her ass, Peck.”

His nose wrinkles as he grabs his beer. “Fuck you, Cross.” He chuckles. “That’s not the same.”

I look back at Kallie again. She’s heading our way with a furrowed brow. I toss her a smile and she returns it with enough reluctance it has me springing to my feet.

“Gonna check out the bulletin board,” Peck says, clamping my shoulder as he walks by just as Kallie arrives.

“Hey,” I say, holding out a hand. She takes it and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah.” Lifting her glass filled with a pale yellow concoction, she downs a good three gulps. “And that’s better.”

“What’s going on?”

“Not a thing. You ready to go?”

“Sure,” I say, confused. “But is everything okay? I saw you talking to Megan and …”

She squares up to me, her chin lifted. “You and Megan just work out together. Right?”

“Twice,” I insist. “Once more and it’s over. Why?”

“You’ve never had a thing for her?”

“Good, God, no.” I laugh, pulling her into my chest. She’s stiff for a moment before giving in and sinking into me. My face buries in her hair and I breathe her in, hoping it calms her as much as it does me to have her so close. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever had a thing for.” I pull away and kiss her forehead. “Ever.”

“Forever ever?”

“Forever ever.” I peer in her eyes. “I don’t want to rush this thing between us, but I want you to know I have no desire, interest, or plans on being with anyone but you. Period.”

“Forever ever?” She grins.

“Forever ever.”

She takes our fingers, lacing them together, and pulls me toward the door.

“Is that going on your tab?” Machlan chuckles as we go by.

“That’s my payment for all those things you could’ve moved by yourself the other day.”

“I thought that was a favor?” He lifts a brow and looks to Kallie and smiles.

Laughing, I pop open the door and watch Kallie walk out. “It was. Thank you.”

He winks.

Eleven

Kallie

“That glow says everything I need to know.” Nora laughs, sitting down across from me at Carlson’s.

“You don’t know anything.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t slept with Cross.”

I grab a menu and hold it vertically between us in hopes of covering my blushed cheeks. It’s not that there’s anything to be embarrassed about, but it seems like it was so expected and I just caved.

How could I not?

I set myself up for this by going home from the golf course with him. It’s absolutely what I wanted. But now the soreness between my legs is faded, a hint of concern is becoming evident.

Nora laughs from the other side. “So I was right. Go on, say it.”

The menu drops to the table. “Of course you’re right, but that squeal”—I point a finger in her direction—“is not necessary.”

“Oh, yes it is! This is almost as good as Justin and Britney getting back together. It’s the natural progression of things, the way they’re supposed to be. How can I not celebrate this?”

“You realize you’re essentially celebrating my orgasms, right?”

“Plural?” She throws her head back. “Of course plural. Fucking asshole.” While I laugh at her reaction, she takes moment to recover. “So, I’m assuming he’s better than before.”

“He was always my best. No matter what, he was the bar I measured everyone else up to, you know? But now…it’s like that’s not the same person.”

Nora’s eyes grow wide as she gulps for effect.

“He’s patient now, almost…tender? He kisses me and—”

“No more.” Nora’s hands are an inch away from her ears, mock trying to block out my recant of last night.

“What?” I giggle.

“I have to see him every Friday night at Crave. I don’t want to be looking at him thinking of the way he kisses you in private time and all that. It would be weird.”

Veronica comes out of nowhere and leans against the table. She pretends not to have overheard us for a minute and then, like the small-town business owner she is, she gives in. “You and Cross are together now, huh?”

“No,” I say as Nora says, “Yes.”

Veronica laughs. “I remember the two of you dating. You were always so cute, this big tough guy and a sweet little girl.”

“Yeah, well, we aren’t together,” I say, looking at Nora pointedly. “We’re feeling things out, I guess.”

“I’d say you felt it out.” Nora tosses me a wink. “You’re fighting the universe here, Kal. You and Cross are supposed to be together, having beautiful little babies. You can’t fight it forever.”

“I’d say she’s right. I saw how he was looking at you yesterday,” Veronica chimes in. “But I’m glad to hear you aren’t together right now, not officially, anyway.” She looks down at her notepad and takes an ink pen out of her pocket like she just didn’t say that.

Avoiding Nora’s eyes and swallowing past the lump in my throat, I try to look unaffected. There’s zero doubt she’s toying with me, seeing if I’ll take the bait she just dropped. I wish I could ignore it and continue on with my order and my day, but I’m not strong enough for that. “Why do you say that?”

“No big deal,” she says, giving me a fake laugh. “He was just through the drive-through a few minutes ago with Megan, and we all know that girl’s reputation.”

“Cross was with Megan McCarter?” Nora asks. “Today?”

“Yeah. I mean, if he’s not taken, how can you blame him? Men have needs,” Veronica says.

“That’s the biggest load of horse shit I’ve ever heard.” Nora takes her menu and slams it into the condiments tray.

My hand visibly shakes as I try to get my menu lined up with hers. The plastic rattles as it swings back and forth, bouncing off the metal. Nora has sympathy and takes it from me then puts it away.

The lights of Crave twinkle overhead as I look into the eyes of the man I both love and hate.

“Did you sleep with her, Cross?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “No. I didn’t sleep with her.”

“Did you do anything with her? Because that’s what they’re saying,” I gulp, my eyes stinging from the tears of the last few hours. They said he was with a redhead from Merom. All I knew is I couldn’t find him. And now, here we are, and I almost wish I hadn’t found him.

“We were at the same party,” he admits.

“The one you weren’t going to?”

“Come on, Kallie …” He blows out a breath. The smell of alcohol is thick on his breath.

Blinking back another round of tears, I take a step back. “You come on,” I tell him. “All you do is party. Drink. Be with God knows who.”

“It’s who I am,” he says, his arms out to the side. He wobbles a little.

Walker stands a few feet away. I look at him.

“You drunk?” I ask, wiping my tears with the back of my hands.

“Nope,” Walker replies.

“Good. He’s all yours.”

I didn’t look back.

Maybe I shouldn’t have now.

“I’m not with him,” I say. It’s aimed at Nora, my words directed across the table, but in reality, I’m saying it for me. “He is working with her at the gym.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to stir the pot…” Veronica looks at me with more smugness than I ever care to see on a person again. It sparks something inside me.

“No, you did.” I slide out of my seat so we’re eye-to-eye. “You always do.”

“Kallie, really, I didn’t.”

“It’s fine, Veronica,” I tell her. “You know why? Because your small town gossip is all you have.”

With a smile as deadly as I can make it, I swing myself in a half-circle and storm to the doors. Nora’s voice trails behind me but I can’t hear what she’s saying. The white noise pulsing through my ears is too loud.

As soon as we’re in Nora’s car, I collapse into the soft leather seat. She flips on the engine but doesn’t pull out.

“This is why I can’t do this with him,” I say out loud.

“Because Veronica is a bitch?”

“No, because this is what it always is.” The words crack with emotion. “I don’t want this and if I don’t stop this shit with Cross, I’ll be settling for a relationship I have to fight all the time.”

“She could be lying, you know. Just saying.”

“Yup.” I yank my seatbelt down and click it in place. “That’s why we’re going to the gym.”

“You sure?” she asks.

“Absolutely.”

* * *

Cross

“Good workout today, Cobble. See ya next week.” I grab a towel and wipe my face off as my fourth appointment of the day gathers his things. Usually by this time of day, my ass is dragging, but not today. Today I have so much damn energy I could train an entire football team.

A few minutes will go by and I’ll forget I spent the night with Kallie. I’ll get caught up in teaching a jab or timing a round on the jump rope and she’ll momentarily be gone from my mind.

Then I’ll remember.

The image of her spread out on my bed, how soft her skin felt last night as I held her tight against me will come charging back, and I immediately have another spark in my step.

It doesn’t seem real in many ways. This girl I thought I lost, the girl I knew I’d never stop thinking about is all of a sudden back and has fallen in step with me again. I’m in all the way with Kallie.

Thank God.

The door chimes and I look up, expecting to see Cobble leaving. I do, but I also see Kallie walking in.

“Hey, babe…” My voice drifts off as I take in the look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Not really.”

“Then why do you look like you lost your puppy?”

She crosses her arms and then drops them. She crosses them again. “How has your day been?”

“Good. Getting better—I think,” I add, still unsure as to what’s causing her to fidget with the hem of her shirt. “How was yours?”

“Fine.” She heads to the free weights and drags her finger over them. “Did you train Megan today?”

“Yup. Last session. She took it reasonably well.”

She raises a brow. “Took what?”

“The fact that I’m not training her anymore,” I explain. “We talked about that. What did you think I meant?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

Her arms go across her middle again, this time firmly. She takes a deep breath, almost like she’s counting to ten before blowing it out. It makes me take one too in an attempt to settle the little fire that starts to burn in my gut.

“So, the things you said to me last night, Cross, about how this changed things between us…”

“Yeah?”

“Exactly how did you mean that?”

“I meant it like if I see a man hitting on you, I’ll break his face. Exact enough?” I’m partially teasing, but she there is no levity in her reaction. Instead, she bites the inside of her cheek.

“I was just in Carlson’s with Nora. Veronica said you and Megan were in your truck—”

“Woah. Hold up.” I throw the towel at the basket near the wall. “What the fuck is going on?”

“So, you were with her today? Getting lunch?”

“No—well, yes, I took her to Carlson’s and grabbed a sandwich because it was the easiest fucking way to get her out of my hair.”

Her jaw clenches as she huffs. “Really, Cross?”

“Yes, fucking really,” I say back. My head spins in disbelief. “She had Molly drop her off here and she didn’t come to pick her up. Was that intentional? Probably. Did I want it to happen? Absolutely not.”

“Explain to me again why she was in your truck getting lunch?”

Forcing a swallow, I try to be calm. “I needed to head to the school for a boxing class I was putting on for the sophomore class. Megan was still here. What was I supposed to do? Leave her on the sidewalk?”

“That’s where whores usually do their work. She’d probably feel right at home.”

“When did you get so mean?” I laugh.

“When I feel messed with.”

“Look, I was just trying to move on with my day. I wasn’t fucking her. She wasn’t blowing me. It was nothing like that.”

She turns her back to me, looking at the parking lot. “I need to move on with my day too.”

There’s a finality in her tone, an insinuation that she doesn’t just mean her day. Panic shoots through my veins and I’m to her before she can even take a step. “Hey, don’t get crazy.” My hands go to her hips. I feel her body wanting to cave back into mine, but she doesn’t let it. “I’ll cancel my last session today if you’ll go home with me.”

“I…” She gulps. “I have things to do today.”

“You do not.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then come over tonight,” I offer. There’s a level of begging in my tone I’m not proud of, but can’t deny.

“I’m helping Mom sort things she pulled out of the attic.”

“Want me to help?” I ask, running my hands up and down her arms.

“No.”

“Kallie,” I groan, twisting her around. “Stop it.”

“I think you’re right. That’s exactly what I’ll do,” she says, looking away from me. “At least for now.”

“Oh, no. You’re not doing this.” I bite down the panic rising in my throat. “I won’t let you do this.”

She snorts, flipping her gaze to mine. It’s steeled, with an iciness to it I haven’t seen since that night way back when. “Me? What in the world am I doing, Cross?”

“You’re not giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

All I can see is her walking away from Crave that night years ago and feeling so hollow every minute of my life after. If she leaves again, I won’t survive it. I can’t re-invent myself again. I can’t trick myself into hoping it’ll all work out every morning when the sun comes up.

“No,” she says with a simple shrug. “I’m not, because I’ve been through this with you before and I don’t know why I thought it might be different this time. It’s not.”

“The hell it’s not!” I roar, taking a step back. “I fucking love you, Kallie. I’ve waited on you to come back for years and you tell me it’s not different? Maybe you’re not different, but I fucking am!”

She blanches, stepping away from me too. The corners of her eyes wet as she takes another step back. “Maybe we both are.”

My chest reverberates as I watch her take each step toward the door. With each inch of distance added between us, the air stagnates. A hollowness begins to form in my chest, and I know it will never fill this time.

“I love you,” I tell her, my voice the softest this gym has ever heard.

“Do you? Do you really?” There’s a fear in her eyes that chills me. “Or do you love what we were? Or what we could’ve been? Is it easier to settle for me because it’s the easiest solution?”

Her words hit my heart like a poisoned dart. I take a step back. “You think I’m settling for you?”

“Maybe.”

Forcing a swallow, I sigh. “You want to know something? I had this big thing worked up to tell you I loved you but then I thought it would be better to show you, to make you believe it so much you didn’t have to ask or wonder,” I admit. “Guess that failed.”

“I need time to think,” she says, her voice seeping with unshed tears. “I forgot what it’s like to date in a small town. It’s so damn hard.”

“It’s not hard if you love someone. You take the truth for the truth and the shit for what it is—shit.” My head nods as I pick up a clean towel. “I’ve never, ever cheated on you, Kal. Have I messed up? Sure. Should I have had Megan in my truck? Maybe not, but I’ve been alone for a long time and I forgot about dating in a small town too.”

“I hate this,” she says. “I hated the rumors then and I hate them now. Sitting there with Veronica acting like I don’t know some big secret is awful, Cross, and I’ve spent a lot of years in that position, whether you were really cheating on me or not. It hurts. It eats away at you.”

“And being accused over and over eats away at me too.” I wipe my face with the towel, scrubbing a little harder than necessary. “I can’t make you love me any more than you could change who I was back then. I changed because I wanted to, but I can’t make you love me if you don’t want to.”

Her tears fall. I want to go to her and hold her and kiss them away, but I don’t. I leave her to them. She’s the one who wants to believe a stupid-as-shit reason enough to warrant them falling.

The last time she cried in front of me, I didn’t see her again. The reality of that pain rips through my chest and it’s unbearable.

Before she can leave me again, I turn away from her and head into the back room.

Twelve

Cross

“I told you.” Walker kicks back on the sofa in his living room with a look I’d like to knock off his face. While I’m ninety-five percent sure I could take him, the five percent isn’t a risk I want to take tonight. “If they wanna go, let ’em go.”

“This is such bullshit,” I spit out, grabbing a beer off the coffee table. “I didn’t do anything with Megan fucking McCarter. Not at any point in my life have I ever even touched her.”

“I have.” He grins. “But good choice not to—it’s not worth it.”

Every inch of my skin itches. It’s uncomfortable, making me feel like I need to move, to run, to rip something to shreds.

“I’m caught between a rock and a hard place,” I comment, more to the universe as a whole rather than to Walker specifically. “As pissed as I am right now, I know she’s the girl I was meant to have. If I don’t go after her, I’ll lose her, but if I do, doesn’t that make me look guilty? Or like a pussy? Or set the stage for a power vacuum in our relationship?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? That’s all you got?”

He turns off the football game and sighs. “Look, man, I’m not the best guy to go to for relationship advice…obviously.”

“You’re all I fucking have right now.”

“Oh, so I was the last resort?”

“No, Lance was the last resort. You are whatever falls before that.”

Walker laughs. “You’re not as dumb as I thought you were.”

“Here’s the difference between my situation and yours,” I tell him, bending forward and resting my elbows on my knees. “You didn’t care. I love her.”

“Love is such an overrated thing, Cross. What’s it really mean, anyway? How long does it last? Who the fuck knows. I’m with Sienna not because I love her, although I do, I’m sure, but because there’s no other option I can live with. Period. There are too many variables to make decisions based on love.”

“Maybe I don’t know what it is.”

“Know what what is?” Peck asks as he rounds the corner. “By the way, the alternator is changed on the SUV in the shop.”

“Do you knock?” Walker asks. “But good work on the SUV.”

“No, and thanks. Now, what are we talking about? You look so serious.”

I take a minute to fill Peck in, getting more irritated as I go. Before I’m finished, I see he’s side-eyeing Walker.

“First of all, whatever that jackass has told you, ignore it—all of it,” Peck says.

Walker shrugs. “He asked.”

“Second of all, you need to head that way now and apologize.”

“Me?” I bark. “I didn’t do anything.”

“And do you really want the rest of your life messed up because you were so worried about your ego that you wouldn’t apologize?”

I snort. “It’s not ego. It’s principle.”

“You can call it whatever you want, it’s the same damn thing. Either you want to feel like you have some high and mighty set of principles, which we all know you don’t, or you can get the girl—your pick. I’d pick her, because she’s really hot.”

Narrowing my eyes, I watch Peck laugh.

“Nah, not really because she’s hot, because she’s nice. She’s sweet. She gave you a second chance,” he throws in. When I don’t react, he stands. “Do what you want, but don’t come a-cryin’ to me when she’s at the bar with someone else.”

“I’ll kill them,” I snarl.

“Then avoid prison and go apologize.”

He tells Walker something about a transmission, but I can’t hear it over the roar of blood over my ears. Walker turns the television back on, but I can’t figure out who has the ball or what the score is because I’m mulling over Peck’s advice.

The thought of going home and never having her in my kitchen, in my bed, on my sofa again twists me up so bad I don’t even want to go. My phone sits in my pocket, and its failure to ring or buzz with a call or text from her hurts my heart.

I sit for a few more long minutes before I just can’t sit any longer. “I’m gonna go,” I tell Walker, standing. “May as well get a workout in since all I want to do is hit something.”

Walker doesn’t even look up. “Tell Kallie I said hi.”

Thirteen

Kallie

The bags crunch as they hit the countertop, and Mom starts sorting through the groceries. She doesn’t even have to look at me to know something is wrong.

“Are you going to tell me or do you want me to guess?” she asks.

Curled up on a kitchen chair, my hair in a messy bun, I sniffle. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If you didn’t want to talk about it, you would be in your bedroom or driving around a back road, not sitting in the kitchen.”

Putting my feet on the floor, I straighten my shirt. I don’t know how to talk about this with my mother. She loves Cross maybe as much as she loves me, and I’m not sure her opinion will be unbiased. Yet, she’s my mom. I just need my mom.

“Did you date Daddy in a small town?” I ask.

Her hand stills in the air before she puts the jar of peanut butter in the cabinet. “We dated in Detroit, mostly. We were newlyweds when we moved down here. Why do you ask?”

“Nora and I went into Carlson’s today and Veronica told me Cross had a woman in his car today, buying lunch.”

“I see.” She turns around and leans against the counter. “Did you ask him if it was true?”

“Yes, and he admitted it.”

“He did?” she asks, surprised.

“He said she wouldn’t leave the gym and he had somewhere to be,” I say, testing the words out loud for the first time since I calmed down.

“Do you believe that?”

“Megan is that way, but he shouldn’t have had her in his truck.”

She takes a deep breath before turning back to her groceries. “I’m a little bit in shock.”

“Me too.” I sigh. “I hate this, Mom. I hate the way everyone gossips and almost sets you up to be a joke.”

“No one made a joke out of you.” She spins on her heel. “She made a tramp out of herself, but that’s the end of that.”

A flood of warmth trickles through my body as I watch my mother watch me. Just knowing she has my back and is in my corner helps—a lot.

“I left here because he wouldn’t grow up and I was sick of the gossip,” I remind her. “Then my ex in Indiana cheated on me, and now I’m back and it’s the same damn thing. Senseless drama. I hate it.”

“Then don’t buy into it, honey.”

“I don’t! I just want a love like in the movies. Is that too much to ask?”

“Movies are drama. Just pointing that out,” she says.

I roll my eyes. “I want the happy. The trust. The breakfast in bed and the flowers at work. I want that, Mom. Not all … this.”

She sticks a gallon of milk in the fridge, pausing. “Maybe what you’re seeing is how the world really works, Kal. I know you see pictures and movies of perfect little houses and marriages and friendships, but it’s not real. None of it. Real comes raw with other people’s influences and you can’t get out of that. It’s unavoidable. Life is a bitch.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“The key to happy relationships is trust. It’s the hardest thing to master, but if you can, it’s the secret key that opens a world you can never know otherwise.”

“But doesn’t trusting someone leave you exposed? They can stick a knife in you and twist it.” I wince, thinking that’s exactly how I felt this afternoon.

“Yeah, it does. It leaves you wide open, but you can’t get through that door without doing it. You just have to learn who you can trust and who you can’t.”

“So, basically, conquer Rome in a day? Got it.” Wiping the fog off my glass of ice water, I think back to Cross’s face. “He was mad at me, Mom. Can you believe that?”

“I’d be more worried if he wasn’t.”

“Why?”

A soft smile ghosts across her lips. “Maybe it insulted him that you would accuse him of something. Maybe he thought you knew him better than that.”

“It still doesn’t make this any easier.”

“The world isn’t black and white. It’s a wonderful mixture of the two that has a lot of blurry lines, and if you care what people do and say, you have a long life ahead of you, honey.” She sits across from me and folds her hands on the table. “Trust your gut, and remember what led you back to him in the first place.”

She gets up, kisses me on the head, and walks down the hallway. Her words, however, stay behind.

* * *

Kallie

The dog across the street barks, breaking the late-night silence. My car starts up, the lights shining into the living room as I back down the driveway.

My stomach is all twisted, an ulcer beginning to form somewhere in the pit of my bowels. No matter what I do—read, sing, or create—I can’t stop thinking about Cross.

Walking five miles just got me a sore hamstring, doing the dishes left me with a sliced finger, and I’ve sung the hell out of my favorite playlist on my phone. Through it all, I’ve thought about him.

It’s those first nights in Indiana all over again. It’s the emptiness in my soul, the craving to love and be loved…by him, only him. It’s only ever been him.

My ex-boyfriend didn’t help that. Maybe he distracted me for a bit, but the hole in my heart just started to fill recently.

The car glides down the street, heading into town, the streetlights getting more frequent as I go. The clock reads almost one in the morning, and my body shivers against the cool summer night.

A peace settles over me as I drive. I’m more confident in this decision than I’ve ever been. It’s right. I’ve never felt stronger about something, not even when I left him the first time. I’m not the same person as I was then. Neither is he. Why would I think we’d be the same as we were then now?

Screw the rumors.

Fuck the gossips.

To Hell with being unsure.

Life is a risk and, at the end of the day, his love is the surest bet I can make. It’s at least worth a shot.

A set of headlights comes my way and the driver clicks them down, turning off the brights. As we pass, I glance over my shoulder and see Cross’s face.

My heart leaps in my chest as his tail lights come on in the rear view, his tires squealing as he rips the truck around. Before I know what’s happening, he’s behind me, traveling in the same direction.

The high school is a block ahead and I turn my turn signal on in hopes he’ll slow down a bit and get off my ass. My throat is constricted as I pull in, my blood pounding in my veins as I stop the car. He’s out of his truck and around the front before I ever even get the door open. He does the honors for me.

His hair is wild, his shirt soaked with sweat. “You okay?”

My feet on the asphalt, I stand and breathe him in. “I was coming to look for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head.

“Dammit, Kal—”

I take the words out of his mouth with my own, pressing my lips against his so quickly it shocks him. My hands go to his damp hair, urging him to kiss me harder. I need this. I need…him.

He finally pulls away, dragging in a lungful of air. “Kallie?”

“I am sorry,” I say, resting my forehead on his.

“It was me that had her in my truck.”

“And it was my insecurities that let that matter. I mean, yeah, don’t do it again”—I laugh—“but you didn’t exactly do something wrong.”

“It was wrong if it makes you feel anything but great.” He wraps me up in his arms, pulling me to his chest. “I was at the gym, working out, and all I could see was you standing there mad at me.”

“I was sitting on my bed and kept thinking about how last night I was in yours, how many nights I wished to be there, and how tonight I wasn’t because I was mad, like a child.”

He squeezes me tighter. “I was also wrong when I said I couldn’t make you love me. I damn sure am going to try for the rest of my life.”

My hand stills on his back, his heartbeat picking up against my cheek. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that being with you, at least trying it again, isn’t settling for anything other than the possibility of … everything I’ve ever wanted.”

My words cause his heart to rapid-fire and I pull away. “Cross?”

“I want to marry you,” he whispers under the lights of the parking lot. “But I want to ask your mother before I ask you, and I want to find the perfect ring and the perfect spot first. You deserve that.”

“I don’t need any of that,” I say, choking back a sob. I’m so desperate for him, my chest coming undone and overflowing. “I just need you. I’m never letting you go again.”

“Damn right you’re not.” His body shakes with his chuckle. “Do you want to ride with me back to my house or have me follow you?”

Grinning through my tears, I pull away and look into his spectacular green eyes. “Follow me.”

“The view of your behind is one of my favorites.”

I swat at his arm, but he pulls me in for a quick kiss instead.

“Hey, Cross?”

“Yeah?”

I grab his hand and lace our fingers together. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Epilogue

Cross

A few weeks later

“Why does golf always end up with fucking? Not that I’m complaining.” He grins, looking at me over his shoulder.

The streetlights create shadows in the cab of his truck as we make our way back to his house after a night of fun. We watched a chick flick that he hated, ate seafood that I hated, then capped it off with four holes of putt-putt before we turned our sticks in and parked on the first desolate back road we found so we could have sex.

“I guess you like the way I handle balls,” I suggest, making him laugh. “Really? I don’t know. It’s weird though.”

“I guess it’s not that different from anything else we do. Dinner?”

“Fucking.”

“Laundry?”

“Oh, I love when we do it on spin cycle,” I note.

“Painting the back porch?”

“Yeah, but sex in public isn’t my thing. You caught me on a bad day.” I giggle.

“First of all, it’s not public. Second, I was thinking it was a really, really good day.”

Grinning, I blow out a breath and settle into the seat.

Being in Linton has changed everything for me—finding Cross again, reconnecting with my mother, finding a career in a firm that’s a lot quieter, but more fulfilling.

When I was younger, all I wanted was to get out of my hometown. Everything here was full of drama and complications and distractions. Even now, it’s not without its faults. That’s for sure. I still deal with the whispers of women who want Cross, still hear murmurings at the soda fountain at Goodman’s while I get my daily drink, but now that I’m older and maybe a little wiser, none of that matters. All that matters is the way he looks at me.

“Crave is up ahead. Want to go in for a while?” Cross asks. “Machlan wanted to talk to me about expanding his business. I thought it might be a good investment.”

“Sure, but do you think you can talk to him on a Friday night? Crave is always so busy.”

“If not, at least we’ll be entertained. I’m sure something is going on in there. Peck will be there. That’s promising enough.”

I laugh.

He pulls the truck over to the side of the street. We climb out and he grabs my hand like he always does but stops and starts digging around in his pocket. Pulling out his phone, he furrows his brow and drops my hand.

“Fucking great,” he mutters, shoving the device back in his pocket.

“What was that all about?” I say, taking his hand again.

“Hadley is coming home.”

“Don’t look so happy about it,” I laugh as we head towards the bar. “Don’t you want to see your sister?”

“Yup. I just don’t want to do it here.”

“And why not?”

He nods towards the building. “Machlan. Hadley comes and it becomes a war around here and I’m in the middle of it. They subscribe to some hate love bullshit. They need to pick a side and go.”

“Could be fun,” I tease. “Imagine the hate sex.”

“I could never hate you. But,” he says, grabbing my ass, “I could subscribe to that too for a while if that’s what you want.”

“Too? What else you subscribing to over there, Cross?” I laugh.

He stops and stands in front of me. His green eyes look like slices of pure jade in the hazy streetlights. “I subscribe to one theory, and one theory only.”

“What’s that?”

“To keep you wanting to be my girl.”

“Always.”

The End

Restraint

A Gibson Boy Short Story

One

Holt

“Watch where you’re going.”

I quirk a brow at the man that just bumped my shoulder. He reads me correctly and mutters a half-assed apology, just as I switch my brown leather briefcase into the other hand — maybe to avoid a confrontation and maybe to get a hand free for one. It’s up to him.

The stars must align in his favor because the next thing I know, he’s scurrying to the other side of the partition separating us.

It crosses my mind, once again, that I could avoid this. I could forgo the hassle of airports altogether if I’d just wear down and buy a private jet. Oliver Mason, one of my younger brothers, keeps bringing it up, but I keep vetoing the idea. It’s not the money. It’s the pretentiousness of it all. Unless you’re flying weekly or have more money than brains, owning your own jet is a sign you need attention. It’s the more affluent version of the middle aged, balding man driving a cherry red sports car and I have no trouble getting attention without an overpriced toy.

Turning the corner, muttering to myself about how Oliver’s going to be on my case about being late, I collide head-on with another body.

“Ah!”

A flurry of gauzy fabric and long, tobacco-color hair go tumbling in front of me. My mouth falls open, probably brushing against the cheap linoleum of the breezeway, as my eyes feast on the beauty bent on one knee in front of me.

She sits up, her blue eyes in stark contrast to the dark hair that sweeps below her elbows. Her fair cheeks pink as she looks at me, running a hand through her strands as her full lips, a pale red, begin to part.

Holy. Shit.

Travelers scamper around our diversion. They’re no more than a blip on my radar. I’m solely focused on her as I try to put all of the pieces together that are laid, so beautifully, so exquisitely, in front of me.

“Let me help you up,” I offer, extending a hand.

She watches me for a long moment before lifting her delicate palm. The handful of gold bracelets encompassing a narrow wrist clamor together before she places her hand in mine. Her skin is warm and soft—so soft it almost makes me shudder. Immediately, I wonder what the rest of her feels like as I tug her gently to her sandal-clad feet.

She stands, removing her palm from mine, and smooths out the skirt. Pulling at a cord nestled between her breasts, two earbuds pop free. “I should’ve been paying attention. I know better than to listen to an audiobook in the airport.”

“Must be a damn good audiobook.” I cringe at the reply. It’s not my best line, but it’s all my brain can come up with to continue this conversation and keep her standing in front of me for a while longer.

“It’s a podcast, actually, on a recent Supreme Court Case.”

Brains and beauty? No wonder my cock is throbbing.

“Do you agree or disagree with the decision?” I ask.

Her perfectly arched brows pull together as she tries to hide a smile. “Well,” she says, pausing as if she’s unsure whether to answer this question or not. “I believe the Justices followed the Constitution and that is their job.”

“Nice non-answer,” I chuckle, watching a sparkle flicker through her irises.

“I’m an attorney. We never say too much. Or,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “most of us try not to.”

Clearing my throat and, hopefully, my head, I pick up a tube of lipstick at her feet and hand it to her. She takes it without touching me. Instead, her eyes roam over my suit, take in my watch, draw up my arm and over my chest, landing on my face. She studies me with intent. If I turned around right now, I bet she could draw a composite of me with intricate detail.

As if we’ve done this before, we turn toward the baggage claim and begin to walk. Her posture is perfect, her narrow shoulders held just so. There’s a cool elegance to her, a sophistication, a refinement that lures me in, but it’s the simplicity in her eyes that holds my attention.

“Are you in town for work?” I ask.

“No,” she scoffs. “I’m on vacation.” Her long, thin nose crinkles at the end. “For four long days.”

“You say that as if it were a death sentence.”

“I’d rather be working.” She stops in front of a wall of windows. The sunlight streams in, highlighting the red and gold tones in her hair. “My brothers arranged for this, so how could I not come?”

“That was nice of them. My brothers would’ve sent me to work and taken the vacation on their own,” I laugh.

“How many do you have?”

“Four. There’s me, Oliver, Coy, Wade, and Boone.”

“I have three and they’re a giant pain in my ass.” There’s a slight upturn to her gorgeous lips as she says the words and I find myself wondering how much of that I really believe.

“I’ll trade you,” I offer.

Our eyes lock, her grin pulling my own wider, as the throng of bodies hustling around us thickens. A thousand questions are on my lips, an itch to know more about this intriguing beauty in the middle of Savannah International Airport. Before I can figure out which way to go with this conversation, she stops moving by a set of doors.

“I apologize for running into you,” she says. “It was nice to meet you.”

“No, wait.” It’s too quick, too telling—not my style. I make fun of men for tripping over themselves like this, but it comes out before I can think. “Can I take you to dinner sometime this week?”

The question surprises me as much as it seems to surprise her, but I don’t regret it. As a matter of fact, I like the idea. A lot.

She hesitates, her response on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t let it pass. I almost think it’s on purpose, but I’m not sure if she’s fucking with me or if she has plans. Or a man.

For about a half a second, I contemplate if I care about the latter.

I don’t.

My phone buzzes in the jacket pocket of my suit and I know it’s Oliver asking me where I am. I’m never late. But I can’t even mull that over right now, not with her standing in front of me looking at me with the curiosity that’s filling every nook of my mind about her.

“Ugh,” she grimaces, taking a large step toward me as the crowd begins to fill the entire hallway connecting the concord with the baggage claim. “I’m not a big people person.”

“Me either.” I lift my briefcase and step so that my back is against the wall, giving her more room. “So, dinner? Away from all the people?”

“I don’t typically go to dinners with nameless men.”

“That’s an easy fix.” I grin. “I’m Holton Mason. My friends call me Holt. All three of them.”

She laughs, those long lashes fluttering. I fight from reaching out and brushing the stray strand of hair off her cheek, from feeling her skin on the small of her back. There may be a hundred-people swarming around us, but it may as well just be her in front of me. A circus could be clamoring down the hall, complete with elephants and man-eating tigers, and I wouldn’t notice.

“I’m not sure what my plans are, actually,” she says finally.

“Well, let’s meet up and I’ll help you make them.”

“I bet you would, Holt.”

“Ah, you used the nickname. That’s a good sign.” I wink.

“I just feel sorry that only three people like you.”

“Does that mean you’ll give me your number?”

Digging in her bag and pulling out a small notepad, she rips off the bottom of a sheet in a crisp line. She offers it to me along with a pen. “No, but you can give me yours.”

“I could text it to you.”

“And I could exit those doors and get into the car that’s waiting for me. Your call.”

My fingers wrap around the scrap of paper, glancing at her delicate fingers in the process. Visions of them gripping my cock pop immediately to mind and I have to shake them away.

“I can’t say I’ve had a woman refuse to give me her number before,” I chuckle. A part of me wants to not give her mine, just to see if she’ll bend. But when I look at her standing there, there’s a resolution in her eyes. She’s not bluffing. “But there’s a first time for everything, right?” I mutter, scratching out my digits and handing it back to her.

“Thanks.” She presses her lips together and drops the pen and paper into her bag.

“I look forward to seeing you again,” I say as she turns toward the doors.

“Nice to meet you,” she replies with no indication I will see her again and, in a split second, she disappears.

Like a damn fool, I don’t move. I just stand there and watch her, breathing in the remaining notes of her perfume. It’s a second too late before I realize I don’t even know her name.

Shoving my hand into my pocket, it nudges my phone, just as it begins to ring. Again.

“Yeah, Ollie?” I ask, my voice filled with a level of frustration equal to the pulse in my temple.

“Where the hell are you?”

“On my way.”

Two

Blaire

Jerking the curtains back and swinging the sliding glass door open, my lungs fill with wonderful, salty air. The sea a few stories below sparkles in the sunlight. The sandy beaches spattered with sunbathers and kids building castles. I’m reminded of summers at Lake Michigan with my parents and brothers years ago. Lance would be reading a book, Walker creating a track for various toy cars he’d made my mom pack, and Machlan holding a drink in one hand and chasing girls or birds, depending on his age.

No matter how much I really don’t want to be here, I can’t help but be a little happy they at least picked a beach. It was undoubtedly Sienna’s decision. Walker’s girlfriend grew up here and as I look at the scenery below, I have no idea why she would ever want to leave.

With a last lungful of air, I head back into the little condo that my three infuriating, difficult, ornery brothers rented. In all their macho of practically ordering me here, they couldn’t find the guts to tell me themselves. They left that task to our beautiful little Nana.

Smiling to myself, I head back inside and flop on the sofa. There are seashells decorating the place and soft pinks and sea greens. I suppose it’s relaxing to some, but it makes me want to start stripping wallpaper. In lieu of that, I eye my briefcase sitting by the bedroom door across the living room and wonder if it’s too early in this little getaway to start working.

As if he knew I was about to grab my client files, my phone rings and Walker’s name appears on the screen. I pick it up. “Hello?”

“Did ya make it?” Walker’s voice is gruff on the other side. “I told ya to call when ya landed, Blaire.”

“Yes, I made it. This is not the first time I’ve taken a trip.”

“Of course not. Just the first time in a decade.”

“Why do you really care?” I ask for the millionth time. “I’m just going to sit here and dwell on how far behind I’m falling at work.”

“I care because I heard you go batshit crazy on a man through the phone the other day. And because you were telling me you were afraid your assistant was going to quit with the workload your office has. I know you feel all fancy and shit in that corner office in the city, but fuck, Blaire. You can’t live to work.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. But that doesn’t mean he’s … right.

“You’re wrong,” I sigh, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see me. “I absolutely can live to work. I find it fulfilling.”

“Whatever. How’s Georgia? Sienna said it’s nice there this time of year.”

Glancing out the door, I shrug. “I can’t imagine it ever not being nice here. I’ll never understand why she moved to Illinois.”

“You have met me, you know.”

“My point remains.” Pulling my legs up under me, I rest my head against the pillows. “Sienna made you a sap.”

“I’m not a fucking sap,” he cuts back. “I’m just saying. Been thinking a lot lately …”

The way his voice trails off hits me right in the heart. My face falls and I fight the urge to lecture him, to mother him in some way. This happens every summer, as soon as the days turn warm. I think all my siblings start to think of our parents and their accident and it makes us all a little different, just in our own separate ways. But Walker has Sienna now. As much as I wasn’t sure I’d like her with her silver spoon upbringing, I do. A lot.

“Can I ask a favor of you? Well, not for me, but for Sienna?” Walker asks.

“Sure.”

“Can you meet up with one of her brothers and pick up some paperwork or some shit?” he grumbles. The sound of metal crashing onto a hard surface ricochets through the line. “Fuck!”

“What are you doing?” I laugh.

“Peck! Come finish this before I stick a fucking wrench in it!” The line gets muffled before he comes back. “I was trying to take an oil filter off a tractor, but it’s stuck. Peck will mess with it while I’m on the phone and then I’ll go finish it, because God knows he won’t.”

“Cut him some slack, Walker,” I say through a laugh. “He tries to help you, but you knew what you were getting when you hired him.”

He chuckles as the sound of water in the background trickles through the phone. “Anyway, can you do that?”

“Do what?” I ask.

“Meet with one of Sienna’s brothers?”

Something about the way he says ‘brothers’ takes me back to the man at the airport today. He was devilishly handsome in his three-piece suit, a Rolex strapped around a thick, muscled wrist. He spoke well and seemed educated, which were bonus points to his light-colored hair and jade eyes. The problem? I see men with that same air about them, the controlled, alpha quality, every day and we don’t mesh well.

“I’m not sure what my schedule looks like,” I say for the second time today.

“You don’t have a fucking schedule. I made your schedule.”

“I’ll happily refund your money and come home.”

“The hell you will,” he chuckles. “It won’t kill you to do her this one favor.”

“For what? So, you can get laid?”

“I’ll get laid regardless …”

“Ew!” I say, getting to my feet. “How did we get here? I don’t want to talk about this.”

“It’s vacation. Weird feeling, huh?”

Moseying across the seafoam carpeting, I gaze across the water. Families are holding hands, letting the waves rock against them. I wish I could do that—just throw all caution to the wind and let my guard down. But, I can’t.

“I’ll text you the address, okay?” Walker asks.

“Fine. But tell Sienna she owes me blueberry muffins when you pick me up from the airport.”

“Will do. Talk to you soon, Blaire.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead as he shouts at our cousin again. Tossing the phone to the sofa, I stretch my arms leisurely overhead. For once, I don’t feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, don’t have to look over my shoulder for a colleague or client. It’s weird and I’m not sure how I’ll manage this for four days.

Three

Holt

“What in the hell took you so long?” Oliver hits the gas, barely giving me enough time to shut the door to his sport utility vehicle.

“Delayed flight.”

My briefcase sails across the floorboard in the back, ramming the door behind my brother, as he takes a tight right turn onto the freeway.

“You know, we could always buy a private jet.” He looks at me like he’s just proven a point he’s struggled to make for years. As the President of Mason Ltd, I control the purse strings and major financial decisions. I remind him of this with a simple quirk of a brow.

He scoffs. “We’re going to be late to our meeting with Graham Landry.”

“And what the fuck should I have done about it? Explained to the weather gods in Portland my little brother needed me for a business meeting and the storm should just vanish because I said so?”

He’s not entertained. With a roll of his eyes, he sits back in the leather seat and hits cruise control on the steering wheel.

“And stop fucking calling me every twenty seconds and handle shit like a big boy,” I add for good measure.

“Really, Holt?”

We watch each other, a heated standoff like only brothers that run a multi-million-dollar company together can manage. We’re both Type A, intelligent, and damn good at what we do. This causes a few skirmishes, but we are also loyal. To a fault. And that’s what makes our bond stronger than any other in the business and why Mason Ltd. kicks ass.

The ringing of Oliver’s phone through the car breaks our stalemate. Oliver answers. “Oliver Mason.”

“It’s Rosie.”

“How are you, Rosie?” I ask our shared assistant. She’s seventy-five years old and still good at old-fashioned typed things. Neither Oliver or I can let her go, despite having to hire separate assistants to help pick up the slack. Wade was going to hire her in his architecture office because it’s more low-key, but when Oliver brought it up to her, she looked hurt. So, we pretended like there was a big fight over her, she was happy, and we just made do.

“Is that you, Holton?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’ve made your brother extremely nervous today. I’ve warned the Landry’s you’re running late. Told them you had a weather delay.”

I grin at Oliver as he shakes his head. “It was the weather.”

“Of course it was, dear. I shall ignore any strange credit card charges from the last couple of hours when your bill hits my desk in a week.”

“That would be awfully kind of you, Rosie.”

Oliver butts in, going over a few things with her while I gaze out the window and try to get my head quiet. Meeting with Graham Landry is no joke. The man is a powerhouse all of his own—quick witted, smart as hell, and cutthroat. If you aren’t on top of your game, you’re out of play.

We pause at a traffic light and wait as the cars in the opposite lanes barrel across the street. A pedestrian with long, dark hair, crosses in front of us.

Unlatching my seat belt, I raise up in the seat to get a better look. Oliver’s eyes are on me as I try to ascertain whether this is the girl from the airport, but I ignore him. Instead, I watch the sway of her hips back and forth and determine, without a doubt, it’s not her.

I fall back into the seat with a flourish just before Oliver slams the gas again.

“Wanna tell me what that was about?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you were really late?”

“I wasn’t too fucking late,” I contend. “Just shut the hell up about it.”

“Fine, fine. Just be ready for Landry. He knows how much we stand to make if we purchase this property from him. He’s not going to give it to us easy.”

I look at Oliver and laugh. “Maybe he’ll be nice and use some lube.”

“Let’s hope he remembers how much Dad donated to Barrett Landry’s campaign a few years back. Maybe that’ll help.”

He takes a right off the freeway and heads to the outskirts of Savannah where the Landry’s Estate is located. I’ve been there a few times for random events and meetings and it’s nice as hell. I keep telling my brothers we need something like that, but our personalities are too different to agree on something. We just meet in Aspen and go skiing every winter instead.

As the car pulls up to the gate, a man takes Oliver’s information and buzzes us through. We slip by tall rows of trees along the freshly paved path leading to the massive farmhouse nestled back away from the road. Oliver parks the car and looks at me.

“You ready, big guy?” he asks.

“Let’s do this.”

Four

Blaire

A lot of assumptions are made on first appearances. That is why I strive never to be underdressed for an occasion. Yet, as I walk up the steps to the large farmhouse at the address given to me by my brother, I feel totally unprepared.

A flowy, pale yellow sundress hangs from my shoulders and hides the sandals on my feet. It seemed like the perfect easy ensemble to do a little shopping on the quaint little street of my condo and I didn’t see the need to change before picking up some papers for my brother’s girlfriend.

I was wrong.

This place is gorgeous and elegant and oh-so-Southern. As I knock on the door and wait for someone, presumably a butler, to open the door, I wish to heaven I’d have worn something slightly more professional.

Footsteps sound from the other side before the door is whisked open by a man standing in a pair of dark dress pants and a blue and white checkered shirt. He’s divine with his freshly cut dark hair and clean-shaven face.

“You must be Blaire Gibson?” he asks.

“Yes, I am.”

A smile stretches across his cheeks. “I’m Graham. Nice to meet you.” He extends a hand as he steps out of my way, so I can enter.

We shake quickly, his palm heavy and strong, as he leads me into the back of the house. I can hear laughter coming from a room in front of us as Graham turns toward me. “I’m winding up a business meeting. It would’ve been over, actually, had my brother Lincoln not shown up.”

As the laughter grows again, I laugh too. “I have a brother like that.”

“So, you feel my pain,” he cringes. “On a serious note, Sienna has told me a lot about you. I wanted to thank your family for taking her in the way you have.”

We stop just short of the doorway. “She’s so good for my brother. He’s smitten with her.”

“I think she’s in about the same shape.” He grins. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Linc while I grab the papers you’re after.”

He enters the room in front of me and as he pulls away along the wall toward the chair at the head of the table, I stutter step.

“And then he …” The man’s voice sitting just a couple of feet in front of me trails off as our eyes meet somewhere over the fancy tile on the floor. “Didn’t I ….”

I don’t believe my eyes. It can’t be him, but it is. There’s only one man I’ve ever met that looks like this, that sparks this rumble in my stomach.

Recovering more quickly than I anticipate, I paste on a practiced smile. “It’s good to see you again,” I say to him.

He looks at Graham before switching his eyes to me again. “You too.” It’s more of a stammer, a caught-off-guard statement than anything. “Do you know the Landry’s?”

“I’m just here to pick up some papers.”

The gazes from around the room are heavy, heating the air even more than the exchange of energy between Holt and me. The slight drop of his jaw, the furrowed brow is being replaced with a twitch of his lip and oh-so-narrowed eyes that’s enough to make me want to back out of the room slowly.

“Is this why you were late today?” A man across from him sighs. He looks like Holt with lighter hair and darker eyes.

Holt responds, bickering back and forth with the man across the table, while I take in the men around me. Graham is ignoring them all, sorting through a stack of papers. A younger version of Graham sits next to him with a wicked grin on his face.

“Lincoln Landry,” he says with a little wave. “Nice to meet ya. You must be Blaire.”

“Yes. Nice to meet you too.”

“Here they are,” Graham mutters, pulling out an envelope and handing it to me. “I put everything she needs in there. If she’s missing something, she can call.”

“Great. I’ll make sure she gets them. I can see myself out.”

“We’d love to have dinner with you this week,” Lincoln calls out. “Mom would love to meet you.”

“I need to check my schedule,” I say, reverting to my new go-to line. “I’ll get in touch if I can work it out.”

Holt’s chair scoots back in front of me. “I’ll walk you out.”

“I can do it,” Graham offers.

“Clearly, he doesn’t want you to do it, asshole,” Lincoln says to his brother. “Sit down and pretend you can see what’s happening here.”

My cheeks warming, I look between the Landry men. “Nice to meet you both. And you too …” I say, pulling my gaze to the other man.

He stands. “Oliver Mason. Holt’s brother.”

“Nice to meet you, Oliver.”

“Likewise.” He tucks his tie beneath his jacket as he takes his seat again. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

Not knowing what to say, I give him a tight grin and make my way through the house and to the front door. Holt’s energy ripples behind me, the musk of his cologne filling my nostrils as I reach for the exit.

He hops in front of me and opens it before I can get to it.

“Thank you,” I offer as I step onto the expansive front porch complete with hanging ferns. Breathing in the cut grass and coolness to the evening air, I look up at the colorful sky. “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t notice until now.”

The gravel in his voice snaps my attention to him without me even realizing it. Before I know it, I’m standing in front of Holt Mason as he peers down at me. His irises flicker a color of green mixed with gold and the colors swirl together in a heady mix of something I don’t want to name.

Passing a hot swallow down my throat, I re-grip the file in my hands. “Look at you, being all charming.”

“It’s one of my many talents.”

“Your confidence is underwhelming,” I tease.

“There’s nothing wrong with confidence if you can back it up. It becomes a problem when people tout their abilities and have nothing to fall back on.”

“I suppose that’s true,” I say, ignoring the look in his eyes and, instead, pretending to ponder his declaration. “The flaw in that logic is in the definitions. Meaning, what if someone truly believes they’re amazing at something and the other person finds them to be lackluster. Is that confidence wrong?”

“Not if they believe it,” he banters back. “It’s their truth.”

“Fair enough.”

The air flutters around us, almost dancing a private show for our benefit. Crickets sing in the distance, stars beginning to shine in the sky. It’s as if the world flipped a switch for this moment. If I believed in gooey girlish things, I’d be delighted. Too bad I’m more realistic than that crap.

“Again, nice to see you, Holt …”

“Quit it,” he sighs, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my cheek. His fingertips lightly brush my skin. They’re warm and slightly calloused in a way that makes my thighs ache. “Let’s go to dinner.”

“I have a reservation already,” I tell him, pulling away.

“For one?”

“For dinner,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

I wait for him to move out of my way, but he doesn’t. Not a muscle. He just stands in front of me and grins a shit-eating grin.

“I’ll take you to the best restaurant in Savannah,” he tells me. “You’ll love it.”

“Why do men always think they know what a woman wants? It’s annoying, not to mention arrogant.”

“It’s not arrogant if I’m right.”

This should turn me off. This should be a blazing, flashing red light to dress him down, put him in his place, and be on my way. It’s what I do to every other guy that thinks he’s something I can’t live without. But, I don’t. Or I can’t. I don’t know which and I can’t even spare the mental capacity to sort it out because every synapse is firing just for him.

There’s a look in his eye, something behind the brazen façade, that intrigues me. I haven’t given a man more than a dirty look in a courtroom in longer than I can remember. Who has time? Who has energy? Who wants to deal with that bullshit?

But as I stand on the porch of this beautiful home in the middle of a perfect southern evening, I remember Sienna’s instruction to enjoy my vacation.

“You don’t know enough about me to be right,” I volley back.

“I disagree.” He shifts his weight, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ll tell you three things about you besides the obvious. If I’m right, you’ll go to dinner with me.”

“Fine,” I say, thinking there’s no way the man knows anything about me at all. I didn’t even tell him my name. “But it can’t be obvious things like hair color.”

“Absolutely not. There’s no fun in that.” He grins.

“All right. Shoot.”

“Your name is Blaire,” he says, catching me off guard. “You like gummy bears but feel like it’s a childish thing to like, so you try to be discreet about your obsession. You prefer the red ones and hate the green ones. You like shopping but hate spending loads of money on things you think are a waste.”

My jaw almost hits the floor.

“And,” he says, taking a step closer to me, “you don’t date because you don’t have time. You also find men to be barbaric, adolescent creatures which, may I add, I find offensive.”

“How could you possibly know all that?” I demand. “Are you a stalker? Do I need a restraining order?”

The heat rolling off his body clamors into me, upping the beat of my heart tenfold. I hate my reaction to him and I hate even more than I can’t control it.

“Lincoln said your name. You dropped the candy from your purse in the airport and I just happened to notice you had it hidden in a little pouch. All the red ones were gone and it was chock full of the green variety. Your lipstick was a brand my mother uses, so I know it’s expensive as hell, but your earbuds earlier weren’t name brand so I put together you don’t value them as much.”

“I just lose them constantly,” I say, still sorting his observations.

“And now you lost our bet. You ready to go?”

My summer dress billows in the breeze, reminding me, once again, I’m not home. This wouldn’t be like a dinner with a man I see regularly or could even see regularly if I wanted to. He lives almost a thousand miles from me.

What could one dinner hurt?

“Fine,” I say, stepping around him. “But I’m driving.”

“Great,” he says, much to my surprise. “Let me tell the others I’m taking off.”

“But you weren’t done. We can pick this up tomor—”

“Oh, no,” he laughs. “We were done a while ago. Just shooting the shit. I’ll be right back.”

He takes off inside and I brace myself against the railing.

What have I gotten myself into?

Five

Holt

They say eyes are the windows to someone’s soul, that you can tell everything you need to know about them by a quick glance. Doors are like that for a business and the ones leading into Picante are ornate and heavy.

It’s my favorite place in all of Savannah. Sitting atop a luxury hotel with views across the water on one side and the city on the other, it’s spectacular. Especially at night. It’s also impossible to get into without a reservation.

“After you,” I say to Blaire as she enters in front of me.

“I should’ve changed, Holt,” she says under her breath. “Look at these people.”

“There are people? What people?” I grin.

She tilts her head, clearly unamused.

“Fine.” Looking around, I spot the hostess and give my head a subtle nod. She scurries our way.

“Mr. Mason. Good to see you this evening.”

“Thank you,” I say, less amused at her wandering eye than usual. Moving slightly to the side, so I’m closer to Blaire, I clear my throat. “Two, please. For the Radar Room, if it’s available.”

“I’ll rearrange for you, Sir. Right this way.”

Blaire casts a look over her shoulder, lips pressed together to hide a smile, as she follows the hostess along the wall to one of the private rooms along the side of the main dining area. I place my palm gently on the small of her back. I want to touch her so fucking bad, but I don’t want to come across the wrong way.

She tenses for a brief second before her shoulders relax, followed by mine. Flexing my fingers against the smooth fabric of her dress, her body is hard against my touch.

There’s a conversation between Blaire and the hostess, one I can’t hear, but I’m not mad about it. Just watching her speak, hearing her laugh at the hostess’s jokes, is enough for me. Right now, anyway. It’s a world-class view without any pressure.

We enter the room, lit with candles and ambient lighting, and I pull out Blaire’s chair before she sits. This seems to please her. That pleases me.

Once we’ve made a drink selection and the hostess is gone, the energy in the room starts to shift. I finally have her to myself.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” I say as she drapes her linen napkin on her lap.

“I believe you came with me, but that’s just semantics.”

“Excellent point,” I laugh. “How do you know the Landry’s exactly?”

“One of my brothers is dating, engaged, I’m not really sure, to their sister,” she explains. “My family lives in Linton, Illinois and I live in Chicago, so I don’t see them all the time. I’m not sure what Walker and Sienna’s official status is.”

Lifting the glass of water in front of her, she swirls it lightly around. My question seems to have made her think of something else and I want to know what it is. I want to know everything about this girl.

“Is that hard? Or are you not close to them?” I ask.

“I am close to them, actually. There’s just nowhere for me to work in the field I want to and be near. I visit as much as I can—at least once a month to see Nana.”

“Nana?”

“My grandmother. She’s as feisty as my brothers but, God, I love her. She was my dad’s mom and spoiled us rotten growing up.” She takes a deep breath and then adds, almost as an afterthought, “Now I try to spoil her when I can.”

Something about the way she says this catches my attention. It’s sweet and careful, something I’m not sure I’ve really attached to Blaire so far. But when she looks back up at me, that’s all washed away.

“What about you?” she asks. “Are you close to your brothers?”

“I work with Oliver. The rest of them live here in Savannah.” I shrug. “We golf together, go boating, play some poker.”

“My brother Machlan has a bar,” she tells me. “They tried to have poker night there a couple of times until I advised him to shut it down. I had no idea those things got so serious.”

“Oh, yeah. If you ever meet Coy, ask him what joker’s wild means.”

“I’ll make sure I never do that. Thanks for the warning,” she laughs.

A soft knock at the door sounds through the room and a waitress arrives. She takes our orders and disappears quietly.

Once we’re alone again, I relax back in my chair and look at the beauty across from me.

“So,” she says, resting her forearms on the table. “What do you do for fun?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.”

“I work.”

Her laugh is the freest I’ve heard from her and it prickles my lips.

“You sound like me,” she says. “I get such satisfaction from finding a bit of evidence the prosecution didn’t think I’d see or hearing a verdict go the right way.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Leaning forward, I mirror her posture. “Do you ever have to take on clients you know are guilty?”

“Yes. Sometimes. But, before you go judging me, I’d like the opportunity to explain.”

“The floor is yours.”

She smiles, but her game face is on. “My job is to ensure my clients are tried fairly in accordance with the Constitution. Yes, I’ll represent men and women that I know are guilty if, and this is a big if, they haven’t been accused of a violent crime. I refuse to represent someone if they’re guilty of that sort of thing. I have to sleep at night, you know?”

“For what it’s worth, I think that’s highly admirable.”

“What do you do? Work-wise, I mean?”

“Business shit,” I say, trying to brush it under the rug. Going into the ins and outs of my world seems like a waste of time when we could be talking about her. “I do love it though. Mason Ltd. was my grandfather’s company years ago. My father built upon it and now Oliver and I are ushering it into a new age.”

“I love the sound of that.”

“It’s fun.”

She slides a lock of hair behind her ear, the candle in the middle of the table casting reflections across her high cheekbones. She looks like a model sitting across from me, but one that you could touch without bowling her over.

I’ve been with a lot of women, but none quite like her. What may just be the total package.

“What?” she asks, looking up.

“You’re beautiful, Blaire.”

She flushes, looking anywhere but at me. “Thank you.”

“I don’t mean it as a line. I mean it—you’re fucking beautiful. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable,” I add, feeling like a dick.

“It doesn’t. Not really.” She takes a deep, steady breath. “In my real life, I don’t have a lot of dinners with men I’m not trying to outwit or one whose job I’m not trying to take. So, this whole thing is a little foreign to me.”

“You don’t date? At all?”

She shakes her head back and forth. “I mean, I’ve dated. Here and there,” she tacks on. “I’m just too busy to entertain another human. I can barely keep my own life on target, let alone adding someone else’s in.”

“I feel the same. My life goes a hundred miles an hour. I can’t be thinking about buying flowers or chocolates or making sure I pick up my shoes.”

“See? That’s a hard limit for me. Pick up your damn shoes,” she laughs. “This is one of the reasons I find men to be barbaric creatures, as you so carefully noted.”

“May I also note you might kind of like it?” I ask, pointing a finger at her with a coy smile.

“Excuse me?”

“You like to think you find barbaric tendencies in men to be appalling. Society has taught you that. There’s no place in the world for aggressive men, men that know what they want. We get tossed into a heap without a second look.”

She bites her bottom lip before responding. “That’s not completely true. I do find those tendencies appalling. They insinuate that the woman is lesser than them, that we should pick up their shoes, make them dinner, have a lower paying job and, to that, I call bullshit.”

“As you should,” I say, my voice lowering. Breathing in the warm notes from her perfume, I watch her chest rise and fall at a quickened pace. “I have no doubts you are as capable and intelligent as any man I know. But I also know something else.”

“What’s that?”

“I have no doubts that if I bent you over a chair and buried myself in you, there wouldn’t be any complaints.”

Her eyes widen as she shifts in her seat. She wants it as bad as I do, but there’s no way I’d do that. Not here. Maybe with another woman, one that wouldn’t orgasm all over my balls in the middle of this dining area and not regret it. But Blaire? She’s cut from another cloth, albeit one I’d like to mark.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I silently curse whomever it is. She hears it and motions for me to take it. While I type a quick response back to Rosie, I glance up. She’s watching me carefully.

“Like what you see?” I tease, slipping the device back into my pocket.

Her lips part as if she’s going to say something but drop closed again before she does. Her brows tug into one long line as she mulls over a thought.

Giving her space to work whatever it is out, I sit back in my seat. She starts to speak again, yet stops herself.

“Blaire?”

She looks up at me, her eyes wide.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Whatever it is you keep stopping yourself from saying.”

She makes no movement to do anything of the like, but I see exactly what she wants.

As soon as our eyes meet, really meet, the desire burning in the blues is undeniable. Her lids hood, her tongue swiping along her bottom lip as she watches me very slowly shove away from the table.

My cock is pressed so tightly against my pants that I think it may burst through the seams. It’s all I can do to ignore it for the time being and, instead, sidle up behind Blaire’s chair.

She doesn’t turn to face me. She doesn’t flinch as I brush all the hair off her shoulders so it lays down the middle of her back.

“I’m going to touch you,” I say just loud enough for her to hear.

Pausing, giving her time to object, I lay my hands on each of her shoulders. A slight gasp escapes her lips as I knead my palms against her skin.

She’s warm and smooth and supple and I want to bury myself in her body on this fucking table.

Her head bends to the side, her cheek almost laying on my hand. I continue to work it back and forth, listening to her soft moans as I go. Finally, she sits up again and clears her throat. My hands drop to my side.

She doesn’t turn around to face me. She doesn’t move at all. The only thing that changes is her voice when she says, “Do you think it’s possible to rent a room here tonight?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Six

Holt

The keycard takes forever to activate the lock on the suite.

The elevator ride was quiet, yet every time our eyes met, I swore I could hear the air vibrating between us. Despite the dilated pupils and labored breathing, something I notice but don’t think the other guests did as we passed them in the hallway, she appears calm. Confident. Controlled.

She’s a goddamn conundrum, a puzzle with equal pieces sexy and soft. If there’s one thing I won’t do tonight, it’s fuck this up. Fuck her up. In order to do that, I need to clear my head.

Glancing over my shoulder, it’s clear she needs a second as well. Her blue eyes war, a storm crashing wave over wave as she waits for the chirp of the lock.

The door snaps, freeing itself, and although I’ve been anticipating the sound, I still jump. Blaire wastes no time taking the power in the situation. She moseys by me, pressing her palm flat against my chest as she enters the suite with the naughtiest grin.

Working the knot in my tie loose, sure as hell I’m going to choke, I step inside and let the door slam shut behind me. It’s her turn to flinch.

As she spins around, I step toward her in one deft movement. Her back hits the wall, a soft intake of breath parting her lips just before mine land on them.

Her back arches, her chin tilting back, as my hands frame her in along the gold-painted wall. Warm and soft, her lips move against mine but not like I predict. She’s slow, methodical, each kiss a decided choice in an easy, calculated flow.

One hand cradles her cheek, her cheek a perfect mix of hollowed and round. I brush my thumb against her face and am rewarded with a soft, feminine moan.

The sounds of our connection whisper through the room, echoing in the grand entryway. Years before I’m ready to break the kiss, she does just that.

Breathless, she pants as she pulls away, leaving me dragging air into my lungs. Dropping my hand, I let it skim her arm as it drops to her hand. Lacing it in mine, I lead her onto the patio. She doesn’t object, just follows me like it’s our nightly ritual.

Large plants in beautiful clay pots line the sides of the balcony, giving the feeling of seclusion. The sky is clear with a host of silver stars dotting the darkness.

The taste of her mouth is still fresh on my tongue as I sit on a chair with a soft crimson pillow. She slips her hand from mine and chooses a chair a few feet away.

A sliver of thigh is unveiled as she gets settled. My cock, already rock-fucking-hard, throbs so much it physically aches. I try not to wince as I will it to ease, sure I’m already pre-cumming in my boxers.

The breeze catches her hair, making it dance in a cloud around her. She pulls it into a knot on the top of her head and I’m surprised at how much it changes her appearance. Her cheekbones are sky high, nearly touching the bottom of her lashes. The corners of her eyes are almost an almond shape, something I never noticed before. Everything about her looks more exotic, more regal, and I’m left no choice but to adjust my cock before it explodes.

“I’m going to admit something,” she says. “This is a little too easy for me.”

“What’s too easy? I’m fucking hard as hell.” Wincing, I openly cup myself and try to find some relief.

She grins. “That’s exactly why I sat over here.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? For you, I mean, that you make me this turned on.”

“Of course,” she breathes. “I just … um … feel like we got here in two seconds.”

“I’ll tell you what, gorgeous. You sit over there until you’re completely and utterly sure this is what you want. And if you decide it’s not, you can walk out and I’ll take a cab home.”

She cocks her head to the side, like she’s not sure what to say. She searches my face before smiling. “There has to be a bad side to you.”

“Oh,” I say with a low, rough chuckle, “I can be as bad as you want me to be.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“By the way you’re fanning your face, I think that’s exactly what you meant.”

Her hand falls to her side. “Do you always say what you’re thinking?”

“Absolutely not.”

Gripping the edges of her chair, she wars with herself about what to do. I’m not a man that will ever convince a woman to sleep with me, but I will let her know I’m willing. And so fucking able.

“I’m thinking about how wet your pussy is right now,” I say, resting my forearms on my knees. “I’m thinking how your muscles will spasm around my cock as it slides into you, how your eyes will struggle to stay open, the little sounds you’ll make as I suck your breasts.”

Her breath stalls in her chest as her hips shift in her seat.

“I’m wondering what kind of panties lay under that dress and how easily they’ll slide down your thighs. How hot is your pussy? What does your slit taste like as I run my tongue up it and toy with your clit?”

As the breath she’s holding is released, with it seems to go a decision that is evident in the playfulness in her eyes.

“If I were wearing panties, they’d be soaked,” she whispers. Leaning back in her chair, one long leg lifting and crossing on the other, the corner of her dress slips and hits her right at the top of her thigh.

Gulping past the red-hot lump in my throat, I have to tear my eyes from the sliver of creamy skin. When I look at her face, her eyes shimmer with amusement.

Her tongue darts out, skimming her bottom lip seductively. Her chin lifts ever-so-slightly, her eyes smoldering with the promise of a tease.

I’m only a man. A very virile, capable man that has limits and restraints just like the mortal I am. I’ve hit my limit.

“Why don’t you come here?” I spread my legs, my cock clearly locked and loaded through the fabric of my pants, but I couldn’t give a fuck.

She stands, the hemline of the dress toppling to the floor. The front dips as she stands, the roundness of her breasts on full display.

I think I’m going to lose my damn mind.

Taking her time, she strides to me, making a one second trip into about four. It feels like eighteen. Standing before me, her lips pursed together, she smirks. “I’m here. Now what?”

Seven

Blaire

My heart is pounding as I look down at him. The moonlight sweeps across his features, the angles causing him to look even more devilishly handsome than before.

Sitting in the dining room, just the two of us, he wore down my resolve. I was certain we’d share a meal and that would be that. After all, I don’t really even know this man. I barely sleep with men after three dates when I vaguely know them. Yet, here I stand, the excuse I came up with before that it is a vacation and I should live a little completely out the door.

Quite frankly, I want to sleep with him. Vacation or not, logical or not. My brain has chosen this moment to let my hormones override any sensibilities and as I look at him looking at me, I don’t even care. Any regrets I have about this later will be mine. He’s given me a hundred ways out and I’m shoving my way in.

His hands grasp my waist, his fingers biting into my hips. With a gentle, yet firm grip, he urges me to take a step toward him. To close the small distance.

The scent of his cologne fills the void between us, swirling with the warm evening air. My thighs clench together, my legs sticky from my arousal, as a grin plays across his lips.

“I’ve never had this problem before,” I gruff.

Making a show of glancing at his lap, I drag my gaze up his chest until it settles on his eyes again. “Doesn’t look like you have a problem to me.”

He bites back a laugh with a slight shake of his head. “There’s no problem there.”

“I could find out for myself if you weren’t so chatty.”

The chuckle comes now, as does a grin. “I was referring to knowing where to start, smartass.”

“Have you never done this before?” I tease.

“I’m confident when I say I’m certain I’ve never been with a woman like you before.”

There’s a kick to his tone, an almost reverence, that takes my breath away. It’s swoon or seduce and I choose the latter.

“Well then, let me show you.” Prying one of his hands off my hip, I hold his gaze. Bringing it to my throat, I let the back of his fingers trail down my skin, gliding over my sternum, between my breasts. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, fighting the urge to take over. But he doesn’t. He lets me direct the moment.

My skin burns beneath his touch, a trail of unseen flames left behind his contact. My brain buzzes, almost drunk, numb to any thought other than him and me. The powerfulness coursing through my veins, that a man like this is responding to me in this way, beats any victory in a courtroom. It’s surreal.

Twisting his hand so his palm is flat as it rubs down my stomach, he turns it at the apex of my thighs. Cupping my sex through my dress, the fabric sinks into the dampness under his palm.

His eyes flick to mine.

“Is that wet enough for you, Holt?” I ask, lifting a brow.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, my dress is bunched up and held in place at my waist. The air brushes against my bared vagina and I feel incredibly exposed. The sensation startles me for a brief, fleeting moment. He erases any sense of bewilderment with his warm, cradling gaze.

Grabbing the back of my thigh, he squeezes my leg. I try not to yelp because it doesn’t hurt, but a sound comes out as I reach my breaking point. He bites his lip to contain his amusement because he knows: I want him. I need him. But he’s not going to give it to me until he’s ready.

My legs part at his nudging, his fingers trailing up the inside of my thigh. With each inch they go higher, my heartbeat spikes a little more until the tips of his fingers reach my opening.

I suck in a hasty breath as I watch him feel, for the first time, how turned on I really am.

“My God,” he groans. “You weren’t kidding.” Pulling me toward him, he reaches farther back and inserts one long, firm finger in the middle of my slit. I moan, my body turning to gelatin, as he drags it through the wetness.

“Holt …” I gulp as my stomach clenches.

Holding the finger in the air, my desire glistens off it. “There’s one question answered. Let’s answer another.”

“Which is that?”

Looking me dead in the eye, he wraps his lips around his finger. My jaw drops as his eyes light up. “You taste amazing.” He winks.

Before I can react, before I can come up with a witty response, he’s dipping a finger inside me again. It goes in slow and even I can feel my body squeezing around it. He works it inside, his other hand gripping my bare ass, before sliding it out and inserting it again. With each stroke, the flame in my belly grows hotter.

My fingers dig into his hair and tug his head back, capturing his mouth with mine. He strums my pussy, like a key to an ignition, as his tongue wraps around mine and strokes it to the same tune.

He pulls back, giving my bottom lip a gentle bite, before burying his head in my chest. He kisses across the top of my breasts, before tugging down the neckline of my dress. My tit pops free of my bra, sitting atop the white lace.

His tongue coats a budded nipple, working a small circle around the engorged flesh. As he sucks it into his warm mouth, his inserts a second finger into my pussy and it’s all I can do not to scream out in delight.

I can’t focus on either sensation. Every synapse is firing, misfiring, and re-firing in such quick succession that I can’t make sense of any of it. All too soon, he pulls away from my chest and his fingers slow.

My breath ragged, my sight fuzzy, I release the back of his head and stand straight. “What are you doing?”

“I’m about to do you.”

Needing a release, I swirl my hips against his hand. This only makes him pull it away altogether.

“Take off your dress,” he orders as he unfastens his belt.

“But …” I look around the balcony. “Here?”

“I’m not waiting to get inside you.”

His pants, shoes, and socks are placed on the chair, his shirt joining them. Holt Mason stands in front of me, a chiseled portrait of absolute perfection. His muscles are created, not swollen or pumped by a chemical, but designed … maybe by God and maybe by a trainer. I don’t know. But I’d like to thank them.

He takes a condom and rolls it over the top of his swollen cock. While he does this, he watches me expectantly.

Any hesitation I had about getting naked on a balcony is gone. I’d remove my clothes for him in the middle of the street if he told me to right now. This is completely ridiculous, I’m aware of that, but I. Just. Don’t. Care.

My dress and bra join his clothes in a heap behind him. He takes a few, calculated steps my way.

“From here on out, I’m in control,” he breathes. “I will take care of you in every way, but you need to trust me.”

“I don’t know you well enough to trust you,” I whimper as he wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his chest.

“Then give me a chance to earn it.”

When I don’t respond, his eyes light up. He presses a gentle kiss to the middle of my lips, before turning me around.

His breath is hot against the shell of my ear, his cock heavy and hard at the small of my back. Moving a lock of hair fallen from my bun, he presses another kiss to the side of my neck. “Bend over and grab the railing in front of you,” he whispers.

Looking over my shoulder, I’m silenced by what I see.

Lust. Control. Consideration.

A man in power.

And, for the first time in my life, I’m okay with giving up that power for one night.

As I grip the rail, my hands sweaty and threatening to slip, he positions himself behind me. The tip of his cock parts my pussy and hovers right at the opening.

Before he slides into me, he pauses. “If you start to fall, I have you.” And then he presses into the wetness, parting me into two halves, and bringing me more pleasure than I’ve ever allowed myself to enjoy.

Eight

Blaire

His breathing evened out an hour ago, but I couldn’t get out of bed. I laid next to him, his arm protectively around my abdomen, and watched him sleep.

There’s been plenty of time for me to second-guess everything that happened today and I’ve tried in a very me-like way. I just can’t make it happen.

Holt was rough yet tender, crass yet careful, smoldering yet sensitive, and I can’t make myself wish I’d made another decision rather than to be with him. Even so, I know the decision I have to make now and that’s to be realistic. Smart. Gone.

Lifting his arm so it’s off me, I slip quietly out of bed. The silk sheets are decadent, and I have a notion to cancel the room my family got me across town and get another one here, but I don’t.

My dress slips across my body, my shoes and purse in my hands in a couple of seconds flat. I tiptoe toward the door but stop when I see a notepad sitting by the little lamp on the table near the window.

Holt,

Thank you for a wonderful evening.

Blaire

I place the pen next to it and go to leave, but stop again. Fishing through my purse, I find the panties I removed inconspicuously during dinner and lay them next to the note.

With a final look at a man I’ll never see again, I let myself out.

The End

For more on the Landry Family, check out Sway. Available on Amazon, in Kindle Unlimited, and on Audible.

Keep reading for Nora & Kip’s short story, CRASH.

Crash

A Gibson Boy Short Story

One

Nora

“I think I’ve learned more in the last half hour than I’ve learned in my entire life.” Machlan leans against the cooler, his large, muscled arms crossed over his chest.

“Go with us tonight and I’ll teach you some more.” My friend Emily leans forward, her boobs resting on the bar. She flashes my boss, and one of my best friends, the sexiest smile she can muster.

“He’s not the lamb he’s pretending to be,” I warn. “From the stories I hear, he could teach even you a thing or two, Em.”

She laughs, her eyes shining. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

Holding Machlan’s gaze, she licks her lips with the deliberateness of a seasoned vet. My group of friends burst into laughter. Me? I just shake my head. This is simply a variation of every woman’s reaction to Machlan Gibson.

I get it. I do. He checks off every box on the “what makes a man hot” list. Even though he’s practically a brother to me at this point, I can still see it. I don’t want it, or want to see it, but I see it.

“How many panties were thrown behind the bar tonight?” I ask, demonstrating my point. “I found a pink one and a red one.”

“Women really do that?” Emily asks. “I thought that was just something from movies.”

“Oh, they do that.” I laugh, wiping down the bar. “Sometimes worse. And the notes women leave him on the bulletin board by the door are downright disgusting.”

Machlan shrugs. “I can’t help it. Being this good-looking is a liability.”

“Shut up.” The laugh I’m trying to hold back surfaces, causing my friends to giggle again. “And you two aren’t helping,” I say, pointing at them.

“What can I say?” Emily asks. “Hot bartenders are my thing. My guilty pleasure.”

“I thought penises were your guilty pleasure.” Lauren laughs.

Emily shrugs. “I do like a good penis. I’ll admit that.”

“Who doesn’t?” I sigh, thinking of my last romp with a well-endowed man.

It’s been too long for me. It’s not that I’m promiscuous, exactly. I’m choosy about who I’m with and I don’t sleep around a lot. I have a few men, a handful, maybe that I can count on for a good time on a rainy Saturday night. But lately they’ve all been lackluster … all except the one I wish was so I could quit thinking about him.

“Um, I don’t like a good penis.” Machlan shoves off the cooler, sticking his hands in his pockets. He looks at me, lifting a brow.

I know what he’s doing before he does it because he does it to me all the time. He puts me on the spot. Tests me—for what, I don’t know. It’s like he’s toying with me to see if he can get me to crack. It could be because I don’t react to him like every other breathing female does. Whatever it is, I hold my breath and prepare to not, in fact, crack.

“So, Nora,” he says, leaning against the bar. “What’s your guilty pleasure?”

“Probably something lame compared to yours.” I lean forward too, mocking his stance. He’s on one end of the bar, me on the other, with my friends in the middle. “Why don’t you share yours with the class?”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Emily grins.

Machlan looks at her with a wide, cheesy smile before turning his attention to Lauren. “You’re up. What’s your guilty pleasure?”

“Well,” my soft-spoken friend says, “I’m married with a baby, so can I say showering alone?”

“No one should ever shower alone,” Machlan teases.

“Trust me. When you have kids, things like showering and peeing with the door closed is the guiltiest of pleasures,” Lauren sighs.

“That’s so, so sad,” I lament. “And also, why I’m not sure I ever want kids. I don’t want to give up … me.”

Lauren’s eyes sparkle, partially from the lemon drop martini she downed like a camel and partially from thoughts of her baby girl. “It’s so worth it. Every hour of no sleep. Every night with screams of colic. Every poop bomb that goes up their back—”

“No kids.” Machlan laughs. “I’m getting on that train.”

“Speaking of pulling trains …” Emily says, her eyes pinned on the back of the room.

Peck strolls in, an Illinois Legends cap stuck backwards on his head. Blond, unruly locks peek out from under as he makes his way toward us.

Machlan takes all but three seconds to stand upright. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” Peck says, stopping at the head of the bar.

“And who are you?” Emily says, unconcerned with the look being exchanged between Machlan and Peck. “You look like a great time, baby.”

“Em, hush a second,” I say, waving her off. My heartbeat strums a little too quick, causing my lips to part to catch more air. With this guy, anything is possible. His heart is pure gold, but his actions aren’t always logical. “What did you do, Peck?”

“I didn’t do anything.” He squishes his face together. “Not really. Just if anyone asks, I’ve been here since eleven.”

“Seriously,” I tell him. “Is this better or worse than the time you got thrown out of the skating rink?”

“I was fifteen,” Peck deadpans. “But this is better. Or worse.” He side-eyes Machlan. “Bob Shaw’s tractor might be sitting in the middle of the road out by the water tower.”

My head falls back as Machlan groans.

“I didn’t do anything but borrow it,” Peck insists. “I was going to bring it back. I just kind of ran it out of gas.”

“Did Bob give you the keys? Say, ‘here, Peck. Borrow my tractor at midnight’?”

When Peck doesn’t respond, Machlan punches him in the arm.

“Um, Nora?” Lauren asks. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is great,” Peck says, brushing off Machlan. “What were we talking about?”

“Guilty pleasures,” Emily chimes in. “Have one?”

Peck’s boyish grin gets a sigh from Lauren. As dark and outright sexy as Machlan is, his cousin is the opposite. Tall, thin, with baby blue eyes, Peck’s attractiveness stems from his charm. He’s kind and sweet and a little goofy—totally Lauren’s speed if she weren’t married.

As I look at Emily, it might be her speed too.

“Back off, Em. You’d kill him.” I laugh.

Peck scoffs, his lips pressed together to bite back a grin. “You underestimate me, Nora.”

“Oh, do I?”

“You most certainly do.” He folds his hands in front of him, leaning on the bar. His Nirvana t-shirt is a little washed out and smells like the outdoors as he moves. “My guilty pleasure, huh? I like s’mores.”

“S’mores?” Emily grins. “I can get with that.”

“I’m starting to think you can get with whatever comes through the door,” Machlan jabs.

“You judging?” she asks.

Machlan shakes his head, turning his attention to me. “Where do you find these girls?”

“She actually found me in the bathroom of Court Pub over in Lancaster,” Emily groans. “Long story. Bad night.”

“Great story. Entertaining night,” I offer. “I guess we see it a little differently.”

“I didn’t look good with no pants to put on. It doesn’t matter how you look at it.” Emily gives me a pointed look then promptly affixes her attention on Machlan. “I actually look great with no pants, if you were wondering. Just not that particular moment in time. I can prove it.”

Machlan laughs, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. “I gotta get out of here, Nora. Can you finish up?”

“Sure. I just have to check the register and I think it’s good to go. I can lock up …”

My voice trails as a sound raps on the door. Machlan and I glance at each other. This is why he doesn’t let me stay alone at night, afraid someone will pop in late and try to rob me. It’s never happened and I can’t see it happening in Linton, but it’s a hard and fast rule of my boss. Either he stays or Peck stays, sometimes even his friend Cross comes by to walk me to my car. It’s sweet, predictable Gibson boy behavior.

“Stay put,” Machlan says, rounding the corner.

We sit quietly as Machlan peeks out of the blinds next to the door. He pulls away, his eyes lit up. “It’s Kip,” he whispers.

“Ah,” I moan as Peck’s eyes grow wide.

“Shit,” he says. “Remember: eleven o’clock. I was here from eleven until about … half hour ago.”

“Hang on, Kip,” Machlan says, hiding his laugh. “Door is stuck.”

The knock continues along with muffled threats from the other side. Machlan, ignoring everything Kip is telling him, waves a hand at Peck to follow him. “Let’s go.”

“Isn’t that aiding and abetting?” Lauren asks.

“Yup. And it’s gonna be so much fun.” Machlan cackles. “Nora, cover for us.”

My friends look at me in amazement as I shake my head, watching the two boys leave through the back. My attention is turned back to the door when Kip pounds on it again.

“Girls,” I say, looking at Lauren and Emily, “you’re about to meet my guilty pleasure.”

The door lock unfastens easily, the cool night air blowing in. Standing in the doorway in his brown uniform smelling of spice. He gazes down at me with his deep, dark brown eyes and lifts a brow.

“What can I do for you, Officer?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

My friends giggle from behind me, but Kip doesn’t seem to notice. His gaze is leaving a trail of flames over my face, down my chest, across my stomach that’s clenched at the site of him, and rolls over the apex of my things.

“Now or later?” he asks.

“Do I get a choice?”

The corner of his lip upturns, his gaze settling over my shoulder. “Business first, darlin’. Is Peck here?”

“Nope.”

His eyes dart back to mine. “I know he’s here because his truck is out back.”

“Well, he was but left about thirty minutes ago.” I shrug.

“Did he leave with Machlan?”

“I have no idea.” I smirk.

“Nora!” Lauren hisses. “You can’t lie to an officer.”

Kip grins, the gesture soaking my panties. He works his chiseled jaw back and forth, his eyes narrowing. “She’s right. You can’t.”

“I think you can’t do lots of things with a police officer that I’ve done. Seems very tit for tat, doesn’t it, Kip?”

He takes a step toward me but stops when Emily speaks.

“Do you guys need some alone time?”

My stomach twists into a tight knot as Kip licks his lips.

“Yes, ladies. If you don’t mind. I need to speak to Nora in private,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “I believe she has information she’s withholding.”

“I bet you do,” Emily teases.

The sound of them gathering their things and their heels clicking against the floor doesn’t register. All I can hear is the slight uptake of breath from the beautiful man in front of me. All I can feel are his eyes slowly undressing me in the doorway. All I can taste is the sweetness of his lips that haven’t touched mine. Yet. But they will. They always do.

Thank God.

Two

Nora

Emily slides into the passenger’s seat of Lauren’s car seconds before Lauren pulls out onto the road with a promise to not fall asleep until I get there. That’s all fine and good. I hope it’s a very long, wet time before I show up to Emily’s house.

Kip takes a step, the another, toward me. I back into the heated bar, the door snapping closed behind us.

“Well, Nora,” he says, his boots heavy on the floor. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m wet?” I offer, leaning against the bar. “My pussy throbs? Does that suffice?”

His grin darkens, his eyelids growing heavy. “I’d say it’s a good start.”

“You want more detail?”

“Always,” he growls. He stands so he’s in between my legs, the fabric of his pants rubbing against the tender skin of my legs. “Why didn’t you answer my calls this week?”

“I was busy,” I tease.

“Too busy to return a fucking call?”

“Well, if I knew the call was about fucking, I might’ve answered.”

“Is it ever about anything else?”

Grabbing the lapels of his shirt, I jerk him toward me. “It better not be or I’ll never answer it again.”

His lips crash against mine before I get the last syllable out. He breathes in the words, captures them with his mouth. My hands are in his hair, working the silky strands between my fingers as our kisses grow deeper.

Our tongues dance as his hands grasp my ass, fingers digging into the denim covering my bottom. He lifts me up, sitting me on a barstool, never breaking the kiss.

My head spins like it does every time we hook up because that’s just what it is—a hookup. That’s also why it’s amazing. I can enjoy myself, be myself, and then be myself with someone else tomorrow if I want to. It doesn’t matter.

“I’ve dreamed of this fucking ass,” he growls in my mouth.

“You’ve dreamed,” I pant, “of this fucking ass or fucking this ass?”

“The first but I’ll happily take the second.” He buries his head in the side of my neck, kissing and biting his way to the hollow of my throat. “Is Machlan here?”

“Nope. He’s with Pec … He’s not here.”

He pulls back as I make a face, catching my slip-up.

“I know he’s with Peck and I know they left when I got here. I’m not fucking stupid.”

My legs swinging off the barstool, I grin. “Apparently you are because I still have clothes on.” Hopping off the stool, pressing a palm against his chest, I look up at him. “Guess I’ll finish closing.”

“The hell you will.”

He lifts the hem of my shirt up and over my head before I realize what he’s doing. The air, combined with Kip’s hooded eyes, peaking my nipples. The ends of my hair brush against my bare shoulders as he makes quick work of my pants. I assist by sliding out of my shoes and socks and kicking everything to the side.

“Like what you see?” I ask, taking my breasts out of the bra and letting them sit on top. “Because if you do, and by the strain of your pants right now—I think you do, you better lose some clothes, Kip.”

He flips me a look, but frees the buttons dotting the center of his chest. “I hate how bossy you are.”

“I think you really like it,” I tell him. Closing the distance between us, I undo his belt. “I need you inside me. You’re taking too long.”

“You could’ve told me Peck was in the back and I could’ve tossed those friends of yours outta here earlier. I could’ve been buried in that sweet little pussy by now.”

My thighs clench, my stomach aching with the need to feel his cock part me in two. My hands fumble with the button on his pants. All I can think of is the release he’s about to give me.

“Here,” he says, working faster. “Let me help.”

His pants are pooled at his feet around his work boots, his body otherwise on full display. Shoulders, as broad as the room, cut narrowly to a trim, fit waist. You can tell he runs by the leanness of his body, but he fills out just the right parts to keep from looking too thin.

He’s glorious. The little scars and wounds speckling his torso and thighs adding that much more mystery to a man I don’t ever want to solve. It’s the mystery that keeps this fun. Sexy. Exciting. If that dissolves, he’ll just be like every other guy on a Friday night. And, as I look down, I’m reminded just how much he’s not like every other guy.

His cock is pointed to the ceiling, a dot of pre-cum catching the light. He’s so hard, so thick, so perfectly sized to stretch me open and fill me up.

“Wait,” I say, wrapping my hand around the base. My tongue hits the salty liquid, smearing it over the head before I suck him inside my mouth. The rawness in his groan, the way his hands sink in my hair as he thrusts forward and rocks himself into my mouth, has my entire body screaming for him.

“You know what I hate about this?” he rasps.

“Hmm,” I hum, flicking the tip with my tongue. I pump his length, swollen and veiny, as I suck him in and out.

“That I’m on duty. I gotta make this quick, sweetheart.”

“Ew,” I say, standing up. “Don’t call me that.”

He rolls on the condom, grinning. “I forgot. Nothing feel-y.”

“Nothing remotely feel-y, please. You’re my guilty pleasure.”

There’s a sparkle shining in his eye that should warn me, but I’m too high on pheromones to read it correctly. He reaches into the heap of clothes at his feet and brings up a set of handcuffs. “If you’re guilty, then I’m gonna have to cuff you, Miss.”

“Oh, no,” I say as sweetly as I can. “Please no. I’m a good girl.” Batting my lashes, I resist the urge to giggle. Holding my hands out, palms up, I pout. “What will I ever do with cuffs on?”

He slaps them against my wrists, the cold metal biting my wrists. It sends a wave of fire through my core, landing at the apex of my thighs.

I can feel my heartbeat in my pussy, my legs feeling like I’ve ran a marathon as they fill with adrenaline. The sound of the metal zipping as he latches the cuffs on tighter, making the bite sting even more, has me almost moaning.

“I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do,” he whispers. Holding my gaze, he drops to his knees in front of me. “You’re going to stand still and not shout, okay?”

“When am I ever quiet?” I say, breaking character. “I mean, I’ll try, Officer.”

A hand slides between my legs and urges them apart. One hand cupping each side of my groin, his thumbs perilously close to my ass, he buries his face between my legs. My hands bound together, I bring them over his head and pull him toward me.

He inhales roughly, breathing in the scent of my arousal. His hands shake, betraying the cool confidence he tries to portray.

“Lean back,” he orders as he rocks back on his heels. Checking to ensure the bar is behind me, I do as I’m told.

His thumbs part my slit. The contact alone, of his hands on my delicate flesh, sends ripples of excitement through my veins.

“I lied to you.” He moves the pad of one finger over my clit. I have no idea what he’s going to say and lying is a hard limit for me, right along with feels, but I don’t care. All I can do is melt under his touch. “I said this was going to be quick.”

“Keep rubbing me like that and it will be quick.” I moan, tilting my hips toward him.

Contact breaks. “Better stop then.”

“Kip,” I warn, my eyes flying open, “I swear to you, if you don’t—ah!”

His mouth is on me, sucking in my swollen bud. It’s a shot of ecstasy straight to my blood.

“Fuck you,” I barely get out, my brain-mouth connection fraying. “Don’t. Stop.”

His tongue is thick and heavy, working its way around my body like a backroad. One finger slips inside me, giving me a taste of what’s to come.

“Still,” he growls. The vibrations of his voice against me makes me shudder. It also makes me not still, much to his frustration. One hand flat against my stomach, one wrapped around my backside, he holds me tight. “Still, Nora.”

“The fact I can still talk makes you not quite as effective as you want to—damn you!”

Two fingers are inserted, taking away my breath. I rock myself onto them, needing the friction. Dying for the friction. Craving the friction.

“You are so fucking gorgeous when you’re like this,” he says, the need in his voice undeniable.

“Like what?” I grumble, irritated at the slow in tempo.

“On the cusp of getting off. It’s fucking awesome.”

Glancing down at this man on his knees in front of me, I grin. “You know what’s awesome? And don’t stop that motion while you talk,” I warn, swirling my hips against him.

“What’s that?”

“Seeing your face with my juices all over it.”

This sparks something inside him. His eyes darken to a shade I’ve only seen a couple of times before. His hand falls away from my body as he stands.

“Fuck you,” he says, echoing my earlier sentiment.

“Please do.”

He grins but catches himself. Instead, he takes my cuffed hands and guides me to a table. He sits on a chair and turns me away from him.

I glance over my shoulder to see him sitting, legs apart, cock in hand. It’s struggling against the rubber of the condom, bulging for me.

“Let me sit down on you,” I almost beg.

“I might.”

“Dude, what if you—”

He stops me with a glare. “Don’t call me dude.”

“Fine, Officer,” I hiss. “What if someone is dying and they call you out? Want to deal with that with blue balls?”

“I’m about tired of your bossiness.”

“Fine,” I say, starting to turn around. “I’ll get someone else to get me off.”

I’m jerked back around, my blood pressure spiking, as he grips both hips with his hands. He lowers me onto his cock inch-by-delicious-inch. Each movement filling me until the head is slammed against the back of my pussy.

“That,” I breathe. The feeling of him at the wall is my kryptonite. It’s the place not all men can hit but Kip can every fucking time. It’s almost irritating how perfectly he can do that, but I’m not in a place to complain.

My body sags at the pressure building inside me. He doesn’t move, doesn’t thrust, just leaves himself seated deep inside my body.

I lean back against his hard chest, his hands coming around and cupping my breasts. He plays with my nipples, twisting them between his fingers, as he presses kisses up and down my shoulder.

“Kip …” My voice trails off as I succumb to the moment. I don’t have to think like this. There’s nothing to worry about, nothing to consider. Just enjoying myself with a man that wants me, flaws and all.

“I’m going to tell you a secret,” he whispers against my neck.

His lips touch the area right behind my ear, the place that leaves me breathless every time. There’s something about that gesture that I love.

“This is your real guilty pleasure,” he breathes.

“What?” I try to sit up, but he clamps me down against him. “You like this. As much as you want to pretend you’re a little badass that doesn’t want a connection, it’s the connection that you really crave.”

My head spins at his accusation. My body stills against him.

“You’re wrong,” I say, my voice without the strength I usually have.

“Fine.” He chuckles, shoving his hips up. “You want to be fucked hard? You got it.”

Three

Nora

Red rings circle my wrists. They’re dangled in front of me while Kip, now fully clothed, unlocks them. It’s immediate relief to have them gone, like a signal that snaps me back to reality.

“There you go,” Kip says, tucking the cuffs back in the pocket on his belt. “I hope that was impersonal enough for you.”

“It’ll suffice.” I wink. Turning around to gather my clothes, I get them on as quickly as possible. “I hate it when you get dressed first and make me wait.”

“That’s not my problem,” he says, getting himself straightened out. “Who knows when I’ll see that body again? I have to take it while I can get it.”

Pivoting, I look at the flamingo lights decorating the wall behind the bar while I slip on my shoes. I don’t want him to see the pink in my face, even though I could blame it on the three orgasms he just delivered with the quality of a professional.

“What’s on your agenda tonight?” I ask, opting for small talk over any awkward silence … or over against any unwanted segues into anything resembling serious discussions.

“I think Machlan and Peck headed over to Crank, so I’ll drop by there before clocking out.”

“You aren’t going to do anything to Peck, are you?”

Kip chuckles. “Hell, no. Knowing him, he’ll be over by Shaw’s in the morning to apologize and will help on the farm out there all of next week even though old man Shaw will tell him not to worry about it.”

Fully dressed and pinked-cheeks gone, I suck in a breath and turn around again. “Then why did you come by here all ‘Where’s Peck?’ if you weren’t going to do anything to him?”

He shrugs. “He’s fun to fuck with. Besides, it looks good if I’m asked that I followed up with the report of an abandoned tractor. I wasn’t even sure Peck did it until he jetted out of here.”

“Oh my God.” I laugh. “He’s gonna kill you.”

“Not if he doesn’t find out.”

He saunters toward me, closing the distance wickedly slow. Each step notches up the heat in my core again.

“It was nice seeing you tonight,” he says. His tone is soft, yet rough, and it’s what I’ll reply over and over tonight as I hang out with my friends. It’s also the one I need to stop focusing on.

“Nice seeing you too.”

It’s simple and clear. Concise. To the point. Not full of any vulnerability or emotion.

Kip smirks. “We’re back to this, huh?”

“What are you talking about?” I scoff. “We never leave this.”

“How long do we have to go fucking in closed bars, on bales of hay in the middle of farms, or against ladders leading up to the water tower before you realize you like me? Huh?”

“I like ya, Kip,” I say grinning. “I like ya a lot. That’s why I let you keep fucking me.”

My heart hurts to say it because it’s not completely true. I could like him, maybe even in the way I think he likes me. If I thought he believed my dismissal, even for a second, I’d probably say something sweet. Thank God, he doesn’t.

“Lucky me.” He laughs. He presses a kiss to my cheek. “At least your consistent.”

“I appreciate consistency.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing a walkie-talkie from the bar. “Fine. Be a hard-ass. Call me when you want more dick.”

“Will do. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

I don’t get to see his face to study his reaction, but the little snort that drifts behind him as he turns toward the door makes me smile. His hand is on the knob, his back to me, when he stops.

“Hey, Nora?”

“Yeah?”

“My guilty pleasure is smart-mouthed bartenders with eyes the color of the water in movies and that smell like the flowers that used to grow behind my mom’s house.” He glances at me with those big, broody eyes. “See ya.”

THE END

Other Titles by Adriana Locke

The Exception Series

The Exception

The Connection, a novella

The Perception

The Landry Family Series

Sway

Swing

Switch

Swear

Swink

Sweet—coming soon

The Gibson Boys Series

Crank

Craft

Crave

Crazy—coming soon

Dogwood Lane

Tumble—coming February 26, 2019

Standalone Novels

Sacrifice

Wherever It Leads

Written in the Scars

Battle of the Sexes

Lucky Number Eleven

For an email every time Adriana has a new release, sign up for an alert here: http://bit.ly/AmazonAlertAddy or text the word adriana to 21000

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2019 by Umbrella Publishing Inc.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover Design: Kari March Designs

Cover Image: iStock

Editing: Becca Mysoor, Evident Ink

Editing: Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies

Created with Vellum

One

Hadley

“This is the best idea I’ve ever had,” I say to myself. “Or it might be the worst.”

I park my car along the curb a few spaces down from Crave. The bar sits in front of me with its crooked ‘a’ hanging sideways on the sign. Some of the red tube lights used to form the letters are bright, while others are dim, and I wonder if I should just re-start my car and go back home.

“No,” I say aloud. “You have to do this.”

The sun hovers over the horizon. The sky is spectacular with bright oranges and deep purples. Sunsets are one of my favorite things in the world, but I can’t enjoy this one. There are too many distractions.

Like how I didn’t tell my brother, Cross, I was coming to visit a night early.

And how I forgot my toothbrush and cell phone charger back at my apartment.

And how the underwire in the push-up bra that’s supposed to make me confident is actually poking a hole in the side of my boob.

Distractions abound, and I haven’t even made it to the biggest distraction of all—the one with deep chocolate brown eyes and a smirk I usually want to punch off his handsome face.

Machlan Gibson. The man I’m here to convince myself I can live without.

He might tie up my insides without trying. He might’ve been my first kiss and my first unofficial date—the first boy I snuck out of the house to meet in the middle of the night. He might know more about me than anyone in the world and be the one person with whom I hold the most secrets.

But it doesn’t matter. Not to him. And it can’t to me anymore.

Every time I come back to Linton, Illinois, I hope it’s the visit I stay for good. That Machlan will see what we can be, wrap me up in his arms, and ask me to work things out.

I’ve had that hope for years. That ends now.

This time, I’m over him. Or I will be before I leave. Somehow.

Taking a deep breath, I look back at the sign hanging askew. “You can do this,” I prep myself. “Just go in, lay some groundwork, and get out before you get in over your head.”

My sneakers hit the asphalt before I can rethink this entire thing. My stomach squeezes so hard I think I might have to sit back down.

Straightening my shirt, I pull a deep, steadying breath. The only indication of how wobbly I am on the inside is the way the little four-leaf clover necklace vibrates on my chest. “I’ve got this.”

“You got what?”

I spin around, hand covering my heart, and find Peck leaning on the hood of my car. My friend since the day I met him, he’s also Machlan’s cousin. Ridiculously charming with his blond hair poking out the sides of his baseball cap, he has a smile that could end a world war.

“I got your number, that’s what I got,” I say with a laugh. “What are you doing, troublemaker?”

“Oh, just seeing what this cute little redhead was doing talking to herself. Then I realized it was you and I was like, ‘Eh, I don’t really need a trip to the ER tonight.’”

I know what he’s getting at. Machlan is at Crave.

I pop him in the shoulder. He winces, humoring me, before shoving off the car and following me as I head down the sidewalk.

“What brought you back to town?” Peck asks. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

I gaze at the horizon and the way the sun is barely visible over the tree line. I wish I were on Bluebird Hill watching it go down.

“Do you remember that tire swing we put up on Bluebird Hill?” I ignore his question and ask one of my own. “Is it still there?”

“I think so.” He takes off his hat emblazoned with a machinery company’s logo and runs a hand over his head. “I haven’t been up there in a while. The last time ended up with my truck being buried up to the axle in mud and me having to call Machlan to come get it out at two in the morning.” He grins sheepishly. “I’ll let you guess how that call went.”

My feet stop moving, so Peck halts too. We stand a few feet from the doors to Crave. His eyes search mine in a way only capable someone you’ve known for a long time can.

“He’s in there,” he says, motioning toward the door with his head.

“I hope so.”

Peck’s brow furrows. “Not the answer I was expecting.”

“Why else would I show up here?”

“Don’t you guys usually try to do this behind closed doors?” Peck asks.

“Do what?”

He runs his tongue along his bottom lip before biting down to withhold a grin. It doesn’t work. I roll my eyes at both his question and reaction and head toward the door.

Whatever happens once I’m inside Crave will be fine. Either he’ll serve me a drink or he’ll be a major ass—either option I can work with in my plan to get over Machlan Gibson.

“Are you ignoring me?” Peck asks.

“I just want a drink,” I lie.

“And what do you drink these days?” he prods, seeing through my lie. I’ve never been much of a drinker, and I’m definitely not the kind of girl to just stop by a bar for a drink—this bar, no less.

My mind races to come up with a drink I’ve heard my friends order, all the while trying not to let Peck see how hard my heart is racing and the sweat glistening on my palms. “I’m drinking a tequila and Coke.”

Peck chuckles behind me. “Can I give you one quick tip?”

“No.”

With a deep breath, I step into the building. Antique lanterns on the ceilings and various Christmas lights strung around the building illuminate the bar. I hold my breath before allowing the scent to hit me. It’s the smell of desperation and sweat, of a thousand spilled beers and even more bad decisions. It’s like perfume on your man that isn’t yours: repulsive.

“Fine then,” Peck says. “But when Machlan laughs his ass off because no one has ever, in the history of the universe, ordered a tequila and Coke, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

My cheeks burn. “Oh.”

“Rum and Coke or tequila shots. Not tequila and Coke, Had.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans as he eyes me with amusement. “But do the rum and Coke. You’d be a mess on tequila, and while I’d pay a lot of money to watch Machlan lose his shit over that, I’m not sure he’ll even serve it to you.”

“He has to if I order it,” I say.

Peck leans back and releases a full-belly laugh. “You tell him that.”

“I will.” Looking him in his bright, blue eyes, I almost lose my courage and tell him to get me the hell out of here. He would. He’d take me to Goodman’s, buy me a sweet tea, and drive me around as I spilled my guts. But I can’t do that to him. Or me.

This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. It’s been a long time coming, and I finally broke down last week and realized it had to be done. I have to figure out how to move on with my life. I can’t put roots down somewhere else and allow myself to fall in love or really start a life when my heart is still here. With Machlan.

Peck’s face breaks into a sympathetic smile. “Take my advice and order the rum and Coke. You have a shot at getting that. Though it’s a small one, it’s better than your tequila chances, which are negative sixteen hundred.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t think he’ll serve me.”

“Rhubarb moonshine mean anything to you?” He makes a face reminiscent of someone dying before heading toward the bar.

I stand next to the bulletin boards lining the front wall, thinking about the night with the moonshine. How Mach and I got into a huge fight and I didn’t realize what moonshine was. And how he picked me up and took me home and stayed with me all night to make sure I didn’t pass out in my own vomit.

Besides the people playing pool in the back, the only other patrons drinking are seated near the old jukebox. As my gaze runs across a pair of pink panties pinned to the top of one of the bulletin boards, it settles on Peck. He waves at me to join him.

His merriment at my situation is written all over his face. I hope confidence masks the fear on mine. No matter how I get to the end result, this is going to hurt.

No, this is going to be hell.

I make my way over the cement floors. A man wearing a sleeve of tattoos and an undeniable invitation tickling his lips passes me. He turns around and whistles as he walks backward to the door.

This helps.

My confidence slightly bolstered, I look back at the bar.

This doesn’t help.

My feet shuffle, nearly tripping over an invisible boulder in my way as Machlan’s lips form a thin, hard line. His arms cross his thick chest.

Even with the cool reception, my cheeks still heat.

Machlan sure knows how to make hell feel like home.

Two

Machlan

“I was wrong.”

Nora slides the cash register drawer closed. “What about?”

My teeth grind together, flexing my jaw all the way to my ear. “About what I said earlier about the day not able to get worse. It could.”

“What’s happening—oh …” Her voice trails off as she steps next to me. Her hand clamps on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

“Chicken,” Peck calls after her.

Nora’s retort and Peck’s heckles fall to the wayside as Hadley gets closer.

Freckles splash across her face like they always do at the end of summer. Pieces of her hair are bleached by the sun, and her body is curvier than I remember and hot. As. Hell.

The day may look worse, but she’s never looked better.

My fingers dig into the wooden bar as her muscled, tanned legs carry her my way. The white blouse almost hides the tops of her breasts, and it takes every fucking bit of self-restraint I have not to hop over the bar, pick her up, and carry her right out of here. When her brows raise in a “Got a problem?” kind of way, I hear Peck cackle. And as my hand falls to the crotch of my pants to adjust myself, I realize I don’t have one problem. I most definitely have two.

Hadley’s eyes meet mine, and she lifts her chin. I don’t flinch. I flinched once years ago. That’s what started this bullshit situation I can’t win.

“Front row seats,” Peck says, leaning toward me. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“Ask yourself that in thirty seconds.”

“What’s in thirty seconds?”

“I’m gonna split your lip.” I fire a glare his way. “You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?”

“Uh, no. I want a beer. Not dead.”

“Just makin’ sure,” I grumble.

Hadley struts across the room as though she owns the damn place. It’s impossible not to watch her. Most people would buy the confident game she’s playing, but most people aren’t me.

Her chin is lifted too high. Her lipstick too red. Her walk too practiced to mean anything other than she’s nervous as hell.

“Hey,” she says. Her words are breathy as though she’s just run a mile. “Can I get a …” She glances at Peck as she sits beside him. “A rum and Coke?”

The corner of my lip is all that moves. “You want a rum and Coke?”

“That’s what I said.”

Her eyes, the same color as Nana’s butterscotch pie, stare into mine. I keep searching until I find the flecks of jade that pop when she’s worked up about something. The first time I saw them, I offered her a ride home from school. The second time, I was kissing her by the payphone at Goodman’s. The third time, I was sinking into her next to a campfire on Bluebird Hill. This isn’t the fourth time I’ve seen them, but it still causes the same fire to rocket through my body.

Damn her.

Customers buzz around us, unaware that I can barely breathe. Billiard balls crack, rock music plays, and voices laugh—enough diversions to disrupt my attention. Yet all I can focus on is the spark between me and this beautiful girl who makes me want to rip my hair out.

Nora bumps my shoulder as she slides Peck a beer. “Hey, Hadley.”

“Hey, Nora.”

“Is everything okay?” Nora asks.

“Yeah.” Hadley shrugs, the tiny little clover I won for her at the Water Festival all those years ago moving until it tucks between her breasts. “I just thought I’d come in for a drink before I head over to Cross’s.”

Nora glances at me out of the corner of her eye. A grin stretches across her cheeks as she looks back at Hadley. “Good luck with that.”

“Right?” Hadley laughs. “Don’t get me wrong. Cross and Kallie are perfect for each other, and I’m happy they’re together. But staying there while they’re in this honeymoon phase of their relationship should be fun.”

She makes a face that I just want to kiss off her. I want to reach across the bar and grip the back of her silky sun-kissed reddish hair and pull her to me until there’s nothing but a bunch of memories we’re better off to forget between the two of us.

Instead, I grip the bar harder. The laminate top cracks. Peck must notice because he chokes on his beer.

“I meant good luck getting that drink, but good luck with Cross too,” Nora says with a laugh. “I gotta check on the hoodlums in the back. It was good to see you, Had.”

“You too.” Hadley lifts the clover and toys with it in the air. Our gazes lock. “So …?”

Blood rushes back to my fingers as I release the counter. I search for any hint as to why she’s sitting in my bar because she doesn’t sit in my bar. Not even when things are semi-reasonable between us.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

Her chin drops at the harshness of the question. “It’s good to see you, too, asshole.” Her gaze chills and lingers on my skin for what feels like an eternity before she rips it away. Despite the frigidity, I’m irritated when her attention lands on Peck. “What’s going on in your life, anyway, Peck?”

Peck takes a drink. “Oh, same old, same old. Working at Crank with Walker and keeping my tab here active.”

“I feel for you,” she says. “You work with Machlan’s brother all day and then hang out with Machlan all night. How do you cope?”

“Well, Walker gives me money, and I turn around and give it to Machlan. They have a good system, if you think about it.”

“Would be brilliant if you actually paid all your tab.” I try to ignore Hadley, but that lasts two seconds. “What’s going on in your life?”

“On vacation,” she says quickly. “No girlfriend, Peck?”

“Nah, Molly hasn’t come around yet.” He tears at the corner of his beer label. “She will, though.”

“You deserve better than her,” Hadley insists. “I have this friend who I think you’d love. She—”

“Leave Peck alone. He’s a big boy. He can handle his own shit.” I grab a rag from beneath the counter and wipe an invisible spot between them so I don’t have to see the enjoyment in Peck’s eyes that I’m actually working my way into their conversation.

Peck tips his beer my way. “Is that a vote of confidence I hear?”

“Nah, more like if you want to hate yourself and go after Molly, then go for it.”

“Better than ending up like you.”

My head snaps up. A giant smirk is plastered on his face. The only thing that keeps me from going down that road is that Hadley is sitting a few feet away.

I toss the rag on the counter. “Hear that, Peck?”

“Hear what?”

“That. It’s your thirty seconds is winding down …”

Peck lifts off the stool. “I gotta go … do somethin’. Find me if you somehow score a drink and need a ride home, Had.” He stops short of leaving. “How long you gonna be in town?”

“I’m not sure. I had some vacation saved at my old job and don’t start my new one until the first. I’m just going with the flow for a few days.”

“Well, if you wanna head up to Bluebird, find me. We can go tear some shit up,” Peck says.

The end of their conversation is blurred by the white noise strumming past my eardrums as I watch the two of them make plans that don’t involve me. I have half a notion to interject, to take control like I usually do, and just call the shots. But I don’t.

Hadley left town because of me. She moved away from her brother and her friends because I’m a jackass.

The longer she’s gone, the deeper the guilt gets. There’s no way to fix it, though. The things I’ve done, the hurt I’ve caused this sweet girl, are things I can’t pretend she should forgive me for.

I’ve seen her a few times since the morning over a year ago when mascara-laced tears rolled down her cheeks, but I can’t shake that vision. Her hair a tousled mess from my hands being in it the night before. Her lip quivering as she waited for me to change my mind. There was hope in her eyes that I didn’t mean to put there, but I suppose I did. I did it a couple of times too many already. It’s why I can’t do it again.

Peck knocks on the bar top as he leaves, as if he’s doing me a solid and bringing me back to the present.

“I came for a drink,” she says.

“Yeah, that would work except you don’t drink.”

“Maybe I started.”

I lift a brow. If she’s fucking with me, and I’m ninety-percent sure she is, she’s doing a damn good job. My blood heats as it rolls through my veins, and I have to force out the thought of her drinking with people who aren’t, well, me. As the devil on my shoulder offers up other things she might be doing with people who aren’t me, the vein in my temple throbs.

“I asked for a rum and Coke,” she says, pressing her lips together.

“I heard.”

“Damn it, Machlan. Why does everything have to be so difficult with you?”

“How am I being difficult? I’m just standing here.”

Her lips part as though she’s on the cusp of firing back one of her typical smartass retorts, but she surprises me: she closes her mouth.

The good thing is she shuts up. The bad thing is I can’t tear my eyes way from the way her pucker plumps in a pout that sends a shockwave straight to my cock.

Fucking hell.

“Does your brother know you’re home?” I ask.

Because if he didn’t warn me, I’m gonna kick his ass.

“No. He thinks I’m coming in tomorrow.”

The stool next to her rattles as a man who was just here sidles up beside her. “Beer,” he demands and stretches his tattooed arms out too close to her for comfort.

Feet planted in place, right arm twitching to launch a shot at his weak-ass chin, I grit my teeth. Hadley flips her gaze my way before angling her body toward the douchebag.

“Didn’t you just leave?” she asks him with a grin that I’m fairly sure is more for my benefit than his.

“Yeah but I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I figured I’d come back and say a proper hello.”

“Isn’t that sweet. What’s your name?” she asks.

“Logan. Can I buy you a beer?”

“I’m Hadley, and yes, that would be great.”

Logan turns to me and rests his elbow on the bar. “Make that two, bartender.”

“Fresh outta beer,” I deadpan.

“What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

I stare at him so hard he leans away. Unbeknownst to him, he’s not out of reach. My right hand could still smash his face before he realized I twitched.

“Did I stutter?” I ask.

Hadley sighs, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Come on, Mach. Stop it.”

“What? I can’t help I just sold my last beer to Peck.”

She rolls her eyes.

Logan gives me a curious look before turning to Hadley. “Want to head outta here and find a drink somewhere else?”

Roughing a hand over my jaw, I take in Hadley. She’s nervous as fuck, literally sitting on the edge of her seat. She has every reason to be. We’ve been in this position before. She knows how this can end. Unfortunately for the douchebag, he does not.

Hadley sighs. “Can you give me a second, Logan?”

“You don’t need a second to tell him it’s not happening,” I say.

“This is none of your business, Machlan. Stop it.”

I couldn’t care less that I don’t have a leg to stand on. Hadley is not my girl. She’s a grown ass woman who can do what she pleases. Mostly.

I’m not about to sit in my bar and watch her walk out of here with someone else, least of all this punk ass who was in here last weekend getting a blowjob by Megan McCarter. He’s the worst every night, and Hadley’s all kinds of trouble tonight.

“I’d rethink this,” I warn her.

“Come on,” Logan says, getting off the stool. “Let’s go, Hadley.”

“Don’t even think about it,” I growl, my eyes pinned on hers.

She throws her arms up. “Why do you do this?”

“Because I can.”

“Can you really?”

“Oh, Had. I assure you I can.”

She ignores Logan as he suggests a bar a couple of towns over. The way she looks at me—half as if I’m a barbarian who disgusts her and the other half as if she hopes I’ll scoop her up like a caveman and carry her out of here—is satisfying. She’s going nowhere with him, and we both know it.

“You from around here?” Peck asks Logan as Hadley and I continue our standoff.

“Not really.”

“Well, there’s this place in the town next door called Peaches. Best fucking breaded tenderloins I’ve ever had. Takes three buns to cover the whole thing unless you break it into pieces and stack it,” Peck says.

“Sounds good.” Logan gets off his stool. “Thanks for the tip.” He takes a couple of steps back, putting distance between himself and the rest of us.

Peck just carries on. “No problem. You should check them out. Get it with pickles and cheese and then add some salt. But here’s the kicker—you know what you need to eat them with?”

Logan doesn’t answer. Peck’s clearly leading him, and he’s waiting on the shoe to drop.

“Teeth,” Peck says. “And if you don’t get outta here soon, you won’t be leaving with yours.”

“Stop it, Peck.” Hadley’s eyes narrow as she sighs, returning her attention to me. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Not all the time?” I ask. “Must be losing my touch.”

“You know what, Logan? You better go without me. I … It’s … Yeah.” She crosses her arms over her chest and doesn’t bother facing the douchebag. “Sorry about the way they acted.”

I’m not. I might be sorry for a lot of things, but getting this asshole out of here without her isn’t one of them.

Logan shrugs, eyeing us warily, before heading for the door. I watch him go until he’s out of sight.

The burn of Hadley’s stare sears my cheek. If I could stand here all damn night with her glaring at me, I would. That would mean we’re in the same room, and when I’m not factoring what’s best for her, that seems preferable to not being together at all.

“He seemed like a perfectly nice guy,” Hadley says, breaking the silence. Her tone is fire and wit again, and I’d smile if it wouldn’t instigate her further. “You had no right to run him off like that.”

I scoff. “Oh, I can see how that conversation goes. ‘Yeah, Cross, I don’t know where your sister is. Yeah, she was in here last night and left with some asshat I threw out of here last weekend, but I figured it was okay because she said so.’”

“That’s true,” Peck says, sliding across the two seats between him and Hadley. “Even if that was the only reason Machlan just acted like an asshole, that excuse is true.”

“Oh, don’t you even act like you’re innocent.” Hadley pokes him in the chest. “I expected more from you, Peck.”

“You do that. But don’t parlay that into thinking I’m gonna help you get laid by some cartoon character.”

His comment makes Hadley laugh. I can’t latch onto the humorous part because I’m stuck at the “get laid” section. It’s all I can do to breathe deep and not rush to the street to make sure the dickhead is gone.

The thought of her with someone else makes me crazy. It always has. I’m willing to bet it always will. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna watch it happen.

“I’ll have you both know your little show isn’t what dissuaded me from going with him.” She flips me a look of annoyance. As it melts off her pretty face, a tempting smile replaces it. “I didn’t go because I’m not wearing my pretty panties.”

I can’t stop my jaw from dropping. My cock swells so fast it presses against the rough fabric of my jeans and threatens to burst the seams. Memories of her tanned skin beneath white lace splayed across my sheets doesn’t help. Nor does the grin toying on her lips.

She hops off the stool. Tugging at the hemline of her shirt, the fabric adjusting over the swells of her breasts, she shrugs. “Better go see Cross. Good night, guys.” And before I can say anything else—before I can get my wits together or come up with a quick retort—she’s gone.

And I am too.

“Hey, Peck,” I say as I head toward the back of the bar.

“Yeah?”

“Help Nora lock up tonight.”

“Are we taking money off my tab for that?” he shouts back.

“I don’t give a flying fuck.”

Storming toward the door, my entire body tight, I don’t even look Nora’s way.

“Where are you going?” Nora asks as I blow by her.

“Probably to hell.” My palms hit the door.

Three

Hadley

“Oh my God.” A rush of wind escapes my lungs as the evening air ushers me away from the bar. I’m intoxicated, and I didn’t even drink. That good-looking bastard does this to me every time.

I bend down to tie my shoe. My fingers fumble with the laces, a hold-over from the adrenaline that’s starting to taper off. With each second that passes, I feel a little better about my first interaction with Mach.

There was no real fighting. No bloodshed. No tears.

No sex.

“No,” I groan as I stand. “I’m not going there. That is not a part of the plan.”

“So there was a plan?” Machlan stands, hands tucked in his front pockets, forearms flexing a few feet in front of me. It’s a casual posture that any bystander would read as a guy having an easygoing conversation with a woman. That person would be wrong.

The way his deep brown eyes are almost black and the way the little lines form between them tell me all I need to know. There’s nothing casual about this.

My heart skips a beat as the scent of him rides the breeze and tortures me. It wasn’t as noticeable in the bar. Out here, he’s picking me apart without even trying, using his stupid cologne to unlock me like a puzzle.

His body this close to me is the equivalent of drinking three glasses of wine. I’m hot. Bothered. And the struggle to remember I have a brain and am responsible for my behavior is a real thing.

“Why did you follow me?” My words are smooth, void of emotion, and for that, I’m glad. I don’t know which emotion would come through if any were attached. I want to tease him, fall into the banter we do so well, but that’s not going to help the point of this visit. That’s not going to help me become less attached.

“It’s okay for you to pop in Crave, but it’s weird for me to follow-up?”

“There’s nothing to follow-up.”

“I beg to differ.” He starts to smile but catches it before it really breaks. “Why are you here, Had?”

“I’m not. I’m leaving.”

“Will you stop fucking with me?”

“I’m not fucking with you.” I move deliberately in hopes it exudes a confidence I don’t own. He stands between me and the handle. “Will you move, please?”

“No.”

“You know what?” I say, wedging myself against him and the door. “You’re making this easier than I thought it would be.” Gripping the handle, I lift. It opens, but there’s not enough room to pull it wide because he. Won’t. Move.

I don’t look at him. I’m way too close for a move that dangerous. Instead, I tug again. The metal edge digs into his side, burying itself in the fabric of his black T-shirt, but it’s not enough to make him step away.

“What is it you’re trying to do?” he asks.

“Right now, it’s open a door.”

His chest bounces around with a deep chuckle. “Fine.” He makes an exaggerated step to the side. It’s just enough room for me to pull open the door. “I’m telling you—if I hear you met up with that asshole—”

“Oh, no,” I say, turning around. “Don’t start your shit with me.”

“It’s not shit, sweetheart.”

Despite knowing the term of endearment wasn’t used with any endearing wishes, my heart flutters. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep focus.

“And I didn’t start it,” he continues. “You’re the one who came into Crave. I didn’t come looking for you.”

“I didn’t come looking for you either.”

It’s a lie, and we both know it.

He doesn’t try to quell his shit-eating grin. It stretches across his cheeks plain as day. “Nah, you did. I just can’t figure out why.” His lips falter. “Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”

“Everything is fine,” I huff. “I’m not in trouble and coming back here like some damsel in distress. Although I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He shrugs. “You know me—Mr. Nice Guy. Always ready to lend a helping hand.”

“That’s such a crock of shit.”

“Oh, like your little claim that you didn’t come looking for me? You did, Had. Why?”

Instead of getting in the car and putting some distance between the two of us—as any reasonable, logical person would do—I lean against the door. My lungs fill with air, my senses picking up the hint of mint on his breath as he blows out a lungful of air of his own.

My body stills, my mind slows, as I’m settled by Machlan’s proximity. His eyes soften, the lines in his forehead smoothen, and the tender part of him that makes my life so complicated wraps itself around my heart.

“You want to know why I’m here?” I ask, finding my resolve. “I’m here to hate you.”

His laugh is immediate. “Don’t you already hate me?”

“Not enough.”

His laughter trickles away. He takes me in, searching my face for some answer to a question I don’t know. I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the crispness of the air and everything to do with the heat of his gaze.

After what feels like entirely too long and not nearly long enough, he sighs. “Did you really think I was going to serve you a drink?”

My shoulders sink. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You don’t really drink, do you? I mean, you haven’t been gone that long.”

“I’ve not actually lived here for a year and a half.”

He runs a hand down his scruff-lined jaw. “It doesn’t feel that long. Then again,” he reconsiders, his eyes softening, “it feels like a lifetime.”

Our gazes crash together, propelled by enough memories to sink us both. I know exactly what he means. On one hand, it seems as if we haven’t missed a beat. But, on the other, it feels as though there’s a drift between us that’s deeper than ever.

“It’s been long enough for a lot things to change,” I say. “I’m sure they’ve changed for you too.”

“I …”

A car pulls up beside us and slows to a stop. I glance over to see Lance, the oldest of the three Gibson boys.

“Well, what do we have here?” he asks.

“Hey, Lance,” I say.

“Hey, Had. I didn’t know you were coming home.” He glances at Machlan. “Did you forget to mention it?”

“No one knew,” I interject. “Cross doesn’t even know I’m home yet.”

“But you’re here. With Mach.” Lance’s brows pull together. “I need some help here, guys. Have you had the fight yet? Or are we still gearing up to it? I can go inside and wait with Peck, if that’s better.”

“Fuck you,” Machlan says.

Lance laughs and pops his car into drive. “Good to see ya, Had.” The car starts down the road, but he looks out the window at his brother. “I’ll grab some tequila for later!”

I take advantage of Machlan’s diverted attention and climb into the driver’s seat. I don’t get the door shut before he’s in the way. Again.

When he grips the doorframe and leans inside the car, there’s no ignoring his presence. Even if I wanted to, the way my body hums would be enough to remind me every half a second he’s here. It’s always been that way with him. I bet it always will be.

“What?” I ask.

“You said you got a new job?”

“Yeah.” I give him a small, genuine smile. “I start on the first.”

“In Vigo?”

I nod.

He nods too. “I guess that makes sense since you live there and all.”

“I’m excited. It’s a lot faster paced than where I worked before.”

“Did you not like it there?”

“No, I did. I just …” I look at the sky. I don’t want him to feel bad about my choice of words, but I’m not sure how to phrase them. “I really need something fresh. To go a new direction. These past few years have been rough and …”

My voice trails off as I watch Machlan absorb the weight of the words. I can see it in the way he shifts his weight and in the way his shoulders fall. It’s probably because he’s the only one who’s privy to all the things those words mean.

“I, um, I think that’s great.” He clears his throat. He leans away, looking over my head in a blank stare. “Anybody would be lucky to have you around.”

“Thanks.” The word is a whisper. Anything more would be impossible around the lump in my throat. “I appreciate that, Mach.”

We exchange a soft smile before he releases the doorframe.

“You going to Cross’s?” he asks.

“Later,” I say, starting the engine.

I don’t want to leave on a sweet note that I’ll think about all night. I’ll have a hard enough time sleeping the way it is.

“Later?” he asks, furrowing his brow. “Where are you going now?”

“Who knows?” He glares as I reach for the door. “Probably to get a drink first.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Hadley.”

I yank on the door but stop it before it shuts all the way. “Don’t fuck with me, Machlan.”

He steps away as the engine roars to life. There’s no doubt he’s annoyed, but he’s amused too.

As I pull away, I’m annoyed at his incessant need to take over when I’m around. But I’m a little amused too.

All his behavior stems from a really good place. It’s not that hard to remember that. Despite our problems and miscommunications and all of that, he’s always been one thing: loyal.

Whether I wanted to or not, I could call him for anything. Maybe it wouldn’t be the best idea, but he would do anything for me.

Everything but one thing.

The one thing that matters more than them all.

Four

Hadley

“Kallie, let me help you.” I start to push back my chair before my brother’s girlfriend waves me off.

“Don’t you even think about it. Sit. Relax.” The dishwasher swings shut with a bang. “I’m going to jump in the shower and leave you two alone for a bit.”

She walks by the table where Cross and I are sitting and stops briefly to press a kiss to the top of his head. He gazes up at her with a soft smile and watches until she rounds the corner.

Settling back in my chair, my stomach full of Kallie’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes, I watch my older brother. I never thought I’d see him like this—content and happy in a way that seems to come from the purest, sweetest spot. I study him, wondering what a look like that feels like on the inside.

He lifts a glass of ice water but doesn’t bring it to his lips. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That look is not nothing.”

I sigh and pick at the hemline of my shirt, hoping Kallie comes back in and needs Cross for some random task. Anything to get me out of this topic.

It’s funny in a not-so-funny way that Cross settled down before me. On one hand, he was the wild one between the two of us. When I came to live with him and Dad after our mother died, I couldn’t believe how much he got away with. Late nights. Less-than-stellar grades. A best friend who oozed trouble. On the other, I was the good girl. The book nerd. The one who beat curfew by five minutes. All indications pointed to me having my life in order way before my brother. Yet here we are in Cross and Kallie’s house while my life is a disaster.

I’ve spent way too many years pushing in the wrong directions. It wasn’t until my ex-boyfriend, Samuel, brought up marriage a couple of times that I realized how much trouble I was in.

I hated my job. I loathed my apartment. And I didn’t love the man I’d spent almost a year with.

What kind of life is that?

When I saw a website on his computer about wedding proposals, all I could see was the next sixty years of my life that I didn’t want. And when I tried to envision the life I did, it kept coming back to one thing. One man. Machlan.

“I was thinking about how happy you are,” I say. “I haven’t seen you this way in a long time, Cross. Maybe ever.”

He sets the glass down. The ice cubes clink together as the water swishes around. “You know, that’s true. When I was with Kallie before, I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t in a place to appreciate being in this place. If that makes any sense.”

“Kind of.”

“I’m kind of glad things didn’t work out with us until now. It wouldn’t have been as good then.”

“You were kids.”

“We were kids.” He parts his lips as though he’s about to say something else but doesn’t. His head cocks to the side.

I have the distinct feeling this conversation is segueing to a topic I’m not ready to talk about yet.

I glance at the ceiling and study the little swirls that take the place of the popcorn that was there the last time I was here.

“New ceilings?” I ask.

“How did you notice that?”

“Well, if you remember, the last time I was here, Machlan stopped by and a piece of the popcorn fell into his drink …”

Cross nods. “And you told him you hoped he got asbestos.”

“Not one of my finer moments,” I mumble. “Anyway, the ceiling looks nice. I love the swirls.”

As Cross gets up and refills his water glass, probably giving me a minute to bring up seeing Machlan, I wonder if it would be possible to get up and leave. To not answer his questions. To avoid the full reason I came home—to get advice from my brother and deal with Machlan once and for all—and go.

Before I can get to my feet, Cross is sitting in front of me.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

“Um, let’s do what?”

“Someone said you went to Crave tonight.”

My forehead rests on the edge of the table. The wood is smooth from years of wear, and I wish I could somehow melt into it and become invisible.

“That someone is named Peck, huh?” I ask.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Fucker.”

He laughs, leaning back in his chair and stretching his jeans-clad legs along the side of the table. “Do we want to jump right into why you went to see Mach?” When I don’t raise my head, he continues. “Or do you want to tell me why you did it at Crave? I don’t have a preference, if that’s what you’re waiting on. I can’t wait to hear the answer to all of it.”

“You know what they say—curiosity killed the cat.”

“Did your curiosity get the better of you tonight?”

“Uh, no.” I lift my head. “I know all about Machlan Freaking Gibson and the hellhole that is Crave. There’s no curiosity there, bud.”

I think of all the things I wish I didn’t know. Like the smell of Machlan’s skin first thing in the morning and the way he donates money anonymously every year to the local school to buy winter coats for kids. I wish I didn’t know how his voice sounds when he’s whispering things in my ear as I drift to sleep and how he pretends not to hear when someone says his parents would’ve been proud of him.

Mostly, though, I wish I didn’t know the way his arms feel like the safest place in the world when I’m scared and how the pad of his thumb catches my tears with such gentleness when I’m falling apart. I wish more than anything that I didn’t know how graceful he is under duress. How I can’t imagine going through some of the things I have with anyone but him.

I wish I didn’t know any of that.

“How are things in Vigo?” Cross asks, changing tactics.

“Fine.”

He runs a hand through dark hair the same color as our mother’s. Seeing Cross reminds me so much of her that it’s hard to even be around him sometimes.

“Should I be worried about you?” He fiddles with his glass. “You’re acting weird. Even for you.”

“Gee, thanks.” I toss him my best smile despite the hollowness in my chest. “I’m fine. Really. Vigo is great. I’m stoked about my new job. The staff seems awesome, and I can’t wait to get started. Everything is good.”

Cross’s grin is smug. “What about Samuel?”

“What about him?” I yawn.

“The last time I saw you, I was pretty sure you guys were serious.”

“Yeah, we were. I guess.” I shrug. “That’s how apathetic I am about him. The only words I have for Samuel is a shrug. How bad is that?”

“Bad is a subjective term. And were is past tense.”

“You’re so smart, big brother.”

He shakes his head. “Are you deliberately trying not to give me any information? Or is this one of those times I’m supposed to push? I’m not sure.”

The chair creaks as I settle back. As if he knows we’re talking about him, Samuel’s name glows from my phone a few inches in front of me. I stare at his name and imagine the sound of his voice.

He’s a pretty nice guy. A good guy, for all intents and purposes. He’s smart, works hard, and balances his checkbook to the penny.

Once the glow fades and the voicemail alert chimes, I look back at my brother.

“We’re on a break,” I say simply.

“And how do you feel about that?”

I ponder that for a moment. “Relieved.” Tucking my foot under my bottom, I ease into this conversation. “Samuel is a great guy.”

“Great might be a little strong of an adjective, but I’ve seen worse.”

“He’s nice, Cross,” I say.

“He’s kind of a pudfuck.”

“He is not!” I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “And don’t use that word ever again.”

“It fits.”

“It does not. Samuel is not a pudfuck, whatever that even is.”

“Then why are you relieved you’re not together?”

I wait for my belly to flutter, for that pang of guilt to swell in my stomach for not answering his call, but neither happen. I feel like someone hit a mute button on my emotions and that gives me guilt.

“Maybe relieved isn’t the right word,” I groan. “Not dealing with him feels kind of nice for a change.”

“Is he high-maintenance?”

“Not really. He’s … particular. And that’s a great quality,” I add quickly, “but sometimes, if the vacuum lines don’t look perfect, I can live with that.”

“Apparently, you can live without him too.”

My smile fades as I see the truth in my brother’s words. “Yeah. I can. But I wish I couldn’t.”

Cross sits up and folds his hands on the table. He dips his head, looking at me with no levity at all. “I’ll be totally honest with you. When I met him a few weeks ago, I couldn’t figure out what in the hell you were doing with him, Had. You were blah. You didn’t laugh. You didn’t joke around or reminisce about stuff.”

It’s true. I know it’s true. I knew it was true then. That day, when Cross met Samuel, the shift started in my soul.

“I liked him,” I say.

“Did you, though?” Cross sits back again. “Or did you like him because he wasn’t Machlan?”

“Oh, he’s not Machlan.” The two of them side-by-side in my head is enough to make me snort. “I just … Is it wrong to wish I was in love with Samuel? Like I wish I wanted to get married and have his children. I just don’t.”

My brother studies me. His big, green eyes soften, filling with a concern that shine like my mother’s used to when she was alive. It rips at me and makes this harder and easier all at once.

A lump lodges itself at the base of my throat, swelling a little more with each breath I take. My chest stings like a fire is smoldering in the bottom of my lungs. If I was sitting across from anyone else, I’d be able to pretend there wasn’t the start of a wildfire burning inside me.

“I wish it wasn’t this way,” I say softly. My guard has fallen and broken into pieces at my feet. There’s a relief in being able to drop it for a while.

“What way?”

“Maybe Samuel isn’t for me. Maybe that was a decision I made when I was super lonely one night and we reached for the same ice cream, okay? But there is a guy out there for me, and I’ll miss him when he walks by because I’m stuck on Mach.” I blink back tears. “I’m so stupid.”

“You are not stupid, Had.”

“I am. I really, really am.” My hair swishes against my shoulders as I shake my head, blowing out a breath that takes way too long to expel. “I have the dumbest crush on him, which I know is weird for you to hear, being that you’re his best friend and all …”

“Not new information.”

I grin sheepishly. “Something is wrong with me because I can’t turn it off. It’s like a part of me thinks he and I have a future together, and it’s really messing with my life.”

Cross presses his lips together. The light in his eyes has dimmed.

“I think I’m emotionally unavailable to men because I feel like I’m in a relationship with Machlan, which is so ridiculous because he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t want a relationship with me.” I suck in a breath. “I’ve heard him say this, Cross. This is not some unspoken guess on my part. Yet my heart refuses to get the message.”

“You can’t help who you love. But you can help how much you let them hurt you.” Cross’s face tenses. He’s clearly torn over what to do. He’s been stuck in the middle of this non-relationship between his little sister and best friend for far too long. “I’m gonna talk to him.”

“No, you aren’t,” I say. “Machlan doesn’t hurt me. Not intentionally. It’s my own damn fault.”

“Then we need to get you away from here. Finn Miller has a cabin up on the lake. I bet you could use it if they aren’t there.”

“No, Cross.”

“Kallie would go with you. Or take Nora. She put in her two weeks’ notice tonight at Crave.”

“She did?” I ask. “That surprises me.”

“She’s taking classes or something. I don’t know. Peck mentioned it. I’m sure this will add rainbows to Machlan’s attitude,” he groans. “Anyway, I could call Finn and see if he minds.”

Just when I think he doesn’t get it, I realize he does. There’s a hesitation in his tone and a cloudiness across his eyes that clues me in. It’s not that he doesn’t get it—he doesn’t like it. He knows this will probably get uglier before it gets easier … if it gets easier. But he’s trying to protect me from it.

“Thank you for offering,” I tell him, putting a hand over his. “But I didn’t decide to come here on a whim.”

“He’s my best friend. I see the good sides of him, and there are a ton of them. Hell, I’d congratulate a woman if she were able to wrangle that motherfucker into forever, but Had, you’re not just another woman. You’re my sister. That changes everything.”

“I’m aware of that. And I’m sorry it makes it weird for you.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s not me I’m worried about.” He shoves away from the table. “If you two were on the same page, I’d give you my blessing. I love you both. But this isn’t easy to watch. It never has been. You’ve always kind of handled it, but …” He stops and turns around. “You seem different about it today.”

“I’m resolved to the fact that I have to take responsibility for my life. For my happiness.”

“That’s true.”

“I know it is. I’ve always lied to myself and thought things would change between me and Machlan, but they’re not going to. I have to accept that and figure out how to live with it.”

“And you think being here is the way to do that?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “I can’t avoid Linton forever. I can’t avoid Mach either. I want to be able to come home and see you and Kallie and Emily. I want to run into Machlan at the gym or throw Kallie an engagement party and not hem and haw about it because I know he’ll show up. He’s going to have to be a part of my life, and I have to make that work.”

“And?”

“And I’d like to be free to fall in love someday. Get married. Have a family …” When my voice breaks on the last word, Cross reaches for me, but I wave him off.

He gives me the space to get myself together. I shove all those thoughts out of my head, something I’ve practiced long enough to be decent at, and get to my feet.

“You good?” he asks.

“I’m good.” To help the effect, I give him a thumbs-up. “Any advice?”

I watch with amazement as his cup is rinsed and put into the dishwasher. “I have something, but it’ll probably complicate things.”

“Not sure it could get more complicated.” I stand and make my way across the kitchen, shoving my glass in the dishwasher before he can shut it.

“You didn’t rinse it.”

“It only had water in it.”

He scowls, pulling the cup out and rinsing it before putting it back in the dishwasher. “Kallie wants everything rinsed first.”

“Oh, please.” I laugh. “Has Kallie whipped you into a baby?”

“Happy wife, happy life. Isn’t that what they say?”

“Yeah, but she’s not your wife.”

“Yet.” He almost sounds offended. “Anyway, back to you. If you are really in love with Machlan like I am Kallie, then I don’t think you’ll ever stop loving him. Even when she left me, I still couldn’t move on, and I had women throwing themselves at me.”

“Ew.”

He chuckles. “Can’t help I’m a good-looking motherfucker.”

“So. Gross.”

We laugh as he closes the dishwasher.

“What I’m trying to say, I guess, is I don’t think you can convince yourself you don’t love him. Not if it’s real love. Not if it’s like I love Kallie.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s not like that,” I lie, my heart squeezing. “Maybe it’s a high school crush that’s unrequited, and it’s time I make peace with that.” I head to the light switch by the refrigerator and look at my brother. “People do this all the time. The percentage of people who marry their first love is actually very low. They survive. I can too.”

He walks by, looking unconvinced. “Get a Plan B together, Had. Just in case.”

“I have one. I’ll hate him.” I flip off the light. “I got this. Don’t worry.”

“I have doubts.”

Following him down the hallway, I feel my spirits dip. Cross flips me a final grin before closing his bedroom door behind him.

Standing in the hallway alone, my thoughts an errant mess, I sigh before heading toward the guest room. “Yeah, well, I have doubts too.”

Five

Machlan

My phone rests next to the napkin holder in the center of my kitchen table. Fashionable from the eighties, each plastic side of it has faint etches of apples in the center. It’s hideous and probably not worth the effort it would take to throw it in the trash where it belongs, but I can’t do that. It was Mom’s.

I stare at my phone like it might hop off the table and gnaw off my leg. My fingers itch to pick it up and call a number ingrained in my brain deeper than any other—one of the very few numbers I actually know. With each passing second, my stomach twists harder until it pulls into a knot so tight I wince.

“Fuck it,” I say and swipe up the device. I ignore the number I really want to call and press her brother’s instead. It’s at the top of the list anyway from when I almost called it an hour ago but hung up before it rang.

As I gaze out the window over the sink, the phone rings once. Twice. Three times. My blood soars through my veins as a hundred thoughts speed through my mind. I snatch my keys off the counter when I hear Cross’s voice come through the line. The keys clatter to the table.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is the equivalent of a blank stare—neutral. Lukewarm. Beige.

“Hey.”

He doesn’t respond, forcing the onus back on me. Fucker. I don’t know what to say. I have nothing to say. I just want him to tell me what I want to know and let me get back on with my night.

As I look around kitchen, finding the half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich and untouched glass of milk, I search for words.

“How’s the gym?” I ask finally.

Cross chuckles. “Shut the fuck up, Mach.”

“Fine. What do you want me to say?” I bark. “Hadley just waltzes into Crave like she owns the damn place and orders a drink like it’s her Friday night routine. Am I wrong for wanting to make sure she hasn’t lost her mind and that she actually made it to your house?”

The line grows quiet as my words die off. With each passing second, I find it harder to breathe. It gets that much more difficult to keep my hands out of my hair and my voice from shouting demands at my friend.

“She’s there, right?” I growl.

“What if she’s not?”

“Then where the hell is she?”

“What if it’s none of your business? I mean, it’s not your business, is it?”

I must’ve misheard him because those are fighting words. Through clenched teeth, my knuckles turning white, I scowl. “It’s always my business. You know that.”

“Maybe I don’t,” he says, energized all of a sudden. “Maybe I agree with Hadley that you need to mind your own business.”

“Maybe you need to mind your mouth, Cross.” I regret the words before they’re even said, but I don’t take them back. “Is she there or not?”

A long pause settles awkwardly between us as I plot ways to kill him after I find Hadley. I hear Kallie whispering, what must be sheets rippling, and the sound of something creaking, then Cross sighs.

“Yes. She’s here,” he says.

“Good.” My entire body sags against the wooden cabinets. “You could’ve just said that five minutes ago.”

“Anything else you want to ask?”

“Not at the moment. I’ll call if I think of something.”

“No doubt.” The sheets rustle again. “If we’re done here, I’m gonna go.”

“Wait,” I say quickly. “Does she seem all right to you?”

“Yeah. Why?”

I think back to the night she called me late, too late, and told me she thought she was dying. How I sped to Bluebird to find her and a couple of people she never should’ve been with toasted on rhubarb moonshine. How I scooped her up and took her home with me and watched her sleep all night. I wiped her mouth after she puked and made her sip water even when she didn’t want to. I was scared shitless. I made her promise that night she’d never drink again.

I’m sure she has. She’s a grown woman. But to come in Crave and order a drink from me prickles at my skin. Why would she do that?

“I don’t know. She never comes into Crave, never drinks. Not after your mom’s accident and the one night she got hammered on moonshine …”

“Yeah, well, how well do you know her these days?” Cross asks, oblivious to the thoughts I just had. “I mean, how much time have you really spent with her lately? People change. People grow up. People make new choices.”

I can barely shuffle a swallow down my throat. She can’t change. I know her. I know what makes her smile and laugh and get so incensed she can’t see straight. I know she prefers strawberry jelly over grape and has never turned down an elephant ear in her life. I know who she is better than anyone, even her, and fuck him for acting like she’s someone different.

“Look, Mach, she’s fine. We just had dinner and a long talk about her plans and what she’s doing with her life.”

“Oh.” I wait for him to tell me the details. He doesn’t.

“She’s in a good place. You don’t need to worry about her.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I work my bottom lip between my teeth as I listen to him and Kallie whisper. Finally, he comes back to the line.

“Sorry,” he says. “I gotta go. Kallie’s getting antsy.” She must smack him because he laughs. “When it comes to Hadley, I got her. She’s my sister. You don’t owe her anything.”

“I …”

“Good night, Mach.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

The line goes dead, the screen lit up like a Christmas tree. I hold the device and stare at the screen. On the other side of that last call is Cross and Kallie … and Hadley.

The phone clatters against the countertop.

My hands go in my hair as I yank on the strands.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, Cross is right. I need to step back. There are reasons, big ones, why things didn’t work out between Hadley and me. Lines were drawn. Choices made. Things decided that would forever change the two of us individually and together, and I can’t forget that.

“Hey. You home?” Peck’s voice calls through the house.

My hands go from my scalp to my cheeks as I listen to his footsteps grow louder across the hardwood floors. “Yeah.”

He enters the kitchen but stops quickly. Scanning the room, he settles his gaze on the sandwich. A snicker pierces the air as he takes a couple of steps toward the table and deposits the black bank bag with a thud.

“It was a good night.” He wraps his hands along the back of a chair. “The register was off ten dollars, but I think it was my fault. Nora got busy, and I had to serve a couple of yuppies from Chicago. They got me talking, and I fucked up the math. I think.” He scratches his head. “Anyway, I put the money in outta my pocket so it wouldn’t look like it was Nora.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to add to your problems tonight.” The chair is whirled around, and Peck sits his ass down. “Nora told me she put in her notice.”

“Yeah.”

“You replacing her?”

“Already did.” My feet are heavy as they trudge across the kitchen. Ignoring Peck’s curious gaze, I take my time in pulling out a chair and getting situated across from him. “Do you know Navie Barnes?”

“That would be a negative.”

“She starts tomorrow.”

Peck wipes his hands down the front of his pants. “Are we feelin’ good about this?”

“I’m not feeling good about jack shit.” I hang my head. “I knew Nora would quit. She kept saying she wasn’t going back to school, but I knew she would and then would feel terrible about having to quit at the last minute. So I hired Navie a couple of weeks ago to start tomorrow.”

When I lift my head, Peck is grinning.

“What?” I ask.

“Just glad you have it figured out. That’s all.”

“One thing out of a million.”

His grin pulls wider. “What else you got goin’ on?”

I stand and turn to face the window over the sink. It’s so dark out I can’t see a damn thing except for the security light at the cemetery a ways down. Just as I’m about to find a comfortable mental distance between myself and this mess with Hadley, Peck moves. It reminds me there is no ignoring it. At least, not for now.

“Well,” I say, referring to his question. “I have Spencer Eubanks coming by this week.”

“Over that building on Ash Street?”

“Yeah.” I turn to look at him. “He’s not really hyped on letting me do a land contract on the place. Probably for the same reason the bank wasn’t either.”

“You know what? That’s bullshit. You’re trying to do something good for this town.”

“I guess this is why small towns fall apart. A guy like me—not on the town board, not a commissioner, no one fancy—can’t be trusted.”

Peck laughs. “I’d trust you over any of those guys all day, every day.” He laces his fingers together and rests his forearms on his knees. “Ready to talk about Hadley?”

“What?” I ask, my head spinning. “That’s some whiplash.”

“I feel like I warmed you up some. Did a little foreplay. Too soon?”

“If that whole thing was your idea of foreplay, this explains why Molly doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

He raises up, his hands pressed on his heart. “That wounds me.”

“Shut up.” I laugh.

Peck drops his hand and laughs too. “Hadley looks good, Mach. Funny as hell. You should’ve seen your face when she said that line about the panties—”

“Thin ice, Peck.” I have to turn away. It doesn’t seem right to face him when memories of Hadley in her panties are streaming through my mind. The way her narrow hips round around to her ass and the way—

“Dude, I don’t even want you to turn around. I get it.” He cackles. “I gotta go. I’ll leave you here to wonder what she’s doing tonight.”

“Oh, I know what she’s doing tonight.”

“What?”

“She’s at Cross’s house.”

“For now.” Peck heads for the door. “Who knows what she might do later?”

“You know something, Peck?” I shout after him. He’s screwing with me. I’m ninety-percent sure. But that leaves ten percent, and that’s ten too many. “Peck!”

“No, I don’t know anything.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

I scurry to the doorway just in time to see him at the front door. He looks over his shoulder with his hand on the knob.

It’s a struggle not to grab him by the back of the neck and shake him a little until I’m sure he’s being honest. “If you know something, I want to know.”

“You’ll just go apeshit,” he says.

“You want to see apeshit? Watch what happens when I find you tomorrow after I hear about it, and make no mistake, I will hear about it.”

Peck slides his hat around, his blue eyes twinkling. “I don’t know a damn thing other than you’re too easy to wind up.”

I lunge forward, but he’s out the door before I get too far.

His truck starts, the engine rumbling from all the tinkering he’s done to it at Crank. The sound gets louder before I hear his tires squeal, and the roar drifts off into the night. The only sound breaking the silence now is the whirl of the ceiling fan in the living room.

My back hits the cool drywall, and I rest my head against it too. My brain feels like a bunch of liquor bottles have been delivered and set around everywhere, nothing in their place. I bet I could stay up all night and not organize this mess.

Hadley’s golden eyes flicker as soon as I close mine. Her pretty face smiles back at me. I fight to keep this vision of her and not let it denigrate to something more … realistic.

I bet I could stay up all night and imagine her sweet face. I bet I will too.

Six

Hadley

“Oh, Cross …”

I pull my pillow over my face, cupping the fabric against my ears, but it doesn’t block out Kallie’s moans. A quick peek from under the lavender lace trim shows me they’ve been at this for a good thirty-six minutes. The volume goes up and down, as does the thrashing of the headboard against the wall, while I hide my face again.

“Cross!” Kallie calls out from the other side of the wall.

I launch the pillow onto the floor. “I’m done.”

Ignoring the sounds of Cross trying to shush his girlfriend and Kallie’s incessant giggling, I slide on a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. The headboard orchestra begins again as I reach for my bag and purse. I’m out the door as Cross takes over, repeating Kallie’s name.

The late-night air rustles against my skin. Fishing my keys out of my purse, I unlock the car door and toss my things in the back.

The neighborhood is dark and quiet as I climb in the driver’s seat. Only the streets are partially lit from the lights dotting the sidewalks every few hundred feet. I glance at the clock and wonder where the heck I’m going to go.

Grabbing my phone out of my bra, I find my friend Emily’s number.

Me:Hey. You up?

Her:Yup. What’s happening?

Me:You home?

Her:No. Be home tomorrow. Can’t wait to see your face!

Me:Shit. I’m in town early and was going to come by.

Her:Sorry! I’ll be home by noon, and we can have lunch.

Me:Sounds good.

“Guess I’ll be sleeping in the car,” I mutter, dropping my phone into the cup holder.

I back down the driveway. Like a sane person, I wait until I’m aimed down the road before turning on the headlights so I don’t shine them in anyone’s bedroom window.

With nowhere to go, I pitter through the neighborhood. Little houses are tucked in perfect little rows. Minivans are parked in more than a handful of driveways as I make my way into town.

I haven’t been out and about alone at this time of night in Linton in a long time. It’s calmer than I remember. No one is out driving the loop around town or tapping their brake lights as they pass each other as a small-town “hello” like we used to do. All the businesses are closed. I can’t even stop at Goodman’s for a tea because their lights are off too.

I drive along in silence, pondering how long Cross and Kallie might be able to maintain that kind of pace and if it’s safe to go back, when I make a turn onto Beecher Street. I ease up on the accelerator.

Like everywhere else in Linton, Crave is quiet. There isn’t a car on the street. No lights are on. There’s not even a person loitering by the back like they do sometimes after closing.

“Keep going,” I whisper. And I do … right to Doc Burns’s parking lot. My car pulls beneath a large pine tree at an angle perfect for checking out the back side of Crave.

My heartbeat quickens as I take in the stainless-steel door and large pot for plants that I suspect is filled with cigarette butts. Just to the right of that is an old wooden staircase with chipped white paint. A security light hangs haphazardly atop a tall pole and gives the area a muted yellow glow.

I pick up my phone and open the door.

“You’re an idiot,” I tell myself. Still, I keep moving forward.

My flip-flops smack against the pavement as I cross Beecher. A truck rumbles somewhere in the distance, but other than that, everything is perfectly still. Everything but the thrumming in my ears from my heart going wild.

I follow the train track that runs through town, over a side street, until I’m at the back of the bar. My breath billows in front of me in the cool night air.

Wishing I had a hoodie over the T-shirt, I gaze in the planter as I walk by. Sure enough, a million pounds of cigarette ash and ends float in dirty rainwater.

I make my way to the steps leading to the one-room apartment above Crave. The railing wobbles under my grip, and I wonder if it’s some veiled warning by the heavens not to keep going. Like the brainiac I am, I continue up the rickety steps.

A little window is positioned next to the door. The plaid curtains are split in the middle and I peer through. It’s pitch black inside.

My heart twists in my chest as I remember many nights here with Mach. In high school, when his uncle still owned Crave, we’d come up here and have poker nights with our friends. I made my first batch of cupcakes in the oven in there for Machlan’s birthday and spent so many afternoons curled up against him while he watched football.

As I turn to go back to my car, I imagine Kallie’s breathy moans. The sound is overshadowed by a set of tailpipes coming up the side street. I stand still, not moving a muscle, as I see a truck roll up to the curb and stop.

Peck jumps out. “What the hell are you doing, Had?”

“Hey! What are you doing out so late?”

“Going home. What are you up to?”

I glance over my shoulder and get an idea. “Come up here and give me some help.”

“Um, what exactly do you need help with?” He rocks back on his heels. “Why don’t you come on down from there?”

“I’m not going to jump.”

“Yeah, well, one of us might die even if you don’t, and that person probably isn’t you.”

I flip him a look. “Come on. I need some help.”

Peck looks at the sky, working his neck back and forth.

“Come on, Peck,” I say again. “I haven’t even told you what I’m thinking.”

“Why are you not at Cross’s again? I know you have a bed over there, and Kallie will probably even make breakfast.”

I lean on the rail. My arms almost slide off because of the dew dotting the surface. “Imagine listening to your brother go at it with his girl all night.”

Peck flinches. “Got ya.”

“See? I can’t listen to that. It’s disgusting, for one, and two … well, it’s disgusting.”

He glances over my shoulder, and then, with more trepidation than I’ve seen him have, he looks back at me.

I grin super wide in hopes it warms him up to my idea. “You don’t think Mach would mind if I slept up here, do you?”

He runs both hands down his face and mutters a few unintelligible things.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll just go home with you.”

His eyes pop open. “The fuck you will.”

I got him. “So you propose, what? I sleep in my car? That sure sounds safe. Machlan’s gonna love you for suggesting that.”

“Now, I didn’t say that.”

“What did you say then, Peck? You won’t help me sleep here,” I say, motioning behind me. “And you won’t let me bunk with you.”

“Hadley. I. Don’t. Want. To. Die. Okay? I haven’t made it to the Wheel of Fortune yet. I haven’t made love to Molly. I haven’t even gotten my own dog yet, man,” he whines. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Stop being a baby.”

“But I am a baby.” He looks at me with the biggest set of puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen. “Let me go home and forget this all ever happened.”

“Why?” I laugh. “Why are you acting like I’m asking you to rob a bank?”

“I’d rather rob a bank than help you break in to this apartment.” He gulps.

“You’re thinking of this in the wrong way. We aren’t breaking in. He’d totally let me if I asked—”

“So why don’t you ask?”

“Because then he’d come over here and just, bad things, Peck. Bad, bad things.”

I see the start of a grin, so I keep going.

“Let’s operate as if I did ask, knowing he’d approve, and he doesn’t even have to know. It’ll be our secret.”

“I promised Mach I was oblivious to your plans tonight, and that if I did find out anything, I’d tell him.”

“You don’t have to tell him anything,” I say.

“But bad, bad things will happen if I don’t.” He laughs. “Damn you.”

Propping both hands on my hips, I stare at him from my perch. I can see him break a little more with each second that passes. But after almost a minute, he still hasn’t given in, so I start toward the stairs.

“Fine. It’s your house then,” I say. “I like to sleep on my right side, and if I start to cuddle—”

“Fuck.” He storms toward the stairs, shaking his head the entire way. “This is going to hurt. You know that?”

“I don’t think so. The window looks fairly easy to pry open. I just need someone to boost me up there—”

“I meant for me. Machlan’s gonna milk my pain for all it’s worth.”

I swat him on the shoulder and lead him to the window. “Oh, he is not, you big baby. Just pretend this never happened.”

“I’m a terrible liar.”

Ignoring him, I direct my attention to the little window. On the other side is a sink that won’t have dishes in it because Machlan can’t stand dirty dishes. There will be a bottle of soap on the left side of the faucet and a strainer in the right sink basin.

“Did you hear me?” Peck asks.

“Nope. What?”

He dangles a set of keys in the air.

“Are those to the door?” I ask.

“Unfortunately.”

Snatching them out of his grip, I pop them in the lock, and the door swings open. “Peck,” I say, handing him the key ring. “You’re my favorite person tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

We step inside and flip on the light. It’s exactly as I expect it.

A sink sits to our right, soap and strainer in place. A little table sits a few feet away with an aloe vera plant in the center that was a start from Machlan’s grandmother. A hideous orange and brown sofa is backed up against terrible brown paneling, and a television sits across from it. The long back wall has a futon, a dresser, and a little desk with a lamp.

“Smells a little musty in here,” Peck notes. “Maybe we should open the window a bit.”

“Yeah.”

I venture into the room as Peck wrestles with the window. My heart sits at the base of my throat, pulsing with every beat. I’ve sat on that sofa many nights, listening to the chaos of the bar below as I waited for Machlan to come up after Crave closed. I’ve woken up on the futon with my face on his chest with our legs wrapped around each other so crazily that I didn’t know where his started and mine ended. I’ve tasted his lips, felt his skin, loved his heart on those sheets, and my own heart tugs a little as I think about it.

“You okay?” he asks.

I jump at Peck’s voice and turn around. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Just in case you were thinking about it—or not,” he adds. “Maybe you weren’t thinking of this at all, and now I’m bringing it up and—”

“What, Peck?”

He sighs. “Machlan doesn’t bring women up here. He comes in early and does some paperwork before the bar opens. He’ll nap up here if the bar is dead and he doesn’t need to be down there. He does all kinds of things, but never … that.”

My swallow is hard to pass. My tears are hard to blink back. I manage to do both.

“Thanks for telling me,” I say. The words scald my throat as I think of Machlan holding another woman or letting her hear his heartbeat in the dead of night.

My arms fold around my middle. Peck notices.

“If you want me to stay, I can stay,” he offers. “Or, despite my aversion to coffins, you can sleep at my place.”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks, buddy.” I give him a weak smile. “I won’t tell Mach you helped me.”

His brow furrows. “Nah, fuck it. Tell him.”

“That’s a quick change of heart.”

“Maybe it’ll be good to fire him up some. It’ll keep him off my ass for my tab.” He grins and closes the distance between us, pulling me into a hug. “I’m not asking for details because it’s safer not to know.” He chuckles as he lets me go. “But I feel like you have something going on, and I hope it works out for you.”

“Me too,” I whisper.

He heads for the door. “If you care, Mach is usually here by ten. Unless you want to deal with him, you might wanna be out of here by then.”

“Noted. And Peck?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. I appreciate you.”

He winks. “Lock this behind me.” He waits on the other side until I slide the lock in place. It’s only then I hear his footsteps descend the stairs and his truck start and pull away.

The room seems to shrink with only me in it. I stand next to the table, a piece of furniture I know Machlan made in a high school woodworking class, and wait for a chill. An unsettled feeling. A gnawing sensation at the back of my mind.

Meandering through the small area, my lips part in a smile. It grows as I remember making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the tiny counter space next to the microwave and gets wider when I remember the night Machlan broke up a fight in the bar. I spent a couple of hours up here tending to his bloodied knuckles and black eye.

My eyes grow heavy as they land on the futon. Yawning, I pull back the navy blue comforter and inspect the sheets. They’re crisp and clean. Slipping off my flip-flops, I flop on the mattress. The frame groans under the movement. I nestle in the pillows, yanking the blankets over my body. The entire bed smells like a mix of Machlan’s laundry soap and cologne, and I sigh as I float into a dream that I never want to wake from.

Seven

Machlan

You’d think I have a hangover.

My head hurts the way it does after the couple of times a year I kick back with my brothers and get a little heavy-handed with the Jim Beam. A sharp pain rips along the side of my head and shoots across my forehead, threatening to take my sanity right along with it.

What little there is left of it, anyway.

The bright, early morning light doesn’t help my cause. As I turn onto Beecher Street and wave at Ruby as she heads to the library, I think my head might explode. The light almost blinds me as I grimace under my breath and pull onto the side street and then into the lot behind Crave.

I rub my temples in a futile attempt to lessen the ache between my eyes. Curiously, Beam headaches are generally less agonizing than this one. This is one I haven’t felt in a long time. This is a Hadley headache.

I have all the usual symptoms of this particular affliction. Piercing pain in my skull, extraordinarily high blood pressure, shortness of breath, a quickened pulse. Rock hard cock. Intense chest pains. Feeling of hopelessness and erratic behavior.

That’s what she does to me. She makes me a fucking lunatic.

Taking a deep breath, I try to focus on something other than her. The binder for my meeting with Spencer this afternoon lies on the passenger’s seat. I have no idea what I’m going to say to the guy to convince him to loan me the rest of the money for the building, and I should know that by now. I sat up with those damn papers all night, trying to come up with a plan. Instead, I just planned all the ways to interrogate Cross later about what Hadley might’ve said or done.

“Stop it.” I look at my reflection in the rearview mirror. “You’re a grown ass man who has business to take care of. Stop acting like a juvenile with a hard-on.”

My cheeks heat, partly from annoyance that this reminder needed to be said and partly because I’m embarrassed for the same reason. I tuck a phone number Lance gave me into the binder and look up.

My hand stills. I drop the binder.

The window to the apartment I use as a makeshift office slash crash pad is opened a sliver. I rack my brain, searching for the last time I opened it, and come up empty-handed. Peck helped me install a lock on the inside of the window, and it’s a bitch to undo.

My teeth grinding together, I step out of the car. Grabbing the bamboo rod I keep hidden against the dumpster, I make my way up the steps.

The clouds clear above me. The sun’s rays pelt my back, only adding to the sweat trickling down my spine as I anticipate what I’m about to find.

Nothing up there is worth a damn, but it’s the idea of being defiled, the inherent disrespect, that has me itching to teach someone a lesson. I almost feel sorry for the motherfucker who did this. He’ll be on the receiving end of a lot of pent-up aggression.

With my back against the wall, I make an effort not to give myself away with my heavy breathing as I lean to the side. Peering into the open slot at the bottom, I can only see a part of the kitchen area.

It looks like it always does.

Nothing’s out of place. No mess to indicate a break-in. Nothing but an open window.

My palm rests on the knob, and I attempt to rotate it, but it doesn’t budge. Locked tight.

“What the hell?” I whisper. Digging into my pockets, bamboo rod still in my right hand, I find the keys. They slip into the lock, and the door breaks free.

Sunlight trickles through the doorway, illuminating most of the apartment. Confusion replaces anger as I realize nothing’s been bothered.

I set the rod on the kitchen counter and walk slowly inside, leaving the door open. I walk around the table and next to the sofa. My eyes adjust to the differences in light as I peer toward the futon and desk. As they settle on the bump on the middle of the mattress, I stop.

Sucking in a breath, my chest burning, I think I must be seeing things. I can’t see the person’s face. All I can see is a little foot with a scar across the ankle and a wrist with a tiny tattoo of a wing on the inside. Although I haven’t seen the tattoo before and that bothers me, I know who is in my bed.

Every cell in my body lunges her way. The draw to her, the fight to not jump in bed and pull her up against me, knocks me off balance. I catch myself on the arm of the couch.

I glance around the room, back to the propped open window, and try to make sense of this. Before I can make heads or tails of this situation, she rustles against the sheets. I freeze. Don’t move a damn muscle. Just stand in place and stare at her like some kind of demented asshole.

The blankets are batted away. Her eyes struggle to open as I watch her.

“Oh, shit,” she whispers. Her voice is throaty and full of a sleepy grittiness. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?”

She sits up, grimacing. “You need a better mattress on this thing.”

I slow blink. Twice. “Am I missing something here?”

Her shoulders rise and fall as she fiddles with the hair knotted on the top of her head. It’s falling every which way from the thing she had it up in. Pieces are hanging all around her face and when she blows a lock dangling across her nose, I almost laugh.

“You apparently broke in my apartment, made yourself at home, and now you’re bitching about my mattress?”

“Accurate. You still didn’t tell me why you’re here.”

I throw my hands up and turn away from her. This attitude of hers is infuriating and not because I want to scream at her, but because I want to hold her down and kiss her until she stops talking.

“Peck said you didn’t … whoops,” she says. “Um …”

I whirl around. “Peck?” My brows lift to the ceiling. “Peck had something to do with this?”

“Yeahhh … Kind of?”

“That motherfucker said—”

“Just stop.” She tosses the blankets off her legs but doesn’t get off the bed. “You would’ve let me stay here if I needed a place to stay.”

“So?”

“So what’s it matter if Peck may or may not have helped me get in here last night?”

I take a step toward her but stop myself before I lose the fight with my body and end up on top of her before I realize it. “It matters because I explicitly told him to tell me if he knew …”

The look she gives me stops me from saying anything more.

“Well, I explicitly told him not to tell you,” she says.

It’s not the way her breasts fill out the tight little T-shirt she’s wearing or how the pants fit the curves of her hips that has me all worked up. It’s not even the way her lips form a little bud, still swollen from sleeping on her stomach like she always does.

It’s the fire in her eyes. The challenge she’s tossing my way. The fierce way she doesn’t give two shits about what I say or do. She’s going to do what she wants either way, and that pricks at something deep inside my soul that I’ve never been able to pinpoint. Or stop.

Damn her.

“You know what?” I say, narrowing my eyes. “It’s time we get something straight.”

“I agree.”

Much to my surprise, a reaction I try desperately to hide, she leaps off the bed. Tugging her shirt down over the top of her pants, she props a hand on her hip. Her eyes narrow, still puffy from sleep.

“You got something you want to say?” I ask.

“Oh. Are we going to pretend like you’re suddenly going to start listening to me?”

“I was going to, but you’re running out of time. Better talk quick.”

“You’re such an asshole, Machlan.”

I scratch my chin. “I know. That’s why I find it so interesting that you keep coming around.”

She rolls her eyes and goes back to trying to tame her gorgeous, wild hair again. “It’s a coincidence.”

I yank a chair away from the table and twirl it around. Sitting in it backward with arms draped over the back, I look at her. “There are no coincidences, sweetheart.”

The last word gets her. Her eyes light up. If I were closer, I’d guarantee you can see the jade flecks.

“Especially if you consider you walked into Crave knowing there was an excellent chance I’d be there since it’s my bar, then broke into my apartment.”

“You own the only bar in town, and I’ve stayed in this apartment more times than I can count—”

“What’s that have to do with anything?” I fire back.

Her chest rises and falls with the force of her breathing. “The fact of the matter is that you weren’t supposed to be here.” Her arms cross over her chest, her nose tipped up in some hoity-toity gesture.

Fuck that.

I go out of my way to stay out of her life. I kill myself every morning and night when I walk by her robe that hangs on the hook on the back of my bathroom door. It’s the worst kind of torture to know I could drive to Vigo and see her and probably hold her if I tried hard enough.

But I don’t do that. I don’t do any of it. Even though I think about it every day, I let her live her life without me. That’s how it’s supposed to be. That’s the result of the choices we made, and I have to step aside. I might be an asshole, but I’m not evil.

My eyes narrow. “I don’t give a damn if I was supposed to be here or not. It’s my fucking apartment.”

“Fine. Get out of here and I’ll get my stuff together and go.”

“Oh no,” I say, standing. Grabbing the chair, I fling it behind me. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“You start running your mouth and distract me and make me forget what I was going to say. I have a point, and I haven’t made it yet.”

“Then you better make it.”

She grins a cocky, I-got-you kind of smile. If she only knew.

“I can’t with you,” I say, shaking my head.

Her grin fades. Her eyes drop too. “I think we’ve already established that.”

Our eyes lock together over the thirty-year-old carpet. The exchange says more than her lips ever could and, quite frankly, more than I could ever hear her say out loud.

The wind is knocked out of my lungs at the emotion in her eyes. “That’s not what I meant to say.”

“No. But I’m glad you did.” She shakes her head as if the motion will rid her of thoughts of me. “Anyway, back to the point at hand. Don’t even think about bringing this up to Peck.”

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want.” I grab a can of chew out of my back pocket and flip it between my fingers. The rhythm sets a mood I think we both find some comfort in.

“Peck was helping me last night,” she says over the sound of my thumb hitting the can. “Cross and Kallie were all kinds of loud, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I figured I’d be in and out before you even knew it.”

“He still should’ve called me. What would’ve happened if I’d come in here guns blazing? Then whose fault is it?”

“Mine. It would’ve started with my bad choice.” She gulps. “I’ve had to endure consequences of bad decisions before.”

As we stand across from each other, close enough to touch if we tried but far enough away to remember all the reasons why we can’t, I just want to hit something. Hard. Destroy something worse than I’ve destroyed her. Feel the pain on my knuckles, the shots of fire that radiate up my arms when I nail something as hard as I can. Anything to distract me from the hurt bubbling up inside me.

I hate that I can’t reach for her. I despise that it will always be this way between us. Our wounds are like the black eye that never quite heals, leaving traces of purple in the corner that you can see if you look at it in just the right light.

She coughs, bringing me back to the little room above the bar. “I’ll be out of here in a few minutes.”

“Is there anything else I need to know?” I ask, not quite ready to part from her.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. You’re a drinker now. You perform breaking-and-enterings. Did you join a biker gang or something?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “No.” Light streams in farther into the room, washing Hadley and me in the bright morning rays. She squints as she looks at me. The wheels are turning, and that makes me a little more nervous than it should. “Cross was telling me Nora put in her notice.”

“Yeah. Sucks because everyone loves her. But she has to do what she has to do.”

“I know you trust her a lot.”

“She’s better off finishing her degree. We’ll make do.” I stretch my arms overhead, the adrenaline from thinking I was going to war earlier making them ache. “I’ll be a little short-staffed for a while because no one can do all the things and work all the shifts Nora did.”

“Hey! I could help you.” Her eyes light up like a Christmas tree. “I mean, I don’t know how to be a bartender, but I have some time to kill.”

“You must be out of your mind.”

Even as I say the words, the idea of having her beside me every night appeals to me. I could keep an eye on her, make her smile. Feel her brush against me and hear her laugh.

“I could do it,” she says. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.” I chuckle. “You hate the bar. You hate me, for fuck’s sake. What in the world is going on here?”

The fight in her eyes soften. Instead of answering me, she turns slowly toward the futon and starts making the bed.

“Uh, that wasn’t rhetorical,” I say.

“Maybe,” she says, jerking the blankets in place, “I’m trying to evolve.”

“Into what? Bonnie and Clyde?”

She glares at me, and it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. “Maybe that was the wrong choice of words.” She goes back to making the bed. “Maybe I’m trying to move on.”

That causes a chill to rip up my spine. It cascades down my legs, rolling down my arms, covering my half-sleeve of tattoos with goose bumps.

“Trying to move on from what?” I ask.

“What do people move on from? The past. Old habits.” She sits on the edge of the bed and looks at the wall. “Life goes by so fast. It’s easy to hold onto things and ideas that aren’t the best things to cling to.”

Like me. My heart drops as I watch this girl almost wince as the words fall from her mouth.

Her sigh spills into the room. She tilts her head to the side until her golden eyes find mine. “I didn’t drink until last year because my mother was killed by a drunk driver when I was fourteen. What’s the sense in that, really?” Her lips form a small smile. “Except that night with the rhubarb moonshine.”

Words are on the tip of my tongue—explanations and promises and apologies. Probably a few profanities too. But they’re stolen by her soft laugh.

“It’s time for me to go on with my life. Stop living in the past.” She grabs her phone off the nightstand, gives it a quick look, and stands. “It’s time for a lot of things, one being breakfast.”

She walks in my direction, stopping a few inches in front of me. The smell of her body floods my senses. There’s no distracting myself from her, here, engulfed in the sunshine.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” she says, “even if you didn’t let me per se. I honestly just didn’t know where else to go. This place just feels like … Well, you know.”

I bite my lip, knowing I’m going to say something I’ll regret later, but such is life. “You know you can stay here anytime you want. Just tell me first.”

She grins. “Oh, I should’ve felt comfortable asking because you were so personable yesterday?”

“No. You should’ve asked because it’s mine.”

She presses her lips together and lets her gaze drift down my body. A path is seared by her eyes, scorching my skin beneath the clothes that now feel way too tight.

Her gaze lingers on my cock for a long second. It’s hard as a rock, and there’s no way she doesn’t notice. There’s also no way for me to try to hide it at this point.

When she finally looks back at my face, she doesn’t even try to hide her grin either.

“We still taking about the apartment?” she teases.

I’m only a man. I step toward her, my blood running hot, but she steps back with a laugh.

“You better get out of here,” I warn. My headache slides back into place as the pent-up aggression I live with on a daily basis reminds me it is, in fact, still present.

With an easy shrug, she steps around me and heads for the door. “What time should I be at work?”

“Not happening, Had.”

Her laughter, and a soft one of my own, is all she leaves me with as I watch her go.

Eight

Hadley

“I have to say,” Emily says, picking up a breadstick, “it is so much easier seeing you when I don’t have to drive all the way to Vigo to do it.”

“Like the old days, right?”

I lean back in my chair as the server from Peaches checks on us. Emily tells him we’re good and to please bring the check, so away he goes.

“Sorry I wasn’t home last night,” Emily says. “Josh wanted to go to the Mud Boggs over in Greene County, and we were there until almost three in the morning. I ended up staying the night at his house and coming home today.” She looks at me over her breadstick. “What did you end up doing last night?”

Flipping my gaze to my water glass, I shrug. “Oh, not much. Just drove around a while. Ran into Peck and—”

“Ooh. What’s he doing these days?”

“What’s it matter to you?” I laugh.

“I’ll have you know I drive by Crank sometimes just hoping he’s working on a tractor or something in the parking lot without a shirt.”

“He’s like my brother.”

“A BILF.”

“Oh my God!” I laugh. “That’s so gross, Em. Peck’s cute, but that entire BILF thought process is wrong.”

“He’s not cute.” She shakes her head, her long, black hair shining under the restaurant lights. “He’s seriously one of the best-looking guys I’ve ever seen.”

I make a face, trying to imagine Peck in the way she’s describing him. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway because he’s all up Molly McCarter’s ass.”

“I hate that bitch.”

“Tell me what you really think.”

She shrugs. “I will. I think she’s a terrible human being that has no class or couth. She’ll suck anything that gets put in her mouth.”

I lift a breadstick and inspect it as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “Seen her around much?”

Emily’s gaze is heavy on my face, but I don’t look up. If I do, she’ll call me out and ask me why I didn’t just ask if she’s been in Crave … or with Machlan. I didn’t ask because I don’t want to know in the same way I do want to know.

I toss the breadstick back in the basket.

The waiter reappears with our checks and tops off our water glasses. Emily swipes up both tickets, pointing a French-tipped fingernail my way in warning not to argue with her, then hands her credit card with the checks to the waiter. They get into a conversation about credit card companies, and my thoughts drift to Machlan.

If I hadn’t put my guard up immediately this morning, the day would’ve ended up going a whole different way. I would’ve been sitting here crying, having been shut down by him again or fired up from one of our infamous arguments. Lucky for me, lucky for us both, I saw him before he realized it, and that bought me a few seconds to get myself together.

Well, as much as I can when he’s around.

It’s hard with him because it’s not. Not really. Not about anything besides being together.

“Earth to Had.” Emily rests back in her seat, the waiter long gone. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s fine. You can lie,” she says. “I actually already know you’re thinking about Machlan.”

“And what would lead you to believe that?”

“Because I’ve been your friend forever, and I know the look you get on your face when you’re thinking about him. What did he do now?”

“He didn’t do anything,” I protest. “I actually, um, I stayed in his apartment last night.”

She sits upright, forcing a swallow. “With him or without him?”

“Without him. Obviously.”

“Yeah, of course. Otherwise, you’d still be there.” She sighs. “Why did you do that, Had?”

Although I know she’s not judging me, it feels like it on some level. I wad up my napkin and set it on my plate before looking at her again.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” I point out. “Cross and Kallie were … occupied. You weren’t home. What was I supposed to do? Stay with Peck?”

“That’s what I would’ve done,” she jokes.

“And Mach would’ve killed him.”

“And why would he have done that?” She waits for an answer I don’t give. Then she grins. “Of course, we both know the answer to that.”

“Because he’s an overbearing asshole?”

She rolls her eyes. “Not where I was going with that.”

“But it’s the truth,” I push. “He doesn’t want me. He—”

“He loves you. He just doesn’t know what to do about it.”

It’s not true. I know it. But just hearing it postulated into the universe does something to the pulse of my body. Everything hums. Everything electrifies. Everything seems brighter and happier for a split second—until I remind myself she’s wrong.

“Well, that’s too bad because I’m here to convince myself to fall out of love with him.”

I really don’t have to explain it to her because I know she’s reading between the lines. She knows about Samuel and how he wanted to talk marriage before we called everything off. How that conversation, the one about me being emotionally unavailable and in need of figuring out what I want out of life, was the saddest and angriest I’ve ever seen the otherwise sweet, sober man. Emily knows my storied history—most of it, anyway—with Machlan and how he’s the one I can’t get out of my mind.

She was there the night, years ago, when I cried so hard I almost passed out. It was her shoulder I leaned on when I decided to move to Vigo eighteen months ago. Emily has heard me fight with myself over every little decision in my life because … what if?

The what-if is not happening.

“Has Samuel called?” she asks.

“He texted me last night to see if the dog sitter is scheduled for the rest of the month. I just texted back yes, and he left it at that.”

“So responsible.”

I groan. “I know. We had our life in such sync. I did these things, he did those. We didn’t even live together, and it was like we were on the same calendar.”

“His calendar,” she points out.

“But it was a joint calendar. One where my presence was wanted.” My shoulders sag as my spirits sink. “But, yeah, his calendar. Which is why, I guess, it’s a good thing we split up.”

“Do you miss him?”

I think back over the past couple of days and what’s been on my mind. Coming home, seeing Machlan, starting my job, seeing Emily—that’s what I’ve been thinking about. Not Samuel.

“You don’t even have to answer that,” Emily says.

I look at my water glass and wish it was vodka. “I need a therapist.”

“You need to get laid.”

“Em …”

“Orgasms paint the world rosy. You’re in need of a good painting.”

“That’s what got me in this mess,” I point out. “It was in a tent on Bluebird Hill, and the stars were almost magical. The orgasm was magical.”

Emily snorts. “Thinking about Machlan delivering orgasms isn’t going to help you.”

As she says it, I can almost feel his palms on my skin. Taste the sweetness of his breath. Feel the heat between my thighs.

“You’re right,” I say, shivering. “It’s definitely not going to help.” I grab my purse and find a few bucks for a tip, then put them under the salt shaker.

“If I loved someone like you love Machlan and he didn’t love me back, I think I’d hate them.”

“Let’s not embarrass me, okay?”

She sighs, grabbing her purse. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re brave. Much braver than I would ever be.” She takes out a tube of red lipstick and strategically paints it on her lips. “I see your predicament. He can be a complete jerk, and then he’s the first to jump to your aid or fuck you real good.”

“Emily!”

“Just going by what you’ve told me.” She smacks her lips together and puts the lipstick away.

“Anyway,” I continue, “I think I need to change my plan. I need to figure out how to be around him without loving him or hating him. Just look at him like another guy I’m friends with. Like Peck,” I add, proud of myself for the comparison.

“Peck is boy-next-door hot. Machlan is front-cover-of-women’s-porn-magazines hot. Good luck with that.” She laughs as she climbs out of her seat, taking her credit card from the waiter.

I follow her out the door. Once we’re in the parking lot, Emily stops and turns to me. Her arm goes around my shoulder as we head to our cars. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I’m glad you’re not with Samuel anymore. He’s so lame.”

She continues her opinions as I climb into the car. Despite all the confusion in my life and all the questions I don’t have answered, I can’t deny it’s awfully nice being home again.

Nine

Machlan

“Just the man I was looking for,” I say.

Peck stops in his tracks, and the door swings shut behind him. The thud sounds ominous as it echoes through the bar, sealing the sunshine out and him … inside with me.

“I’m gonna need to know how pissed you are before I come any closer,” he says.

“What an interesting thing to say.” I shove my tongue in my cheek. “Why would I be pissed off?”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything to be pissed off about. You, on the other hand …”

Tossing the rag down on the bar, I slap both palms flat against the wood. “Cut the shit, Peck.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right,” he says, tapping his temple. “Letting her stay at my house was a better idea. Or would you have rather I let her sleep in her car?”

“I would rather you had called me like I fucking told you to do.”

“And then she would’ve been pissed, which I know really doesn’t bother you, but I don’t like the look in her eye when she’s mad, okay?” He sighs. “Besides, I left the window open so you’d know something was up. I did you a solid, bro.”

“You did me a solid?”

He shoots me his stupid, goofy grin that makes it hard to be pissed. “I did. You just might not see it yet.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“You will.” He starts to move forward but stops. “Before I come any closer and grab a beer, how pissed are ya?”

“What’s the scale?”

“One to ten.”

“Oh, about a seven point three.”

Peck’s laugh is quick and loud. “Hell, I’ve made you madder than that without trying. Now grab me a beer, will ya?”

I shake my head, grabbing the rag I had a few moments ago to finish cleaning the area where I cut the limes. Peck takes a seat across from me. When I don’t get him a beer, he hops over the bar.

He rummages around the liquor bottles and helps himself to the contents of the candy dish by the cash register. I’d bust his balls on a normal day. Lucky for him, today is as abnormal as they come.

I love this bar. Coming in here every day isn’t work to me. It’s not just entertainment as Lance assumes it is or just a paycheck like Walker thinks. It’s not even some attempt to stay young and half-assed irresponsible like my sister, Blaire, points out every other time we talk.

I’ve seen people come in here ready to drive off a cliff and leave with a smile on their face. Why? Because I poured them a shot and listened to whatever bullshit they had to say, or they ran into a friend they haven’t seen in a couple of weeks and got distracted. People let their guard down here, admitting their feelings. Others cut loose and enjoy Friday night because it’s fucking Friday night. This place brings people together in a way most don’t understand, and being a part of it makes me feel as if I’m doing something worthwhile.

Today, I can’t remember any of that. I can’t find the good this place usually brings. There’s only a wobbliness that started when I walked into the apartment earlier.

It’s as if I’ve forgotten how calming Crave is to me and the only way to get that peace is to skip back in time to this morning. To her lying upstairs on my futon. To the sleepy look in her eyes.

“Who’s that?” Peck asks as he walks behind me.

“Who?” I glance up, annoyed to have my attention drawn away from Hadley. Following his gaze as it settles near the storeroom, I see a head of blond hair with purple streaks framing a heart-shaped face. “Oh, that?”

“Yeah. That.”

“That’s Navie.”

Peck climbs on the stool across from me again. This time, he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at her.

I expected as much when I hired her. Hell, I hoped as much when I hired her—not so much from Peck, but from patrons.

Navie is pretty. Tanned, muscled body, full lips, and cheekbones that nearly touch her blue eyes. She’s smart and cool and can talk to anyone about anything. But it’s her moxie that makes her perfect for this job.

“Hey,” she singsongs as she approaches. “I hope you don’t mind, but I just swept the storeroom.”

“Why would I mind?”

“Because it doesn’t look like you’ve done it in maybe forever. I thought it might be some barkeeping superstition or something. Like if you don’t sweep the floors, you get good luck.”

“Nah,” Peck says, leaning forward. “Mach’s just a mess.”

Navie turns her attention to my cousin. Her body follows suit. “And he’s apparently also rude. I’m Navie.”

“Nice to meet ya. I’m Peck.”

They exchange a smile that has me rolling my eyes.

“You’re on the clock,” I tell her.

“This is a part of my job. I’m just getting to know the customers,” Navie says.

“He’s not a customer.”

“I am too!” Peck bristles. “I’m in here almost every day.”

“Customers pay,” I point out.

Navie laughs. “Is he the one you were telling me would rack up charges?”

“That’s him.”

“I always pay, though,” Peck protests. “Don’t let him fool ya, Navie.”

She laughs again. The melody does something to my cousin. As she walks back toward the storeroom, Peck floats behind her. I almost yell at him to leave her alone, but before I do, my gaze lands on my binder at the end of the bar.

A sinking sensation washes over me as my head muddles. I should be training Navie. I want to reminisce about Hadley. I need to be preparing for the meeting I have with Spencer Eubanks in less than an hour.

Sliding the book around, I open it. My entire business plan is sprawled open—including my proposal to Eubanks. Bank statements and credit letters and all the other bullshit he wanted are organized in little clear inserts for his viewing pleasure.

I wish it didn’t come to this. But even if I used all of what’s left of my inheritance from my parents to buy the building on Ash Street outright, I wouldn’t have enough left to do the renovations necessary to make it what I want it to be. I need him to let me give him half and pay the rest in installments.

Sweet-talking people has never been my strength. Lance got all of that in the gene pool. I sure as hell don’t kiss ass either. Lance got that too. What I did get is a stubborn streak that might just come in handy for the first time in my life.

“What are you doing?” Peck asks before a fresh bottle of beer cracks open.

“Looking at this shit for Eubanks.” I flip a page in the binder. “This is probably my last shot at convincing him. If it doesn’t happen today, it’s not gonna happen.”

“You know if I had the money, I’d loan it to you.”

I look up at Peck as he takes a long swig of his drink and am reminded why I like him. As much crap as he gives me, and I give him, he’s good people. The best people, really.

“I know,” I say, looking back down. “I appreciate that.”

“I mean, if I loaned you money, you’d have to be lenient on my tab, right?”

A glare is what I aim to fire at him, but a laugh comes out instead. “You’re a jackass.”

The door opens, and Spencer walks in. A crisp white button-down with khakis looks as out of place in Crave as a nun would. He takes in the space as if he’s grading it, measuring my worthiness to pay back a loan by the looks of my bar.

My teeth grind together as I remind myself to be nice. Play nice. Let this judgmental asshole do his thing while I do mine. Peck turns his back to Spencer and makes a face before tipping back his beer and disappearing from my peripheral vision.

I take a deep breath and unlock my jaw. “Thanks for coming by,” I say. Clearing my throat, I extend my hand. Spencer takes it and shakes it like a wet noodle. “Good to see you.”

“Nice to see you too, Machlan,” he says. Propping his briefcase on a stool, he makes no attempt to hide the fact he’s surveying the bar again. “How’s business?”

“Closed, right now. But it’s good otherwise. I wish you’d come in last night. You could’ve seen for yourself.”

He adjusts his collar. “Not really my scene.”

My fingers clench at my side as I remind myself, once again, this is a business deal. I can’t tell him off and escort him out. I can’t lose my temper.

Yet.

Business deal or not, if he steps over a line—he steps over a line. The line of respect is there for everyone whether they wear an ironed shirt or not.

“I gathered all the data you asked for,” I say, scooting the binder his way. “Financial statements. A business plan. Letters from my suppliers showing I pay on time every month.”

His gaze falls to the blue plastic container and then back at me. “You know, Machlan, I appreciate you jumping through these hoops. I do. And it means a lot. But …”

“What?”

“You’re asking me to extend a line of credit that’s pretty substantial.”

He looks down his long, angular nose at me as though I’m the gum on the bottom of his designer shoe. My instincts buck against the insinuation, my body falling into a specific role I always do when dealing with situations like these—situations where someone thinks their shit don’t stink and mine does.

Looking him directly in the eye, appreciating the way he’s smart enough to squirm, I square my shoulders with his. “I’m not asking you to loan me thirty grand. I’m asking you to let me give you thirty thousand dollars and then take me at my word that I’ll give you the next thirty thousand in installments over the next six years.”

“I—”

“With interest,” I add. “You’ll make more money off me than off someone who can cough up sixty grand right now. You know that. And, if I don’t pay up, you still have thirty thousand in your pocket and get the property back too.”

He takes off his glasses and tucks them at his side. “I understand the way this works. Clearly. It’s what I do for a living.”

“Then why is this a hard decision?”

His shoulders fall as a breath streams in the air. “I’ll be honest with you. I’m not sure you'll turn a profit over there. Not with the demographic you plan on going after.”

“Kids?” I laugh. “Kids spend more money than their parents these days.”

“But not at your price points. Look, Machlan, you’re not going to make a living off a juvenile version of a bar.”

I’m not sure if it’s the eye-roll I think he adds in as the glasses slide over his face or the way he nearly spits the words like my idea is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. Either way, I heard a chuckle roll past my lips that most people are smart enough to realize isn’t a reaction to something entertaining.

Spencer isn’t that smart. He laughs.

“Look, Spencer. I’m not trying to make a living off your building, man. I make a living here.” I lift a brow, hoping he chooses this as a fight to pick, but he doesn’t, so I continue. “The building is something I want to do because I want to do it.”

“Let me get this straight. You don’t want to make money off this venture?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I don’t expect to make a living off it. I want to make enough to cover my costs. If I pocket anything after, that’s great.”

His glasses come off again. “I don’t understand why you’d go out of your way for this. That building needs a lot of work. It’s not easy starting a business. Getting permits. Getting tax papers in order. Why bother if you’re not turning a profit?”

I look at the ceiling. A barrage of memories trickle through my mind as I try to come up with words that would explain to someone like Spencer, someone who probably had the world handed to him on a silver tray, why this would matter to me.

When I look at him, he’s not as irritated with my lack of a response as I thought he would be. Instead, a curious look paints his face.

“When I was a teenager,” I tell him, my throat all of a sudden going dry, “my parents died in a boating accident. I was supposed to be there, spending quality family time. I promised them.” A swallow barely passes down my throat. “Instead, I was off with my buddies doing dumb shit, and they didn’t know where to even look for me.”

“So you were an irresponsible youth?”

“You have no idea.” I jerk my brain off that slippery slope and back to reality, ignoring the sadness that seems to fill every cavern in my body.

“Kids do dumb things,” he says.

“They do. But they do less dumb things when they have smart things to do instead. And that’s why I want this building, Spencer.” I flip open my binder and whirl it around to face him. My finger jabs a page with a mock-up of the interior I plan on installing. “If anyone in the world understands young, dumb kids, it’s me. I wrote the book on it.”

He looks at me over the rim of his glasses. “You aren’t really helping yourself here.”

“This place is a bar. People think of bars as places lushes go to get tanked. That’s true to some extent, I guess, but not completely. This place keeps a lot of people from drinking down country roads. From staying home when they’re lonely and drinking themselves to death. Instead, they come here, catch a conversation, maybe a game, and then they go home. Alive. Maybe even feeling a little better than they were when they arrived. I want to recreate this with pool tables and game systems and—”

“And not turn a profit.” He closes the binder and sighs. “The truth of the matter is a business relationship like this demands a lot of trust, and that’s something I don’t give easily.”

I can’t argue with that.

My gaze lands on the binder. Sandwiched inside that plastic cover is weeks and months of planning. Of a harebrained, half-assed idea that consolidated into something I want to do. I need to do, really, in some weird way.

His hand goes to his briefcase, and I look up. He’s ready to walk out of here, money still in his proverbial pocket, and I don’t know how to keep him here. I don’t know what to say. I know what he needs to hear, but nothing I can say will work.

There’s nothing I can do that I haven’t already done.

What I need is a miracle, and it’s been proven I’m not the miracle-getting kind of guy.

Ten

Hadley

Having no plan is better than having a bad plan.

I think.

Looking up at the unlit letters of Crave, I wonder if Machlan plans to fix the ‘a’. It seems to drop a little more every time I see it. Knowing him, he probably thinks it makes the place seem less yuppie and fully expects to just let it hang until it eventually breaks free and falls to the sidewalk.

Kind of like me.

Rolling my eyes at my dramatics—although not completely untrue—I take my keys and stick them in my pocket. But I don’t move. I just sit in my car and look at the bar.

I don’t know why he loves this place so much—more than he might’ve ever loved me.

There are nights when I’m lying in bed thinking about my past, and I wonder, if Machlan hadn’t bought Crave, would we have had a chance? Was the bar the nail in our coffin or the stamp on an ending that was predestined from the start?

Samuel’s name flashes on my phone. I silence it while wishing I could silence myself.

Climbing out of the car, I take my time walking down the sidewalk. There’s no hurry because I don’t know what I’m going to say.

I tug open the door. Cool air rushes against my skin as my stomach tumbles at Machlan’s energy pummeling me from somewhere close. My eyes adjust to the light.

Machlan is standing at the end of the bar, wearing a pair of jeans and a black collared shirt stretched over his body. The sleeves are short enough to display the end of the colorful art decorating the top of his right arm. It’s only when the person beside him turns to face me do I even realize he’s not alone.

“Hadley?” Spencer Eubanks’s face breaks into a smile. “Is that you?”

“Mr. Eubanks,” I say, hoping I’m covering my confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Machlan stands behind Spencer. His hand motions between me and Spencer and ends with a shrug. I give him a subtle shake of the head.

“I was talking with Machlan about a business proposal,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

I ignore his second question and, instead, focus on the first. “A business proposal? This sounds interesting.”

“It’s not.” Machlan flashes me a look. “What do you need, Had?”

Climbing on a barstool a couple of seats down from the end to leave plenty of space between me and the men, I smile. “I wanted to talk to you about a proposal of my own.”

There’s a glimmer in Machlan’s eyes that tells me he took that the wrong way. My thighs pull together in an ill-fated attempt at dulling the combustion at the seat of my core.

The fucker somehow reads this, or at least predicts it, because the corner of his lip flickers toward the ceiling. I glare at him for good measure.

“Do you know each other well?” Spencer asks. His question feels like someone just walked in on me dressing, and I actually jump.

I laugh. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if you know each other well.”

“I’ve known Mach since I was fourteen,” I tell him. “We’ve been friends for a long time.”

Machlan shakes his head, walking around the bar and positioning himself between Spencer and me. My focus starts to waver as the intoxicating mixture of his cologne and energy wallops me from head to toe.

“Friends,” Machlan repeats. His lips twist in amusement. “That’s us. Friends.”

“Maybe that’s too strong of a word.” I flip my gaze back to Spencer. “We’ve been acquaintances for a long time. My brother and Machlan are best friends. We’re just in the same circle, I guess.”

Machlan completely ignores Spencer’s presence. He pierces me with his gaze. I shift in my seat and try to block out the questions Machlan is burning into my brain.

I take a deep breath and try to redirect this mess. “How is your mother?” I ask Spencer.

“Oh, she’s good. She and Dad are leaving for their end-of-summer vacation next week. It’s all I hear about.”

“Did they pick Oregon or Maine?” I ask.

Spencer starts to answer, but Machlan cuts him off.

“How do you two know each other again?” he asks, obviously perturbed.

“Hadley has worked in my mother’s dental office for quite a while now,” Spencer says. “Mom thinks a lot of her.”

My cheeks heat. “Well, your mom is pretty amazing.”

Spencer releases the handle to his briefcase. His arms cross over his chest as he looks at me, then at Machlan, and finally back at me.

The feeling in the room changes, shifting from an easy banter to something more serious. Machlan feels it too because he takes a step toward me.

“Hadley …” Spencer takes a deep breath, looks briefly at Machlan, and then rests his attention back on me. “Do you come here a lot?”

I have no idea what’s going on. The way he asks this question makes me immediately uncomfortable, and Machlan’s reaction to it worries me. He stretches his neck like he does when he’s frustrated, and that’s never, ever a good thing.

Suddenly, I’m curious. Probably too curious for my own good.

“I do,” I lie. “Why do you ask?”

Machlan mumbles something under his breath, but I can’t make it out.

“How much do you know about this business?” Spencer asks.

“Let’s leave her out of this,” Machlan says.

“Um, let’s not.” I lean against the bar and settle in.

Spencer sighs. “I know Hadley. I trust her judgment.”

“That’d be your first mistake,” Machlan says.

I rise up. “Excuse me?” Not that I particularly care what this is all about, but I’m not about to be excluded from it now. Not after that little comment. “I know a ton about this business.”

“You do, do you?” Machlan asks.

Spencer smiles. “Have you ever worked here?”

My heartbeat quickens as I see my opening. Machlan sees it too. His lips part to interject before I can say something stupid, which I’m about to do. But, lucky for me, I can talk faster than him.

“Funnily enough, I’m starting here this week.” The words come out in a rush—almost as quick as the glare from Machlan. “I have a couple of weeks before I start my new job, so I told Mach I’d come by and help out.”

“Oh my God,” Machlan groans.

Spencer picks up his briefcase. With a distinct nod of his head, he turns to Machlan. “I’ll have a contract sent to you tonight.”

“What?” Machlan’s eyes grow wide.

“I don’t know.” Spencer laughs. “Not that your presentation wasn’t compelling, but I feel better about this knowing Hadley knows you. You know how it is in this day and age. Who do you trust?”

“You can trust him,” I say, softer than I intend. “You can trust Machlan.”

The rise and fall of Machlan’s chest matches mine—in and out in such rapid succession that it makes it hard to actually even breathe. Spencer says something about faxing the contract again, and Machlan nods. I wave without looking as Spencer says goodbye.

Before I know it, it’s just me and Machlan. And Machlan doesn’t look happy.

* * *

Machlan

“What the fuck was that?”

My words are ringing through the air as the door slams shut behind Spencer. There’s a bite to my tone, a jagged edge to each syllable that’s delivered with precision. I wait for Hadley to react. All I get is a slight roll of her eyes.

“What’s what?” she asks.

My head spins, the events of the last few minutes tumbling through my mind and clamoring against each other. I can’t make sense of any of it.

“You don’t trust me,” I say. “So what was that all about? Why did you lie for me?”

“I didn’t say I trusted you.”

“You just told Spencer he could.”

She jumps off the stool and places her hands on her narrow hips. “That’s Spencer.”

She’s inches away, close enough for me to actually hear every breath she takes. Each soft intake of air feels like an invisible arm pulling me toward her.

Everything inside me is screaming—from the elation, and relief, of getting the building. From the irritation of Hadley intervening. From the proximity of her body to mine and from the smug look she’s flipping my way.

“Did you want this or not, Mach?”

“Clarify this.”

“Fuck you.”

I grin. “Is that an offer?”

Her arms cross over her chest, but the posture is muted by the way her lips part. “Clearly not.” She flushes. “But thanks for going there.”

“It was your mind that went straight to the gutter.”

She drops her arms at the same time she pulls her lip between her teeth. She’s definitely not doing it for my benefit because she has no way to know how hard it is for me not to reach forward and run my thumb along her jaw and free it. There’s no way she knows this is the exact look, complete with the lust in her eyes I’m scared of never seeing again, that I replay as I lie in bed alone and get off to memories of being entangled in my sheets with her.

“You could’ve just said thank you,” she points out.

“I could’ve.”

“You should’ve.”

“I would’ve if you hadn’t sidetracked me.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Whatever. You’ve never thanked me for anything in your life.”

I step toward her until her back is pressed against the bar. Her eyes are wide, her breathing as heavy as mine, but she makes no indication this isn’t where she wants to be.

“I can think of a few times I’ve thanked you,” I say. My voice is as thick as the air around us, gritty with the pent-up frustration I’ve had since she walked her tight little ass into Crave. “Are you going to pretend you forgot?”

“I never pretend.”

“So you remember when I thanked you for making those cupcakes up here for my eighteenth birthday?” The memory of what we did with that icing hits me in the groin.

Her pupils widen. “Yes.”

“And you remember when I thoroughly thanked you for picking me up the night Peck and I got caught throwing corn at the sheriff’s cars out by Bluebird?”

Whether it’s intentional or not, I don’t know, but she angles her body subtly toward me. Her breath is hot against my skin with every little gush of air that escapes her lips. Every move she makes floods me with the scent of her floral perfume and the sweet smell of her skin.

She swallows. “Yes. I remember that. Very well, actually.”

I don’t move. I’m rooted in place by her stare. It’s for the best because I’m not sure what I want to do first—shove my face into the crook of her neck or twist her around and bend her over the bar. Neither of which is probably a good idea if I really think about it. Good thing that not thinking things through is one of my best qualities.

My arm raises until my hand cups the side of her face. She gasps before a full-body shiver slides across her delicate skin. Her eyes are wide, glued to my lips, as I lower them to her.

She lifts her chin to me, her eyelashes fluttering closed. She lays a hand on the center of my chest. Her fingers flex against the cotton material. If she feels how hard my heart’s ricocheting off my ribs, she ignores it.

My lips hover over hers. She inhales sharply right before we touch—

“Hey, Machlan! I told Navie … Oh, shit.”

Still holding Hadley’s face, I twist my gaze to Peck. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Or his executioner.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I growl. My eyes almost pop out of my head from the force of my teeth grinding together.

Peck stands there, mouth agape, but he’s shrouded in the red of my fury.

“Trust me when I say I had no idea we were about to walk in on that.” Peck gulps. “You’re gonna kill me now, aren’t you?”

“Brutally.”

Hadley slips from beneath my grasp and slides to the side. Immediately, I miss the softness of her skin, the warmth of her proximity. I want to jerk her back, swallow the excuse on the tip of her tongue, and kiss her like she needs to be kissed. Like I need to be kissed.

“Stop it,” Hadley says. She smooths out an imaginary wrinkle in her shirt and makes a point to stand a good few feet away. It’s not so much that point that boils my blood, but more of the wall I sense between us again.

She doesn’t look my way. Doesn’t acknowledge me at all, really. Just fixes her gaze on Peck and Navie and that’s what bothers me the most. That she doesn’t see me. That she can pretend she wasn’t just pressed against me and willing to let me touch her.

Damn it.

“I’m Hadley,” she says to Navie, clearing her throat.

Navie looks between Hadley, Peck, me, and back at Hadley with a curious bend of her brow. “I’m Navie. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m sorry. Things aren’t usually this awkward,” Hadley says.

Peck laughs. “She’s lying. They’re always this awkward between the two of them.”

I glare at him again. Everything inside me is lamenting the missed opportunity, and as I look at her, I’m not sure I’ll get it again.

“This should be fun.” Navie laughs, running a hand through her hair. “So on a different note, I just want to remind you that I have to be out of here early tonight, Machlan. I mentioned that a few weeks ago. Just wanted to make sure you remembered.”

“I can help out,” Hadley offers.

I don’t even look at her. “The fuck you can.”

“I work here now, remember?”

“The fuck you do.”

“I told Spencer—”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you told Spencer,” I say, turning to face her. “You don’t know the first thing about bartending, for one. For two, I’m not about to let you in here at night alone.”

“I can stay with her …” Peck gulps as I flash a look his way. “Forget I said anything.”

My chuckle is low and angry. But as I take in my cousin, I realize I’m not actually mad at him. Or at Hadley. I’m mad at me.

Something in my genetic makeup makes it impossible for me to ignore Hadley Jacobs. It’s like God created me with a chink in my armor, then He created her to fit that weakness, and I can’t get around it to save my fucking life.

As I look at her across the room, I can’t figure out what it is that lures me so hard. She’s beautiful, but I’ve seen women who are technically prettier. She’s smart, but I’ve met smarter. She’s funny but not quite as funny as she thinks she is. She’s good and honest, but even she holds secrets and most of them are with me.

That’s why I can’t just write her off. I’m bound to this woman by scars etched on both our hearts; scars we share with only each other.

I tune back into the conversation as Navie picks up the remote for the television above the bar. “I love poker,” she says.

“A lot of us meet up at Machlan’s a couple of times a month and play. You could come sometime, if you want,” Peck offers.

“Really?” Navie looks at me.

I just shrug.

“He cheats,” Hadley says.

“I do not.”

“You totally do,” she says. “You change the rules halfway through the game—”

“No, I don’t. You don’t know the rules and think I’m changing them when they don’t go your way.”

She puts a hand on her hips. “Then how do I beat you every time?”

“Because I let you.”

Navie’s laugh fills the bar. “You two sound like an old married couple.”

Hadley’s hand falls to the side as she flips me one final gaze. She starts off toward the back of the bar. “I asked him to marry me once. He rejected me, so that won’t be happening again.”

I hear Navie’s gasp and see Peck’s jaw drop out of the corner of my eye. I wait for Hadley to look over her shoulder, to give me some clue as to why she just said that in front of an audience, but she doesn’t. She just opens the door and lets it pop closed behind her.

My eyes close as I count to ten. I don’t get to four before my legs start toward the back door too.

Eleven

Hadley

My sneakers squeak on the asphalt as I pivot to make my way up the splintered staircase. Bursting up the rickety steps, the handrail wobbling in my palm, I make my way as quickly as I can to the apartment.

I have no idea what led me to admit that out loud—in front of Peck and Navie, no less—but my cheeks are hot to the touch as I step into the kitchen.

This is not how this was supposed to go. I’m not here to let him kiss me.

But oh, God, I wish he would’ve.

My phone lights up on the table, and Samuel’s name is on the screen with a text message. I walk right on by, leaving it untouched.

My hand touches the spot on my cheek where Machlan’s hand rested.

I’m an idiot.

The entire point of being here is to figure out how to forget the touches and smiles and kisses, not to create memories of more.

I reach for my sweatpants on the bed when the sound of someone barreling up the steps stops me in my tracks. My back to the door, I wait for Machlan. I don’t have to wait long.

The door opens, rocking against the wall and rattling a picture of an old man praying before dinner on the wall. His presence takes up the entire room.

I clutch the nightgown to my chest and wait for him to speak. When a few seconds pass and he doesn’t utter a word, I look at him over my shoulder.

His hair is all mussed up as though he ran his hands through it on the way up here. There aren’t lines bunching his forehead like I imagined. Instead, a softness tints his features that has me blowing out a thankful breath.

“That took about three seconds longer than I anticipated,” I say.

“What are you doing?” he asks, not humored by my observation.

“Getting my stuff together.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Um, actually, it is.”

We’re face to face, my sweatpants and sunshine from the open door the only things between us. My gaze drops to his right hand. My cheek tingles at the thought of him touching me. And when I look back up at him again, I know he knows what I was thinking.

He smiles carefully. “I told you to stay here.”

“It’s a bad idea, Mach.”

“Why?”

“Because of you. And me,” I add before he can object. “Look at us. One of us can’t even do something nice for the other without a fight.”

He considers this. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I am? I mean, I am, but you agree with me?”

His gaze settles off into the distance. “Thank you for what you did with Spencer. I guess I should’ve led with that.”

“You think?”

“Oh, so you are blaming it on me?” He grins.

“I’m not blaming this,” I say, motioning between us, “on you. I’m just as much at fault.”

“This is your fault,” he says, motioning between us too.

“What? No. You touched me,” I say, tossing my sweatpants on my bag. “You broke the barrier.”

“And you came home, love.”

My knees go weak, and I grab the wall for support. I think it just slipped—him calling me love—but the glimmer in his eyes makes me consider otherwise.

I press my lips together, trying to get my head on straight. He shakes his head, a cheeky smile splitting his cheeks.

“Unless you want to be almost-kissed again, stop it,” he says.

I take a step back, but I can’t fight the smile on my face either. “I hate you.”

“Yeah. Sure looks like it.”

My phone rings from its spot on the table. It sounds louder than it’s ever sounded before and more urgent than it’s ever buzzed. Machlan side-eyes me as he leans forward and looks at the screen.

“Who’s Samuel?” he asks.

“A super nice guy who I’ve been dating.”

“You’re dating him?” He moves to pick up the phone.

“Don’t you dare.”

His hand stalls midair. “You’re dating him?” This time, there’s a gruff tone to his voice, a caution that pokes at my heart. He runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth as if going over a blueprint for war.

“No,” I admit. “I’m not currently dating him. We’re on a break.”

“Why?”

“Do you care?” I ask.

“Depends on the answer.”

He turns up the thermostat in my body with one pointed crook of his brow. I think I might melt to the floor as he leans against the wall and runs a hand up and down his bicep.

The colors of his tattoo draw me in, making it hard to look elsewhere. There are new designs etched in his skin, and I want to look closer. I want to drag my fingers down the designs and ask him why he chose each image.

“Hey,” he says.

When I skirt my gaze back to his, he nods, as if prodding me to answer his question.

Sucking in a deep lungful of air, I steady myself. “We’re on a break because I apparently have commitment issues.”

“Good.” He laughs. The jerk laughs.

“It’s not funny.” I head across the room again and find my flip-flops under the bed. When I stand again, he’s on the other side of the bed watching me with an amused smirk. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“He thinks you have commitment issues? Does he even know you?”

“He knows me well enough to know I’m unable to commit.”

“Since when?”

“He’s known me since—”

“Since when do you have commitment issues?” He gives me a disapproving look. “And on that note, what the fuck with you saying shit to Peck and Navie?”

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

I toss my flip-flops on top of my bag. He moves behind me. I just carry on into the kitchen and grab my toothbrush and toothpaste off the sink.

“Are we telling everyone everything about us now?” he asks.

My head whips to the side, and my eyes find his. “No.”

He nods like he doesn’t care, but I see the relief on his face.

My shoulders sag. I go about putting my things on top of my bag. They form a pile, teetering back and forth, as I add a notebook to the mix.

“Had …”

“If this is about … that,” I say, my throat thick with emotion, “then don’t.”

His hand reaches for me and rests on my arm. I stop in my tracks and stare at the point where his skin touches mine. My chest refuses to allow enough air inside to keep me even-keeled. A flurry of memories, of hopes and dreams all gather in the corners of my eyes.

I refuse to look at him, even when he says my name again. I look away, focusing on a pile of papers on the makeshift desk next to the microwave.

My tears are hot. My nose burns. My brain wrestles for control of my overstimulated nerves. Gently, I shake my arm free from him and turn completely away.

“I’ve never talked to anyone about that but you,” he says in an almost-whisper.

I sniffle, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my shirt. “I haven’t either.”

“I’d hug you if I didn’t think you’d hit me.”

I can’t suppress the soft laugh. “How can you be such a jerk and then almost sweet in the same minute?”

“It’s what happens when you’re the fourth sibling. You get whatever genes are left. My bag of DNA didn’t include enough of either, I guess. I kind of hop back and forth between them.”

“You really stay on the jerk side most times.”

He shrugs. “Probably.” He finds my car keys on the nightstand and holds them in his palm. He looks them over as if they might tell him something, before sitting on the bed. “Let’s get back to this Samuel guy.”

Plopping down on the sofa, I tuck my legs under me. Machlan watches but doesn’t press, and that concerns me. He’s a presser. The kind of guy who doesn’t give you a chance to get yourself together. But here he is, giving me space to articulate a response.

It’s enough to make me want to answer him.

“He’s nice, Mach. He …” I look around the room, trying to figure out the words to use. “He’s kind and smart and responsible.”

Much to my amazement, Machlan doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t grin or smirk or give me some one-liner that makes me want to throat punch him. Instead, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve been seeing him a while,” I add.

“Does Cross know this?”

“Yeah.”

He mumbles something I can’t hear. His knuckles turn a bright white before fading back to his usual skin tone. “I’m gonna have to disagree.”

“On …?”

“All of it.”

“All of what? There’s nothing to disagree with,” I say. “I told you my opinions.”

“And I told you mine. Look, Had. If this guy was so fucking great, first of all, he’d be here trying to get you back.”

“No. Part of what makes him great is that he gives me room when I ask for it.”

“You don’t want room,” he scoffs. “When you say that shit, you really just want someone to chase after you.”

My legs drop to the floor. A tinge of sadness sits over my heart because it shows why he didn’t come after me when I left town. “Well, I’m glad to know you know that.”

We exchange a long look. He shrugs but looks at the floor. “I’m glad to know you want someone kind and smart.”

“What did you think I want?”

“I don’t know.”

He might say that, but he doesn’t mean it. There’s an idea of what he thinks I want that he won’t say, and I wonder why. Before I can ask, he jams his hands in his pockets.

“You won’t commit to the kind, great guy. That’s what’s going on?” he asks.

“Basically.” I stand, too. “I’ll be honest with you.”

“I wish you would.”

“I want to be in love with Samuel.”

Machlan stills. He narrows his eyes just a touch, as if trying to comprehend what I said, before his hand slides in his back pocket. Out comes his can of tobacco, and the thumping of his thumb against the lid strums through the room in an easy rhythm.

“You can’t just ‘be in love’ with someone,” he says finally.

“Tell me about it.” I sigh. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t be in love with him.”

The thumping stops. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“It kind of is.”

“No, it’s not. Do you really want to wake up one morning next to someone you made yourself love?”

I look at the floor. “Sometimes I think it would be better than not having anyone to love at all.” Shrugging, I flip my gaze to him for a moment because I can’t linger on the sadness I see in his eyes. “I’m being dramatic.”

“You still being honest?” he asks. “’Cause I’d like to know why you’re here. For real. No bullshit.”

When I turn away, he touches my arm lightly. I let him spin me to face him.

I wish I hadn’t.

His eyes search mine with a tenderness that makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry. It’s my favorite Machlan look, the one that I’ve only seen a handful of times. Usually, he’s too guarded and ornery to let himself be exposed like this, but when he does, it’s a sight to behold.

I stare at him for a long time, letting my heart find a steady pulse.

“Why are you here?” he asks again.

Without breaking eye contact, I tell him. “I need to put you in a box I can manage.”

“What’s that mean?”

Tears slip quietly down my cheeks. I don’t think Machlan notices. His eyes don’t leave mine.

“Hadley …”

“This is so embarrassing,” I admit.

He swipes a few napkins off the table and hands them to me. Our fingers touch as I take them, but he jerks his away before I can relish the micro-second of contact.

My heart pounding in my chest, my body warmed by his proximity, I do what he asked. I tell him the truth. “I’m here to figure out how to make peace with you. I fell in love with you when I was a little girl, and I can’t seem to find a place in my heart to love anyone else.”

“You don’t love me, Had.”

My jaw drops to the floor. I look at him, expecting him to laugh. Maybe grin. Chuckle, even. He doesn’t.

“How could you?” he continues, sober as a judge. “I’m not fishing for gratuitous compliments because fuck that. But look at me. Look at what I’ve done to you, what we’ve been through. How could you love me?”

“It was pretty damn easy.” I sniffle.

“This is my fault. All your memories go back to me. You moved here after your mom died, and I was the one inserting myself in your life when you should’ve been making friends and grieving.”

“I did make friends. And I did grieve.”

“And I was right there, nosing myself in.”

I force a tear-filled swallow. “I’m pretty sure I let you.”

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “What’s dickhead’s job?”

“Who?”

“Fucking … what’s his name?” he asks, motioning toward my phone.

“Samuel?”

“Yeah. Samuel,” he almost spits. “What’s his job?”

“He’s an auditor.”

“That’s what you need, Had. Someone like that. Not him,” he adds, “but someone like him who makes you smile and laugh. Not someone like me. Someone like me just fucks shit up.”

I hold my hand out for my keys. He’s confused for a split second, then digs them out of his pocket and places them in my hand. This time, he lets his hand rest against mine.

The warmth of his palm, the way his fingers drag over mine, kicks my tears back into high gear. My stomach knots. My chest aches.

“What can I do to help you?” he asks.

“Stop trying to kiss me.”

He almost cracks a grin as he draws his hand away. He shoves his chew can back in his pocket and trudges to the door. He pulls it open, light filling the room in a happy flood of sunshine. Neither of us smiles.

My phone rings again. We both look at it. Machlan grimaces, biting his bottom lip, before stepping outside.

“Lock up behind me,” he orders.

“I told you I was leaving.”

He leans against the doorframe, his bicep flexing as he grabs the top of the door. “And I said you were staying.”

“Mach—”

“Let me win this one, Hadley.” He drops his arm. “Just give me this. Please.”

The sweetness in his eyes, the way he looks at me with such genuine care makes me give in.

“Okay,” I say.

I ignore the flutter in my heart and shut the door. I flip the lock. It’s only then do I hear him descend the stairs. It’s only then, too, do I turn my phone off and climb into bed in the middle of the afternoon.

Twelve

Machlan

“What smells so good in here?”

I step through the screen door and scare the shit out of my poor nana. She jumps and clutches her chest. “Machlan Daniel. Don’t you do that to me.” Wielding a wooden spoon in her hand, she waggles it my way.

My hands go up in self-defense. A spatula doesn’t feel great when your nana whips it through the air and wallops you on the back. I made the mistake of mentioning she decorated it with cocks one time. Just once. I’ve avoided the spatula since.

She sticks her cheek out as I approach. I place a kiss on the side of her face as I walk by. “Sorry, Nana.”

“You boys are gonna be the death of me.”

“Let’s not talk about your death.”

“It was an expression, Machlan,” she says. She turns back to the stove and stirs something in a copper pot.

“It was an expression I don’t appreciate.” I hop on top of the island, knowing damn good and well she’ll swat me down when she turns around. “You didn’t answer me.”

“About what?”

“What are ya making? Smells good.”

“I have a ham in the oven and have some—get your hiney off my counter!” She swats my leg. “Goodness gracious, boy. Were you raised in a barn?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“You were not. Now get off there.”

Her orders, delivered with the firmness of a sergeant but with the smile of a grandmother, make me laugh. I sit at a stool and watch her cook.

She meanders around the space, lifting lids and getting things out of the refrigerator. She rattles on about some television show she watched that said a kitchen is dirtier than a bathroom, and I tune her out when she switches topics to her soap operas.

I don’t have time to listen to that crap. I’m living a soap opera of my own.

The corner of my lips turn up as I think of Hadley. I don’t know what I’m going to do with that girl. It was easier when she was in Vigo and Cross withheld information. I could rationalize that, tell myself she was happy and to just let her be. But now, with her right under my nose, I can’t pretend she’s not there. I can’t pretend I don’t want to be near her. I don’t want to.

My breath comes out in a long, slow drawl. It’s enough to have Nana turning around with a concerned look.

“A ham on a weeknight?” I ask before she can dictate the direction of this conversation. “Seems weird. You got a boyfriend or something?”

“Not that it would be any of your business, but no. I don’t.” She furrows her brow as she turns back to the stove and shuts off a timer. “Lance called. He and Mariah are coming for dinner.”

“And I wasn’t invited? I’m hurt.”

She glances at me over her shoulder. “You’re always invited, honey.”

“I kinda don’t remember the phone call saying, ‘Hey, Machlan. We’re having dinner tonight.’”

She sets her spoon on a little tray on the counter. “I think Lance is up to something.”

“Lance is always up to something.”

“No, I mean a serious something. Do you know anything about this?”

I balk. “Nana, are you asking me to gossip about my brother?”

“Gossip? No.”

“Yeah. You are.” I shake my head as if I’m utterly amazed at this revelation. “Wasn’t the pastor just preaching about gossiping last week?”

Her mouth hangs open.

“And about my brother, no less,” I add. “I’m disappointed in you.”

She recovers, grabbing a dish towel and throwing it at me. “You’re so full of it.”

“Full of what?” I goad, ducking as the yellow-and-white checkered rag goes over my head.

“Nothing good.” She swats my shoulder as she walks by to pick up the errant towel. “At least you were listening in church, though. That’s a good sign.”

“I always listen. Sometimes to the pastor too.”

I watch as she moseys back to the oven. She opens it, and the entire room is filled with the sweet, smoky scents of baked ham and pineapple.

“You really don’t know what Lance wants?” she asks, resting the baking dish on a towel. “I have no idea what to expect from that boy.”

“I really don’t know. You know I’d tell you. I mean, you feed me.”

She laughs, shaking her head. She gets out a plate and busies herself at the stove. I slide my finger along the edge of a cake on the island and plop the icing in my mouth while she isn’t looking.

“You staying for dinner?” Nana asks.

“I wasn’t invited.”

“I won’t ask again.”

“Oh, you will too.”

“I just hate the thought of you going home alone and eating by yourself.”

“Which is why you totally called me tonight, right?”

She fires a warning look over her shoulder. “Keep it up and no cheeseball for you on Sunday.”

I make a face. “Wow. Going right for the jugular, huh?”

Nana busies herself again, going off on a tangent about how nice her yard looks. Walker apparently mowed it yesterday, and you’d think he shit gold.

Through the window above the sink, I see the evening sky. It’s almost like a painting. I can’t see a sky like that and not think of Hadley.

Evenings are her favorite time of day. I remember when she wanted to be a painter her sophomore year of high school. I bought her all these fancy paints and an easel for Christmas. She spent hours of her life outside, watching the sun go down and trying to capture it on a canvas.

“If you won’t stay for dinner,” Nana says, setting a plate down in front of me, “you can at least eat before you go.”

“Lance is gonna be pissed I got a plate before him.” I smile as broadly as I can. “That really makes me happy, Nana.”

“You and that mouth.”

“Just think,” I say, picking up the fork beside the plate. “I kissed you with this mouth.”

She makes a face but laughs the entire time. As I take a bite of ham, she meanders around the island and hoists herself on a stool beside me. She groans as she gets situated, and a stab of fear races down my spine.

“You okay?” I ask, my fork suspended in midair.

“Oh, I’m fine. My back is just a little sore.”

“Want me to take you to see Doc Burns tomorrow?”

She places a hand on my arm. It’s not a swat and isn’t accompanied with a laugh or a joke about getting old. Instead, it feels a lot like a plea not to talk about it.

My throat squeezes shut as I look at her wrinkled skin. Her wedding ring still sparkles on her finger even though my grandfather has been dead for ten years.

Nana is my consistent, the woman who looked after me after my parents died. The one who makes me chicken noodle soup when I get a slight cough—even when she’s knows I’m faking just to get the soup. She’s not to blame for the bad parts of me, but the credit goes to her for most of the good parts.

The idea of something happening to her makes me want to be sick.

“Ready to talk?” she asks.

I shove a spoonful of scalloped potatoes in my mouth. “About what?”

“About whatever brought you here.”

“Don’t I come here to check on you all the time without wanting to talk?” I ask, still trying to shake off something being wrong with Nana.

“Yes. You’re a good boy and check on me all the time. But you do it differently most days.”

“You’re nuts.”

She tilts her head to the side. “No. I think I’m observant.”

I load my mouth with potatoes again so I don’t have to respond.

She starts a story about my parents. Just the mention of my mother and the taste of the home cooked dinner has me lifting the fork a little slower.

I miss this. A lot. More than I’d ever admit to her or my brothers or Blaire. It’s why I don’t miss Sunday dinners at Nana’s and why my ass is in a pew nearly every Sunday. As much of a heathen as I am, a part of me really likes the slower pace of family dinners. The way you can relax and catch up from the week. How someone cared about you enough to fix you dinner. How someone would miss you if you didn’t show up. How maybe, despite all the bullshit you do and have done, it can be okay somehow.

Nana’s face is animated, her hands waving through the air as she finishes her story. I wonder what will happen when she does pass away some day. My stomach roils. I drop my fork.

“Is it okay?” she asks, looking at my plate.

“It was really good.”

“But you didn’t clean your plate.”

“I, uh, I grabbed a sandwich a little while ago.”

She doesn’t believe me but doesn’t push it. “I talked to Blaire today. She seems to be doing good.”

“I think she got laid on her trip to Savannah.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t talk that way around me.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the counter. “Oh, come on, Nana. It’s not like you don’t know what happens.”

“Of course, I know,” she says, patting her silver hair wrapped in a bun high on her head. “It’s not like I was always this old.”

“I bet you were a maniac,” I tease.

“Well, I wasn’t a wallflower, if that’s what you mean.”

“Nana!”

Her cheeks flush as she rinses my plate and sticks it in the dishwasher. “Your poor grandpa didn’t stand a chance.”

“So you’re where we get it.”

“Get what?”

I look at her and try not to laugh as reality settles over her cute little face.

“Well, I guess it could be true …” She smiles sheepishly.

My laughter comes quick and loud as I hop off the stool. “Lord, I love you.” I pull her into a one-armed hug and kiss the top of her head. “Thanks for dinner.”

She wraps her arms around my waist and doesn’t let go. “I love you, Machlan. Even if you’re ornery.”

“I love you especially when you are.”

She smacks my stomach. Despite her playfulness, I sense something else on the cusp of spilling over. I do quick math and wonder if I can get out of here before she brings whatever it is up.

The answer is no.

“I’m worried about you, sweetheart,” she says.

“Why?”

“When was the last time you brought a young lady over here?”

I bite my lip. “Two thousand fifteen? Fourteen, maybe?”

She smacks me again. “I’m being serious.”

“Me too.” I dodge the next slap and step away. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are. But I want you to be great.”

“Fine. I’m great, Nana.”

She rolls her eyes. “Your brothers both have a woman in their lives, and Blaire might even have a man.”

“What makes you think I don’t have someone?”

“Because you’re at your grandmother’s way too often to be a man with a lady waiting.”

This is true, and I have a hard time disagreeing with her logic. I am here more than most mid-twenties men who are in good shape and make decent money. I also never bring women around. This is mostly because I don’t fuck around too much, but I heard she thought Lance was gay once and really don’t want to have to spend time making her believe I’m not.

“Maybe I like you better than her,” I offer with a shrug.

“Or maybe she doesn’t exist.”

“Are you saying I can’t get a woman, Nana? Wow. What’s with you and the hurtful comments tonight?”

“I’m not being hurtful. And I wasn’t saying that either.” She goes to the cabinets and takes out a container. “I’m just saying I want you to have someone to look out for you. And I definitely want to see some grandbabies from you.”

My heart drops to my knees. I grab the side of the counter and force a swallow. “Maybe someday.”

She thrusts a container at me. “This is for later.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you ignoring that grandbaby comment?”

“I said maybe someday. What did you put in here?” I ask, shaking the lidded box.

“You didn’t eat enough tonight.”

“Did you give me cake?”

“No, but if you come see me tomorrow, I’ll make a lemon pie just for you.”

“You know,” I say, draping an arm over her shoulder, “if I get a girlfriend one of these days, she probably won’t want me coming over this much.”

“I’ll still cook for you and drop it off at your house. And if she doesn’t like that, then she’s not the right one for you.”

“I’ll add that to the checklist.” I wink. “Good luck with Lance.”

She frowns. “A part of me hopes Mariah is pregnant. The other part of me just hopes it’s not bad news.”

“There’s some optimism for you,” I joke. “Why don’t you just hope for something good?”

“That’s what I said.”

“No. You said you hope it’s not bad. That’s not saying you hope it’s good.”

She shoos me toward the door. “Get out of here. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Night, Nana.”

“Love you, sweet boy. And get a haircut before Sunday, will you?”

“I’ll think about it.”

I trudge down the back steps. The sun is almost completely over the horizon, the night sky a deep blue with stormy looking skies. Silver stars begin to sparkle despite the clouds, and I wonder if Hadley is looking at them.

I imagine holding her in my arms as we sit on the swing on my back porch and having her point out all the little shapes she can find in the sky. Stopping in my tracks, I look up at the bright flecks and smile.

“Hey!” Lance calls out as he and Mariah turn the corner of the house. “What are you doing here?”

“Eating your dinner,” I tease. “Hey, Mariah.”

“Hey, Machlan.” A bouquet is in her hand. “How are you tonight?”

“You warming Nana up for something?” I ask, nodding at the bouquet.

“Yeah. No. Maybe?” She looks at Lance. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

He whirls his girlfriend around and plants a loud, wet kiss on her lips. “It’s not,” he tells her. “Go work your magic with her, and I’ll be inside in a second.”

Mariah grins as she gives me a little wave and heads up the steps to the back door. Lance, though, stops beside me.

“You got Nana all fucked up,” I tell him. “She tried to get me to rat you out.”

“You don’t even know why I’m here.”

I shrug. “True, but I almost made something up just to look like the hero.”

“Well, I should’ve told you so you could get a feel for her reaction before I go in.” He rubs his forehead. “She’s not gonna like this.”

“What’s happening?”

“Mariah and I want to elope.” He cringes as I burst out laughing. “Stop it, asshole.”

“She’s never gonna go for that. As a matter of fact,” I say, cutting off Lance’s attempt at interjection, “she was just trying to get me to settle down.”

He jabs a finger my way. “Now that’s funny.”

“Right?”

He sticks his tongue in the side of his cheek, his eyes sparkling with some dickhead comment that I try to brace myself for.

“How are things with Hadley, anyway?” he asks.

I roll my eyes, my heart clamoring at the sound of her name, and head to my truck.

“Oh, come on,” Lance calls from behind me. “I was just kidding.”

“It’s really not funny.”

“No, it’s not.”

I stop walking and turn to face him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

I sigh. “What made you stop fucking everyone you met and want to just be with Mariah? And elope now, apparent-fucking-ly?”

“Why do you care?”

“Don’t you wonder if you’re rushing this?” I ask. “I mean, why do you need to get married right now? It seems like only yesterday we were looking at some sex app and now you’re getting fucking married?”

Lance just laughs and heads up the porch. “First of all, it was a dating app.”

I lift a brow. “I believe you used it for sex, not dinner parties.”

He looks at the house guiltily before turning back to me. “Will you please lower your voice?”

“Fine. Dating app. But how do we go from that to this?”

“Because if I don’t marry her, someone else will.” He stops and flashes me a smug smirk. “Better think about that, Machie boy.”

I watch him disappear inside the house, his laughter at my expense trailing behind him. As I climb in my truck and buckle in, I pause. Looking up into the night sky once again, I wonder if he might be onto something.

Or not.

The gravel flies behind my truck as I pull on the road.

Thirteen

Hadley

A shot of lightning catapults through the air. It illuminates the sky before a crack of thunder roars through Emily’s backyard.

“Looks like rain,” I note.

“Feels like it too. I think the temperature just dropped ten degrees.” Emily refills her wine glass with a light pink Moscato. “We’ll be switching this out for hot chocolate soon.”

“I’d take hot chocolate over that stuff now.”

“I can’t believe you don’t like wine. How are we even friends?”

I squish my nose. “Wine is so bitter. Or flat. Or … something. There’s nothing to it.”

“Ever had Moscato?” she asks.

“No. And I’m quite okay with that.”

“Your loss.” She takes a long sip before resting her head against the deck chair. “I told Josh to go fuck himself tonight.”

Twisting in my chair, I feel my eyes bug out. Her eyes close. I’m not sure if she’s in complete thought or blocking out thoughts altogether, but she seems peaceful.

“What happened?” I ask her with a heavy dose of caution. “I thought things were going great?”

“They were.”

“And then …?”

She lifts her head and looks at me. I scan her eyes for tears or a sign that she’s unsure about her decision, but there’s none of that. We could be talking about anything factual—Pilates is overrated, buttercream icing is better than whipped, or how no one really looks good in orange.

Or, apparently, how she and Josh weren’t mean to be.

“I’m so confused,” I say after a long silence.

She pulls her knees to her chest. “He never wants to do anything I want to do. It’s always about him and, to be honest, I’m sick of it.” She looks at me and makes a face. “Everything is what he wants—what we do on the weekend, where we go for dinner, how we have sex. I mean, sometimes I really want to be bent over a damn chair! Is that too much to ask?”

I know she’s being serious, but I can’t not laugh. I also can’t formulate a good response. Luckily, my reaction seems to settle her in some way because, before my chuckles end, she’s shrugging.

“Well, it’s true,” she says.

“Hey, what about that guy from the lumber yard? What was his name?” I snap my fingers. “Jeremy! What about him?”

“He’s cute, and based on the errant thing he whispered in my ear that night at Crave a couple of weeks ago, I’m one-hundred percent positive he’d bend me over a chair. But I don’t even want to think about dating again.” She sighs. “Finding a good man is like … buying an avocado.”

“Ridiculously expensive?”

“No, but that’s true too.” She laughs, pointing at me. “I was thinking more like a terrifying gamble. You can’t just go for looks because that perfect skin and amazing tan that leads you to think it’s spent the entire season getting perfectly ripe just for you may be a lie. The inside might be rotten. So you give it a little squeeze—firm, gentle pressure to kind of test the waters.” Her brows waggle. “Is it hard enough for a good time but soft enough to watch a romcom? Maybe. Or maybe it took a little blue pill and has mommy issues.”

“Dude. Stop drinking,” I tell her.

She picks up her glass and downs whatever is left in it. A burp belts through the air. “Okay.”

I don’t dignify her belch with a response. Instead, I settle back in my chair and gaze into the night sky.

If there was a way I could blink and be as flippant about relationships as Emily, I would do it in half a heartbeat. She dates men, falls in love, practically moves in with them, and then casts them away when things don’t pan out like it’s the crust on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Why can’t I do that?

Why do I have to be cursed with feelings for one boy?

“What?” Emily asks.

I turn to look at her. “What what?”

“You just groaned.”

“I did?”

“You did. And if I were your best friend who knew all your groans and snarls, I’d label this one as being rooted in Machlan.”

My head hits the back of the chair with a loud thud. “Ouch!” I rub the spot, trying to distract both myself and Emily more than massage out a knot.

“I was right. Surprise, surprise.”

My emotions well up against the dam I built inside to keep them all back. I can feel them roaring against my lips like a hurricane lashing against the shores.

Since Machlan left the apartment, my brain hasn’t left me alone. My mind doesn’t even feel like mine anymore, and that’s a tough thing to reconcile. One minute, I’m reminiscing about sweet moments with him, and the next, I’m almost in tears over others. Then everything flips again and I’m ready to kill him, and then reality hits and I feel helpless.

Helpless is something I loathe. I call bullshit on it most times. You’re never helpless; you can always do something. I just wish I could figure out the something about this.

Wine sloshes against Emily’s glass as she fills it again. “Just thinking I might need this to get through this convo.” She takes in my reaction. “Or you might need it. Either way, I’m prepared.”

“A regular survivalist,” I joke.

She leans back in her chair again. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

“I don’t know.” It’s almost a whine, but I’m too overwhelmed to care.

“No, you do know. And I know, and he knows, and the whole damn world knows.”

I groan again, louder this time. So loud, in fact, that my voice fills Emily’s entire backyard, and her neighbor’s dog starts to howl right along with me.

“Stop.” Emily laughs, shoving me in the arm. “I think you’ve officially lost it.”

Lost it. Her words send a shiver across my skin. The thought of losing Machlan knocks the wind out of me. How I thought I could do that—just distance myself from him forever—seems idiotic now.

It’s always this way once I’ve spent time with him. Five weeks, five days, five hours—it’s always the same. Maybe it ends badly or we drive each other crazy, but I always walk away knowing two things: one, I love him and, two, he’ll never commit to me.

“What if I lose him completely, Em?”

My friend doesn’t need a further explanation; the look on her face shows she gets it.

My chest shakes as I take a breath. It’s the kind of shake that happens when your body is full of adrenaline, prepping to keep you going through some perceived danger. There may not be a lion in the area, but I’m on the cusp of getting eaten alive anyway.

She lays her hand on my arm, giving it a gentle squeeze before removing it. “Isn’t that what you came here for?”

My entire body sags, pressing down in the wooden deck chair so hard I think I hear it crack.

“Yes. No. I don’t know anymore. When I’m away from him, he’s what I want, and I tell myself I have to make it stop. Then I’m with him, and it’s really apparent I can’t make it stop.” I cover my face with my hands. “I just want to be one of those women who is all confident and independent. One who calls a number and meets up at a hotel when she needs a man.”

Emily snorts.

“I mean it.” I look at her with every intention of being serious but end up laughing as soon as our eyes meet. “Stop making me laugh!”

“It’s my job.”

“Well, make it your job to help me figure out how to live my life. Just make all my decisions for me, will ya?”

“You need to relax,” she says. “Seriously.”

“I know.”

The temperature seems to drop. I run my hands up and down my arms as the crickets in the lowlands get louder. It makes me think of camping with Machlan—campfires and s’mores and the taste of bug spray. I close my eyes and imagine his red tent with the hole in the top from the summer night when Peck forgot to watch the fire and the top of the tent went up in flames.

What a fun time of my life that was—being with my favorite people, doing the simplest things. Making memories that are still some of my most precious possessions.

“How do people survive this?” I ask. “How do they love someone who doesn’t love them back and go on and have a happy life with someone else?”

“Maybe they don’t.”

“Oh, gee. Thanks.”

She laughs. “Maybe those people never get married because they refuse to see the big sea and all those other hunky fishes swimming around them. Or maybe they do get married and are never truly happy because they keep thinking about the fish from the reef back there.”

I struggle to keep a straight face. “You’re so super helpful.”

“Hear me out,” she says, waving a hand to shush me. “You know how you can go three days and not eat cake and as soon as you say you’re on a diet, all you can think about is cake?”

“Wait a minute. What happened to the reef?”

“They’re connected. I promise. Stick with me.”

“Okayyy …”

She shimmies in her seat. “Okay. So, all you can think about is cake, right? Well, it’s the same thing here. It’s the same thing as Fish Girl.”

I pretend to think. “Nope,” I say, shaking my head fervently. “I’m not following you.”

“Gah!”

“Cake and fish should never go together.”

“They go together in this way: you want cake on minute one of a diet because it’s what you can’t have. As soon as that luscious piece of heaven slathered with buttercream goodness is off-limits, you need it like you need air. Am I right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she says, her eyes lit up with excitement. “And it’s the same for Fish Girl. She’s swimming in this vast ocean that comprises like three-quarters of the world and can’t see all these ah-mazing fish she encounters every day because she’s still all obsessed with Reef Boy.”

“Look, Em …”

She shakes her head. “You want what you can’t have. It’s basic human nature.”

My gaze drops to the glass of wine, and I contemplate guzzling it. It certainly couldn’t make me more confused or sick to my stomach.

Not everything she’s saying is resonating. I don’t want Mach just because I can’t have him. I want him because he’s so threaded in my life—in who I am and how I got to be this person—that I can’t imagine not having him. Or not wanting him.

“Maybe I have to accept I won’t have him like I want him,” I say, testing the idea out loud. “Maybe I need to …”

“Maybe you need to take the pressure off it. Stop ‘being on a diet’,” she says, using air quotes. “You stress constantly about your relationship with Machlan—how it’s defined. What it is. What it isn’t. Maybe you just need to let it be.”

“Let it be, huh?”

“Yes,” she says, grinning. “Let it be. Let it be whatever it is. Give it the organic room to just develop into a great friendship or an intense hatred or a friends with benefits or maybe just mutual acquaintances. You’ll never know what it can be if you don’t stop trying to shove it into one of the two boxes you’ve already decided it has to go in.”

I gulp, my mind processing this too quickly. Everything kind of jumbles together as if I did drink the wine, but at the same time, it seems clear. And possibly logical.

“I almost kissed him today,” I say. I toss it out there as though it’ll change her mind. She only laughs.

“I’m sure you did. The two of you together is like watching two people have sex without the sex.”

“That’s gross.” I stand, stretching my arms overhead. “I need to get going.”

“You got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah. Bed.”

She yawns, getting to her feet too. “I’m tired myself and that bottle of wine didn’t help.”

I pull her into a quick hug before heading toward the gate at the side of the house. I wave. I might even respond to something she says offhandedly as I walk away. I’m not sure. All I do know is that I have to figure out if I can just be friends with Machlan Gibson or if that’s a recipe for disaster.

Fourteen

Hadley

I slide my toothbrush over my teeth.

The sky is a hazy mass of grays. Buckets of rain aren’t pouring from the sky, and the wind doesn’t sound like it’s two seconds from ripping the stairs off the front of the apartment either. Both were constants all night as I lay on the bed and listened to the weather be as contrary as my feelings.

By the time the rain switched to a drizzle and I finally drifted to sleep, I had worried myself into an emotional coma. Now that it’s morning, or early afternoon if the clock isn’t lying, a sort of peace blankets me. I have no solution to my predicament. There isn’t some grand plan to wrench my heart out of Machlan’s hands. But there does seem to be a confidence that I’ll figure it out and that feels good.

That feels like me.

I spit, rinse, and spit again.

Plucking the toothbrush back in the coffee cup next to the window, I think through a highlight reel of my relationship with Mach. The only consistency throughout the years is that there was always pressure.

Pressure not to be together from Cross.

Pressure to be together as a result of our choices.

Pressure not to be together because things were too hard, and then pressure to be together because it really felt like our final shot.

“Maybe Emily’s right,” I say. “Maybe I just need to let it work itself out.”

The words barely get past my lips before my palm hits my forehead. It sounds so simple to say those words. It seems so easy in concept. But giving up control when it comes to this particular situation is so crazy hard for me.

It’s too important. I’m too vulnerable. There’s too much on the line.

“Ugh.” My stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten since the three bites I had of Emily’s frozen lasagna last night. I head to the couch to grab my purse when my phone rings from the table.

I ignored two texts from Samuel last night and one call that could be classified as early morning. Grabbing the device, I sit on the edge of the bed and answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Hadley.”

I wait for a flutter of butterflies or at least a semblance of familiarity at hearing his voice, but nothing changes inside me. I might as well be talking to Cross or Peck.

“How are things going down there?” he asks.

“Oh, they’re good. How about you?”

“Work is killer today. We balanced a couple of accounts this morning and …”

My attention wanes, drifting to a certain tattooed bar owner instead of Samuel’s tales of the accounting tape. I wonder what Mach is doing and what he had for breakfast and if he still sleeps on his right side with a pillow between his legs.

“Am I boring you?” Samuel asks.

“Sorry,” I say, faking a yawn. “It was a long night.”

The line quiets. “I wondered why you didn’t answer. Anyway, I’m glad to hear you’re having fun with your friends.”

“Yeah. Me too.” I scrub a hand down my face. “Are you having fun with yours?”

He laughs, and it pains me a little. The idea of Samuel having friends—the real kind, the kind like he knows I have—shouldn’t be funny.

“We worked until three this morning. I guess the slight conversation we had outside of numbers and figures over cold pizza could be construed as a good time,” he says.

“You need to have more fun. What about that one guy? Ryan? Brian? Whatever his name is. You guys should go out and have some drinks tonight.”

“We’re all too busy. Hey, how’s your brother? I thought of him today. A guy tried to write off his gym membership, and it made me think of Cross’s gyms.”

I flop back on the mattress and think about the awkward meeting between Samuel and Cross a few weeks ago. How Cross kept looking at me like I was crazy, and Samuel couldn’t understand why Cross didn’t want to man-hug when he left.

“He’s good,” I say. “He and Kallie are living together now. They’re pretty happy.”

“That’s good. I bet it’s nice for you to stay there and spend so much time with them while you can.”

“Yeah.” I get to my feet and begin to pace the small room.

A long, awkward silence fills the line. I walk back and forth, passing the table each time, wondering what in the world we’re supposed to talk about.

When did it get this hard to talk to him? Has it always been?

Papers rustle. “Well, that’s good. Do you think you’ll be home when I get back from Salem?”

“Samuel …” I close my eyes and kick myself for answering the phone in the first place.

“I know, I know. You can’t commit right now. But I’m hoping if we get some time away from each other, maybe you’ll change your mind.”

“We’re on a break. We mutually agreed to that.”

He sighs like this conversation is a distraction. “We did, but agreements change. Right? That’s why we took a break and didn’t break up. We can salvage this.”

I stop pacing and look at the wall. Salvage. “What kind of word is that?”

“What kind of word is what?”

“Salvage,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “It’s like garbage. Like a salvage yard where they take parts off old cars or something.”

“It’s a proper term. It means to rescue.”

“I know what it means, Samuel.” I sigh, feeling a weight on my shoulders. “My point is, is that what you want? To salvage our relationship?”

“Frankly, yes. I do. I want to rescue it from its current situation. With a few tweaks, Hadley, I think we can bring it in the black.”

Bring it in the black? I groan, and I know he hears it, but I just can’t make myself care.

I consider the possibility of going back to Vigo and seeing Samuel again. It would be nice. Orderly. Predictable. We’d have date nights on Fridays and intelligent conversations about business. We’d read separately before bed and fall asleep on crisp white sheets. But as my mind drifts to other possibilities, to ornery bar owners and spirited discussions and jokes, the idea of going back seems like turning off my favorite rock song and putting on elevator music.

“I don’t think it’s going to happen, Samuel.”

“Why?”

“Do I make you happy? Really? Do you come home with butterflies in your stomach to see me?”

“That’s the most overused analogy in the history of analogies.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I look forward to coming home every day and seeing you. I get excited to spend the weekend with you. And I can’t wait to get home from this trip and convince you to … maybe move in with me.”

My eyes almost pop out of my head.

“It’ll make things a lot easier,” he says. “I won’t have to rush home so our schedules meet because you’ll be there. And you won’t have to rush into that new job of yours either. I can more than cover our rent and necessities.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Is it not?”

“No. You don’t ask someone to move in because of ease,” I say with a sad smile on my face. “It should be about more.”

“I don’t know how much more you can get than synchronizing our lives.”

I want to tell him about all the more—the staying up late and breaking down the best songs of the nineties. Taking a truck to Bluebird to see if we can get it stuck in the mud. Sitting around a campfire with your friends and telling stories. I would tell him, but I don’t think he’ll understand.

My head hangs. “You know what? I need to go,” I say. “I hope you have a great day.”

“I hope this vegetable juice kicks in soon, or I’ll be dragging all evening.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Hadley.”

I think he’s going to say more, like say I love you, so I end the call before he can. And before I can look at the phone and replay that entire conversation, I grab my purse and head to Carlson’s Bakery for lunch.

* * *

I wave to Dave, a little old man who’s driven the same black Ford Ranger since I moved to town. He waves back as he putts down Beecher Street.

Puddles are everywhere. The gutters are full as water streams into the storm drains under the street. Tugging my jacket around my body, I jog across the street to the opposing sidewalk.

The closer I get to Carlson’s, the more the air is scented with cinnamon and freshly baked bread. My stomach rumbles in response.

Just as the bakery comes into view, a clap of thunder cracks above and a downpour of rain comes out of nowhere.

“Ah!” I yell, the cold droplets hitting the pavement and splashing me a second time. I bow my head as if it’ll do any good and speed walk in the direction of Carlson’s. Pausing at the next intersection, I can barely see through all the rain. Just as I start to cross the road, a truck pulls up to the stop sign.

I don’t look over. Before my foot can hit the asphalt, the truck’s engine revs.

“What are you doing?” Machlan’s voice works its way through the rain.

Squinting, I shrug, the water sticking my hair to my face. “Getting lunch.”

“Get in here.” He grins, reaching over the console and opening the passenger’s side door.

I waste no time rushing to the truck. Getting inside requires a little hop, which amuses Machlan to no end. The door closes with a thud barely heard against the weather.

Smoothing my hair away from my face, I watch water drip off every inch of me. “I’m going to soak your truck.”

“I think you already did.” He hits the gas. The truck rips through the intersection before he eases up on the pedal. “Where were you going?”

“Carlson’s.”

“Why didn’t you drive?”

“Fresh air, I guess.”

“That worked out well for ya.”

He watches me out of the corner of his eye before reaching forward and adjusting the temperature. The air warms immediately, and I relax back in the soft leather as we roll through town.

The wipers streak against the glass. With each swipe, the quickness of the last few moments dissipate, and my present situation becomes clearer.

And hotter.

And squirmier.

I reach up and turn the heat down.

“I figured you were cold.”

“I was. Now I’m not.” I point at the bakery. “If you could drop me off there, I’d appreciate it.”

“You can’t have lunch there.”

“And why not?”

He grins. “Megan McCarter works there. She’ll poison you or something.”

“Molly’s sister?” I laugh. “She will not. What would she have against me?”

He bites his lip, and I know whatever is about to come out of his mouth is going to get a reaction out of me—one in addition to the way my thighs clench together as I look at his lips.

“The first thing she’ll have against you is you have a vagina,” he says. “That’s enough for her to want to maim you for life.”

“That’s terrible!”

“That’s true, and you know it.”

I think back on the McCarter sister’s escapades. Like how Megan was accused of sleeping with the gym teacher in high school and he lost his job. Or how Molly slept with half of the football team her senior year so she’d be crowned Homecoming Queen. Not because she wanted it, but because she didn’t want Jessica Grimes to get it.

“You might be right,” I admit.

“And the second thing,” he says with a tease in his tone, “is she wants my cock so bad she could taste it.”

“Well, I’m good to know she hasn’t tasted it,” I say.

I turn toward the door so he doesn’t see the flash of jealousy in my eyes or the way my jaw tenses at the thought of that little hoochie being with Machlan.

He laughs, his hand gripping my thigh and shaking it a little as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. A bolt of flames extends from the center of his palm down my leg, up my side and radiating out until it settles at the base of my belly.

“Ooh, did that spark a little jealousy, Had?” he teases.

“Nope. I just don’t like thinking about all the women who have tasted you.”

He roars with laughter. I bite my lip so hard I think it might bleed.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” he says. “I haven’t actually slept with everyone you probably think I have. I mean, I’m a good-looking motherfucker. I get it. But Lance slept with all of them, and I don’t really like sloppy seconds.”

My lip pops free with a laugh. “I’m so glad your confidence isn’t waning.”

He grins, amused I’m playing along. It’s infectious. I find myself grinning back, my cheeks aching.

“How’s your confidence these days?” he asks.

“My confidence is fine, thank you.”

“I just thought since I shared some insight into my sex life, maybe you’d want to share some into yours.”

“Um, no,” I say. I consider riling him up but enjoy the playfulness too much to risk it. “You would actually be bored to death if I talked to you about my sex life.”

He takes his eyes off the road for a lingering moment. They’re filled with a mischievousness that really is a Machlan trademark; a glimmer of naughtiness that could go a plethora of ways. “Your sex life is my favorite sex life.”

My jaw drops to my lap. I think I misheard him, but my heart is screaming that I didn’t. I try to keep my gaze pinned to his eyes and not on the way his lips purse together. Or the way his neck has the perfect amount of scruff dotting it. Or the way his white T-shirt, covered with an unbuttoned flannel, is cut in a way that gives me a peek of his broad chest.

He flashes me a smirk before looking back at the road. “That’s the danger of Megan. She knows.”

“Why would she think that?” I fumble for words. It’s hard to say a set of words when your brain is repeating another.

“Why would she think there was anything between you and me? Oh, I don’t know,” he grins.

A heat rises to my cheeks. I’m unsure if he’s just messing with me or insinuating there is something between us.

A mixed response catches in my throat. Clearing it with a frazzled cough, I point as we fly by Carlson’s. “You just passed the bakery.”

“Yeah.”

We stop at the stop sign by the library. As we wait our turn, Machlan’s fingers tap against the steering wheel.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle. Everything is quiet and peaceful. His truck smells like his bedroom. His breathing slows my heartbeat to match his tempo. Looking at his profile as he chews on his bottom lip makes me so comfortable I could curl my legs up and drift away into an easy slumber.

On a normal day, I’d start to panic, to feel pressure of the unknown and start prodding. A bubble of alarm wants to burst and spread through my veins as Machlan turns his head. I think of Emily’s advice and pause.

“They’re having taco salads at Peaches today. You like them, right?” he asks.

I nod.

He motions for the car on our right to pass through the intersection. “No onions, no beans. Extra olives. Right?”

I nod again, this time with the biggest smile.

He nods too and settles back in his seat. I’d normally comment on how smug he looks, but this time, I let it pass. I’m probably a little smug too.

Fifteen

Machlan

The brown paper bag holding the Peaches take-out crinkles under Hadley’s fingers. She sits quietly beside me, the taco salad on her lap, and gazes across the soybean fields at the rainbow stretching across the sky.

Nana told me a story once that a rainbow is God’s promise not to flood the world again. I remember sitting on her lap on the porch and having her read me this story from a little green-bound book she had. I don’t know why that stuck with me all these years, but it did. Every time I see one, I think of her. I don’t think of her long today because I can’t think of anything besides Hadley sitting in my truck.

I hate that I like it so much. The way I feel calmer with her around is something I crave. I don’t feel this way around another person or in another spot. Just with her.

I tell myself it’s because I know she won’t hold anything I do or say against me. Not really. If she would, she would’ve stopped speaking to me years ago.

She should’ve.

She could’ve.

I would’ve had the roles been reversed.

“Where are we going?” she asks as I steer the truck in the opposite direction of Crave and the apartment.

“You got somewhere to be?”

“No.”

“Okay then.”

She looks at me, expecting clarification or a reason, but I don’t give her one. She’ll assume it’s because I’m being a dick, because I usually am, but this time, she is wrong.

I don’t answer because I don’t know where we’re going.

All I know for sure is I saw her leave the apartment and didn’t think too much about it. Then it started raining, so I went after her on the small chance I’d find her stranded … and I did. And here we sit in the cab of my truck filled with her perfume, the heater on low, the music switched from my usual rock station to some country channel she loves.

Heaven and hell don’t work together, but it damn sure feels like they do.

“Thanks for picking me up,” she says. The bag crinkles again. “And for buying my lunch.”

“No problem.”

Easing up on the accelerator, I run my hand down the front of my jeans. We’ve been in this situation so many times—her in the front seat of my truck while I drive around town with nowhere to go. It’s how we killed many Friday nights back in the day.

Back in the good old days.

The silence fills every nook and cranny. The two of us are the sole occupants of the truck, but it feels like there’s no room left. It’s almost too crowded to even breathe. I need to say something, anything, but come up empty. So, like a dumbass, I keep driving and leave George Strait to do the talking.

“You need a haircut,” she says. “Getting a little long back here.”

Her fingers brush against the back of my neck, ruffling the too-long strands that do need a trim. My neck flexes against her fingers, trying to deepen the touch. The warmth from her touch trickles through my body. I can’t remember when someone touched me like this—without an end game or to get something. Just because she actually cares.

It fucks with me.

“I can’t believe Nana hasn’t said anything,” she says.

I fiddle with the cruise control button to keep my hands busy so I don’t reach for her. “Oh, she has.”

“I bet. Do you remember when Peck let his almost turn into a mullet?” She throws her head back and laughs. “I thought Nana was going to have a coronary.”

“Oh, yeah. How do you forget that? The harder she rode him about it, the harder he fought against cutting it.”

“The best was when he would wear a bandana and push it all back like they did in the eighties.” She looks at me with the sweetest, simplest smile. “You boys put her through a lot, you know that?”

I regrip the steering wheel. “Yeah, well, I think we put everyone through a lot. Don’t ya think?”

The truck turns toward Bluebird Hill. The tires hit the gravel, the sound ripping through the air as we slow. Hadley rolls down her window and takes a deep breath.

“Like the smell of wet gravel?” I laugh.

“It’s the smell of my youth.” Even she laughs at that. “I have Peaches take-out, gravel, the grass still wet from the rain … and you.” Her smile fades. “That was a really weird thing to say.”

Weird? Yes.

True? Also, yes.

Awkward? Hell, yes.

My stomach sinks with that heavy, uncomfortable sensation that won’t budge. It just sits inside you and makes you miserable. I shift my weight in the seat and loosen the white-knuckle grip I have on the steering wheel in hopes of releasing some of the stress.

It doesn’t.

I take a quick right, causing the sunglasses on the dash to drift to the passenger side and rattle against the glass. Hadley grips the door as the truck climbs to the top of the hill. We’re nearly vertical, the engine groaning because I didn’t flip it in four-wheel drive. Hadley’s grip stays tense until we’re safely settled at the peak.

I cut the engine, and George’s voice melts away. It’s just Hadley and me—two people trying to figure out what to do with the other.

She looks at me warily as she sets the paper bag on the floorboard. The little clover pendant rises and falls about the same hectic speed as my breath. She gives me a half-smile, one loaded with a hundred questions, before she opens the door and climbs out.

Her arms stretch to the side, her face tilted to the sky. The rust-colored shirt brings out the redness in her hair, and I wonder if Samuel knows it gets less red as the seasons change. Then in the summer, the sun will kiss her again and the coppery strands will pop like they do now.

I wonder if he knows anything about her I don’t. The idea pummels me yet sparks an entire line of thought I don’t want to go down.

It’s not even about her making memories with someone else. It’s that they aren’t with me. That feels completely selfish, but I can’t help it. Just as I can’t help how wrong it feels to have sections of our lives that don’t intersect.

Lance’s stupid one-liner floats through my head like a digital banner, blinking its message over and over. If I don’t marry her, someone else will. The only problem is, when it comes to me and Hadley, I can’t marry her. I can’t do that to her or even ask that of her, no matter how much she thinks she wants it. But that means I’m going in some arbitrary box in her head, and I don’t even know what that means.

Would she call me if something happened and she couldn’t get a hold of Cross? Because she does that now. Like nine months or so ago when she popped a tire on her way back to Vigo. She called me. Or the time before that when she thought someone had broken in her house—she called me. Would that stop too?

Nah, fuck that.

I shove open the door so hard it bounces the springs.

Hadley looks over the hood of the truck at me. “You okay?”

“I’m just gonna fucking say this,” I say, planting both hands on the damp truck. “And I want you to listen.”

“Oh, this should be good.”

“Don’t start. Please.”

“Uh, I believe it’s you who almost broke the door off its hinges and proclaimed you had something to say.” Both hands go to her hips as she squares up with me. It’s a defense mechanism loud and clear, and the fact she goes there automatically makes me feel like shit.

“I don’t wanna fight, Had.”

“You always wanna fight.”

I press off the hood and walk around the front of the truck. “I do always want to fight with you.”

Her shoulders drop. “Well, there ya go.”

“And on that note, I’ve been thinking …”

She blows out slowly, pressing her lips together in resignation. Her eyes flutter closed for no more than a second before she stands tall and opens them again. “I’ve been thinking too, Mach.”

A pain shoots across the back of my neck. “You first.”

As I watch her wrestle with what to say, as I feel the air between us swirl with the unknown, I almost wish I hadn’t seen her walking today. That I hadn’t picked her up. That I hadn’t bought her lunch or brought her to this place—our place.

“I always make this weird between us,” she starts. “I—”

“You don’t make anything weird. You’re honest.” I bite the inside of my cheek out of pure frustration. “That’s more than I can say for me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means …” I sigh. “It means you’re not to blame for us not getting along.”

The can of tobacco in my back pocket is suddenly very present. Needing the relief a quick dip would provide, I start to grab it.

“You make it very clear what you want and don’t want,” she says, enunciating the words carefully. “It’s me who puts the pressure on us and makes everything awful.”

I forget all about the tobacco. “Everything isn’t awful.”

“Not right now. But a lot of the time.”

“Hadley, look …” I move until I’m standing just a few feet away from her. There’s a resolution in her eyes that gives me hope that we can work it out. I can’t not have her in my life, but I can’t be in it so deep I fuck her up either. “We have to figure this out.”

“Figure what out?”

“This. Whatever it is.”

There’s a pull from somewhere deep inside me that draws me to her. That makes me want to take her in my arms, bury my face in the messy, rain-mussed hair on the top of her head, and hold her tight. It’s so strong it takes all my strength not to reach out, pull her to me, and never let go.

She clears her throat. “Emily and I were talking last night.”

“Was she drinking? Because I’ve seen that girl drink more than anyone her size should be able to get away with.”

“She was.” She grins. “But her advice was spot-on, I think.”

“Which was?”

“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath. “She says I need to relax.”

A laugh flows from me before I even know it’s happening. “I’ve said that for years.”

“Well, it sounds more logical coming from her.”

“Of course, it does.”

“And that surprises me because Emily isn’t logical about much of anything.” She laughs. “Guess you never know where good advice might pop up.”

“Trust me. I know. Believe it or not, I found a little wisdom in something Lance said last night.” I cringe as I bring it up. His words echo in my brain again, and I feel them in my soul.

“Oh, this I have to hear.”

“If I go quoting Lance, the world might go up in flames.”

She laughs freely. “Taking advice from Lance might ensure the same ending.” She makes a face. “Did it have anything to do with dating apps?”

“No. I think Mariah would kill him if he even mentioned that.”

“I think I like Mariah.”

“You would.” I nod. The tension in my neck eases, bringing a relief I didn’t know I needed. “She’s pretty and smart and feisty like another woman I know.”

Hadley’s cheeks pink.

“Hadley—”

“No. Let me go first,” she says, cutting me off. “For the first time in your life, let me go first.”

“Oh, yeah, like you don’t always end up dominating a conversation.”

“What? I don’t. You’re crazy.”

“And”—I smirk—“can I point out I always let you go first?”

If her cheeks pinked before, they’re full-on red now. It’s adorable and sexy and even brought this conversation here, I need to redirect it. Immediately.

I laugh. “If you don’t hurry up and say whatever it is, I’m gonna eat your taco salad.”

“Don’t touch that or I’ll cut your fingers off.” She gathers herself. “Okay. So a lot of our problem is me being too focused on putting how I feel about you in a box with a neat little label. I’ve never been able to just see you like another guy. I don’t have to brand my relationship with other men. I shouldn’t brand you. Or … us.”

“You should be able to do that pretty fucking easy with other men. ‘Friend’ isn’t hard.”

“I’m not just friends with every guy I know, Machlan.”

“Oh, really?” I say. Crossing my arms over my chest, I try to ignore the irritation gaining traction in my stomach. “How many guys are you not ‘just friends’ with?”

“Enough.” She draws out the word before busting out in a fit of giggles. “It’s you who needs to relax.”

“This is as relaxed as I get.”

“And that’s sad. But true,” she says. “Anyway, Em says I need to treat you like any other guy. Like I would a guy I met at the dry cleaners, for example, or an old friend.”

“You want to treat me like Peck?”

“Well, maybe.” She shrugs. “I guess.”

“This should be fun,” I grumble.

She swats my shoulder as she walks by. When I turn around, she’s facing where the sun would be if it were visible.

“You want to be my friend?” I ask the question slowly, getting a feel for it as I say it. “Is that what you’re saying?”

She considers this. “I think a friend label will work because we’ve always been friends, right? I mean, more or less. At least until I figure it out, I guess.”

“I’m tired of your guesses. You want to hammer this out? Then let’s hammer it out.”

She turns to look at me. She’s a warm fixture on a backdrop of pine trees and the slate sky, a bright spot in an otherwise bleak day. The slant of her lips is down, not up, and I can’t see the gold in her eyes either. It’s a stark reminder of the reality of this situation.

“Fine. Do you want to be my friend, Machlan?”

“Is this a George Strait thing? Is there a box to check yes or no?”

Her chest shakes, but she doesn’t allow me the laugh. “This is not a George Strait thing. But I might make you cross your heart when you answer.”

“I can’t with you and country song references.”

Despite the ache in my chest that says otherwise, I don’t want to be in her life on that kind of level. I don’t want to be her friend at all.

What I want is to hear about her day at the dental office before I leave the house for the bar. I want to come home to find her snuggled up in my blankets with a book beside her. I want to hear her jab me about haircuts and take her to Nana’s for Sunday dinners and plan my whole weekend around a bunch of chores she wants done—chores I’ll bitch about just to see her get worked up.

That’s what I want. I want her on every fucking level. I want her so much I can’t do it to her.

Lance’s voice filters through my mind again. If I don’t marry her, someone else will.

What the fuck do I do now?

Sixteen

Hadley

The view from atop Bluebird this time of year is my favorite. The leaves are starting to change, giving hints of the show they’ll put on a few weeks from now. It’s still subtle now with just touches of golds and crimsons. It’s pretty, but my favorite view anytime, anywhere is standing just a few feet behind me.

I wonder if he’s pacing, and if he is, why. I don’t want to turn around and look, but I feel his presence. He gets closer, then farther away, then closer again. My lungs hold the air that’s filled them. My heart rattles in my chest, and I can feel my pulse pounding in the side of my neck.

Something has been different between us today. Initially, I thought it was my attempt at a new mindset courtesy of Emily. But the longer we’re together, the more I think it’s not just me.

“The truth is,” he says, making me jump, “I don’t want to be friends with you.”

I shake my head, hoping it loosens the fog in my skull as I try to process Machlan’s words.

Silence settles on Bluebird Hill. The only sound is the rush of oxygen my lungs finally let go.

My bottom lip starts to quiver. I don’t want to be friends with you.

He can’t mean that.

Fighting tears, I clutch a hand to my chest and try to steady myself. This is exactly what I wanted when I came to Linton, and now that I’m getting it, it feels like I’m being sliced and there are no bandages big enough to stop the damage.

His palm cups the edge of my shoulder. His long, muscled fingers wrap around my arm.

Closing my eyes, I remind myself this is exactly why I’m here, and that maybe, just maybe, the universe is helping me for once. My eyes open as his hand slips from my shoulder and I turn to look at him.

“I knew that,” I say, the lump in my throat obvious. “That was sort of a rhetorical question.”

His forehead mars, the lines forming above his eyes deep and many. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“There’s kind of only one way you can take it when someone says they don’t want to be your friend,” I say, forcing a laugh. Turning to the truck, I continue. “Besides, this makes that whole box thing easier—”

“Stop.” His hand touches my shoulder again but pulls away immediately this time.

I stop. I stop and listen for his voice, wait for the explanation that I think is going to come. What kind of an explanation it is, I don’t know. I don’t even want to guess at it. But something is coming. I can feel it.

“The truth is,” he says, giving my words back to me, “you aren’t just any girl to me, and you never will be.”

There isn’t even a warning. My eyes fill with tears—red-hot, guppy-sized dollops of water cloud my vision of the truck.

“Fuck, Hadley.” He steps in front of me. On his face is a scowl he wears so well. It’s usually aimed at me, but this time, I get the feeling it’s not. That maybe it’s aimed at himself.

“What are you doing?” I ask. I fight so hard to keep the tears from streaming down my face. If the dam breaks and one passes, it’ll be a cascade of emotions I can’t control. I have it under wraps until I look him in the eye.

My knees wobble as I see something in those orbs I’ve only seen a couple of times in my life. On the other occasions, I thought it was love. I believed this look to mean he felt something for me in line with what I felt so deeply for him.

Now, I’m not sure what to think.

Or maybe, I’m afraid of what to think.

“I’m really out of my wheelhouse here,” he says.

I give him a half-smile. “So this has nothing to do with alcohol, cars, poker, or sex?”

He grins sheepishly. “It has a little to do with sex.”

Blowing out a breath, the tears absorbing into my body, I find a kernel of steadiness inside myself and hold onto it for dear life.

“You kind of fucked me up a little with that whole ‘I want to love Samuel’ bullshit,” he says.

“It’s not bullshit.”

“No, I know it’s not. I know you want to fall in love with some respectable guy and have the whole house and kids and dogs thing you didn’t have growing up. I get it.”

It takes everything I have to force the weight in my chest away. “I do want that. I’m ready for it now. And …” The weight comes back with full force, barreling its way through my defenses and filling my abdomen. I can’t blink the tears back this time. I can’t fight the lump in my throat either. My nose burns as my gaze settles on Machlan.

He stiffens, his eyes going wide before filling with a mix of fear and confusion. A half-step is taken back as he runs a hand along his stubbled jaw. The breeze whips around us, rustling a clump of wet leaves stuck to our shoes.

His mouth opens as if he’s about to speak, but nothing comes out. As if he’s afraid to bring up the topic he’s pretty certain I was about to broach—one we’ve only discussed a handful of times.

A sadness creeps across his handsome face and settles deep in my heart.

Energy drains from my body. If I could drop to the cold, wet ground and curl in a ball, I would. The edges of the rocks and the sticky mud would be preferred over the hell of looking into Machlan’s face and seeing my own feelings reflected.

My gaze hits the gravel because I can’t look at him. I consider heading to the truck and ending this conversation when he speaks.

“And what, Hadley?” His voice is low, careful. Almost like he was forced to ask it and definitely like he already knows the answer.

My heart races, my palms sweat despite the cool temperatures. Maybe it’s my imagination, but the air around us picks up too, and the world around us seems to go faster.

I close my eyes and see her sweet little face all bundled up in a pink blanket Machlan bought at a discount store the day before I went into labor.

“And I hope someday I’ll make her proud.”

The last few words come out in a hiccup. I’m not sure they even make it into the air before Machlan pulls me to his chest. His arms envelop me in the warmth of his body as my own torso shakes with a force it only does when I cry about this.

About her.

About our daughter.

I don’t cry a lot. Sometimes on her birthday when I’m alone and wondering what she would be doing if she were with me and not with the wonderful couple who adopted her that April afternoon. There’s just something about having this conversation with Machlan that feels overwhelming today.

The longer I cry, the tighter he holds me.

I think about waddling into that little store and watching Machlan choose a blanket as though it was the most important purchase he’d ever make. How he woke up that morning in the dingy little motel and this was the only thing he wanted to do—buy the baby a blanket.

His cheek lays on the top of my head, and I’m not sure if he’s holding me or I’m holding him. My own trembling makes it hard to tell if it’s all me or if some of it is coming from him too. Either way, as deeply as it hurts, it feels better to know I’m not hurting alone.

It’s only when I’ve thoroughly soaked his shirt and my chest stops vibrating and my tears turn into whimpers does he loosen his grip. He plants a kiss to the top of my head that I think I’m not supposed to feel before he lets me go.

“Sorry,” I mumble, stepping back. I dab my eyes with the corner of my damp shirt. “I didn’t mean to break down on you like that.”

He brushes a lock of hair that’s matted to my cheek off my face. His thumb glides over my skin, his palm cupping my cheek before he withdraws it. “Do you think about her a lot?”

“I think about her every day,” I whisper. “I wonder if she still has your dark hair and my eyes.”

“I wonder if she still has my mom’s widow’s peak.” He runs a hand over his face, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “She had two crowns at the top of her little head. Remember that? And the lines on her left hand ran together instead of splitting into two.”

I purse my lips so I don’t cry. “Yeah.”

“Damn it, Had. I’m sorry.” He looks away, gulping. “I’m so damn sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” My heart breaks in two. The pain of watching him replay that day hurts as much as replaying it myself.

He walks in a circle, shaking his head. His hands go to his hair, and he yanks on the tresses, pulling the locks in a display of utter frustration.

“Machlan. Stop it,” I beg.

Much to my surprise, he does. He stops.

“You know what I do first thing every morning?” he asks. “Before I get out of bed or take a leak or make coffee? I think about her. Every fucking morning. Then I think about you. And I think about how everything could’ve been different if I’d had my shit together.”

“Machlan—”

“Then I say a prayer,” he says, ignoring me. “I ask God to watch over her and keep her safe and to let her always feel how much we love her, you know?” He turns to me completely, and the look in his eye—completely and utterly raw—almost breaks me. “Then I pray for you. That you have a life you deserve and that, somehow, by the grace of God, everyone can forgive me for being such a massive fuckup.”

“Machlan—”

“Don’t even,” he warns, shaking his head.

“Don’t even what?” I cry. My eyes are wet with tears as I watch the man who did the best he could in that situation blame himself. Doesn’t he understand how I would’ve fallen apart without him? How him never leaving my side from the moment I told him I was pregnant until we laid our precious girl in another set of arms meant everything to me? How he held me when I broke down and gave me the courage to go on? Doesn’t he understand any of that?

“Don’t even try to act like you can forgive me,” he warns.

“We made that decision together,” I remind him. “I was eighteen. You were almost twenty. Neither of us had parents. Neither of us had a plan on what to do. We didn’t have any money. Your inheritance didn’t get released for a couple of more years. Don’t you remember that?”

“I’ll tell you what I remember. I remember loading up my truck and lying to everyone, telling them I got a job in Ohio and we’d be gone a few months. And then getting there and trying to find a place to stay and trying to see how we felt about everything and me getting two jobs in the first six, seven weeks and getting fired because I couldn’t manage my fucking temper.”

“You were a kid,” I say. “I was too. Which is why we weren’t ready to have one of our own.”

He bites his lip, unable to stay still. He paces around the hilltop, jamming his hands in his pockets and then pulling them back out. His eyes darting at everything but me.

I wish I could help him understand this from my point of view. But I know if I get too close right now, he’ll push me away.

Finally, he stops moving. “I’m sorry for doing that to you. I’ll never forgive myself for putting you in a position to have to give up the baby.”

“I didn’t have to do anything. But it was the right choice at the time, and I don’t regret it,” I say. Guilt rears its ugly head because, despite knowing it was absolutely the right choice, a part of me will always feel like I failed her. “It’s not easy to say that, but I don’t. I’ll never forgot the look in those people’s eyes when they came into that room to get her …”

My head bows as the tears come again. They don’t roll down and hit my shirt. They roll down and hit Machlan’s.

I’m pressed to him again, my cheek against his chest. My arms around his waist and his around mine. I don’t sob this time. It’s a quiet cry that comes from a different place inside my heart.

“Do you think she’ll find us one day?” I ask.

“Do you hope she does?” He rests his chin on the top of my head as I burrow into him deeper. “Sometimes I do. I want to see her face and hear her voice and see if she laughs like you or me.”

“Sometimes you don’t?” My brow pulls together.

“That’s a trick question.”

“How do you figure?”

He adjusts his arms around me. “That was the hardest day of my life.” His voice cracks, but he forces on. “As a man, as a father,” he says, tripping over the word, “I failed. I had this little version of the two of us in my arms and the best way I could protect her was to put her in another man’s …”

The tremble doesn’t come from me this time. He sniffles, clutching me for dear life.

Making it a point not to look at him, to give him space, I just hold him. “That’s how she’ll know we loved her,” I tell him quietly. “We loved her so much we made the hardest choice anyone can ever make.”

Tears run down my face. Machlan lets go with one hand to wipe his eyes.

“You didn’t walk away from me when I told you I was having a baby,” I say softly. “You didn’t pressure me to do one thing or the other.” I pull him tighter to me. “You held me when I needed held and pushed me when I needed pushed. You did the best you could, and that’s all anyone can do, Mach.”

“Sometimes I think about saying fuck it,” he says, sniffling again. “I think about saying to hell with it all and just selling everything and being done.”

“Why?” Leaning back, my fists still wrapped in his flannel, I take in his puffy eyes. “Why would you do that?”

He smiles sadly. “Because my chance is over.”

“It’s not. How can you say that?”

“What am I supposed to do, Had? Live some great life and have our daughter come back someday and be like, ‘Oh, glad you missed me’?”

“You think she expects us to have shitty lives because we couldn’t take care of her? She might be half you and as hardheaded as an ox, but she’s half me too, so she’s logical.”

The flicker at the sides of his lips raises my spirits some.

“I write her letters sometimes,” I tell him. “I tell her about how much we love her and how we’ve tried to build our lives, and we think about her all the time.”

“You tell her about me?”

“Of course.” I grin against his chest as he pulls me back into him again. “I pretend she’s an adult, and I’m giving her a peek into our life as the years go by. Maybe it’ll help her understand if she ever does come find us.”

“How do you explain us?”

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat of the emotion rising again. “I tell her the truth, without adding in how much of an asshole you can be.”

He laughs. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” I want to pull away, to see his face, but there’s no way I can remove myself from his arms. “I tell her what I know—that you’re running a business. That you’re the silent force behind your family.”

“I’m the what?” He chuckles. “Silent force?”

“You are. You check on Nana. You keep Walker and Lance straight. You send Blaire flowers on every holiday because you know your father would’ve and you don’t want her to miss out.” My voice breaks. “As much as you hate to admit it, you’re there for Peck. You always have my brother’s back.”

I look up. All I can see is his profile as he gazes into the tree line. A soft smile he doesn’t know I can see plays on his lips.

“It’s true,” I say softly. “I know you think you’re a mess, and you are a lot of times, but there’s a lot of good in you, Machlan.”

He looks down and catches me watching. Rolling his eyes, he playfully shrugs me off him.

I laugh with a shrug of my own. “Anyway, that’s what I tell her in the letters.”

“Thank you for that,” he says, the easiness of the moment lost to a somberness only he and I could understand. “That’s really nice of you.”

“Well, you never know what could go in a future note,” I say, turning toward the truck.

I don’t get far. He spins me around. When I stop, I’m facing a Machlan I’ve never seen before.

There’s a levity in his features, a lightness in his eyes that seems to expand from somewhere inside him. The lines around his eyes that sort of disappear in the hazy afternoon. A dimple settles in his cheek as he narrows his eyes.

“I still don’t want to be your friend,” he says. “But I want to be something.”

“Like what?” I ask even though I’m almost too afraid to. My hopes go higher than they should, high enough that I can’t bring them back down.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just don’t want you to write me off or force yourself to pretend you’re in love with some joke of a guy just so you can cram me in some category and move on.”

I like this. I like it a lot.

A thousand pounds lighter, I smile the purest, realest smile his way. “Let’s just take the pressure off and figure out how to co-exist in whatever way that organically means. Deal?”

“Deal,” he says.

I extend a hand to shake. Instead of taking it, he slaps me on the ass, making me yelp, as he walks around me toward the truck.

“Hey, now,” I say, shaking a finger his way. “There won’t be any of that.”

“Just testing the waters, seeing what feels right.”

I climb in the truck and the engine roars to life. “That did not feel right.”

He pops it into drive but keeps his foot on the brake. “I beg to differ.” He revs the engine again. “Everything about that felt absolutely right.”

Before I can respond, before I can stop my heart from leaping out of my chest, he slams on the gas and throws me back in my seat.

Seventeen

Machlan

“Here you go,” I say, sliding the truck up against the sidewalk.

Hadley lifts the bag from Peaches onto her lap. She grabs the door handle but doesn’t pull the lever. Instead, she looks at me over her shoulder.

There’s usually a spark of fire there, either from being extremely annoyed or from an anger that’s burned hot for years. I’ll take what I see now over that.

A level of apprehension is evident. She doesn’t quite trust that I’m not going to say something ridiculous and piss her off. She’s right not to. But over top of that unease is a comfort that I would give my life to keep there.

The first time I saw this girl, sitting on the floor in Cross’s living room folding laundry, I knew I had just encountered someone my life would be twisted with forever. I was fifteen and couldn’t explain it. She was so pretty, so sweet, and her laughter was the last thing I heard going to sleep almost every night after that. But it was her strength, her refusal to put up with her brother’s shit or my smartass remarks, that really got me.

She never lost those things—she’s as beautiful, witty, and kind as ever. But she was missing that air about her that I love, that I stole. Seeing it now, even vaguely, I feel like I can breathe again.

The bag ruffles in her fingers. “I just wanna say one more thing.”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

The look in her eyes tells me it’s not for picking her up or buying her lunch.

“You’re welcome.”

She nods, biting her lip, and pulls on the handle.

“Hey, Had?”

“Yeah?” she asks. One leg dangles from the truck as she stills.

“Thank you too.”

She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look my way, but she doesn’t have to. I get everything I need from how she rebounds when her feet hit the ground.

I watch her walk to the stairs and make it to the top. She sticks a key in the lock but stops short of going inside. Instead, she pivots slowly and looks at the truck. After a little wave, she disappears into the apartment.

It takes a lot of energy to put the truck in drive and pull away.

I take the corner around Crave and coast down Beecher Street, my thoughts still on Bluebird Hill. Normally when I let my brain wander and it unsurprisingly lands on Hadley, I end up breaking something or wanting to. Today, not so much. I almost feel … at peace.

The only thing I’ve ever really wanted out of life was Hadley. No matter how much I tell myself I’m wrong for her even though she’s perfect for me, or that I could fill her spot in with another face, I can’t. It was laughable when I tried.

Living in my skin has been a complicated adventure. The only thing I’ve learned so far in my life is this: my best usually isn’t good enough. I don’t know what all that says about me, but it’s true. I’m a guy without a real career, without a real care to have one. I’ve botched every important moment in my life, and I can’t ask for any favors, and I shouldn’t be trusted with any either.

My wipers switch on as it begins to sprinkle again. Crank is on my right. Walker and Peck are in the side lot, inspecting a piece of farm equipment. I throw the transmission in neutral and rev the engine. My brother flips me off.

With a chuckle, I hit the button on my steering wheel to pick up an incoming call.

“Hey, Blaire,” I say.

“Am I on speaker?”

“Why? You have something juicy to tell me?”

“No, asshole. I just like to understand the audience before I speak.”

I roll to a stop sign and wave a truck hauling logs through. “You’re such a lawyer, you know that?”

“Are you avoiding my question for a reason?”

Hitting the gas, I laugh. “I’m alone. Just heading home for a few before I go to work.”

“Where have you been?”

“Why?”

I get situated in my seat, resting my elbow on the door. Swiping at my bottom lip with my thumb, I find myself doing something I don’t do a lot—grin for no reason.

“I was just curious,” she says. “Don’t answer if you don’t want, especially if you were doing something with Cross that’s going to result in a call later asking how to deal with a situation.”

“Oh, come on. When’s the last time that actually happened?”

She laughs. “Let’s think. I believe it was when Peck ‘borrowed’ the tractor from an unsuspecting farmer.”

“But that had nothing to do with me.” I laugh, shaking my head, as I pull into my driveway. “That’s all Peck.”

“Um, if I remember correctly—”

“You’re a lawyer. You remember whatever version of events best fits your argument.” I flip the engine off. “What are you doing today?”

“Working. Although I’m considering leaving for lunch today.”

“Wow. Living on the wild side.”

“Shut it,” she says. “It’s hard to get out once you’re here.”

“And to think you spent all that money on a degree to do that.”

“Hang on a sec.”

She sticks me on hold. I grab my phone and get out of the truck. The mist is thick. You can see the water droplets falling lazily to the ground.

These are my favorite days. They remind me of when I was young and Mom would open all the windows and cook something amazing. Dad would come get me and make me go to the garage to work on something. I’d bitch and moan at first, but by the time Mom called us in for dinner, I wouldn’t mind the day so much.

I kick a rock off the driveway as Blaire comes back to the line.

“Sorry,” she says. “Promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“Never be the guy who gets married and becomes useless.” She sighs. “A partner in the firm got married a few months ago, and it’s starting to ruin my life.”

“Bruce? Isn’t he like sixty?”

“Fifty-two, but that’s not the point. The point is he’s had this amazing career, he’s one of the smartest men I know, and he gets married, and then all of a sudden, he’s worthless. I just had to remind him that he doesn’t pay my bills or sleep in my bed. He needs to direct his inquiries elsewhere.”

Bursting out laughing, I lean against the truck. “It’s amazing you have any friends at all.”

“Who said I have friends?” She laughs. “I am calling my baby brother, after all.”

“I’m the last resort, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that. You’re just the only one I call for reasons other than to make sure they’re alive.”

“Reasons like …?” I prod.

The line goes quiet. Then she sighs. Then she clicks on her keyboard.

“Hey, Blaire.”

“Yeah?”

“I actually have shit to do today.”

“Sorry,” she groans. “I just … You know the guy I was telling you about?”

I start to answer her seriously. I should answer her seriously. Blaire doesn’t talk about men—not to me, not to my brothers, not to anyone. If she dates at all, it’s news to me. But hearing her all tripped up over this guy she met while on a vacation my brothers and I made her take in Savannah a few weeks ago has been nothing short of hysterical.

“I’m having a hard time remembering which guy you’d be talking about,” I joke.

“Holt. The guy from Savannah.”

I chuckle. “Of course, I remember. He’s the only guy I think you’ve ever mentioned. I was starting to think you were batting for the other team.”

“You know what? You’re a jerk.”

“Anyway …”

“Anyway,” she goes on. “He wants me to come down for a long weekend again.”

“And …?”

She groans. “Do I go?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“I mean, if I go, does that mean something?”

“Yeah,” I deadpan. “It means you want to be fucked.”

“Machlan!”

“What? You asked.”

She groans again, but there’s a little chuckle laced in there that makes me smile. Blaire doesn’t lighten up much. Everything is cut and dry with her. Right or wrong. Clean or dirty. She doesn’t have fun like Walker. She doesn’t do relationships like Lance. And she doesn’t blow smoke up people’s asses like I do. So to hear her all fucked up over a guy is pretty fantastic.

“Well,” she says, “I kind of do.”

“Blaire!”

“What?” If Blaire was capable of giggling like a normal girl, this would be a giggle. “It’s been a while.”

I shove off the truck. “I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”

“Good because it would be a boring story. I’m not like you guys.”

“I love how you think I’m some kind of whore.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No. That was Lance before Mariah came around. I’ve always been more of a discriminate fuck.”

“Speaking of, I heard Hadley was around.”

“Yeah …” I sigh, reaching for my back pocket.

The chew can nestles in my palm. My thumb beats a rhythmic tap on the lid that takes the edge off my exposed nerves.

“How’s that going?” Blaire’s tone is softer now, knowing this is dangerous territory. “I know it’s hard for you when she’s around.”

I slide the can in my pocket again. “It’s okay this time, I think.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? We talked a little today, and there was no bloodshed. That’s a step in the right direction, right?”

“What do you think changed?”

Good question.

Walking to the planters that line both sides of the porch, I look at Mom’s rose bushes. She used to keep them pruned perfectly, but I don’t. I leave them there because I can’t rip them out, but I don’t take care of them. They take care of themselves. They stretch opposite ways for sunlight and dig deeper when they need more nutrients, I guess.

“Maybe,” I say, wondering how insane this is going to sound, “we realized we’re gonna have to figure out how to breathe the same air. I mean, our roots are so tangled that we can only dig deeper, you know?”

“No.” She laughs. “I don’t. Are you on drugs?”

“No, just looking at Mom’s rose bushes and making analogies.” Swiping my finger over the wet petals, I head to the front door. “I think you should go to Savannah.”

“Yeah,” she says with a pointed sigh. “I think I should too.”

“Long-distance relationships usually don’t work, but knowing you and your anti-social ways, it might be perfect.”

“I totally hate people.”

“I know.” I unlock the door and step inside. “I need to get ready for work. Hired a new bartender and she’s there alone right now.”

“Go. I need to get back to work anyway.”

“Be good. And let me know if you go to Savannah just so I know you make it home.” The hardwood floors creak under my weight as I amble toward my room. “I mean, I’m sure this guy is a real winner, but you never know.”

She gasps. “I’m being irrational, aren’t I?”

Laughing, I flip on the light in my room. “No. Don’t overthink it. Just use that brain of yours and you’ll be fine.”

“Mach, maybe not. Maybe I should—”

“Go, Blaire. Both back to work and to Savannah. Love ya. Goodbye.”

“Love you. Bye,” she says.

My phone goes flying through the air and lands in the middle of my bed. I want to flop down beside it and rest for a few minutes—get my head together before I throw myself into a weekend night at Crave.

Instead, I turn toward my closet but stop.

My heart pounds in my chest as I step to my dresser. My hand goes around the corner of the television and finds the edge of the four-by-six frame. I pull it out.

Holding it with both hands, I bring the picture closer. Hadley wasn’t looking at the camera while I snapped the only photo I have of her and our baby. She’s looking at the chubby faced little girl with a shock of dark hair and the prettiest complexion I’ve ever seen.

“Daddy loves you, baby girl,” I say, my thumb stroking the image.

A lump springs to my throat as a wetness coats my eyes, and I put the picture back and get ready for work.

Eighteen

Hadley

“That was so good,” I say, rubbing my stomach.

Cross hands the waitress his credit card. “That was, quite possibly, the best taco salad I’ve ever eaten.”

“I’d have to agree, considering it was the second one I’ve eaten today.”

“You came here for lunch?”

“Kind of.”

I roll my straw around my glass, fighting a huge smile from swamping my face. It’s been plastered on my lips ever since Machlan dropped me off this afternoon.

My brother pulls his brows together. Setting his wallet on the table, he crosses his arms over his chest and watches me skeptically. “What are you not telling me?”

“Well,” I say, letting go of the straw. “I kind of came here today with Mach.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No, I’m not, and that choice of words is horrific,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “What does that even mean? Does anyone actually shit you? How would you do that? Like, I don’t get it.”

“It’s a form of expression. Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not.”

“Then did I hear you just say you came to lunch here with Machlan?”

“Yes, nosy. I had lunch with your best friend today.”

I hate how smug I feel and how I know Cross is picking up on it. How could he not? A total stranger could see how satisfied I am right now. I can’t help it, though.

I’ve replayed every second we spent together today. What surprises me the most is my favorite moments aren’t the ones when he held me or touched me or gave me hope that things might find some normalcy between us. My favorite parts of today are the ones where I looked in his eyes and saw him. Not the man who owns the bar or the one who has commitment issues. Not my brother’s best friend or the guy who broke my heart.

Today, he was Machlan.

The guy who whispered “I love you” one Saturday night while we watched a movie on his nana’s couch.

The man who gave me the opportunity to feel a child growing in my stomach and be a mother even if for only a few hours.

Today, when I looked in his eyes, he was the boy I fell in love with.

If I thought about it too much, I’d flip into terrified mode. I’d start overthinking this whole thing and realize how awful I’ll feel when things don’t work out or how lonely it’ll be when I leave and he lets me. Again. But the beauty of today is this: I don’t overthink it. I embrace Emily’s advice and Machlan’s words and just let it be.

“I can honestly say I’m surprised,” Cross says. He takes his credit card from the waitress and thanks her before turning back to me.

“Why?”

“I thought you were going a different direction.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “I tried. And I still don’t know what direction we’re going, per se, but I like this … whatever it is. Being able to spend time with him. It’s nice.”

“I’ve always told you whatever you two figure out is fine as long as you don’t get hurt in the process.” He takes some cash out of his wallet and places it in the center of the table. Then, just as our dad used to do, and I do, he takes the saltshaker and places it on top. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

We stand, scooting in our chairs, and meander through the tables at Peaches. Cross holds the door open for me and a couple of ladies coming in, before following me outside.

The air is crisp and the wind gusty as we make our way to his truck. We get situated inside and don’t speak until the heat is on.

“Can I ask what led to you and Mach having lunch?” he asks. “I mean, it’s none of my business, and I’m totally okay with that, but I have a feeling I’ll end up hearing about it from one of you on the back end. If I have some background, it’ll help.”

I watch clouds tumble across the sky, deep gray billows across the light gray backdrop. “I was walking to Carlson’s for lunch, and it started pouring. He happened to drive by and pick me up.”

“Sure, he did.” Cross laughs, putting the truck in reverse.

“What?”

“He didn’t happen to see you do shit. Fucker was probably stalking you.”

My heart skips a beat. “No. I don’t think so. I think it was random.”

“Sure, it was.”

We lurch forward as he shoves the transmission in drive. Cross laughs again, this time more to himself than me. I watch the amusement dance across his features and wonder what he’s thinking. I’m too afraid to ask.

Biting my lip, I look out the window but don’t really see anything. All of my attention is on my brother’s assessment of the situation. I turn to him, curiosity winning.

“What did you mean by that?” I ask.

“By what?”

“By saying he didn’t happen to see me.”

He rolls his eyes. “When it comes to you, nothing Machlan does or says or sees is random.” He quiets as he pilots the truck onto the exit ramp back to Linton. “If you’re in a ten-mile radius, Mach can’t focus on anything else.”

“Really?” I grin.

“Seeing you grin like that makes me happy. I get it. Trust me,” he says, a look sweeping across his face that I know means he’s thinking about Kallie. “But just be careful, okay?”

“Be careful? That doesn’t sound good.” My grin falters as I look out the window again. “I know what you mean. Things could flip around in a heartbeat.”

He turns the heater down and the radio off. “That’s true, but let’s focus on the good part of the day. What did the two of you do?”

“He picked me up, took me to Peaches, and we drove around a while. Ended up on Bluebird.”

Cross makes a show of leaning away from me. “What happens on Bluebird stays on Bluebird, and it’s definitely nothing that should be heard by your brother.”

“We just talked.” My emotions level out, and a calmness settles over me. “It was nice. We kind of came to an arrangement or something.”

“I’m afraid to even ask.”

“Then don’t.”

He swishes his head side to side. “Is it sexual in nature?”

I punch his shoulder.

We both laugh as he takes the exit to Linton, and we pass the turnoff to Bluebird. There’s a relief on his face that I know well; it’s one I feel in my bones.

“Whatever deal you struck,” he says, “I hope you can keep it up. I kind of like being able to bring up his name and not have you rant.”

“I kind of like it too.”

He flashes me a knowing smile and takes a right at Goodman’s.

We trudge through town, the roads still wet from the rain. The streetlights come on, and a hazy glow shines over town. It reminds me of fall days after school the year I moved to Illinois from San Diego. I couldn’t get over the way the leaves changed and how quickly the temperature dropped.

It was an eventful fall that year. So much time spent learning how to be a country girl—camping, fishing, and going to football games in the back of trucks. The smell of Carlson’s pumpkin bread and Machlan’s body after a football game trickle through my mind.

I miss those things. All of them. Not necessarily in that order.

“You still planning on going back to Vigo?” Cross asks, bringing me out of my reverie.

“Of course.” I look at him over my shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just thought maybe if you and Machlan could make peace, you’d come home.” He takes his eyes off the road and winces. “Does that make you feel bad for leaving? Because if it does, I’m not sorry.”

Giving him a sad smile, I sigh. “It does make me feel bad. Thanks.”

“I worry about you, Had.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “Really.”

I jabber on a host of run-on sentences that are clearly more for my own edification than to convince him of anything. The whole time I’m telling him how excited I am to get to work at the new office, to hang out with Emily more now that Samuel is out of the picture, and how I can come back to visit whenever, I fight the rumble in my belly that reminds me how much I wish I felt the enthusiasm I’m trying to extend to Cross.

Being in Linton is comfortable. It’s like walking in a warm house on a cold day and taking off your boots and getting handed a cup of hot chocolate. It’s having people wave as you go down the road and seeing familiar faces in the gas station who ask how you’re doing and really mean it. It’s being with Cross, the only family I have, and it’s being with my friends. And it’s being with Machlan.

I gulp. “I’ll be fine,” I say again. “Besides, when you and Kallie have babies, I’m sure I’ll reconsider. Get to work on that.” I make a face. “Who am I kidding? I heard you. You’re totally working on that.”

Cross chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls next to my car behind Crave.

Cars and trucks are parked everywhere, and people loiter on the sidewalks. Every time the back door opens and people come out to smoke, music from the inside filters out.

I wonder if Machlan is in there, and if he is, what he’s doing. I wonder if he’s thought of me since this afternoon and how he thinks of me, if he has.

Biting my lip, I gaze at the back door, but I’m interrupted as Cross bumps my shoulder.

“Huh?” I ask, tearing my gaze to my brother.

“You want to go in? Kallie is at her mom’s for a while tonight, so I have some time to kill.”

I shouldn’t. I should leave well enough alone and just go to the apartment and read like I had planned. But the longer I don’t answer and the wider Cross’s smile gets and the more times the back door opens, the bigger the little bubble of excitement in my stomach grows.

“You know what?” I say, opening my door. “Let’s do that.”

Nineteen

Hadley

“People get here this early?” I pause outside the door of Crave and take in the cars lining the street. “I guess I thought this was a late-night thing.”

“Machlan has a good thing going here.”

“Lots of drinkers in town, huh?”

“Believe it or not, people come in and don’t drink alcohol.”

“Really?” I flip my attention to my brother. “Why?”

Cross shrugs. “I guess they just like the atmosphere. Everyone in town filters through here at some point during the weekend. Hell, Machlan makes more here than I do at both my gyms.”

“Are you serious?”

“He’d never admit it, but yeah. I’d bet that’s true.”

This sparks a moment of pride in me. It’s not about the money because I know Machlan doesn’t care about that. But that he took something he enjoys, something I’m just realizing means something entirely more to him than I would’ve ever guessed and made it a success.

That makes me happy for him.

A roar of laughter ekes through the closed door. The windows are blacked out, so I can’t see in, but if I weren’t already curious, I would be now.

“There’s a bar in Vigo,” I say. “It’s a great place to go until it gets dark out. Then all hell breaks loose, and it becomes a shit show.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t happen here. Machlan doesn’t hesitate to toss people out on their ass.”

Stepping to the side to let a couple pass, I look at my brother. “Think he’ll toss me out?”

“He’ll have to get through me.”

“So think he’ll toss me out?” I repeat with a laugh.

Cross shakes his head and reaches for the door. “You act like it’s a given he’d win.”

“Because he would.”

“Have you even considered that I’m an actual fighter? Like I’ve been in sanctioned boxing matches. I own two gyms. I train people how to fight.”

“And Machlan would kick your ass.” I laugh. “But I still love you, and I’ll always lie in front of Kallie about that.”

“I …” He holds a hand on his heart and yanks open the door. “I’m hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

It takes a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The salty scent of the bar mixed with the perspiration from the throngs of people already dancing hit me quick and hard.

Blowing out a breath, I give myself a moment to adjust. The place is hopping in a very controlled manner. It’s not what I was expecting even though I don’t really know what I was expecting.

Cross touches my shoulder and nudges me to move as a crowd of people come in behind us. I take a few steps before my feet falter.

Machlan is behind the bar. Dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt that hugs his body like it was made just to show off his muscles, he’s hard to look away from. The colorful tattoos on his right arm peek out from under the sleeve of the shirt while his hair does the same from beneath a plain black baseball hat that’s turned around backward.

I’m nudged forward again. My heartbeat picks up as I get closer, knowing he hasn’t seen me yet. A part of me wants to fade into the background and just watch him from a distance. Another side of me wants to climb him like a damn tree. Thank God for the rational side that tells me to breathe, smile, and let things be.

“Well, lookie there,” Peck says. He scoots over one stool and pats the one he just vacated. His eyes light up like a bright summer sky. “What’s happening?”

“Not much. What about you?” I ask.

“Oh, just having a beer. Watching the game,” he says, nodding his head toward the television above the beer cooler. “Also, kinda trying to flirt with the new bartender.” His face scrunches together as though he’s embarrassed.

I sit down beside him. “Yes! She’s super pretty and seems really nice. I love her for you.”

“Settle down,” Cross says. “He didn’t say he was marrying her.”

I press my elbow backward, and it lands in my brother’s stomach. “You stay out of this.” Taking a quick check down the bar to see Machlan’s gone, I look instead at Peck. “Navie, huh? Much, much better than Molly. I approve.”

“Now, let’s not go hating on my girl. I’m still marrying Molly someday,” he says. “I’m just testing out my flirting skills on Navie. I don’t think she minds.”

He gives me the cutest smile, the one I think of when I think of Peck. It’s adorable with a hint of disobedience that makes you want to hug him and hit him at the same time. It’s pretty charming, actually.

“No, I bet she doesn’t,” I say. “I …”

My cheeks flush as my gaze finds Machlan’s. He seems oblivious to the guy he’s handing a beer to. His chin is dipped ever so slightly as he narrows his eyes as though he’s unsure if he’s seeing things—meaning me—correctly.

My heart skips a beat. Then two. He nods absentmindedly to the patron who just took the beer and ignores the money being flashed his way. As he stalks his way toward me instead, it skips a third.

The unknown buzzes through my veins. The glow of the pink flamingo lights hanging above the antique mirror that frames the liquor bottles gives him a warm, roguish glow. The hottest thing, besides my cheeks, is the way he looks at me.

One hand cups his chin, his fingers working back and forth over his mouth as if he’s trying to hide a smile. His eyes are trained on me so intently I squirm in my seat. Desire pools in my lower belly. My stomach topples over itself, unable to steady against the fire coming from his gorgeous eyes. My palms dampen.

Breathe, Hadley.

“You ready for this?” Peck cracks beside me.

“Ready for what?” Cross asks, looking up from his phone. “Oh, shit.”

“Incoming in five … four … three … two … one … liftoff,” Peck whispers, bringing a bottle of beer to his lips.

“Hey, Mach,” I say, hoping to take some of the wind out of his sails by speaking first.

He plants both palms on the bar. Hard. His gaze lingers on me for a few long seconds before he rips them away and plops them on my brother. “Really, Cross?”

“We were just coming in to say hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Machlan deadpans. His fingertips strum against the counter, a sound I only barely hear over the roar of the crowd.

He extends a finger toward my hand, and I hold my breath, thinking he’s going to touch me. The longer we sit, the more the edge of frustration wavers off his face.

“I can’t take this,” Peck says. “Somebody say something.” He looks back and forth between us. “Fine. I’ll go. What a great game. I have no idea who is playing, but I’m for the green team.”

I snort. “I thought you were for the Navie team.” My shoulder bumps his. “Get it? Navie. Navy.”

Peck laughs. “So witty tonight, Ms. Jacobs.”

“Yeah, I try.”

I also try super hard not to whip my gaze right back to Machlan, but I fail. It’s like he can order my body to do what he wants from the other side of the bar. Like I’m Pavlov’s dog—he dangles the treat and I start salivating. It’s unfair, really.

“I need to get out of here,” Cross says. “Kallie just sent me a text that she’s home, and you know …”

“We know,” Peck groans. “Kallie is home, and you’re pussy whipped. Congratulations.”

“Fuck off, Peck,” Cross says atop my laughter.

Peck just shrugs.

“So you guys are going?” Machlan asks. He looks at my brother, then at me, then drags his eyes back to Cross. “Is that what I heard?”

“I don’t know about Hadley …”

Machlan stands tall. His posture is on point as he looks at Cross. “Oh, I do. Trust me, Cross. A case of blue balls is gonna hurt a whole lot less than the knot I put on your head if you leave her here.”

“Asking me to take her home would go a lot smoother if you do it nicely,” Cross counters.

“Excuse me?” I start to get off the stool but stop when Peck rests a hand gently on my forearm. Shaking him off, I sit back down. “I am right here and perfectly capable of making a decision on where I want to be tonight. Thank you. Both,” I add, looking over my shoulder at my brother.

“Excuse me, but I have a business to run tonight. If I don’t pay attention to what’s happening in here, it’ll all fall apart. Thank you. Both,” Machlan says, unwavering.

He’s dropped the bite in his tone a few decibels. There’s a certain level of sternness in his words, but something that might be the beginning of a plea too. I start to respond when a shriek breaks out from the back.

We all jump as the sound breaks from near the pool tables. Voices rise over the music and the other customers’ chatter. Instinctively, I grab Peck’s arm.

I can’t see what’s happening over the crowd of people, but my heart pounds out of control. Machlan wastes no time jumping on top of the bar in front of me.

Any vulnerability I might’ve seen in him today is long gone. He stands like a soldier, looking menacingly down at an unidentified person in the back.

He looks tall and dark and sexy as fuck. And even though I’m latched on to Peck for protection, my body is wound around Machlan.

“Darren!” His voice booms through the room. Everything stills. If it weren’t for the music playing through the speakers, you could hear a pin drop. “That’s your one! One more time and you’re gone. Got it?”

Machlan watches something, or someone, intently before hopping back to the ground. Slowly, the noise level picks back up. I might start breathing again too.

Peck and Cross both say something. I’m not sure to whom. I’m too busy melting into a puddle of goo under Machlan’s gaze.

His face is flushed from the situation, but it only makes me want him more. It gives him a little unruliness to his otherwise contained appearance.

“Look, Had. If you’re here, I’m gonna be watching you.” A ghost of a smile flirts with his cheeks. “If I’m watching you, I’m not watching them.”

I bite on my bottom lip to keep from breaking into an ear-to-ear smile.

“I have an idea,” Peck chimes in. “I’ll watch her.”

Machlan rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t trust you to watch my dog.”

He tips his empty bottle Machlan’s way. “You let me help close the bar the other night.”

“So?”

“So that establishes a certain level of trust.”

“He has a point,” Cross says. When Machlan shoots him a look, he points a finger his way. “What are you gonna do, Mach? Tell her she can’t stay? Good luck with that.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I’m going home to my girl. You guys can do whatever you want. Peck, you’ll make sure she gets to the apartment, right?”

“As long as Machlan doesn’t kill me.”

I lay my head on Peck’s shoulder. “You protect me from the boogeymen in here, and I’ll protect you from Machlan.”

“Who’s gonna protect you from me?” Machlan’s eyes twinkle as he says the words.

My jaw hangs open in a very unladylike fashion. I can’t pick it up. I can’t speak, but I am grateful when Cross does.

“Can we not?” my brother asks.

Machlan turns to address someone shouting his name from the other side of the bar. He holds up a finger and turns back to Peck. “Don’t let me down, Peck.”

“Have I ever let you down?”

“Don’t ask that,” Cross and I say in unison, making everyone laugh.

Machlan shakes his head and starts toward the guy yelling for him.

“Can I get another beer?” Peck shouts his way.

“And I need a drink, please,” I say before Machlan is out of earshot. He just shakes his head harder.

Cross leans in and tells me he’ll call me tomorrow. He and Peck have a hushed conversation before Peck turns back to the television and Cross turns toward the door.

My attention naturally turns to Machlan.

He has a bottle of a clear-colored liquid in one hand and a glass with ice in the other. His biceps flex as he moves behind the bar, pouring and mixing and shaking things together. The longer he stands in one place, the more people gather. It appears as though he’s telling a story because the patrons seem to hang on his words. It’s a very different Machlan than I’m used to seeing.

I’ve seen him control a room. He keeps a solid grip on every situation he’s in. It’s no surprise that he’s the go-to guy when someone in his family needs a favor. Those are the situations he’s most comfortable in. That’s the role he likes to play. But seeing him like this—not only in control and comfortable, but relaxed, maybe even enjoying it, on a whole other level, is fascinating.

“Hey, Hadley!” Navie’s voice draws me out of my spy-fest. “Can I get you something?”

“Please, for the love of God, order water,” Peck groans.

“Did I miss something?” Navie laughs. Her giant gold hoop earrings catch the light and twinkle. “Why do you have to order water? Oh, my God! Are you pregnant?”

“No, no, no. Nothing like that.” I let out a single laugh as I look up. My gaze is snatched out of the air by Machlan’s. He lets it settle over me, lets my body temperature spike to the point of explosion, before pulling it away and back to the bottle in his hand. “I …” I stammer, clearing my throat. “Just … can I get a water?”

“Sure.” She digs in the cooler under the bar and pulls out a bottle. “Here you go.”

Forgetting all about the game on the television, Peck leans toward Navie. Her red lips part into a wide smile as Peck slides his beer bottle from hand to hand.

“What can I get you?” she asks in a much softer, sexier tone than she used with me.

“I could really use another beer.”

She leans closer to him. “Is that so?”

He nods, grinning wildly. “Unless you’d like to dazzle me with some drink making skills.”

“Oh, I have lots of dazzling skills. The problem is figuring out which to show you first.”

Whether he folds under the pressure or loses his cool, I don’t know, but he starts chuckling. His cheeks are as pink as Navie’s shirt.

It’s her turn to smile like an idiot, and I can’t help but feel like I’m intruding. Just when I start to get up, I see Molly and sit right back down.

“Hey, Peck,” Molly says, coming up to the other side of Peck. She pointedly ignores Navie as though she’s not even there. “How are you, baby?”

I flinch, pulling away from the two of them and look at Navie. She looks surprised at the intrusion and at the term of endearment. I hold out a hand to motion for her to wait. That there’s more to this story than lets on.

“I’m good.” Peck sits back in his chair and focuses on Molly. “How are you doin’ tonight?”

“Good.” The sweetness drips off her words like poison, like the fake sugar known to cause cancer. You can feel the tumors grow with each breath she takes. “Just saw you up here and thought I’d say hi.”

Rolling my eyes, I look at Navie. Molly glances quickly at Navie, too, and then bends toward Peck. Her boobs nearly drop to Peck’s lap as her buzzed eyes set on me like I’m the enemy. “Well, hello, there, Hadley Jacobs.”

“Well, hello, there, Molly.” There’s no love in my tone.

There’s no love in the look she shoots me either. She turns back to Peck, who is putty in her hands. “I wondered if you’d look at my car. I’m afraid to try to leave here in it without someone taking a look at it.”

“Oh my God …” I groan.

“What’s it doin’?” Peck asks, oblivious to anything but the girl in front of him.

Molly angles her cleavage toward Peck. “It’s moaning and the ground was all wet underneath it when I got here.”

“Sounds like a piece of shit,” Navie mutters.

I can’t help but laugh, but she’s not talking about the car. And she’s not wrong either. Molly glares at the two of us before going back to work. “Think you could take a look, Peck?”

“Yeah, of course.” He stands and takes the last pull of his beer. “Sit right here, okay? Don’t get up.”

“Are you seriously going outside to look at her car now?” I balk. “It’s dark, dude. All you’re gonna see is the game she’s playing.”

“Be nice,” he whispers. “I’ll be right back.” With a pat on my shoulder and a quick glance at Navie, he follows a smug Molly out the door.

Navie’s jaw drops as Peck walks away. “I have a feeling I don’t even want to know who that girl is.”

“Molly McCarter. Resident town slut and I don’t use that term lightly. I actually selected that word from my expansive vocabulary. It was the only one that fit.”

Navie giggles. “Please. Tell me more.”

I take a sip of water, ignoring Machlan’s stare. “A whore just sleeps around. I have no problems with that. But a slut acts inappropriate, unconcerned with little details like marriage or prior commitments. She’s in it for the drama and attention, not the sex.”

“Love the description.” She looks at the door. “Hate that Peck is out there with her. He seems like a good guy.”

“He’s a great guy. And he’s in here flirting with you, and she can’t take it. She usually ignores him, which is sad, but he’s better off for it, actually.”

She grabs two beers from the cooler and hands them to a couple of guys at the end of the bar. “Does he like her?”

The question is poised as if it was an afterthought. Being that I’ve tried to pry information out of people almost my entire life about Machlan and hoped they didn’t catch on, I catch on.

“He has this crush on her. It’s more like a kid with a puppy than an adult relationship. It won’t last.” Shaking my bottle at her, I throw out an idea. “He just needs someone else to rewire his brain. He can do so much better.”

“I’d do him better.”

“You know what? I like you.” I laugh.

“And I like you.” She glances over her shoulder. “And so does my boss.”

Following her line of sight to Machlan, I catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye. He looks away. I don’t.

Despite the handful of people clearly waiting on his attention, he pauses in front of an old man. The man seems to be fumbling over his words. His finger is crooked with age, and he jabs it toward Machlan with a smile on his face.

Machlan keeps his body square to the old man. He nods his head, smiles at various points, and even laughs a couple of times.

My heart warms just watching him. How he gives so much of himself to these various people is beyond me. I’d be pulling my hair out by now.

“He’s a good guy,” Navie offers.

“Yeah. He is.”

“How long have you known him?”

I settle back in my chair. “Since I was fourteen. I moved here with my father and brother, Cross, when my mom died.”

She nods and then looks over my shoulder. “Okay, then. Since you grew up here—who the hell is that?”

Twenty

Hadley

Woah.

There’s no confusion as to who she’s talking about. If the word stunning was ever supposed to be used to describe men, it was for these two.

They’re tall, fit, and definitely not from Linton. One has on a button-down with the top two buttons undone, the other dons a polo shirt that shows off his physique. Their hair is perfectly imperfect with a nice, straight trim along the back of their necks and their fancy watches catch what little light there is overhead.

They laugh the kind of laugh that makes you sad you didn’t hear what was said. Their smiles make you jealous of the women in their lives. Their confidence reminds me of Machlan, but in a more polished kind of way.

“Know them?” Navie asks.

“Nope.”

“It’s my job to see if they want a drink, right?” Navie giggles.

“Yeah, if you can do it without giggling like a little girl,” I tease.

“What are we giggling about?” Peck slides into the stool in front of Navie. “What did I miss?”

“I’m not telling you anything since you let Molly order you around,” I say.

“I did not.”

“You did too.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Navie? Did he or not?”

She grabs an order pad and shoves it in the front of her apron. “I’m not getting into it. Instead, I’m going to get back to work.”

She walks away without looking back. Peck watches her in confusion.

I grab my water bottle and twist off the lid, but before I can raise it to my lips, a hard body is pressed behind me. I start to jump but stop when I smell the heavenly scent of Machlan.

My arms go weak as all the blood in my body rushes to my head. The bottle slips from my fingers, but Machlan catches it before it falls.

His breath heats the shell of my ear. “How do you feel?”

I nod, knowing I’m bending my neck for his use but unable to help it. A live wire running through my body both electrifies and freezes me at the same time. “Feels organic.”

Waiting for him to touch me is hard. Anticipating the zing of energy across my skin is frustrating. Not having it happen is infuriating. All I get is a little snicker as a response.

I turn to face him, but he steps away. With a wink that I feel between my legs, he rounds the bar.

“Machlan,” I call after him.

He stops. “Yeah?”

I let my eyes drift down his body before bringing it back up to his face. “You okay?”

His tongue rolls around the inside of his cheek. Nodding and fighting a grin, he proceeds to the end of the bar.

I love this feeling. Seeing how I affect him feels powerful but allowing myself to feel him affect me is even more so.

I’ve second-guessed every decision I’ve made for years—probably my entire life. I can’t think of a time I let my guard down and didn’t feel like I was swaying on my feet from the first moment after.

Machlan looks at something Navie shows him on a notepad. He’s so kind to her, patient as he goes through the protocol or whatever he’s explaining. I love this side of him. I love even more when he pauses midsentence and looks my way.

He nods toward the water bottle in front of me and grins. I roll my eyes, lifting the bottle and taking a drink. This makes him laugh. That makes my heart soar.

“Anyone wanna tell me why—” Peck is cut off by Walker’s hands resting on his shoulders. “Hey, Walk.”

“Hey.” Walker looks at me. “What’s up, Hadley?”

“Not much.” I grin at Machlan’s older brother. He’s a darker, slightly heavier version of Machlan with just as much piss and vinegar.

Sienna, his girlfriend that I’ve met once before, comes up to his side. She gives Peck and me a little wave.

“Hey, Slugger,” Peck says. “Any chance you could make some blueberry muffins for breakfast on Monday—ouch!” He rubs the back of his head where Walker smacked him. “What’s that for?”

“She’s not your maid. Or your girlfriend. Fucker.” Walker scowls.

Sienna laughs. “I’ll make you something and sneak it in.”

“That’s why I love, er, appreciate you so much,” Peck says, ducking another smack.

“We’re gonna sit in the back,” Walker cuts in. “Sienna’s family is in town to check me out, make sure I’m not a serial killer.”

“They are not,” she insists. “My sister and her husband are watching Deacon Love fight in Chicago tonight, so a couple of my brothers hitched a ride and are staying with us.”

“As I was saying, if you two want to sit with us, you’re welcome to. Actually, I’d appreciate it if you did.”

Sienna splays a hand on Walker’s stomach. “I’m going to go find my brothers before Lincoln meets Machlan on his own. I feel like a buffer needs to be there when that happens. Linc’s already had a couple of shots.”

“Yeah, go.” Walker sighs. “I’ll be back there in a minute.”

Once she’s gone, Walker stretches his neck. “Pretty cool guys but they fuckin’ talk all the damn time.”

Peck laughs. “I bet that’s fun to watch, Mr. Social Butterfly.”

Walker groans. “At least they’re cool. Graham is actually really smart about a lot of shit. We’ve had some good conversations about business.”

“What about the other one?” Peck asks.

“Lincoln is all right. Kind of a goof but cool.” Walker grins. “As a matter of fact, I bet you two would get along great.”

A host of laughter comes from the back corner of the bar. We all look back, but there’s nothing to see but a table in the corner with Sienna’s family having a good time.

“I better get back there,” Walker says. “Where’s Mach?”

“She’s here.” Peck jams a thumb my direction. “So, my guess is somewhere within a twenty-yard vicinity.”

Walker chuckles. “Sounds about right. Now come back here with me and entertain the crowd. Keep them from wanting me to talk all night.”

Peck stands. “Let’s go, Had.”

“Oh, no, you guys go on,” I say, waving them off.

They stand in front of me and don’t move. I fidget with the wrapper on my bottle. I don’t know what to say to them, that this is a family thing and I’m not family. I don’t want to intrude, and I don’t want to feel like a burden they have to lug around.

“Come on,” Peck says again.

“You know what? I need to go to the apartment. I’ll be fine.”

Walker takes my hand and guides me to my feet. “You will be fine because your ass is gonna be at the back table with us.”

“Walker, thank you. Honestly. But—”

“But fucking nothing. Just because my dumbass brother hasn’t figured out how to get his tail from between his legs doesn’t mean you aren’t family.”

My heart turns to mush. I can’t answer him with words because I can’t find any to say. To see this burly, broody man imply I’m family to him would make me cry if we weren’t in a bar full of people.

Peck guides us through the crowd toward the sitting area nestled next to the billiards tables. Navie is there and taking everyone’s drink orders when we get there. I sit between Peck and Walker.

Sienna does a quick introduction of her brothers. Graham, wearing the button-down, nods. Lincoln, the one in the polo shirt, waves.

“Do not bring Lincoln a bottle of Patrón,” Graham says to Navie. “Whatever he offers you under the table to do it, I’ll double.”

“I’m a married man, thank you.” Lincoln gasps. “And so are you. Kind of.”

Graham turns to Navie with a raised brow as though Lincoln just proved his point.

“No tequila for this guy.” Navie laughs. “Got it.”

“I’ve only had two shots,” Lincoln says. “And we’re on vacation.”

“You’ve had three, and your wife said that’s your limit,” Sienna tells him. “I’ll have a glass of red wine, please. And bring Walker some tequila. I think he’s gonna need it.”

Lincoln shakes his head and looks at his sister. “He gets another shot, and I don’t? What the fuck?”

“Because I can handle my liquor,” Walker says.

Lincoln flinches. “And I can’t?”

“No,” they all say at the same time.

They continue ribbing Lincoln, but I’m distracted by Walker. I follow the direction of his gaze to see Machlan heading our way. Everything else drowns out.

His swagger is present, his confidence intact. But the closer he gets and the more I see of him, the more questions I have.

There’s a question sitting on the tip of his tongue. I just don’t know who it’s for.

I hold my breath as he reaches our table and doesn’t stop until he’s behind my chair. I feel his hands brush against the edges of my hair. His fingers skim the back of my neck so lightly that I wonder if it was an accident.

A shiver rolls down my body, and I hope no one notices.

“Guys, this is Machlan,” Sienna says, starting off a new round of introductions. She names each person at the table, and Machlan exchanges a hello with each of them.

“This is your place?” Graham asks. “Looks like a good revenue stream.”

“It doesn’t do bad,” Machlan replies.

“Doesn’t do bad, my ass,” Walker says. “He works half as hard as me and makes double the money.”

“Sounds like Lincoln,” Graham says.

“I can’t help I made playing professional baseball look easy.” Lincoln looks at Machlan. “You can’t help you’re smarter than Walker and picked a job that got you a lot of money and pussy. Am I right? I mean, that’s how I feel about baseball—not that I’m getting a lot of pussy now. I’m happily married. Let’s make sure to clarify that so I don’t get beat with my own bat when I get home.”

Machlan’s fingertips drift across the back of my neck. It’s not an accident this time. They sweep from side to side, the contact growing a little more each time.

“Ah, I don’t use this place to get laid,” Machlan says. “It was never about that for me.”

He says the words to Lincoln, presumably, but I feel like they were said to me. He rests his hand over my shoulder, his thumb pressing on the back of my neck. It’s like he’s telling me he’s there. To pay attention. To be in the moment. I don’t know how much more in the moment I could be because a flame of hope lights in my chest that I know I’ll have a hard time putting out at three in the morning when I’m lying in bed alone.

“I need to help Navie out for a second. I’ll come by and check on you guys in a while. It was nice to meet you all,” Machlan says. He squeezes my shoulder again before heading back into the crowd.

My body buzzes as though I’ve had a drink. I hear the sounds of everyone laughing, talking, enjoying themselves, but I can’t pay attention to any of that until Machlan is out of sight.

“Okay,” Lincoln says. “There’s Walker and Machlan and Blaire. We met her when she came down to get the corporation papers. Isn’t there another one of you?”

“Yeah, Lance,” Peck chimes.

“What’s he do for a living?” Graham asks.

“He’s a history teacher,” Peck says. “Total nerd.”

“Graham will love him then,” Lincoln says, earning an eye roll from his brother.

Graham takes two shot glasses from Navie and then turns to Peck. “Who are you in the grand scheme of things?”

“We’re first cousins. Well, me and them. Not Hadley. She’s not related or that’d be weird. And illegal, maybe.”

“You’re with Machlan?” Graham asks, taking a shot.

“Oh, no. I …”

“Yes, she is.” Peck sighs.

“I am not.”

“You are too.” Sienna smiles at me. “If you think you’re not, go talk to a guy in here and see what happens.”

“But that doesn’t mean we’re together,” I contend. “That means he doesn’t want me with anyone else.”

Lincoln grabs a shot glass in front of Graham and hammers it. Graham smacks him on the back of the head, but he swallows it with a laugh. “I’m going to give you some advice,” Lincoln says.

“First thing you should know about Linc,” Graham says, “is that you never take his advice. If he’s had any tequila, that warning triples.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“Okay,” Lincoln starts. “Here’s what you do. You—”

“Don’t listen to him. Really,” Sienna says. “He just convinced our oldest brother to buy a winery. Our family knows nothing about grapes.”

Lincoln snorts. “That’s not what I heard.”

“I think I’d like that story,” Peck says.

“I’ll fill you in, man. Your girl will love you forever.”

“He does not mean Molly,” I say. I turn as Peck starts to speak but don’t see Navie between us. The entire tray of drinks goes in the air. It’s slow motion as the liquids separate from the glass and splashes into the air.

“Oh, no!” Navie gasps as Peck and I try to get out of the way.

We don’t.

Liquid crashes down on both of us like an angry wave. My shirt is soaked, my hair sticky from the sweet alcohol.

“I’m so sorry,” Navie gushes.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, standing up. Taking a step behind the chairs, I fling off what liquid I can. “I’ll just go change. Really. It’s no big deal.” I look at Peck. “You look like a drenched puppy.”

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I feel like one. I have an extra shirt in my truck.”

“I’ll just go out the back door and up the stairs. If I’m not back in ten,” I say, seeing the hesitation in his eyes, “you can come get me.”

“Had …”

“I’ll be fine. Go change.”

Not waiting for an argument or answer, I head around the table. “I’m going to clean up. It was nice to meet you all,” I say and hurry out the back door before anyone can stop me.

Twenty-One

Hadley

The cool air wallops me as I push through the back door. A couple of men standing next to the makeshift ashtray give me sideways glances.

My shirt sticks to my skin, my hair clumped to my forehead, my arms and face sticky from the drinks.

The farther I get from Crave, the harder it is to breathe.

Everything feels too tight. Too fast. Too pressurized.

The events of the day spiral around me in a turbulent blast. The music from the bar adds to the cacophony inside my body every time the door opens and the patrons’ laughter slips out to add to the mix.

It’s sensory overload.

My mind tries to find one thing to grab on to, one thing to process, but there’s just too much. The images of Machlan emotional over our child. The feel of him in my arms. The heat of his touches and the warmth of his grins.

Walker’s declaration that I’m family.

My flip-flops pound the stairs as I wonder how this day got away from me. How I made a decision to go out for lunch in a break from the storm and ended up … here. A situation I don’t even know how to describe or, much less, what to make of it.

I just need a few minutes alone. Just a few minutes to regain control.

Let it be, I remind myself. I pop the door open and step inside. With an exhale, I swing it shut, but it just swings back with full force.

“Ah!” I startle. Only now considering someone followed me from Crave, I spin around.

Machlan stands in the halo of light from the security lamp outside. His chest rises and falls, the easygoing look in his eye from earlier gone. There’s no grin, no winking, no question to explain why he’s here. Nothing but a fire in his eye that reduces me to a puddle.

“I bumped Navie …” I force a swallow. “Peck is changing. Not here,” I add quickly before he takes that the wrong way. “In his truck.”

He closes the door.

Taking a deep breath, I feel my chest vibrate. The clover on my necklace is cool against my skin as I blow the air from my lungs in hopes it settles me.

“You can be mad,” I say, “but I legit walked out the back door and up the stairs. And be mad at me because Peck wasn’t given a choice, nor should he have been saddled with watching me like a child.”

“That’s not what he was doing.”

“Oh, it wasn’t?”

Machlan walks across the room like a man on a mission. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break stride until he’s standing mere inches from me. “He was watching you like you’re a woman who’s special to someone.” He takes a deep breath. “To me.”

My head explodes. Every synapse misfires. Every beat of my blood echoes his words.

My plan to prove Machlan is bad news is backfiring. Like a snowball in the desert, my scheme is melting faster with each passing second.

I take a step back. He takes one toward me. I take another, but my back hits a wall. He closes the gap with no apology.

“You can’t say that to me,” I say.

“I can’t say what?”

“That I’m special to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to hear it.” My back is against the warm wood paneling, and it creaks as I lean my head on it too. I need all the support I can get as the man in front of me looks at me like I’m the crazy one. “It’s unfair, Machlan.”

He reaches up and drags a clump of rum-infused hair off my face and tucks it behind my ear. “You wanna know what’s not fair?”

“What?”

“That I have to watch every guy in my goddamn bar look at you and not smash them in the face.”

“I am a single woman,” I say.

The vein in his temple pulses.

“Machlan, look, I—”

The words are shushed with his thumb pressing over the bud of my lips. He leans closer, the room between us barely enough for his hand. “Every time you start a conversation like that, it ends badly.”

“Don’t most of our conversations end up like that?” I ask from beneath the pad of his thumb.

He drops his arm but doesn’t move away. It takes everything I have not to grab his waist and pull him against me, to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him like he’s everything to me.

“The last one we had didn’t,” he says.

Each breath I take sounds like a little gasp. Each time that happens, Machlan’s eyes narrow. Every time he does that, my knees wobble a little more.

Emily’s advice rolls through my brain as if she knows the position I’m in and wants to torture me. As if she’s encouraging me to let things happen. To do what I want and not what I think I should.

I know what I want to happen. Right now, in this time and place, I want to be with him. It feels entirely organic to touch him, to kiss him, to get around this stupid wall we’ve put between us. And as I look into his eyes, I think he feels the same way.

My stomach clenches, pulling my body tight, as I get the courage to move. My palms dampen as I reach up with one hand and touch the side of his face. There’s two, maybe three, days’ stubble dotting his cheeks, and the hair is rough against my palm.

Machlan doesn’t move. Not a twitch. The only thing that reacts is the light in his eyes.

“I’m warning you,” he says. “you keep this up, and my restraint will be gone.”

“You don’t have restraint anyway.”

“I’ve managed to breathe the same air as you for two minutes now and not touch you. Trust me when I tell you it takes more restraint than I ever knew I had.”

“That’s too bad …” I drop my hand and smile. “I was really hoping you’d—gah!”

My back hits the wall with a ceremonious thud. Machlan’s body is pressed against mine, pinning me between him and the wall. His mouth covers mine roughly. It’s not a sweet or sensual motion. It’s purely primal. Animalistic. Exactly what I need.

He thrusts his tongue in my mouth and moans as if I’m the best thing he’s tasted in his his entire life. The feeling of his voice vibrating against me with need sets me ablaze.

I dig at the button of his jeans as he brings his lips to mine again. Somehow, I get them unfastened in my haste.

His mouth is hot, his breath sweet, as he sweeps his tongue inside my mouth again. I shove his pants over his hips and grip his cock in my hand. It’s thick and stretches from the tips of my fingers up the bottom of my forearm. It’s heavy in my hand and the head sticky from a drip of pre-cum. Wetness coats the inside of my thighs as I hold him with both hands.

“You’ve done it now,” he says, ending the sentence with one final kiss.

“If only you’d do it now.”

He pierces me with a look that’s feral. “Oh, love. I’m gonna do it.”

Shorts drop. Flip-flops off. I’ve never undressed faster in my whole damn life. The faster I move, the harder my heart beats, and the more I want him to touch me.

He hooks an arm around my left leg, hoisting it up to his hip.

“Oh, shit,” I gasp. My insides melt at the way he grips me as though I’m his, the way his fingers sear into the sensitive flesh on the insides of my thighs.

My urgency is reflected in his eyes. I drag in a jagged breath as he positions himself at my opening.

“Do I need a condom?” he asks.

“No. I have an IUD—holy shit!” I cry.

He fills me so quickly I’m forced into the wall. The picture of Linton from the 1800s rattles on the little nail where it’s hung for decades.

My eyes roll closed as I stretch around him. His hands cup my ass, and he lifts me. My other leg curls around his hip. When I open my eyes and look into his, I think he’s going to come undone.

His teeth are gritted together, a bead of sweat dotting his forehead. “Damn it,” he groans, his tone full of grit and gravel.

He slips out and pushes right back inside me, hitting every nerve ending in my body from this angle. My hips push against him, craving the contact. He squeezes my behind, digging his fingers into my flesh before he strokes inside my body long and hard.

“Oh, God,” I mutter. The two syllables take more than two syllables to get out as my body begins to convulse. My teeth almost chatter at the intensity of the moment.

My shoulders dig into the paneling as my lower half wraps around this delicious man. The sound of our bodies sliding against one another producing an erotic layer over the rock music from the bar below. I can’t take it. I’ve needed this for far too long. I’ve needed him for far too long.

“Harder!” I shout, the words coming out through my clenched teeth. “Please. Harder.”

“Like this?” He hammers into me with no caution or concern, no tenderness like I’ve experienced with him before. There’s nothing personal about this—this is fucking.

“Ahhh …” My voice gets louder as the beat of the song below increases and as the drum hits, so does my orgasm. “Fuck!”

As I grip his shoulders, my body explodes around him. The walls of my vagina pulse with each ripple of sensation he delivers. He brings me higher and higher until I think I’m going to rip in two.

“Machlan!” I scream.

The wall bites into my skin and my nails dig into his as he grips my hips and presses me down hard. Through the aftershocks of my own orgasm, I can feel him releasing into my body, filling me with his own pleasure.

His head falls back, a low hum emanating from his throat. Sweat trickles down the side of his face, glistening over his skin.

Panting, finding it impossible to get enough air in my lungs to steady myself, I watch him come back to Earth. His eyes are almost bloodshot. His hat gone. His shoulders red from the marks of my fingernails.

“How organic was that?” he asks.

He’s trying to play it cool, referring to our earlier conversations, but something’s amiss in the way he says it. It’s not cocky or even neutral. It’s … careful. And that makes my stomach drop.

I shrug in an attempt to seem as nonchalant as I can. “That’s one way to put it.”

He sets me back on my feet. My legs shake, threatening to give out, so I lean against the wall.

“This is gonna make me an asshole,” he says, “but I gotta get back down there.”

He keeps his head down, his voice as gruff as I’ve ever heard it. He busies himself with getting put back together. It doesn’t go without notice that he keeps his distance.

My nakedness suddenly feels wrong. I scoop up my clothes, avoiding eye contact. “No. No, go ahead. I get it. Completely.”

His zipper breaks the silence before he rummages around, finding his hat behind the chair. “You’re okay, right?”

My throat tightens. I search his face for some hint as to what he’s feeling but find nothing. Just a guard in place that I’ve seen too many times to count.

I’ve never been stung in the chest by a wasp, but this is what I think that would feel like. A quick stab. A slow roll of poison. A burn you can’t shake for a while.

“Of course, I’m fine,” I say, plastering on a smile. “That was letting things be organic. I don’t expect anything from you.” And now the natural thing is for you to leave.

If I’m not mistaken, something washes over his eyes. It’s another bee sting in the center of my chest. Lucky for me, the first one stings too bad to really feel this one.

“Just make sure you lock this,” he says. He takes his hat off, watching me as he runs his hands through his hair, and then puts it back on again. Only now does he start toward the door.

And just like that, he’s gone.

Twenty-Two

Machlan

“I think that does it,” Navie says. She zips up the money bag and tosses it on the counter. “Everything is squared away.”

“You did good tonight.”

“Thanks.” She looks quite pleased with herself as she leans against the bar. “How good did you do tonight?”

That’s all it takes for my mind to be pulled right back to Hadley. One stupid little sentence that might not even be about her—that probably isn’t—and I’m lost to everything else.

I looked over my shoulder all night. I don’t know what I wanted more—have her in walk in the bar and spar with me or walk my ass back upstairs and finish what I started. Or re-start what I finished. Either way, it ends with me getting fucked. She’s probably directly above me, just feet away, yet it feels like she’s on the other side of the world.

I’d ask myself what I was thinking, but I already know. I wasn’t. Not with the head I should’ve been.

“It was that good, huh?” Navie asks.

Putting the last clean glass back on the shelf, I look at Navie through the mirror. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, okay.” She’s laughing when I turn around. “Look, I know I just started here, and we’re not friends or anything. And you totally don’t have to tell me anything …”

“But?”

“But I want to know.” She pouts. “I see the way she looks at you like you’re the best thing since yoga pants. And you look at her like you want to eat her.”

I pretend to consider this. “Fair enough.”

She laughs again. “See? You don’t even dispute it!”

“Anybody ever tell you that you’re a busybody?”

“Lots of dumb, stupid people.” She raises her brows. “I saw you chase her out of here.”

It’s like she wants me to deny it. I can’t. I don’t have the fucks to give to lie.

I chased her.

By all accounts, I fucked her.

But if it was only fucking, then why do I want to run back up there?

God help me.

I rough a hand down my face. “I pay you to keep the customers’ tabs, not keep tabs on me.”

“Well played, boss. Well played.” Pulling a gray sweatshirt over her head, she then hops on a stool and gets comfortable.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” A few moments go by before she gets it. “Oh, like I’m expecting you to talk to me?”

“Yeah.”

“Because I’m expecting you to talk to me.”

“I’m not the talking type, Navie.”

Liquor bottles are right behind me. I back up to them. A quick shot might dull some of the insanity in my brain, but it’s against my own rules. I never drink at work.

A shot glass magically appears in my hand. Whiskey jumps from the shelf and splashes into it, and I down it without a second thought.

Navie watches with an unbridled curiosity. “That’s probably why you aren’t actively screwing Hadley. You won’t talk.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Explain it to me another way then,” she challenges. “Or don’t because communication issues seem to be your thing.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

“And I don’t really want answers unless you feel compelled to give them. In that case, I’ll totally listen. But,” she says, wagging a finger through the air, “I do want you to think about it.”

The shot slams down my throat. It burns as it rolls, splashing into the acid already pooled in my stomach. One measly shot isn’t going to do shit; I’d need the whole damn bottle to make a dent in this night.

The whiskey mutes just enough to pull my defenses down and bring her reaction front and center—the one I’ve fought since I walked out of there. It’s a look I’ll never love. It’s a look that, every time I put it there, I swear I won’t do it again.

This is why, at the end of the day, we will never work. I can’t be trusted with making her happy. Even if I try to, even though I want to, I’ll mess it all up.

There’s a rotten feeling in my gut, a disappointment that’s directed internally. It sprung as soon as I pulled my pants up. And when she didn’t ask me to come back, it gnawed at me.

“Does this lull mean you’re thinking?” Navie asks.

“What are you? Some kind of pseudo-therapist?” I ask as I pour another shot. “I don’t want to think about anything.”

“Clearly.”

This shot goes down much easier.

“Keep it up and you won’t be standing much longer either,” she observes.

“Two shots? I’m gonna be all right.”

“But are you?”

“For fuck’s sake, Navie. Yes. I’m gonna be fine. I’ve fucked shit up a hundred times, and I’ve come out okay. Trust me.” I reach for the whiskey again but reconsider. “Have some faith.”

My reflection stares back at me in the mirror above the bottles. Stress lines form around my mouth, the vein in my temple pulsing every time my heart beats.

A part of me wants Navie to hurry the hell up and get out of here so I can find Hadley. Make sure she’s okay. Apologize for being a dick. Another part of me points out that encouraging this shit with her makes me a dick, and I should really just stay away.

“Okay, want to know what I heard in all that?” Navie asks, resting her chin on her folded hands.

“No.”

“Too bad. What I heard is a whole lot of fear.”

My head falls back, the alcohol making it heavier than normal. It feels good to give in. To let the relief, what little of it there is, course through me.

“What are you afraid of, Machlan?”

“Being employee-less when I fire you,” I say, still facing the ceiling. “It’s gonna suck ass, but it’ll be better than dealing with this.”

She sighs with all the drama of a soap opera. “Okay. I’m gonna just talk frank.”

I lift my head. “You mean you weren’t?”

“Ha.” She drops her hands. “Look, you’re a nice guy and good looking, but don’t let that go to your head. You have a helluva business here. Everyone, and I mean everyone, loves you. You have a super-hot cousin who you could totally hook me up with as a signing bonus type of thing.” She grins, waggling her eyebrows. “And you also have a girl who’s so in love with you it makes me in love with your love.”

I scoff, turning away.

Hadley can’t love me. She might think she does, but she can’t. How could someone like her love someone like me, a shitshow of a guy? A guy who knocked her up when I couldn’t take care of her. A man who could never offer her the things in life that she needs.

What she wants out of life isn’t a mystery. I’ve known that since I met her: she wants the life she never had. A husband who comes home after a nine-to-five. Kids she can dote on. A stable, predictable life she can relax in for the first time ever.

I own a bar. I know what the inside of a jail cell looks like. I’m never going to be the guy the Chamber of Commerce adores or be the responsible one in any lineup you can put together.

I’ve ruined her life once. I’ll do it again. I have no faith in me.

“Have you talked to her about your feelings?” Navie presses.

“For the love of God.” I slam the shot glass down, but it’s accompanied with a chuckle. “I don’t have feelings. Okay? Let’s get that straight.”

“Oh, so you’re a liar too. Good to know.”

I want to be pissed she’s calling me out. It’s way out of line and probably setting a bad precedent. But I hired her because she has that indistinguishable charm that makes people want to talk to her—me included. Even if I don’t actually want to talk.

“Will you stop it?”

“No,” she says as though she’s insulted. “I won’t stop it.”

I slide my hands down my face again.

“Fine, fine.” Navie slides off the stool. “I’ll forget about it.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll forget all about how she watched you mix drinks and how you went straight for the table when you saw her sitting with those hotties in the dress shirts.”

My hands fall to my sides, but my fists clench. A surge of jealousy strikes again even though I now know Camilla’s brothers weren’t here for Hadley.

But I’m the one who left her upstairs.

Guilt slips in place, shoving the jealousy out of the way. The whiskey sloshes. My brain tortures me with screenshots of Hadley’s face when I told her I had to leave. I hear the sound of her voice, pretending to be strong, telling me she doesn’t expect anything from me.

But she should.

I want her to. When she does, I feel like I’m ten-fucking-feet tall even if her expectations are impossible.

Damn it.

I drag the keys out of my pocket. “You ready to go?”

“Yup.”

We head toward the door. Navie takes her time, fishing her keys out of her purse. I try to walk faster in hopes it speeds her up, but it doesn’t.

“You have big plans for the rest of the night?” she asks.

“It’s two in the morning. I’m pretty sure tonight is over.”

“True enough.”

We step into the darkness and find the air a good ten degrees cooler than it was earlier in the day. Navie shivers in her sweatshirt as I lock the door. Once it’s secure, I walk her to the little blue car next to the train tracks.

As soon as I can see the back door, my attention is there. The light is off. Hadley’s car is parked by the dumpster. Everything looks normal, only I know it’s not.

She’s up there. And I’m not.

Climbing in the driver’s side, Navie starts the engine and flips on the heater. “Hadley’s in the apartment, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You should check on her,” she says softly. “I get it—the stuff between you two isn’t easy. But it never is.”

Still looking at the apartment, I sigh. “I think it’s a little harder for us than most.”

“Then you should work extra hard to make it a thing.”

“Huh?” I ask, turning around.

“If it’s that hard and you’re still in it, then it might be worth the extra fight.” She closes the door but rolls down the window. The fog on the windshield clears slowly, the sound of the air blowing on it comforting. “If a guy ever looks at me the way you do her, I hope someone is smart enough to tell him to find me.”

This I can work with.

Gripping the door frame, I choose my words carefully. “But what if he was a clusterfuck of a guy? Wouldn’t he be better off staying the hell away from you?”

“No.” Her laugh is simple, as if this should be obvious. “I’m a giant clusterfuck myself. Sure, it looks like I have it all together, right? I mean, I’m working two jobs. I’m well-adjusted, have great parents, and take my birth control regularly. I don’t smoke, have perfectly straight teeth, and I can balance a spoon on my nose.”

“What?”

“Anyway,” she says, “the point is those are my statistics. The ‘good column’, if you will. People don’t see my ‘bad column’ as easy, but we all have one.”

“I’m still stuck on the spoon thing.”

She looks at the ceiling and sighs. “Look, Machlan, Hadley is a smart girl. She really likes you. And I don’t know what happened between you when you—wait, yes I do.” She shakes her head. “You have a stain on your shirt that I’ve seen before after a quickie ...”

I look down at the tail of my black T-shirt as Navie makes a face. Sure enough, she’s right.

“I don’t think anyone else noticed. I just notice things. Anyway, after that,” she says, pointing at my shirt, “she’s probably lying up there right now wondering what’s up. Like, did you just one-and-done her? Are you going to call? Do you care? What did that mean?”

What did that mean?

My throat squeezes, and I fight the urge to look at the apartment again. Every cell in my body draws backward to Hadley, and I grip the doorframe harder so I don’t turn around and run to her like a pussy.

My fingertips strum the roof of the car. “I should stay away. Let her think.”

“Yeah, if you wanna be a dick.”

“Navie …”

“Sorry. The truth hurts.” She shrugs. “If you wanna tell yourself you’re letting her think, fine by me. It doesn’t affect me. But if you do give a shit about her, and I know you do, then do the right thing, Machlan. Treat her with the same decency you treat everyone else.”

The whiskey must wear off because my entire body cools. I shiver as a rash of goose bumps break out across my skin.

“Now, I gotta go,” she says. “I’m tired and emotionally spent from this love affair you have going on. Plus, I have to rationalize Peck’s love of Molly before I can go to sleep, and I’m not sure how long that’s going to take.”

“None of us have figured that out, so good luck.”

“He’s so cute. And she’s so … mean,” she groans. Shoving the car in gear, she waves. “Have a good night, Mach.”

“You too.”

She drives off, her taillights disappearing around the corner before I even pivot. When I do, I almost wish I hadn’t.

A light is on in the apartment. It’s faint, barely visible, and looks to come from the back of the room. My feet start walking that way before my head even tells them to.

At least I don’t run like a pussy.

* * *

Hadley

Knock, knock.

I sit straight up in bed with my eyes glued to the door. The clock shows it’s possible—it could be Machlan. I stifle a nervous chuckle because if it’s not, it’s probably a serial killer, and I’m dead, and I don’t even care.

My back aches from the springs of the mattress. If I could’ve forced myself up more than once to pee since Machlan left, it probably would’ve helped. But I couldn’t.

I shouldn’t be surprised by any of this, and I’m not, really. Rationalizing it took some time, but in the end, this one is on me. I knew what I was getting in to. I pushed. I accepted his pushbacks, and I don’t regret it. I only need to temper any expectations that this will go anywhere. It won’t.

The knock raps again, a little louder this time. The covers are tossed to the side. Grabbing my phone in case it’s not Machlan and I need to call 911, I shove it in the pocket of my shorts like a girl who doesn’t care about her life.

“Who is it?” I ask, hand already on the knob. A bubble of excitement is on the verge of bursting as I wait for a response.

“Who else are you expecting at two thirty in the fucking morning?”

He came back.

Running a hand over my still-damp hair from the sponge bath I gave myself in the kitchen sink, I say a prayer and swing the door open.

“Never know,” I say, trying not to show how happy his arrival makes me. “Could’ve been the guy from the other day.”

“That would be your best bet. Pretty sure you could take him.”

He’s standing, both hands shoved in his pockets, the start of a grin on his face. The wear of the night shows in the puffiness of his eyes.

Despite the late hour and the trickiness of how we ended things earlier, he came back. I don’t know what that means, but it’s a good sign. I think.

I turn away to get myself together. The door shuts softly. I turn back around to see him standing in the middle of the room. He doesn’t touch anything. He doesn’t look anywhere but at me.

This is a look I can’t decipher. He doesn’t look angry or apathetic, just like a guy in the middle of a room.

“How was your night?” I ask to break the silence.

“It was good. I kept having to refigure tabs, and Navie had to balance the drawer at the end of the night, but it was a clean, bullshit-free night for the most part.”

“For the most part?”

“Yeah.” He rocks back on his heels. “I had a girl run me up a little. She had a mishap in the bar. Went to check on her and she ended up sticking her tongue down my throat.” He can’t contain his grin.

I can’t contain mine as I buckle with relief. “Not exactly how I heard it went down, but whatever works for you.”

“Oh, it definitely worked for me.”

Staring at the wall above the bed, pointedly not looking at Machlan, I will my face to return to its normal shade of peach. I tell myself to stay calm and not put too much hope into this. He’s walked away enough times after giving me something to hold on to.

“About earlier …” Machlan says. His voice resonates deep in my core. I’m drawn to the timbre of his voice, to the way it wraps around me in the gentlest of ways.

“I’ve overanalyzed it enough for both of us.”

“I don’t want it to be that way, Had.” He sighs.

“I don’t either. And I’m trying really hard to go with the flow but …” I look at him over my shoulder as my voice falls away.

“But it’s me and you, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s me and you.”

He reaches for me. I hold my breath until the tip of his finger touches the bottom of my chin. He lifts it so I’m looking at him.

Each breath I take is much louder than it should be. My blood runs hot while my body shivers at the tiny bit of contact; the contrast enough to make it feel like I’m losing my mind. I close my eyes to regain my composure, but he nudges my chin again, and I open them.

“I thought you’d come down tonight,” he says, peering at me. “Why didn’t you?”

My insides trip over themselves as I scurry to make sense of the mayhem I’ve been dealing with all night. It’s hard to pinpoint why I stayed up here and didn’t go to Crave. I wanted to. I wanted to so badly. But something changed when he walked out.

As I laid in bed and looked at it from every angle, the only difference in this time and most is that I had some control. I chose to spend time with him, knowing damn good and well it wasn’t going to end with some fantastical proposal. I came to town and went straight to the bar. I got in his truck. I let him hold me on Bluebird, and I sat down there tonight and received his advances while giving some of my own.

I’m never surprised when he walks away. I always just go into it hoping he doesn’t push me away. Even though it stung tonight, I had the Band-Aid ready.

“You left,” I say. “I figured you knew where I was if you wanted to see me.”

His eyes burn hot as he continues to cup my face. He peers so deeply, I swear he’s searching my soul. I have nothing to hide. He won’t find anything buried in there he doesn’t already know if he’s honest with himself.

“I want you to promise me something,” he says, a grit to his tone that makes me shiver.

“What?”

“Don’t ever change who you are for anyone. Not for me. Not for some dickhead auditor. Not for anyone.” His hand falls away from my face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I gulp.

“It means …” He twists his hat around. “You’ve always done exactly what you wanted. You have an uncanny ability to follow your gut, you know?”

I don’t answer. My stomach churns, unsure where this is going. Unsure I even want to know.

He fiddles with his hat. “Whether anyone likes it or not, me particularly, you do what you want. And that’s something I’ve always admired about you,” he says, talking in a rush. “When you’ve had enough, you leave. When you want more, you come back. And I just hope that’s something you never lose, you know?”

“Where is all this coming from?”

He licks his bottom lip. “The truth?”

“I don’t know. Would I rather you lie to me?”

He holds my gaze until we both laugh softly. He shakes his head as my stomach settles.

“I went back to the bar,” he says, “and was fairly sure you’d reappear. And then you didn’t—which is fine. But as the night wore on and the place emptied out and you didn’t show up, I hoped you stayed away because you were stubborn … and not because you were scared.”

My throat tightens as he looks at me with an uncertain glimmer in his eye. “It was probably a little of both.”

His face falls.

“The weird thing,” I say carefully, “is I’m never scared of the big things. Like when I told you I was pregnant.” Tears dot my eyes. “That’s huge, and I wasn’t scared to tell you that. It was the biggest thing I think I could ever say, and I knew you’d be there. I wasn’t scared to tell you I love you. I wasn’t even that scared to ask you to marry me.” I blink back the tears. “But to tell you I wanted you not to leave tonight? Terrified. Because that’s something you can brush off, and those are the things that really hurt at the end of the day.”

“Had …”

“No,” I say, looking up again. “I knew you had to go. But I won’t say I wondered if you would’ve left had the bar not been open.”

He slips his can of chew out of his pocket. He doesn’t open it. Doesn’t flip it between his fingers. Just slides it around his palm while he watches me.

I try to look away but feel him pulling my eyes back to his. “It occurred to me while I laid here and listened to the music blaring under me that we’ve always kind of pussyfooted around each other. We’ve never had a real adult relationship.”

His grin turns mischievous. “Oh, I think we adult amazingly well together.”

“Not that.” I swipe his shoulder as I walk by, needing the space. “What I mean is, we’ve always interacted with all this baggage.”

He glances at the messy bed and at my bag on the couch. “You ever wonder what would happen if we met each other now? Like you moved to town or came in Crave and we met for the first time?”

“All the time.”

“What do you think would happen?”

“Probably what happened up here a few hours ago,” I say.

The chew can slips back in his pocket. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

He laughs to himself. “I’d want to. But I think I’d be a little intimidated by you.”

“Ha. I knew it.” I laugh. “I scare you, don’t I?”

The levity in his features melts away. Before I know it, the playfulness is gone.

I try to figure out how to rewind the last few seconds and bring back what we had before. It’s nearly a panic inside, a ‘no, no, no’ chant in my head not to let him start backpedaling. Bracing myself for the inevitable, for Machlan to leave, I take a deep breath.

“It’s been a long night,” he says. “I need to get home.”

“Okay.”

“Why don’t you come with me?”

I grab the back of a chair as naturally as I can. There isn’t a breath deep enough to steady myself from that.

There’s no response from me. I wait for him to rethink his offer, for him to walk to the door on a phone call and leave me standing. But the longer I wait, the more certain he seems.

It’s a tedious ledge, and I feel myself falling over the side. This is what I want. But if I reach out and take it, attempt to walk the ledge that’s so slippery it shines, I’m risking everything. What if I can’t recoup? What if I’m not the adult I think I am? What if sleeping with Machlan and having a fun few days isn’t something from which I can recover?

When I fail to respond, he moseys toward the couch and lifts a shirt off the floor. “You have a lot of laundry here. And—”

“You know, this probably isn’t a good idea.” My eyes squeeze shut. “I’m good here.”

“I know you are. But … I’d like you to come home with me.”

My eyes open. He’s watching me with a wariness I know intimately. He wants this now. But what happens tomorrow? Letting it be was easier when it didn’t involve sleepovers. I’m already in deeper than I can afford to be.

“This can just be sex,” I say.

He tosses my shirt on my bag and walks toward me. “You and I both know it’s never just sex between us.”

“But it can be,” I offer, my hand trembling at my side.

He stops a couple of inches in front of me. I can feel his breath on my face, smell the hints of mint from the tobacco he must’ve chewed tonight.

The room is perfectly still. There’s not a sound to be heard. The only break in the silence is my ragged breaths and the energy pulsing off Machlan, something I’m sure I hear.

“I’m a little fucked up about this,” he says. “I don’t know the right answer.”

I lean away as he tries to touch me. “I don’t know the right answer either, but I do know I have to be careful with you.”

“Didn’t you come here to figure things out?” He drops his hand. “Because I feel like we’re doing that somehow.”

“Yeah, that’s why I came here. But honestly, I thought it was going to go a different way.”

“You wanted me to be a dick so you could feel good about leaving?”

“I didn’t want that,” I say, “but I expected to be able to justify moving on when I left. You’re making that super hard right now.”

He moves too quickly to stop him from touching my arm. Like a jolt of electricity, my body sings at the contact.

“I don’t want to make your life hard,” he says, his fingertips pressing into my arm. “But I don’t want you leaving and not wanting to talk to me again either.”

I focus on the softness of his words and not the way I begin to sway. “Mach …”

“Look, it’s late. You’re up. I’m up. Just come home with me.”

I want to. I might never have wanted something so bad in my entire life. And he’s asking—not assuming or manipulating and I’m not winding up there by chance.

“Machlan, I—”

He touches his finger to my lips. “Before you say no, hear me out.” He waits for me to nod before dropping his hand. “I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, okay? I’m walking this line of trying to leave you alone so you can go on about your life, but it’s so fucking hard when all I want to do is be around you.”

I force a swallow, tears flirting with the corners of my eyes.

Seeing this side of him isn’t something I’ve seen before many times. I can count them on one hand. I know how hard it is for him to let himself be vulnerable, to put himself out there like this, and all I want to do is hug him.

This is the man I fell in love with. Not the guy I slept with first or the one who saved the day when I drank too much. This is the guy who clasped a necklace around my neck after a night at the Water Festival and told me I was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

To think this man, the one who can be so considerate sometimes, can think he should let me go on about my life is ridiculous. But I don’t have the energy to point that out.

“It’s not as if you have anything else to do,” he points out. A hint of a grin is back.

“Are you sure?”

“You’re the one who said we need to just see where things settle between us. I’m just trying to do what you asked, and right now, this feels like where it should settle.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. Just stands in front of me waiting on me to break. And even though it might not be the best answer if I think it out completely, I don’t. I give in.

“But you’re sure?” I ask with a grin of my own.

He laughs, grabbing my bag. “No, I’ve stood here for the past ten minutes not sure. Yes, Hadley, I’m sure.”

“Fine.” I suck my cheeks in to keep them from breaking in half and head to the door. “If you’re sure.”

He swats my ass, making me yelp. “Keep it up.”

“That’s what she said.”

I don’t look back as he starts laughing. I make my way toward his truck with the lightest steps I’ve ever taken and the best music in my ears.

Twenty-Three

Hadley

The hardwoods creak as I make my way down the hall. The house is dark, pitch black in most areas. A night light glows from the living room, and I know without looking that it’s a little plug-in shaped like a tea rose. It’s been there since the first time I came to this house. It belonged to his mother.

I venture through the house in a pair of shorts and an oversized T-shirt with a slogan from an athletics company on the front. My hair is wet from the quick shower I took while Machlan took a call from Walker.

The air is crisp as I mosey around, like a window is open somewhere. Scents of pine from the trees surrounding the house and a hint of cleaning product and tobacco flood my senses. It’s a weird combination, but one that’s definitely Machlan.

I’ve walked this hallway a hundred times before. I know each plank that will give a little when I step on it, and that the section by the front door will echo a little louder than the part in the back. The closet to my left is filled with coats and shoes, and the door to my right used to be Machlan’s dad’s home office.

Out of all the houses I’ve ever stayed in, this one feels the most like home. My mother and I had to move too often to afford rent in California. Living with Dad and Cross, and then just Cross when Dad took off for Reno and never came back, wasn’t very heartwarming. This place, though, always felt cozy and smelled vaguely of fresh flowers and home cooked food. It still does.

My movements slow as I near the kitchen. The light is bright ahead of me. Soft rustlings and the snap of a refrigerator door roll from the room. The soft material of the burgundy rug lining the last few feet to the kitchen caress the soles of my feet.

Hand over my mouth, I stifle a yawn as I reach the threshold.

Then I stop in my tracks.

Machlan is doing something at the counter with his back—his bare back—to me. He’s naked except for a pair of gray sweatpants hanging from his narrow hips. Each movement causes the muscles in his back to ripple. The pushing and pulling of his perfectly sized muscles make me gulp.

Knowing he was in the shower earlier and not peeking was super hard. The door was cracked, so it wouldn’t have been hard. But going in there and not making things even more complicated would’ve been impossible, so I didn’t. I busied myself by texting Emily instead.

“You gonna stare all night or what?” he asks.

“Maybe I’m not here.”

His body vibrates with a chuckle. “I see you in the window, genius.”

“Oh.” I yawn again, forcing it a little this time, as if to say I’m tired and not completely turned on. He grins smugly, seeing through it, but I ignore his delicious smirk. “It’s after three.”

“Nice you can tell time.” He turns and hands me a plate. There’s a perfectly browned grilled cheese sandwich cut into four little squares. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“You come home from work and make grilled cheese sandwiches?” I ask, taking the plate.

He takes a square off my plate and pops the whole thing in his mouth. “Fuck, that’s hot!” His mouth pops open, and he waves his hand in front of it. A dollop of cheese is stuck to his bottom lip, and I want to wipe it off, but I don’t. If I touch him with his six-pack abs looking all glorious, it would be the end of me. I’d have an orgasm holding a grilled cheese.

“That’s why you shouldn’t steal.” I sit at the table and pick up a piece. I hold the sandwich so it looks like I’m giving it serious attention when, in reality, I can see across the golden crust and watch Machlan pour two glasses of water. “When did you learn how to cook?”

He pads across the floor and hands me a glass. Our fingers touch as I take it. I pretend not to notice.

“I hardly think grilled cheese is considered cooking.” He grabs another plate off the counter and then sits across from me. “But I can reheat food like it’s nobody’s business.”

I take a bite. The cheese oozes out the sides and melts in my mouth. It’s buttery and gooey, and the crunch on the outside is so satisfying. He grins as he takes a careful bite of his.

“This is good,” I say, licking my lips.

“You should see what I can do with Nana’s fried chicken.”

“Oh, really?” I eat another piece in two bites. “What do you do with that?”

“You take the chicken and put it in a brown paper bag. Turn on the oven and put the chicken in there. Grab a shower and when you’re out, the chicken is warm and crispy.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to put a paper bag in the oven, Mach.”

“I’ve done it a hundred times, and nothing bad has happened yet.”

I laugh. “I think that’s just part of your charm.”

He shoves another section in his mouth. “What’s that mean?”

“You do a lot of things a hundred times and nothing bad happens. You better hope it doesn’t start catching up with you.”

His eyes go wide before he grabs a napkin and cleans his hands. “You gonna eat that last piece?”

“No. I hate eating this late. I’ll wake up with an upset stomach.”

“Then why did you eat any of it?” he asks, sliding my plate in front of him.

“I can say no to a lot of things but not grilled cheese. Even I have limits.”

“Good to know.” He slides the last bit into his mouth and washes it down with a long drink of water. “You ready for bed?”

A bit of panic creeps through my body. Raising my glass, I take a drink. A long one. One that nearly drains the entire glass into my stomach. Getting waterlogged is a better alternative than answering that question the wrong way.

I have no idea how this is going to work. Every time I’ve been here before, I’ve slept with him. Every time I’ve been here before, I’ve left without him. This is no different, and I know it. Not even if he’s being nice or thoughtful or considerate—it changes nothing in the long game.

Machlan watches me. The longer it takes, the wider his grin gets. Only when it’s stretched ear-to-ear does he cross his arms over his toned chest and laugh. “I didn’t realize you were so dehydrated.”

“Yeah,” I say, setting the glass down. Sucking in oxygen in a wild gasp, I shrug. “Really thirsty.”

“Or really avoiding my question.”

“No, no, no.” I get up and gather our glasses and put them in the dishwasher. There’s a dishrag in the sink. I use it to wipe a few crumbs off the counter but stop when Machlan’s hand rests on my shoulder.

“I didn’t bring you here to clean up after me.”

The rag goes into the sink with a plop. I look at him in the reflection in the window.

“You clean when you’re nervous,” he says, holding my gaze. “Why?”

“I feel like maybe I should go back to the apartment.”

His abs ripple as he chuckles. I try to ignore them and the way my stomach clenches.

“You want to go back now?” he asks. “Why?”

I spin around, letting the panic hit. “I’ve talked a good game. Better than I thought I could, really. But I don’t know if I can do this,” I jabber. “Coming home with you doesn’t feel like just sex, which we’ve talked about, and now that I’m here, I think it’s a terrible idea. I think I’m gonna wake up in the morning and—”

“Breathe,” he says. He takes in a lungful of air and blows it out, encouraging me to do the same. “See that? That’s how you don’t sound like a lunatic. You breathe between words. Try it.”

I make a face. “I don’t sound that crazy, do I?”

“Yes.” He bends forward until he’s inches from my face. “You do.”

He steps back and really takes me in. When he usually does this, it feels like he sees all the way through me. Right now, though, it feels like he’s wrapping me in a warm blanket.

Under the haze of the yellow-hued light bulb in the kitchen, I relax. And as I do that, I realize how easy it would be to totally relax, to fall into his bed or into some fantasy like I usually do.

No matter how good this feels, how right, it’s still me and Machlan. Nothing has changed there. I have to remember that.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I say.

“You will not.” He turns toward the hallway.

“I’m not sleeping with you.” I follow him out of the kitchen, flipping the light off as I go. The hallway is dark, and I can only make out his silhouette as I go. He takes a left, and the light comes on in his bedroom.

It’s decorated as I remember. A slate gray bedspread stretches over his king-size mattress. Four pillows lay at the top with black and white pillowcases. There’s a television facing the bed and a dresser beneath it. A chair sits in the corner with a pair of jeans thrown over the back.

He disappears into his closet and comes back out with a handmade quilt. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” His irritation is palpable.

“What do you want?”

“I’m just taking your cues.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yeah, well, that question sounds a whole lot bigger than where I want to sleep.” He looks at me before shaking his head and disappearing back in the closet.

A yawn comes out of nowhere. I stretch overhead, too tired to spar with him anymore. My bottom sinks into the soft mattress. Blinking back the tears that spring with another good, deep yawn, I lie back on the soft blankets.

Everything smells like him. It’s like being in a cloud of Machlan, and it’s the most comfortable I’ve been in forever.

Rolling on my side, my knees to my chest, I let my eyes fall closed.

The sound of a blanket being dropped whispers through the room. My head is so tired, so calm, I can’t open my eyes to see what Machlan’s doing.

Every second that goes by, the farther I fall into the abyss.

The bed dips. I feel a warmth settle over me like a blanket is tugged over my body.

I barely hear it when Machlan’s voice whispers, “You look really pretty tonight.”

“You make really good grilled cheese …”

I wonder if I’m dreaming, or if he’s really there.

If it’s a dream, maybe I won’t wake up.

Twenty-Four

Machlan

Bacon.

My eyes open one at a time.

The house smells like bacon and eggs.

The light is too bright for eleven on a Sunday morning.

I’m on the wrong side of the bed.

My head twists on the pillow I only use when I pull it against me in the middle of the night, and I remember why—Hadley.

Glancing at the clock, I realize I’ve missed church. I only fell asleep a couple of hours before services would’ve started. After picking Hadley up and laying her under the covers, I stretched out and watched her sleep because I sure couldn’t.

This is a blessing and a curse. It’s like the time Blaire sent me a bottle of a particular Kentucky bourbon you can’t ever find. It’s top-shelf stuff that masks the alcohol content with big splashes of vanilla and caramel. Drinking it is like a gift, but the hangover the next day is akin to hell.

Sleeping in the same bed as Hadley is a present. Having her leave today will feel like I’ve been robbed of everything I actually give a damn about. Because fuck if I don’t.

It’s really, really hard to keep my distance. It’s so easy with her. She knows everything about me, knows how to talk to me and when to joke around and when to let it be. If God asked me to design a woman for myself, I’d just point at Hadley and say, “Yeah, you already did.”

It never gets easier to realize you can’t take care of someone like they need. That you’ll inevitably embarrass them or fail them in ways you haven’t imagined yet. That fear sits in my core, positioned in a place it gets rubbed every time I start to get comfortable with Had. It reminds me how sick it feels to look in her eyes and see disappointment.

My phone rings, and I have to dig under my pillow to find it. When I see who it is, I hit the green button and say a quick prayer for help.

“Hello?” I ask.

“I’ll have you know, young man, that you were the only grandchild of mine with your behind not in a pew this morning,” Nana says.

“I’ll have you know, young lady, that I’m not sorry.”

“Machlan Daniel—”

“Nana. I’m kidding,” I say, smoothing my hair back off my face. “I have a good reason.”

“There are very few reasons good enough to miss Jesus.”

A long bang comes from the kitchen. Hadley issues an expletive loud enough for me to hear.

Throwing the blankets back, I sit up on the edge of the bed. The floor is cool under my feet, the air chilly on my naked torso.

“I had company last night,” I tell my grandmother.

“Company, huh?” She pauses. “Is that company fit enough to come to my house for dinner?”

The feel of Hadley’s thighs in my hands last night and her arms wrapped around my neck has me getting hard. “Oh, she’s fit all right.”

Nana scoffs. “That’s not what I mean, sir.”

“Are you implying my house guest might be a one-night stand?” I gasp. “I’m insulted.”

“Now, that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re Lance’s brother. The concept of a one-night stand is not new or insulting.”

I chuckle. “When did you get so savage?”

“I don’t know what that means, but I want you over for dinner.”

Reaching my free hand over my head, I feel my muscles stretch. A rumble flows from my stomach as I move, and the scent of bacon gets stronger. It rumbles harder when I think about taking Hadley with me to Nana’s.

I’m not sure I could handle it.

My brothers take their girlfriends to dinner every week while Peck and I sit together like two losers with no dates. It used to not bother me—Hell, it felt easier being alone. But lately, it feels like something is missing, and no matter who I think about inviting over just to fill a spot, it doesn’t feel right.

It does today. It feels perfect.

“What are you fixing?” I ask.

“I’m frying chicken just for you because you guilted me for having Lance over the other night. And I’m making a cheeseball, and I’d hate for Peck to have all of it.”

“Are you bribing me with food?”

“Of course. I’m a grandmother. It’s what we do.”

“You do it well.”

I know she’s smiling on the other end. I can hear it in the way she smacks her lips together in satisfaction. “We’ll eat around three o’clock. If I know you’re coming, I’ll make you a butterscotch pie.”

“I’ll be there if I can bring home leftovers,” I tease.

“You’ll have to fight Walker for the chicken.”

“That I look forward to,” I say, getting to my feet. “I always love a Nana-approved duel with Walker.”

“I meant that figuratively. Don’t go getting him in one of those head-lock things in my dining room, or I’ll kick your behind.”

My phone buzzes, indicating the battery is dying. I pull it away from my face to see I have less than ten percent left. “I gotta go because my phone is dying, and you know, I need to entertain my company.”

“Oh, dear. Goodbye.”

Laughing, I head to the other side of the bed. “Bye, Nana.”

I fish my charger out from behind the bedside table and plug it in. Setting it beside the lamp, I spin around but stop when I see Hadley’s bag on the chair in the corner.

Her shorts are sitting on top of the closed bag as though she tossed them there as a side note. If someone walked into this room right now, they’d think that gym bag was supposed to be there. I kind of feel that way too.

Scratching my head, I walk into the hallway and hear music playing softly. Sunshine pours in from the windows.

Walking as lightly as I can, I pause in the doorway. She’s buttering toast over the sink. Crumbs falls into the basin as she rakes the knife along the bread. The movement slow as she looks through the window with a thoughtful gaze.

Her hair is a wild mess piled on top of her head, and she’s changed into a pair of my sweatpants. They’re two sizes two big and nearly fall off her waist, but I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight in my life.

Hadley in my clothes in my kitchen. Happy.

“Hey,” I say before I can get in my head too deep. I ignore the way my chest feels like it’s going to burst and open the refrigerator. I don’t need anything, but maybe it’ll cool me down.

The corners of her lips turn up before she looks over her shoulder. There’s a hint of trepidation there. “I made breakfast.”

Overriding my natural reaction to walk across the room and plant a kiss on her lips, I shut the refrigerator door. “What can I do to help?”

“Don’t die when you eat the bacon.” She makes a face. “The expiration date was last week, but it smelled fine.”

“Shit. I don’t even know when I bought that.”

“Or half the things in the refrigerator,” she mumbles. “Seriously. I threw away a bunch of crap this morning.”

“What did you throw away?” I say, letting my jaw fall open just to rile her up.

“Nothing you’ll ever need or it wouldn’t have been expired.”

“You don’t know what I need.”

She walks toward me, an arch to her lips. She reaches right in front of me, almost brushing against me but not quite, and pulls out two plates. “Oh, I think I do know what you need.”

My breathing stops as I adjust to her proximity. I’m suddenly very, very awake.

The sweetness of her skin drifts around me, luring me to touch her. The pout of her lips begs for a kiss, the sliver of skin between the hem of her shirt and the top of my sweatpants taunting to be gripped.

My eyes narrow as I squelch the reaction I want to make. “Humor me. What do you think I need?”

She falls back on her feet slowly. It’s clear she didn’t anticipate this question and is unprepared to give me an answer. I’m not sure what kind of an answer to expect, either, and I’m not sure why in the hell I asked that this early.

Turning away, she begins to fill one of the plates. “This morning, you need four strips of bacon, two eggs over medium, and two slices of toast.”

“Over medium, huh?”

“I know you like over easy, but I overcooked them because I dropped a jar of mayonnaise that expired last year.” She shoots me a look. “Last. Year.”

“Good thing I like them over medium these days, huh?”

She nods. “Good thing.”

“I also like coffee,” I say, walking away before I get too comfortable watching her move around my kitchen. “You want some?”

“Yes, please.”

We work silently, me making coffee and her getting the food to the table. Every now and then, we catch each other’s eye and smile or sort of softly laugh at nothing in particular. It’s weird sharing the space with her but so damn amazing at the same time. It has all the hallmarks I love about Nana’s Sunday dinners but at home. With Hadley.

This could get me in trouble, yet I have no intention of ending it. Not right now. This may never happen again, and I want to suck it up for all it’s worth while I can get it. It gives me a quietness that comes from the inside that I haven’t felt since we lived together.

When she stayed with me before she got pregnant, and then when we lived together while in Ohio, my favorite part of the day was waking up next to her. The morning routine of getting ready—preparing for the day, having her there and knowing she’d be there when I came home—was the best part of my life so far.

We sit down. She curls one leg under her.

“Did you sleep okay?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“I think I kind of passed out. I remember sitting on the edge of your bed and hearing you talk and then nothing until I woke up this morning.” She reaches for a piece of toast. “Which brings me to this question. How did I get in your bed?”

She lifts a brow as she takes a bite of toast.

“You seemed to enjoy my mattress, so I tucked you in.”

Her lips part, the furrow in her brow warning me she’s about to argue. Then strangely, the wrinkles vanish. “Thank you.”

“Wow.” I laugh, slicing into my eggs. “That was unexpected.”

“What? I’m being polite.”

“I know. Unexpected.” She taps my leg with her foot under the table. “I’m not sure if I should thank you for holding me so tight I couldn’t move this morning.”

My fork almost drops out of my hand. The tines clink against the china before I regain control. “I did?”

“You did. And it was kind of nice.” Her shoulder comes to her chin in the sweetest gesture. Batting her eyelashes, she grins. “Now, enough of this being nice stuff. What can we fight about?”

I pick up my coffee cup and sit back in my chair. She rattles on about a story Kallie told her about Cross, and I tune out. Watching her talk—her hands flying through the air, her eyes bright and happy as she jabbers away—is enough.

Sipping the caffeine instead of guzzling it like I usually do, I enjoy the peace of a Sunday morning instead of avoiding it, which is a new thing. A thing I could get used to. A thing I’d love to replicate with her.

But as I begin to process that idea, her words from last night come back to mind. “You do a lot of things a hundred times and nothing bad happens. You better hope it doesn’t start catching up with you.”

It will catch up with me. It always does.

“Are you listening to me?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I sit my cup down and grab a piece of bacon. “Nana called and ripped my ass about church.”

She snorts. “I’m not sure you should say ripped my ass and church in the same sentence. While not quite sacrilegious, it doesn’t feel right.”

“Okay. She busted my balls. Better?”

“I’m with Nana. You needed Jesus today.”

“I’ll pray extra hard at bedtime to make up for it,” I say, crunching down on the meat. “Anyway, she’s making dinner and demanded I come.”

Hadley’s fork rests on her plate. The light in her eyes dims as she reaches for a napkin. “You should.” She swallows hard. “I need to see Emily today, so I can have her pick me up here, or you can run me by on the way.”

That’s the best solution. The easiest. The safest. And it absolutely won’t work.

“Nah, see, neither of those will work,” I say with a casual shrug.

“Cross can come and get me.”

I watch her until she lifts her eyes to mine. She’s adorable when she’s unsure, when she lets her guard down long enough to let me see it. I should be as unsure as fuck about this, but I’m not. I’ve not been so certain about anything in a long time.

“Nana said you have to come,” I say. Even though that’s not totally the truth.

“Oh, I don’t know …”

“Tell it to Nana. I’m not.” I take my cup back to the Keurig. As I pop in another pod, I look at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s grinning with her hands folded together in front of her face. “She said we’re eating at three, which means we have to be there by two. She gets really pissed if you show up when it’s time to eat.”

“I can understand that.”

The coffee stops. I take my mug and walk back to the table. Instead of sitting, I lean against the chair. She looks up at me with big, wide honey-colored eyes.

Sunday dinner has never looked so appetizing.

“It’s eleven,” I say. “That gives us a few hours.”

She gulps. “To do what?”

I take a long, intentional drink and watch her squirm. Once she’s sufficiently worked up, I swallow. “Do you know how to prune rose bushes?”

She punches me in the stomach and laughs, getting to her feet. “I hate you.” She laughs in what I think is relief. “I hate you so much.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. You know I know how to prune rose bushes.” Her hair wobbles as she reaches for her plate.

I don’t know what it is about this moment that does it, but I can’t help myself. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her into my chest. She gasps but doesn’t fight it. Every place her body touches mine lights up. Her eyes do the same as they meet mine with a hopeful anticipation.

I could say something funny here and let her go, and nothing would be worse for wear. But we’re going for what feels right, and nothing feels more right than her in my arms.

If it bites me in the ass later, then it does.

I touch my lips to hers. We melt together in perfect sync, retracing the steps of a dance we perfected years ago. Her lips are soft, her breath sweet, and her hands perfect as they rest on my chest.

I break it way before I want to. The smacking sound sings through the room just like in the movies. She watches me back away, the smile on her face matching mine.

“I’m gonna get a shower,” I say, adjusting my cock as discreetly as I can. “I’ll clean this up if you leave it.”

She doesn’t stop grinning. “I’ll get it. I need to call Emily and cancel our plans for today, so I’ll do it while I talk to her.”

“Fine,” I say.

“Fine,” she says.

As I walk by her, we both laugh.

Twenty-Five

Machlan

“There you are. It’s about time you showed up.” Nana waves a spoon in my direction. “I was just saying if you didn’t get here in a few minutes, I was sending Lance after you.”

“Lance? Come on, Nana. At least send Walker. Make it worth my while.”

“Hey, fuc—dge you,” Lance says as he scoops up part of my favorite cheeseball on a cracker. “I caught myself, Nana. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You boys.” Turning to me again, she starts to speak but stops when she sees Hadley beside me. She looks at Hadley, then at me, before stalking toward her like a madwoman. “Oh, Hadley. It’s so good to see you, sweetheart. Come give me a hug.”

Hadley envelops my little grandmother in her arms. She holds her tight, much the same way I do. Much the same way I hug both of them.

I’m pretty sure Hadley stops and sees Nana when she visits town, making sure to avoid me most of the time. They’ve been close since I brought Hadley here for one of Nana’s famous tonics when she was sick in high school. Nana can do no wrong in Had’s eyes. Hadley is Nana’s favorite, besides Walker. Me? I’m just happy to see the two of them in the same room as me.

My cheeks ache as I grin, watching them chat about Nana’s fried chicken. I don’t dare look at Lance. He’ll laugh at me, for sure, but there’s nothing I can do. Seeing these two together makes me a pussy.

“Don’t start,” I say to my eldest brother. “And give me the cheeseball.”

“I’ll share, but you can’t have it.”

“There’s another in the fridge, you two,” Nana says, releasing Hadley. “But don’t get it out until Peck gets here.”

“Forget Peck.” Lance points at himself proudly. “Did you hear that? I didn’t even almost say fuck. I’m learning. All those years of riding my ass worked.”

“Until you just said ass,” I point out before a load of cheeseball goes in my mouth. “Where’s the golden boy?”

“Who?” Nana asks.

“You know. Walker. The favorite,” I say.

“I don’t have favorites, Machlan.”

“Yes, you do,” Lance says. “You’ve always liked Walker most. But that’s okay. Parents always like the dumbest child most. It’s why everyone likes Peck.”

Hadley comes up to my side. Her fingers drag across the small of my back. She doesn’t look at me or acknowledge that she did it, nor does it feel like a sexual invitation. It’s more intimate, like she’s acknowledging I’m here, and she’s here, and we’re here together. And I’m not sure what to do with that.

“Actually,” Hadley says, “everyone likes Peck because he’s nice. Hi, Lance.”

“Everyone likes Peck because they feel sorry for him. Hi, Had.”

They exchange a smile.

“Where is he?” I ask.

Lance rolls his eyes. “That’s why she was going to send me to get you. Walker is with Sienna, taking her family back to the airport.”

“Aren’t they loaded?” I ask. “Why wouldn’t they just rent a car?”

“They did, but Sienna, Camilla, and Mariah went shopping yesterday, and I guess it was a tight fit with the bags or something.” Lance looks up at Hadley. “Mariah’s home sick today. I know she’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

Hadley looks at me through her thick lashes. “I didn’t know she’d know who I was.” When she realizes she’s not talking to Lance, she blushes and turns to him. “I hope to meet the woman who tamed the beast someday.”

“Don’t get it twisted,” Lance says. “I’m not tame.”

“You’re a pussy cat.” I laugh.

“I heard pussy.” Peck’s voice rings through the room as he steps through the open sliding door. “That means Lance is here.”

“Fuck off,” Lance says.

Nana swats him with a spoon as she moves behind him. He yelps, caressing his butt cheeks, and grimaces.

“You boys get to the table. We’re ahead of schedule today,” Nana says. “Peck, grab the tea.”

“Can I help you with anything?” Hadley asks right before I give in and pull her to me.

My grandmother pulls my girl into a quick hug again. “It’s so nice having you here, sweet girl.” She looks at me over Hadley’s head. “I’m guessing you’re why he missed church—”

“Don’t blame her,” I say. “I overslept.”

Nana releases Hadley and grabs my chin as she walks by. “I’m not blaming anyone. It’s nice to see you have a girlfriend.”

Hadley’s gaze finds mine as Nana floats that word out there as though it’s a given. She smiles nervously before turning and sorting through the silverware drawer.

I want to say something, but I don’t know what. All I can think is how I don’t hate the idea, and I don’t hate that she’ll be sitting next to me at the table today.

“And yet, no one thinks Machlan might be gay.” Lance stands in the doorway, his arms stretched in front of him. “Anyone want to explain that?”

I grab a last bite of cheeseball before heading to the dining room. “Well, I’ve never had a pocket protector, geek.”

“I had one in sixth grade. You can’t possibly even remember that.”

“There are pictures,” Peck says. “We’ve all seen them.”

“I didn’t think you were gay either,” Nana says, handing Hadley a handful of large spoons. “I just said if you were, I’d still love you.”

Lance continues his whining as we make our way to the table. I pull out Nana’s chair after she sticks a spoon in every dish. Once she’s settled, I take a seat next to Hadley. Peck says grace, and we dig in.

Usually, I fight for the chicken legs. They’re the crispiest pieces and my favorite, but I look at Hadley for a second too long, and Peck and Lance take them to spite me. So when Peck reaches for the gravy, I take one off his place.

“You can’t do that,” Hadley whispers with a laugh.

“I just did. Here. Want some green beans?”

“Yes. Thanks.” She shakes her head. “This all looks great, Nana.”

“Thank you.”

Something about Nana’s voice makes me look up. Her face is beet red, a line of sweat dotting her forehead. She’s as pale as a ghost.

“Hey.” My chair scoots against the floor. “Nana? You okay?” The sound of silverware clattering to the table pierces the room. I kneel next to Nana’s chair. “You feeling all right?”

“I’m just tired,” she says softly. She takes my hands in her clammy palms and pats them. “You’re a good boy.”

“Do you want to lie down?” Peck asks. “We’ll help you to bed.”

“No. I’m fine. I just needed a second to rest.”

Her eyes struggle to open. Under the cake-y makeup she wears every Sunday, I can see the tiredness etched in her features. I know she’s old; I’ve purposely thought of that in case something happens to her, so I won’t be shocked. But I think I’ll be shocked anyway.

Hadley’s hand finds my shoulder as I squeeze Nana’s in mine. “Did you take your medicine today?” she asks Nana.

“Yes. I took them all before church. I’ll be fine, kids. Just give me a minute to get my bearings.”

My heart sinks. “I’m calling Doc Burns.”

“Don’t you call him on a Sunday,” she protests. “I’ll call in the morning and get an appointment.”

“I’ll be doing that,” I say.

She squeezes my hands this time. “I will do it, Machlan.” She looks up at Hadley with a sweet look in her eye. “You have things to do. You don’t need to be babying me.”

“Apparently, I do because you were supposed to make an appointment the other day, and I’m guessing you didn’t.”

“I got busy.”

“That packed schedule of yours must be impossible to rearrange,” I say, getting to my feet. “So I’ll be calling him this time. And I’ll come and get you and take you.”

She tries to glare at me but fails. “You just want to hear what he says.”

“You’re damn right I do.”

Hadley’s hand falls from my shoulder, slipping down my back. Her presence doesn’t do anything to fix Nana, but it does soothe something deep inside me.

I’m afraid to feel that for long. So, I focus on my grandmother instead.

The room grows quiet. The color slowly comes back to her face, and her palms return to normal. Kissing the top of her head, I return to my chair.

Hadley sits too, watching me with a worried expression. When her hand hits my thigh, I don’t think about it. My hand goes to hers and laces our fingers together. She stills next to me before working her fingers deeper into mine.

My heartbeat settles, and I get comfortable in my seat. Hadley gives me a gentle squeeze, bumping her shoulder with mine.

“This might not be the right time for this,” Peck says, “but Machlan stole my chicken leg.”

The table erupts in laughter—everyone but me.

“You know they’re my favorite,” I point out.

“Yeah, well, if you weren’t making goo-goo eyes at Hadley, then you could’ve gotten it yourself.”

“I did get it myself.” I lift the leg and take a big bite of it. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Don’t taunt him, Machlan,” Nana says. She fans her face with her hand. “I think I’m getting too old to fry chicken. I’m pooped.”

“Then who will cook for us?” Lance whines.

“Um, you have a girlfriend,” I point out.

“Yeah because Nana won’t let us elope.” Lance takes a bite of mashed potatoes. “I really wish you’d reconsider.”

“I really wish you’d stop talking nonsense,” Nana tells him.

“You know what you need?” Lance asks.

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“You need a day to teach our girls how to cook like you. You know, just in case you get too old to fry chicken.” Lance makes a face. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud. You can’t forget how to fry chicken, right? Like, that’s not a thing.”

“Can we not talk about this?” I ask.

Hadley tries to pull her hand away, but I tighten my hold.

“You need a day with Mariah and Sienna and Hadley and I’d say Blaire, but that’s a joke,” Lance says. “She’d read you a legal brief while you fixed food.”

“I’d actually like that,” Nana says. “Not a bad idea.”

“I like this idea too,” Peck says. “It’s like having backup Nanas. I have a fear of starving, you know.”

“Would you be interested in that, Hadley?” Nana asks.

Hadley fidgets in her seat. “Um, yeah. Of course. I just, you know, don’t want to intrude.”

“I love how we pretend Machlan and Hadley aren’t together,” Lance says.

“Shut up, Lance,” I say.

“What?” He takes another bite of potatoes. “When’s the last time you had a girl over here? Never. You two need to get over yourselves and—”

“You wanna do this?” I ask. “You wanna put her on the spot like this?”

“Machlan …” Hadley touches my bicep.

“Looks like I put you on the spot, if you ask me,” Lance says, wiping his hands on a napkin as if I’m not threatening to kill him. “I’m sorry, Had, if I made you uncomfortable.”

“That’s okay,” Hadley says. “You didn’t.”

Rattling my teeth as I bite them together, I give my brother a final warning glare. Hadley pats my arm again.

“It’s fine,” she whispers.

Nana laughs out of nowhere. “Do you remember when I had you help me make macaroni and cheese on that Christmas Eve, Hadley?” Nana smiles fondly. “You forgot to add the macaroni and boiled all the water right out of that pot.”

“Not a good sign for the future,” Lance says, winking at me.

“Fuck off.”

Nana smacks my hand. “Don’t do anything to him in my house.”

“Oh, but he can kill me as long as it’s not in here?” Lance asks.

“Oh my God. Nana just authorized Lance’s death.” Peck gasps.

“I did no such thing.” She laughs. “Lance is a smart boy. If he wants to push Machlan, he knows there will be a pushback.” She turns to Hadley. “You let me know when you’re free, and we’ll have an afternoon together,” Nana says.

“Okay,” Hadley says.

“It’ll be fun. Mariah is a pretty good cook now, and Sienna is catching on. She usually gets frustrated and wants to cater everything. But between the three of you, maybe I’ll turn over Thanksgiving and see how you girls do.”

Hadley stares at her chicken as though it’s the most interesting thing in the world. She pulls her hand away again, and this time, I let her.

I think about Thanksgiving and how we all pile in here for the day. We watch football, eat all fucking day, and then, before we go home, we get out Nana’s Christmas decorations. It’s my favorite holiday, and I look forward to it all year. But as I look at Hadley and realize she won’t be here, Thanksgiving doesn’t seem that exciting.

“You know,” Nana says, “I always wanted a daughter. And I got one, but she didn’t want anything to deal with my things. I would love someone to teach all my tips and tricks. Someone to give the little love notes that your granddad sent me when we were young.”

“You have Blaire,” Peck offers.

“And Blaire is too busy for all that. Such a smart, industrious girl, she is.” She sets her glass down, the sweat along the outside creating a ring on the tablecloth. “But now I have your girls. And you’ve all picked very good girls.”

“As long as Peck doesn’t wind up with Molly,” Lance says.

Peck throws a napkin at my brother. “I’ll get her even if it takes a hundred years.”

“Your dick won’t work in a hundred years. Sorry, Nana,” Lance says.

“Stop it,” Nana says. “Let me tell you something. Things work out when they’re supposed to. I hear all the time these newfangled ideas about making things happen and forcing your way through stuff, and let me tell you, you can’t do that.”

“I might disagree,” Lance chimes in. “If you don’t press for what you want in life, it’ll never happen.”

“True. But you can press and press all day long, and if the time is not right, it won’t matter.” She settles back in her chair, wincing as she moves. “When you get to be my age, you can look back on life and see it. Things happen when they’re supposed to. You get a little distance between yourself and a situation, and you can see how if you got everything you wanted when you wanted, how wrong it all would’ve been.”

Hadley swallows. “What do you mean, Nana?”

“I wanted a baby as soon as we got married. All I’d ever wanted to be was a mother, and I couldn’t figure out why on earth God would deny me that. Now, I look back and see all the things I would’ve missed if I’d been caring for a baby then.” She smiles at some memory we can’t see. “Staying up late with my husband, talking all night. I got to know him in those years before we had the boys. Being available to travel with him when he worked for the oil company. We made so many memories going from state to state in our beat-up truck. The one we had to stop every couple of hours and add coolant to.” She chuckles. “Or when my husband, back before we were married, asked and asked me to go out on a date with him, and I refused. I was so smitten with Johnny Lindsfeld.” She laughs. “Oh, dear. I forgot about him.”

“Did you date him?” I ask.

“In a roundabout way.”

“So, you slept with him,” Lance deadpans.

Her eyes light up like a little girl. “No. Well, maybe, but that’s not the point.”

As everyone laughs and Nana gets flustered, I peek at Hadley. She’s watching Nana tell her story with rapt attention. I wonder what it’s like to be her with no family but Cross. No stories to listen to, no holidays to share traditions with.

“The point is, I learned a few things from Johnny that served me well later in life, and I would’ve missed out if I’d have dated your granddaddy right away.”

“So, he taught you how to—”

“Don’t you dare,” Nana cuts Lance off, her face flushing again. “Oh, Lance. What am I going to do with you?”

My family breaks out into a conversation about Molly again. I take Hadley’s hand and hold it on my lap, wondering if what Nana said is true. And if it is, does that mean there is hope for me?

Twenty-Six

Hadley

The truck kisses the curb and rolls to a stop. The leftovers Nana sent home with Machlan perfume the air, and I could sit here for the rest of the day and be content. Belly full. Heart fuller. If only things could stay this way forever.

Machlan’s fingers tap against the steering wheel to a tune I can’t hear. His gaze is settled off into the distance, an almost forlorn look written into his skin.

He’s been quieter since Nana got sick at dinner. Even his smiles don’t quite seem as genuine or as wide as they were before.

“Hey,” I say, resting my hand on his arm. “You okay?”

“Me? Yeah.” He pulls his gaze to me. “You?”

“Yeah.”

He gives me a half-smile, one his heart isn’t fully into. “Do you wanna take some of this food? She gave me enough to feed an army.”

“I think you asked for that much.”

“Only so Peck didn’t get it.” His smile slips wider. “I’ll share with you, though.”

“I couldn’t eat any more. I’ll pop.”

He turns the heat down, then fiddles with the radio. Taking his chew can out of his pocket, he turns it over and over in his hand.

I hate seeing him like this. Nana is so special to him. Even as a teenager, he’d check on her. Make everyone promise not to tell her about his shenanigans. Mow her lawn. Help her with her garden. I don’t know how he’ll cope if something happens to her.

“She’s going to be fine,” I say softly.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “She’ll be fine. I’m not worried about it.”

“It’s okay to worry about it, you know.”

“I know. But I’m not. There’s no sense in it.”

The can lays in the palm of his hand. He moves it so the light reflects against the metal lid and shines a light in the air.

My heart sinks for him, and I just want to ease his burdens, if only for a minute.

“Thanks for a fun day.” The slices along my forearms from the rose bushes are bright red from the irritation of the dishwater at Nana’s. I hold them up for Machlan’s viewing pleasure. “It’s been a blast.”

Machlan tosses the can in the cupholder. “You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

“The question is: do I look like I won?”

He laughs. “You look like you took a hell of a beating, but there’s hope the other guy looks worse.”

“He does. I chopped that rose bush to pieces.” I laugh too. “Seriously, though. Thanks for a fun day. I really did enjoy it.”

“Me too.” He looks out the windshield again. “It’s kind of weird, huh?”

“What’s kind of weird?”

“Spending a day together.”

His head turns to me first, and then he angles his torso to me. He stares at me for a long while, biting his bottom lip. This typically has me squirming in my seat because I don’t know what he’s going to say. But, today, I don’t squirm at all. Not a bit.

“I think,” I say, “it’s more that we spent a day together being normal that feels so different.”

“I didn’t think we had it in us.”

“There’s a joke to be made there, but I’m gonna let it go.”

He grins as I pop open the door.

The evening sun streams in the truck. Machlan looks so handsome sitting in the driver’s seat, the button-up he put on before we went to Nana’s rolled up to his elbows. He looks as calm and relaxed as the day has been, and if I don’t climb out of the truck now, I won’t.

“I better get going,” I say.

His brows pull together. “You have plans?”

“Emily might come by.” The heat in my throat causes it to tighten as I toy with my next sentence. I might as well bring it up—sort of test the waters—because it’s going to happen whether I want it to or not. “Because, you know, I head back to Vigo soon.”

Machlan shifts. I feel his energy move, but I can’t look at him. I just look out the window at my car sitting at the base of the steps.

I’m going to have to get in my car soon and leave again. This time, the idea is to have some peace about where I stand with Machlan. And now, I struggle with getting out of his truck, knowing I’ll see him tomorrow.

This plan of mine isn’t working. My stomach roils.

As if he can read my mind, he sighs. “When do you leave?”

“I need to be out of here this coming week. I have to get things ready to start my new job, get the things I left at Samuel’s house …” Those words weren’t planned, but I don’t take them back because they’re true. “Just stuff to do, you know?”

My breath holds, a ball of stress sitting smack dab in the middle of my stomach, as I will myself to stop, hoping he’ll ask me to stay. I can’t stay even if he does. A few good days between the two of us doesn’t fix the years of problems we’ve had. I can’t change everything I’ve worked for because of a hopeful heart.

He reaches across the console and touches my leg with the tips of his fingers. A chill ripples down my spine as I watch his strong, tanned hands contact my bare skin.

If I don’t leave now, I won’t.

“I gotta go,” I say. I give him a quick kiss on his cheek before sliding out of the truck. Reaching to the floorboard, I grab my bag. “Have a good night, Mach.”

“Yeah. You too.”

I hoist my bag over my shoulder and make my way to the apartment. I give him a little wave before going inside. It’s only after I lock the doors do I hear the engine fire and tires squeal as Machlan pulls away.

Flipping on a light, I look around the little room. It’s the same as I left it early this morning, but it feels totally different. Bigger. Vacant. Lonely.

Before I even put my bag down, I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial my brother.

“Hey,” Cross says. “What’s up?”

“Hey. I was wondering what you’re doing tonight?”

“Well, Kallie and I are in Merom having dinner. There’s a kid who takes boxing lessons from me in a play over here. We’re gonna see that in a few. Why?”

My bag hits the floor. “No reason. I was just gonna come by.”

“You can come with us. The play doesn’t start for an hour. You can make it if you leave Linton now.”

“No,” I say, feeling my spirits sink. “You guys have fun. I’ll find something to do.”

“Where’s Emily?”

“She might come by later. I’m just bored, I guess.” I sigh. “Go have fun. I’ll come by tomorrow. You working at the gym?”

“Yup. Come by and I’ll let you kick my ass for a while.”

“Deal. Bye, Cross.”

“Bye, Had.”

I set the phone on the table, and it goes off immediately. Samuel’s face flashes on the screen, and I silence it without a second thought because I have no thoughts to give. They’re all with a dark-haired bartender that I hope I can figure out how to live with. And without.

* * *

Machlan

“I can’t live with her,” I say to myself. “And I can’t live without her.”

A wrench flies from my hand into one of the red toolboxes lining the garage. It gives a satisfying ping as it clamors against the metal.

My hands are a greasy mess, and my shirt is soaked with oil. Working on my dad’s old truck usually takes my mind off everything, but it failed me today.

Rinsing the grime off my skin in the basin by the door, I wish it were as easy to do the same to my brain. A little water, a pump of soap, and boom—Hadley is gone.

“I didn’t know you still knew how to do that.” Walker’s voice makes me jump.

I knock my elbow into the side of the sink. “Ouch.” Flicking the water off my hands, I cradle my arm and turn to face him. “What are you doing here?”

“We just got back from the airport, and Sienna passed out. She went nonstop the whole time her family was here.” He shrugs. “Guess I just thought I’d come by and see what you were up to.”

“Should’ve called and I would’ve waited on you to help me with this thing.” I knock my knuckle against the side of the truck. “Every time I fuck with it, I tell myself it’s a pain in the ass and I should just get rid of it. But, you know …”

Walker comes into the garage. “Yeah. How do you get rid of Dad’s pride and joy? I mean, it’s not worth shit and just takes up space, but what are ya gonna do? Sell it?”

“Exactly.”

I take in the hunk of metal my dad loved more than anything except Mom and us kids. He and our grandfather rebuilt it from the ground up, and although Dad never drove it anywhere, he changed the oil in it every few months. So, I do too.

Even though I bitch every time I come out here with the new filter in my hand, I do it. And the whole time I’m working on it, griping under my breath, I think about my dad.

I hate I didn’t really get to know him as a man. There are a lot of things I’d like to chat with him about, things I’d like to get his advice on.

I’ll never forgive myself for not going with them that Fourth of July.

“I heard Hadley was at dinner at Nana’s,” Walker says, testing the waters.

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek as I test the waters right beside him.

“That’s good,” he says. “She’s a good girl, you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then what the fuck are you waiting on?”

My cheek pops free of my teeth, and I turn my back to Walker. I busy myself with sorting wrenches until I hear my brother laugh at me from the other side of the garage.

“You know what? Fuck you,” I say.

“I’m getting plenty of pussy. It’s you that I’m worried about. You’re not getting any, and it’s turning you into one.”

As much as I want to argue with him, I can’t. I am turning into a pussy. My silence only proves his point.

“I get this shit is hard,” Walker says. “Do you even know how much of my work Sienna just gives away like I’m running some charity operation? I’ve had to ban her from Crank most days just so I’m not in the red.” He leans against the truck. “It’s not easy. But if it was, would you want it?”

“I’d want Hadley either way.”

Walker raises a brow. I look the other way.

“Seems to me,” Lance says, strolling into the garage, “that someone once told me to grow a pair of balls. To stop overcomplicating things.”

“Yeah, well, that’s when it was you.” I face my oldest brother. “Why the fuck are you here?”

“Just driving by and saw Walker’s truck and thought, ‘Eh, why the hell not invite myself over?’ Is this a private conversation? Not that I care if it is.”

“This wasn’t even a conversation until you assholes showed up.” I head into the house and leave the door open behind me because I’m certain they’ll follow.

They do. Jabbering back and forth, they trot after me like puppies until we’re standing in the kitchen.

Walker tugs open the refrigerator door. “Didn’t I leave this beer here like a year ago?” He jerks one out and pops the top.

“Probably.” I watch him take a long drink. “Guess it’s a good thing it didn’t get thrown out.”

That’s all it takes for Hadley’s face to float through my mind. I hear her laugh. Smell her perfume. Feel my spirits sink.

Lance pulls out a chair and sits. “So, Mariah and I aren’t eloping.”

“Am I supposed to be surprised by that?” I ask as Walker and I sit too. “There was no way Nana was letting that shit slide.”

“You actually asked her?” Walker takes another drink. “That’s ballsy.”

“I think it was more ballsy not to,” Lance says. “Besides, I’m kind of glad she said no.”

I raise a brow.

Lance’s eyes dodge mine. “I can’t say I’m all that upset at having to see her in a dress and have the honeymoon and all that. I’m kind of looking forward to it.”

“You’re both turning into pussies. You know that?” Walker deadpans.

“Come on, Walk,” Lance says. “You’ve never thought about watching Sienna walk down an aisle? Never? Not once?”

Walker lifts the beer again. We sit quietly as if Lance proposed some profound idea that requires loads of thought. He didn’t. But I still find myself envisioning Hadley wearing white with Cross by her side, walking her down a church aisle.

For a moment, everything feels right. I like it. Too much. So much that I get to my feet and scour the refrigerator for another beer.

“Don’t worry about Sienna and me,” Walker says as I sit again with a cold one of my own. “Let’s worry about dipshit over there.” He tips his bottle my way. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” I down half the bottle.

“You letting her leave?” Lance asks. “I heard her tell Nana she was leaving soon.”

I down the rest before standing. Flexing my fingers to relieve some of the pressure in my joints, I look at Lance. “I can’t stop her from doing what she wants.”

“No,” he says. “But you could let her do what she wants by asking her to stay.”

“I can’t,” I almost hiss.

“You fucking can too,” Lance fires back.

My blood pressure spikes because this motherfucker just doesn’t get it. No one gets it. They would if I told them the truth. Hell, if they knew the truth, they’d probably be disappointed in me too.

I can only imagine their faces, the two men who are my two role models in life, two good as fuck guys who have some internal compass I lack, if I told them what they don’t know.

That her dad left the week before she turned eighteen for Reno with a note written on the back of a grocery receipt as a goodbye. I was nowhere to be found when she broke down because I thought it was a good idea to get hammered the night before and pass out in a hayloft on the other side of Merom after running from the police for speeding about thirty miles over the limit.

That she discovered she was pregnant the next week—the same day I was fired for missing too many days of work.

That I couldn’t pull myself together fast enough to make her think having a baby with me would be better than living with giving our child up for adoption.

I’m a joke of a man. All I’ve managed to do with my life is fail the only girl I’ll ever love in the worst of ways over and over again.

“Maybe I could make her stay,” I say, my voice eerily calm. “But I won’t.”

“And why the fuck not?” Walker asks.

I glare at him. “Sometimes life isn’t about what makes you feel good. Sometimes it’s about what makes you able to live with yourself.”

“Explain to me how, if you really love her, you can live without her,” Lance says. “Because I don’t get it.”

“Maybe it’s really hard to look in her eyes and see my failures, all right? Maybe I’m a pussy, like Walker says, and I can’t stand to think what a bitch I am every time I fucking see her. How I’m responsible for the worst part of her life. How she’ll never be whole because of fucking me!” My breath comes out so hard, so hot, my nostrils flare. “How her life will be a constant state of fucked up because I can’t be a fucking adult, all right? I mean, I own a goddamn bar. I’m begging an asshole in a suit to trust me enough to loan me a basic fucking loan so I can start another business I have no business running.”

I throw my hands in the air. “I mean, for fuck’s sake, guys. I’ll never be able to take care of her—not like I should. Not like she deserves.”

I barely catch my breath when Lance laughs.

“Well, that was impassioned,” he says. “Have you considered open mic night at the bar? I think you could really do something with that.”

“Fuck you.”

Walker holds a hand to Lance, stopping him from a retort.

“Look, Mach,” Walker says, letting his gaze linger on Lance until he’s sure he’s shut up. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry it did because it’s obviously fucked you all the way up.”

“You have no idea,” I mutter. “The bar was the nail in our coffin.”

“Why is the bar such a problem for her?” Walker asks.

My head hangs. “Her mom was killed by a drunk driver. So, she had this immediate reaction like it was the worst idea ever, which, in retrospect, it might’ve been. I don’t know. She didn’t get why I wanted to buy it off Uncle Vince, and honestly, I don’t know if I understood it then.”

Squeezing my eyes closed, I think back to the day I asked Uncle Vince if I could buy it from him. He laughed and said my mother would’ve killed him had she known her only brother was selling her son a tavern. He tried to talk me out of it, but he was dying of cirrhosis, and I was dying of the heartbreak of losing my daughter and Hadley. Even though she was still around, she was only there out of habit. I knew she’d leave eventually.

It wasn’t too long after I bought it for less than a used car that Hadley asked me to marry her.

I said no.

She left.

And I’ve lived my life sort of floating around with no anchor since.

“Do you understand it now?” Walker asks.

“Understand what?”

“Why you wanted to buy it.”

I walk across the kitchen and blow out a breath. My entire body is tight. My shoulders slump like the whole damn world is sitting on them.

“I like it,” I say simply. “I like hearing everyone’s stories and watching their lives play out. I like giving my two cents. And I like having something that was in our family, which might sound weird.” Flicking the bottle cap Walker left on the counter, I watch it hit the edge of the sink and bounce in. “I don’t have a lot of options. You have Crank. Lance has his teaching bullshit. What do I have? I’m not good at anything.”

“I got this one,” Lance says, pointing a finger at Walker. “I get why you’re a little rough on yourself for owning a bar.”

“Not helping, Lance,” Walker grumbles.

Lance waves him off. “But that’s all superficial. Let’s break this down.”

“Make it quick. I gotta piss,” I lie.

He rolls his eyes. “Historically, what are you good at? What are your strengths? I’d say partying. Causing mayhem. And …” He looks at me. “Observing people and taking care of people you care about.”

“I—”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m not done,” Lance says. “Walker, you got my back if he lunges, right?”

Walker chuckles. I try not to laugh.

“Anyway,” Lance continues, “the bar is the perfect place for you. When I help my students narrow down their career choices, I tell them to look at their strengths and pick something that falls within those boundaries that interests them. You did that. Maybe you didn’t do it with that thought process, but you did it anyway.”

It makes sense, but I don’t care. It doesn’t solve my real problem.

Walker stands and heads to the trash can. After polishing off the rest of his beer, he tosses the bottle in the garbage. “I’m out of here. Do what you want. Just don’t fuck your whole life up because you made some bad choices. We’ve all done it.” He swings the door open. “Call me if you need anything,” he says over his shoulder as the door shuts.

“I gotta go too,” Lance says. “Mariah wants chicken noodle soup, and I have to drive all the way to Peaches to get it because Megan McCarter is working at Carlson’s. Did you know that?”

“Yeah.”

Grinning at the memory of picking Hadley up in the rain, I sigh. I can still feel her in my arms. I can taste her lips, feel her body against mine.

I look at my brother. “Are you ever worried you’ll fall back into your old ways?”

“No.” He doesn’t laugh or smile or even pretend to be amused by my question.

“Seriously? Like you never think you’ll ever want to sleep with some random girl you see on the street?”

“Is that what this is about?” he asks. “Do you want to fuck around?”

“Not at all.”

“Then why ask that?” He studies me closely. “Are you worried you’ll turn back into a punk?”

“Gee, thanks.” I snort.

He laughs. “Mach, you were an asshole for a long time. I was there for all of it. Or most of it,” he reconsiders. “But I have faith that you won’t get arrested, punch anyone who doesn’t deserve it, wreck a car, or lose your money in a high-stakes poker tournament again.” He heads for the door. “Now I’m going to get some soup and then go home to the one girl who makes all the pussy I miss out on worth it.”

“Later,” I say as he leaves.

Once I’m alone, I survey the room. I wonder if Hadley would be happy here. I try to imagine her watching the sun go down out the window over the sink or hearing her sing while she takes a shower.

Lance’s words come back to mind. I haven’t gotten in a fight in a long time. My arrest record as of late is pretty clean, and even when it was active, it wasn’t for anything really serious, I guess. The car wreck wasn’t my fault, and I’ve only lost money a couple of times in poker in the past year. Both times to Walker. Fucking asshole.

Maybe there’s potential for me. A small amount, but possibly enough to work with. Enough to be in Hadley’s life in some way.

I peel my T-shirt off and study the ink on my arm. A new cluster of tattoos sits on the underside of my arm just on the side of the ridge of my bicep. They’re positioned so if look down, they’re what I see.

A rose for my mother lays longways. Just beneath it is a four-leaf clover with a little pink bow wrapped around the stem.

“Let it be,” I say to myself. “Just let it be.”

Rolling my eyes, knowing damn good and well I can’t do that, I head to the shower.

Twenty-Seven

Hadley

“He’s home,” I say to myself.

I’ve thought this idea to death. My stomach twists in excitement but tosses the opposite way toward anxiety as I pull my car in behind Machlan’s truck.

I haven’t seen him since he dropped me off last night after dinner at Nana’s. His truck was at Doc Burns’ this morning, presumably with Nana, and I warred with myself whether to call Machlan to check on her. I finally broke down during lunch with Emily and sent him a text.

Turning the car off, the grocery bags rattling in the back seat, I pick up my phone. His last text is still pulled up.

Machlan:Nana was ordered to take it easy for a few days. She’ll be okay. I’ll probably stay home for a while this evening if you get bored.

My thumb hovers over the keys as I rethink my plan. I read his text again. Nowhere does it say to go buy groceries and bring them over. It doesn’t ask me to make him dinner. It doesn’t even technically ask me to come by, although I think it does. I hope it does.

I nearly came by a dozen times last night. It was really hard to think about being with him and knowing he was in the same town and all I really had to do was drive a few miles to see him again. But was it the right choice? I didn’t know. It felt like it. It still does. But will I regret it tomorrow?

My attention going back to the phone, I decide how to tell him I’m here without looking overconfident. Before I can type something out, it dings in my hand.

Machlan:Are you going to sit in my driveway all night or what?

I look up and see him standing on the front porch. He’s leaning against a column barefooted in jeans and a plain white shirt. I almost whimper at the sight.

Instead of getting out, I text him back.

That depends. Have you had dinner?

Machlan: No. Will you get up here, please?

Maybe. I laugh, my thumbs flying over the keypad. I got presumptuous and thought we could have dinner. I watch the chat bubble bounce as he types his reply.

“Ah!” I jump as my car door opens, and I nearly fall out. He catches me with a chuckle.

“Scare you?”

“Yes.” I laugh as I get out of the car. He helps me to my feet. “I’m not intruding on anything, am I?”

“Kind of.” He glances in the back seat. “What’s this?”

I swallow hard. “Groceries. I thought we could make dinner. Together.”

It takes longer than I want for his face to break into a smile. It’s the soft one, the shy one, the one I love the most, and it’s totally worth the wait. It wraps me in the fuzziest feeling, embracing me with everything right in the world.

He grabs the bags out of the car without saying anything. I lock it and follow him to the house. As we’re going up the stairs, I remember what he said when I got here.

“Hey,” I say. “You said I was intruding on something.”

He holds the door open for me. “You were. But I’ll set it aside for now.”

“Oh, by all means. I can leave,” I say as I enter the foyer. Before I can turn around and follow that with another comment, I feel his breath against my ear.

“Don’t even think about it.”

A flurry of goose bumps covers my skin. I feel myself come to life as though a button has been pushed, and I grin like an idiot.

“Fine,” I say, my words tinged with laughter. “If you’re sure.”

He steps around me and heads down the hall toward the kitchen. The grocery bags swing in his hands. “I was thinking about getting a dog.”

“A dog?” I try to focus on Machlan getting a puppy, but it’s hard not to watch his back muscles ripple with each step he takes. “Why do you want a dog?”

“Why not?” He disappears around the corner.

Realizing I’m still standing just inside the door, I scurry down the hallway. “I don’t know. I guess there’s nothing wrong with getting a dog. But are you sure you want to potty train a puppy?”

I turn the corner and stop in my tracks. He’s leaned against the stove, his hands gripping the ledge behind him. With his bare feet and slightly damp hair, he looks like a picture straight out of a magazine.

My breath stolen, I try to recover. “Um, you know, they pee a lot.”

“Yeah.” He grins. “I guessed that. All animals pee, don’t they?” He lets his gaze linger on my face, driving home the fact he’s a witness to my flustered state, before turning to the bags. “What did ya get?”

“Steaks. Potatoes. Salad,” I say. I help empty the bags onto the counter. “I thought if you had a grill, we could do that. And, if not, we can use the oven.”

A package of dinner rolls hits the counter. “Do I have a grill? I’m a man. Of course, I have a grill.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“Well, I’d hope it was a given,” he says, side-eyeing me.

“Right. It should’ve been. Because you’re such a normal guy.”

He wads the bags up and looks at me. “Are you implying I’m not a normal guy?”

“Let’s see …” I say, tossing a tomato in the air and catching it. “Where do I start?”

“You know what? Don’t answer that.” He fishes out a lighter from what appears to be a junk drawer. “I’ll start the grill. You start the salad. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He brushes against me as he walks by. He smells heavenly, like freshly washed laundry mixed with a deep, heated aroma. My body tingles as he walks out the back door.

Instead of cutting the salad, I watch him out the window over the sink. He pauses next to the grill and gazes down the hill toward the cemetery below. A soft grin plays on his lips before he shakes his head and gets to work.

One plays on mine too.

I move around his kitchen, pulling open drawers and cabinets until I find what I need. It’s fairly organized, and I’m surprised he actually even has a cutting board. I’m also surprised how easy it feels being in this space.

As I rinse the vegetables, I think back on my relationship with Mach. How all the phases we’ve been through together, the ups and downs and twists and turns, changed how we interact with one another. But at the end of the day, we’ve never been able to truly walk away.

I’m slicing through a tomato, lost in thought, when he walks in.

“Grill is fired up,” he says. “What can I do in here?”

The knife clatters against the cutting board as it presses all the way through a tomato. “Can you grab me a paper towel? This thing is juicier than I thought.”

He reaches above my head and pulls a roll out of a cabinet. I turn to see his arm flex but stop when I see the tattoo on the inside of his arm.

I drop the knife onto the counter.

My throat seals shut as my gaze locks on the ink emblazoned on his skin.

“Here you go …” He takes a step back. His arm falls slowly to his side as our gazes lock.

His lips part, his chest rising and falling as he waits for my reaction.

I take a deep, shaky breath. Tears gather at the corner of my eyes as I reach for his hand. He gives it to me without a fight.

His palm is heavy in mine. His skin is warm from the grill. With a dose of uncertainty, I turn it over so his arm rotates and I can see the underside of his bicep.

And there it is.

I press my finger against the four-leaf clover with a pink bow laced around the stem. My brain races, sorting the odds that I’m way overthinking this and it doesn’t mean what I think it means—it isn’t for who I think it’s for.

Still touching the design, I bring my eyes to his. “What’s this?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “It’s what you think it is.” He reaches carefully for the charm on my necklace, the one I’ve barely taken off since I was seventeen years old. The little clover lays on the pad of his finger. “This is probably the nicest thing I’ve ever bought you, huh?”

I wrap a hand around his wrist. “Because that day is one of my favorite days of my life.”

A faint grin touches his lips. “We played in that co-ed softball tournament that weekend.”

“And we ate all the elephant ears and corn dogs and drank all the lemon shake-ups we could stand.” My heart fills with the memories that I’ve clung to as my life has fallen apart at various times.

“We rode the Ferris wheel,” he remembers.

“And it started raining, and I fell in the mud.”

“And then I won this to make you feel better,” he says, dropping the charm back to my chest. “I didn’t think you’d be wearing it this many years later.”

As I let go of his hand, the sweetness of that weekend is replaced with the bitterness that came after. I step away as if it will distance me from what happened next.

“I’m glad you are, though,” he says. “As dumb as it might be, every time I see it around your neck, it … would it be wrong that it makes me proud?”

“It should. You gave me the last carefree, fun weekend of my life.”

He takes my hand this time and squeezes it. “You’ve had fun since then.”

“Not like that weekend. That weekend I had you. I had a little naivety that life might work out all right. I had a parent who gave a fuck.”

His eyes are a warm raft to cling to as I sort back through my dad leaving. And how Cross went crazy when he found out, and I thought for sure he was going to do something stupid and get arrested, leaving me too.

“I sat on the floor in the living room and cried and begged Cross to get his shit straight. But he was a kid too, really, and here he was forced to take care of me or let me fend for myself.”

“Cross wouldn’t do that to you. Even then.”

My stomach churns, kicking up the pain of those few weeks like it was yesterday. I can’t look at Machlan, so I look at the floor.

“I got pregnant at the absolute worst time in my life,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. His body releases a frustration, an anger I know is directed at himself, as he stands in front of me.

“I didn’t know what was going to happen to me,” I say. “Mom was dead. Dad was gone. I didn’t know if he’d come back. And I was having a baby.”

His arm flinches, but I still don’t look at him.

Talking about this wasn’t on the docket, but it feels right. There’s a relief, almost, in talking about this because I never do. Machlan is the only one who knows about this part of my life. It’s like it’s this secret that I have to keep but one that claws at me from the inside to get out.

He tugs gently on my hand, bringing me a step closer to him.

He doesn’t say how it’s his fault or go into a rant or start apologizing like a man with a burden he can’t shake like he usually does. He listens.

“I’ve never been more scared in my life,” I say, a nervous laugh lacing through the words. “I remember thinking I had a human growing inside me, but I felt the most alone I’d ever felt. It was the oddest sensation.”

“You had your life turned upside down in the matter of a few days.” He frowns. “And God knows I wasn’t much help.”

I shake my head. “You did all you could at that moment. It wasn’t easy for you either.”

He grits his teeth. The struggle warring inside him is written on his face. “It wasn’t about me. It shouldn’t have been about me.”

“But it was about you,” I insist. “You look back on it and think you should’ve looked at things differently then, but you didn’t have the tools to do that. Think about it, Mach. Your parents were dead. Your siblings were off living their lives, and you were kind of stuck here in a way.”

“It’s no excuse.”

“No,” I say, touching his arm. “But it’s a good reason. That’s a different thing.”

“I could’ve stepped up,” he says, his voice rough. “I could’ve held a job. I could’ve …” He hangs his head. “I could’ve stopped breaking up with you the years before you got pregnant and given you some hope that I could be rational. I don’t blame you for not trusting me to raise a kid.”

“Not trust you? You think that’s what it was?”

My heart breaks, the split inside my body so intense I feel like I’m ripping in two. “I didn’t trust me to raise a baby, Machlan.”

He looks at me as though he’s considering this for the first time.

“I remember my mom working two, three jobs when I was growing up,” I say. “She’d go from the bank to a grocery store and sometimes a pizza shop at night. And you know what? We still barely got by.” I close my eyes as thoughts of my mother wash over me.

He exhales harshly. I know he hates when I bring this up, but I can’t help it. I need to prove this to him once and for all.

“It seemed so irresponsible to bring a baby into the world when I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to feed myself.”

I blink back tears as fast as they gather.

Machlan’s face falls. “You had no faith in me.”

“I had no faith in me either,” I say as a tear slips down my cheek. Machlan brushes it off with the tip of his finger with a gentleness that makes me want to just fall into his arms and release all the emotions I have brimming inside my soul. “I had no parents. No job. No schooling. Nothing. And I only had you sometimes.”

I take a piece of the paper towel he retrieved and dab my eyes. My heart is exposed, lying between us as he searches my face.

Love was never our problem. It’s still present, still rumbling between us even now, even after all the shit we’ve been through. We may not have been able to get on the same page or work out our problems, but there’s a relief that the love, in whatever form, is there.

“Do you think we would’ve been able to deal with it?” he asks. “Do you think if we would’ve kept her, we would’ve made it?”

“Do you?”

He chews his bottom lip while he looks around the room. Finally, he exhales. “No. I hate to say that, but I don’t.”

Tears flood my eyes again. “I don’t either. I mean, we didn’t make it as it is. Can you imagine us trying to make it with a baby?”

“No.” He forces a swallow. “Nana would’ve tried to raise it, and she was old then. But, by God, she would’ve tried. I couldn’t saddle her with that, you know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

A silence blankets us with stillness we both need. Machlan fiddles with our hands. He laces his fingers lightly through mine, rubbing my ring finger with his thumb.

“It eats at me every day that I didn’t tell Nana,” he says quietly.

A lump settles in my throat. “We did what we had to do. If you would’ve told her, like you said, she would’ve talked us into a decision we know wasn’t the right one for us or our baby girl.”

“I just can’t see the disappointment in her eyes,” he says over a lump of his own.

“That’s why we went to Ohio, right? To avoid all the outside pressure and judgment and see if we could be parents.”

There’s a flurry of sadness that settles deeply in the lines of his face. And while I understand it, while I feel it to the bottom of my soul just the same, I don’t want him to be sad.

I take his hand again and pull up his arm. The tattoos stare back at me. “So that clover is for me?”

He nods. “The week before I got it, the preacher was saying in church that there’s a Christian legend that says Eve took a four-leaf clover with her out of Eden so she’d have a piece of paradise with her.” He twists his lips in embarrassment. “It’s like having a piece of you with me.”

I rest a hand on his chest and don’t dare speak. My lips tremble at the sweet genuineness of his words, and if I even try to comment, I’ll cry big, fat, ugly tears.

“And the pink ribbon is for her,” he says.

I look at the sweet little mark tied to the clover. Our daughter and I are wrapped together on Machlan’s arm for the rest of his life. All the years since her birth, the years we’ve struggled and fought and couldn’t get on the same page, he was thinking of us.

Blinking back tears, I smile. “I think it’s perfect.”

“That’s the hardest thing we’ll ever have to go through, huh?”

“I can’t imagine anything being harder than giving your baby up for adoption.”

“But we did that,” he says. “You know why? Because we loved each other, but we loved her more.”

Tears spill down my cheeks in a soft, quiet stream. I wonder when he came up with that—when this big, burly man who has an incredible heart buried under his tough exterior came up with words that sweet and perfect.

We loved her more.

“We did. We loved her more. I like that,” I say.

He presses a kiss to my forehead before turning away. “I also like steak. You ready to get this thing started?”

There’s no pause for an answer, no follow-up question. He walks by, clearing his throat, and busies himself with the rest of the meal prep.

I dry my face and turn back to the tomato.

Twenty-Eight

Machlan

“Here you go.” The chains holding the porch swing jingle as I sit beside Hadley. She smiles as I tuck a quilt around her shoulders. “Is that better?”

“Totally.”

She curls up under the fabric and nestles against my side. The air might have a bite to it, but I don’t notice because she’s right. This is totally better.

Back and forth we go, our stomachs full of a dinner we almost burned because we couldn’t stop telling stories and laughing long enough to remember the grill. I could close my eyes and live in this moment. It’s felt good with Hadley many times in my life, but it’s never once felt like this.

It’s never just us. It’s me and her and all the baggage we carry. It all piles together until there’s a giant wall that feels impossible to scale.

How do you scale all that? How do you look at someone you care about and think, Okay, I’ll risk your happiness for my own?

I don’t know. What I do know is that sitting on the porch with her on this cool, quiet night makes things feel not quite so impossible. Not totally uncomplicated, but not quite complicated either. It’s what I’ve always thought spending time with a woman you care about would feel like, and that’s scary as fuck.

“Look at the stars,” Hadley says. Her arm stretches across my middle against my stomach. When contact is made, she starts to pull back, but I stop her.

“They’re beautiful,” I say, my hand resting on her forearm.

Her profile is the same one I’ve studied countless times. Her nose curls up just a bit at the tip. Her lips form a little bud at the center as if she’s just been kissed. It takes everything I have not to do that. Not yet. As good as that would feel, it wouldn’t be better than just holding her like this … and it might ruin everything.

She looks up at me through her thick lashes. “You aren’t even looking at the stars.”

“Oh.”

She shakes her head, her kissable lips forming a smile against my side. “My favorite nighttime skies are the ones after it rains. I don’t know if it’s because we get so used to the storms and the clear skies are such a relief, or if the rain just washes away all the yuck. But I love nights like this.”

“Me too.” My arm rests over her back as we swing. “Do you have plans for tomorrow?”

“I’m supposed to do something with Emily,” she says. “She wants to go to Crave.”

My initial reaction is to flat-out tell her no. Every worst-case scenario dashes through my head, and all I can envision is some guy grabbing her, or her getting shoved, or some unsuspecting asshole hitting on her in front of me.

But as she gazes up at me with her honey-colored eyes, she looks different somehow. Stronger. Wiser, even.

My gut reaction is to protect her from everything I can—to keep her out of harm’s way. That’s why I can’t have her in Crave. Why I threaten every asshole I see talking to her. Why I stay away myself.

As we rock and I hold her close and think about the things we’ve talked about tonight, how she’s survived so much loss and turmoil and came out on top, maybe she’s okay. Maybe I can ease up a little.

I summon all my strength and gaze into the darkness. The swinging slows until it stops. “Be careful, okay? I’ve seen your girl Emily on the verge of fistfights, dancing on tables, and I have a suspicion she swindled some bikers out of a hundred bucks at the billiards tables. She’s reckless.”

Hadley sits up. “That’s it?”

“That’s what?”

“Be careful.” She cocks her head to the side. “No warning not to come? No threat to only order water or to sit at the bar next to Peck?”

I pull her back down against me again. “No.”

“Well, okay, then.”

Rifling my hands through the fabric until my hand is on her back, I start swinging again. “I figure you know what you’re doing. Right?”

“Right,” she says, squeezing me tighter. “Besides, you want to know something funny?”

“What’s that?”

“Crave isn’t so bad.”

I snort. “Well, I agree, but it’s funny to hear you say that.”

Her fingers strum against my side, sending waves of warmth through my body. “It’s important to you in a way I didn’t understand. I don’t think I completely get it now but watching you in there isn’t like I thought it would be.”

“So, no strippers?” I laugh.

She makes a fist and jabs me in the side. “Anyway, Emily wants to come in and see Peck.”

“I don’t get the Peck thing,” I say, confused. “I think Navie has a thing for him too.”

“Navie totally has a thing for him.” She laughs. “Peck’s cute, Mach. He’s funny and kind, and he has a good job. He’s a great catch.”

“He’s a goof.”

“A lovable goof.” She sits up and looks at me. Her eyes rival the stars with their sparkle. “Does it make you jealous?”

“What?”

“That everyone is loving Peck?”

I grip the blanket on either side of her like the lapels of a jacket. Her eyes go wide, and I tug her toward me.

My heartbeat kicks in high gear as the heat of her breath gets closer. The playfulness in her eyes hits me somewhere in my gut, and I set my defenses to the side, all the way, and just enjoy this moment in time.

“Does that ‘everyone’ include you?” I ask.

She wrinkles her nose. “I like Peck, yes.”

“I know you like him. Are you loving him?” I tease.

“Loving him? Well … no.”

I scoop her legs and lift her, pulling her onto my lap. She laughs, her eyes going wide, as she’s situated across me.

Her weight on me sends a fire ripping through me. The feel of her body on top of my groin is enough to make everything around me, except for her, completely invisible.

Fuck it. Fuck every reservation I have and every reason I can come up with not to take this any further.

I brush a strand of hair out of her face. “What are you loving these days, Had?”

“Let’s see,” she says, playing along. “I love pistachio ice cream. And this show about an office that’s on re-runs, but I missed it originally, so it’s new to me.” She taps her chin as though she’s in thought. “I also love deep purple nail polish for fall, but I haven’t had time to get a manicure in forever.”

“Great info.” I roll my eyes.

“It is, huh?”

“I was hoping for something more in-depth.”

She laughs. “There’s nothing shallow about nail polish, bud.”

“Noted.”

“Give me something in-depth, then. What are you loving these days, Mach?” she asks with a mega-watt smile.

“Burnt steak,” I say, earning a giggle. “Brothers who call before they show up. And I’m really into the Illinois Legends but haven’t had time to catch many games so far.”

“Sha-llow.”

As I watch, her eyes become flecked with green. Her lips part in an almost pout that sends a shock straight to my cock. Her ass presses down on my lap in a slow, controlled gesture that’s coupled with a hooded gaze.

I grip her hips. A swallow barely slips down my throat. “What are you feeling right now, Had?”

She stills. Her pupils dilate as her breathing gets heavy. “It’s a weird thing, actually. I feel … wanted. And I trust you enough to tell you that.”

That’s it. Her vulnerability, her willingness to trust me at this moment, is my undoing.

My hands run up the length of her sides, brushing against the mounds of her breasts on their journey to her face. She gasps at the contact of my palms against her beaded nipples. The quilt falls off her shoulders onto the porch floor.

The breeze rattles around us as if it is cheering us on. I cup her face in my hands and start to kiss her but pull back.

The clover bounces on her chest, her breath coming out in hurried wisps. She pulls her brows together, wondering why I didn’t kiss her, but too afraid to ask.

I’m probably going to hate myself tomorrow for this. I’m going to wake up and realize I’ve fought my whole life to avoid giving her too much hope when it comes to me. Yet there’s nothing I want more right now, need more right now, than to make her understand one fundamental thing.

The words claw at my throat, scraping away my defenses until they’re on the tip of my tongue.

“You are wanted,” I whisper, looking into her soul as deeply as I can. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, love.”

Her lips find mine in a kiss I feel in every cell of my damn body. For once, I trust her enough to let her take control.

I don’t try to protect her from me, keeping her at arm’s length to make it easier to break apart later. I succumb to her demands. When she presses, I open my mouth. When she swipes her tongue past my lips, I let her control the pace. When she wraps her legs around my waist and rests her forehead on mine, I relish the contact.

She’s so small, wrapped around me. But even so, I can feel the force that is Hadley Jacobs. I wonder if she’s always been like this, or if I’m just now seeing it.

A shiver ripples through her body, and I reach for the quilt and can’t quite get it. I pull her against me instead.

This will end too soon if I don’t stop it. And despite my surprise, I don’t want it to end.

“Hey,” I say, my breathing ragged.

“Hey, what?” she whispers against my neck.

“Can I interest you in a hot bath with a fancy fizzling thing Blaire left here at Easter?”

“Will you get in with me?”

An arm goes under her ass as I stand. “That was the plan.”

She leans back and looks at me. There’s something on the tip of her tongue, something just under the sweet little smile she gives, that has my heart skipping a few beats.

Instead of sharing whatever it was, she rests her head against my shoulder again. “Can you hurry? It’s cold.”

I smile into her hair and carry her inside.

Twenty-Nine

Hadley

I’m too warm.

One foot slides out from under the blankets, but the air is too cold, so back in it goes.

There’s a light coming from an odd direction. My eyes flutter open.

The ceiling fan above Machlan’s bed whirls quietly, ruffling the edges of a wall tapestry in blues, grays, and black. The blinds have been pulled on the window that looks across the backyard, but the room is still bright from the sun.

My hand juts out to find an empty spot beside me.

Sitting up, I stretch. My limbs ache from the activities of last night as I look around the room. There’s no smell of coffee, no sound of anyone moving around. It’s only when I start to climb out of bed do I notice a piece of yellow paper on the bedside table.

Had,

I have to meet some people at the property on Ash Street. I didn’t want to wake you. I should be back by eleven. Take that bath we didn’t get to last night if you want. I’ll bring lunch.

Machlan

I flop back in bed with a giant smile on my face. I need a cup of coffee, but I don’t want to get up—not because I’m tired. I’m not. But because lying here feels so indulgent.

Scooting over to Machlan’s side, I twist myself up in his blankets. His scent is all over the linens. The mattress dips only slightly where he usually lays, and I wiggle around until I bury myself there.

My eyes fall closed. If I lie still, I can pretend he’s here with his arms around me. And if I’m quiet enough, I can hear the words he whispered as I was drifting to sleep a few hours ago.

I’m glad you’re here, he said into the shell of my ear. Thank you for trusting me tonight.

This is the only place I’ve ever wanted to be. And now that I am, in his home, in his bed, it’s hard to process. I keep thinking there has to be more to it. There has to be something I’m not panicking about or some dark hole to walk around, but there’s not.

Something was different about him last night. He let me in. He even gave me the reins at times. None of that is like Machlan, and while I can’t explain it, it gives me so much hope.

I smile into the pillows until my ringing phone snaps me back to reality. I consider letting voicemail pick it up, but by the fourth ring, I reconsider.

Army crawling to the other side of the bed, I swipe the phone off the table. It’s a Vigo number I don’t recognize.

My throat clears as I sit up. “Hello?”

“Is this Hadley?”

“It is.”

“Hello, Hadley. This is Jamie from the Human Resources Department at Boseman. You’re supposed to start here next Monday.”

“Oh, yes,” I say, tossing the covers off my legs in hopes the chilliness will wake me up. “What can I do for you?”

“A big favor, actually. We’re actually hoping you can start on the nineteenth.”

I yank back my phone and hit the home key to check the date. “That’s in two days.”

“I know. And I’m sorry to hit you with this at the last minute, but when Kyle interviewed you for the position, he thought Sandy would be here longer than she is. So, if we want her to train you for a couple of days, we really need you to start on the nineteenth . Do you think that’s possible?”

My heart sinks. I squeeze my temples with one hand and try to ignore the dread coming at me in droves. “I actually am out of town.” I wince. “Let me see what I can do, and I’ll get back to you later today.”

“That’s fine. And I understand this is our mistake, but if there’s any way we can get you in with Sandy, it will make the transition so much smoother. If you can make it happen, we would really appreciate it, Hadley.”

“I understand. Thanks for the call. I’ll get back with you before the end of the day.”

“Take care. Talk soon.”

“Goodbye.”

My phone drops unceremoniously onto the blankets. The thud is soft, muted by the extra comforter Machlan added before we climbed into bed for actual sleep.

A sharp pain shoots across my forehead. I whine, a fake cry drifting across the room.

The rational part of my head reminds me I was leaving anyway. The illogical half tells me I can’t. It’s too soon. I haven’t had enough time with Machlan.

Crawling across the bed, I dive into his spot. I burrow as deep into his sheets as I can.

“What am I going to do now?” I ask aloud.

The room gives no answers.

The sweet way he looked at me last night, the loving way he caressed me as he didn’t fuck me but made love to me more than a couple of times, gives me hope he will ask me to stay.

Surely, he wouldn’t make himself that vulnerable if he wasn’t in a different place. That has to mean something.

“Ask me to stay,” I whisper, my eyes fluttering closed. “Ask me to stay and I will.”

My phone rings again, and I pick it up. Holding my breath that the universe heard my request and is coming through, I look at the screen.

Damn it.

“Hey,” I say in the line.

“Hi, Hadley,” Samuel says. “How are you?”

“I’m good.”

Looking around Machlan’s bedroom and hearing Samuel’s voice triggers something deep inside me. Regardless of what happens with Mach, whether he finally realizes he can commit or not, doesn’t matter. My heart is not in it with Samuel. And even though I’ve prayed it would be, it won’t.

“I’m glad you called,” I say.

“Really? That’s promising.”

My heart sinks. “Listen, Samuel. You’re a nice guy. You’re everything a girl should want.”

“There’s a but, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” I say softly.

He sighs, a heaviness in it that isn’t missed by me. “I really hope you find what you want. Even if it isn’t me.”

“I hope that for you too.”

“Promise me something, though.”

“What’s that?”

He takes a deep breath. “Don’t settle, Hadley. Don’t let anyone walk all over you or twist yourself up to make people happy. Your spirit is what I love most about you, and I’d hate for anyone to dampen it.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s no reason to make this longer than it has to be,” he admits. “You have a few things at my house. I’ll gather them when I get back, and you can come get them, or I’ll drop them off.”

“Okay.”

“And Hadley?”

“Yeah?”

“If you change your mind, I’ll be here.”

I open my mouth to tell him not to be, to meet some girl at his audit conferences and fall madly, deeply in love. To find someone who makes him feel what I feel when I’m around Machlan. To find someone he simply can’t live without. That he would fight for.

But before I can do that, the line is dead.

* * *

Machlan

A flashy sports utility vehicle flies up the road. The tires hit the dirt lot before the driver locks the brakes. The vehicle slides a few feet before it comes to a complete stop.

Spencer is over an hour late. He seems to either be unaware of this or completely without a fuck as his loafers hit the gravel.

He adjusts his tie as he strolls my way. I don’t get up from the bench I’ve been sitting on for the past thirty minutes. Fuck him.

“Well, good morning,” he says. “Glad to see you’re on time.”

“I was. An hour ago.”

“Really?” He looks at his watch. “I had a quick meeting this morning that apparently ran over. I apologize.”

He doesn’t. There’s not a hint of respect in his tone to lend any credence to that at all.

It’s not only that I left Hadley asleep in my bed and could’ve been there with her for the better part of the morning that has me annoyed, but also that the key wasn’t here like it was supposed to be.

“Wouldn’t have been so bad if I could’ve gotten in,” I say, alluding to the key.

“You mean a guy like you couldn’t figure out how to break in?” His laugh is loud and grating. It’s enough to bring me to my feet.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a little humor to lighten the mood, you know?” He pats me on the back. “Let’s go inside. I have a couple of things I want to talk to you about.”

As he unlocks the door and makes a meal out of turning on the lights and inspecting the thermostat, I take inventory of the space.

Billiards tables will go along the back wall—two or three, probably. A kid Lance knows, Ollie, is going to make me some furniture out of old pallets for the area to the right. We’ll have game systems and a couple of computers. It’ll work great.

Spencer tosses a file down on the sole table in the room. “What do you think of the place?”

“It’s gonna work out great. The whole plan is in place. I’m just waiting on the signed contracts to pull the trigger.”

“Interesting choice of words,” he mumbles. “I’m just going to be frank, okay?”

“Yeah. Go.”

He walks around the table, effectively putting it between us. “On the advice of my attorney, we had an addendum drawn up.”

“Wait. What? What for?”

Everything was covered in the original contract. I had Blaire look at it, and it was fine. She didn’t love some of the terms, but she doesn’t love much of anything on the first try.

“What’s going on, Spencer?”

“You said a few things the other day that, upon second thought, made me a little nervous about loaning you the money.”

“Like what?” My hands flex at my sides as I try to stay calm.

“For one, because I’m carrying your loan, I’ll need to be insured on the property. That means I have something to lose.”

“I get it. Cut to the chase.”

He opens the folder and shoves a stapled stack of papers in my direction. “You can obviously have your attorney, if you have one, look at these.”

“My sister is an attorney at Litchfield and Sparks in Chicago,” I say, not giving a fuck what that means, but knowing it’s a big deal to people who care. “I’m sure she’d love to see these before I sign them.”

“Oh. Well, okay,” he says, straightening his already straight tie. “She can tell you what they say then.”

I cross my arms over my chest and ignore the fire smoldering in my stomach. “I’d really like to hear it from you.”

“Fine.” He picks up the document. “This part says you have to be closed to all underaged people by eight o’clock on school nights and ten on the weekends.”

“What? Why would you do that?”

“With all due respect to your business plan, I’d rather not have a bunch of kids here at night tearing the place up.”

I hold my hands in front of me. “That’s the exact reason I’m doing this. So they don’t go tearing shit up.”

He takes off his glasses and holds them near his mouth. The way he looks at me, down his nose as though I’m some kind of fucking idiot, makes me see red.

“Kids aren’t inherently bad, you know,” I say.

“Machlan. You own a bar. You know people, in general, are inherently bad.”

“Don’t tell me what I fucking know. That’s not true. And if you want to know the real ridiculousness of those hours you’ve written in there, it’s this: most juvenile crimes happen in the hours right after school lets out. Not at night.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

I think he’s a cocksucker too, but I’m not going to say it.

Pacing a circle, I try to settle myself. I take in all the potential this place has and remind myself of the end result. That if I can deal with this asshole and get this building, I can do something real and valuable with my life. That I can be more than bar owner. That I can give back to a community I’ve fucked with relentlessly in my life.

“Tell me this,” I say. “What did you do after school when you were growing up?”

“I either went to golf practice or went home.”

“And who was there?”

“My mother. Why do you care?”

“Because when I was growing up, both of my parents worked. I came home to an empty house. And when my parents, who were good fucking people, mind you, died when I was a teenager, my grandmother had to chase me around. My best friend, Cross, had basically no one. His dad didn’t give a fuck.”

He looks at me as though I’m telling him the weather forecast.

I blow out an exasperated breath. “When you have nothing to do, no one waiting on you, you get in trouble. From the hours of eight to three on school days, even if you hate school on the surface, you appreciate the routine of it all. People who care where you are. People who shove a lunch in front of your face. Somewhere warm and dry and, for a lot of kids, that’s more than they get at home. Once that bell rings, they have nothing. Do you know what that feels like?”

“No.”

“That’s my point.”

“Their parents should do better.” He chuckles. “I love your passion for this project, but it’s … Quite frankly, it’s a waste of time.”

I try to stay calm, but my nerves bounce, ready to explode.

“If Hadley hadn’t been in there that day, I probably would’ve pulled the deal completely,” he says.

Hearing her name on his tongue doesn’t help, nor does the way he grins after he says it. As though lewd thoughts are spilling through his pussified brain.

“Let’s leave Had out of this,” I say.

“Had, huh?” He quirks a brow.

“Leave her out of it.”

“Let me give you a piece of advice.” He tosses a pen on the papers. “I don’t know how well you know her, but she’s a little rough around the edges. A sweet girl. Great tits. But she’s basically the same kind of customer you want in here, and those people don’t make you any money unless you own a strip club.”

I’m so shocked that I’m certain I misheard him. I expect my brain to filter it all out and make it make sense at any moment. Instead, he laughs, licking his lips, and makes it absolutely clear.

“All right. You sign this addendum and we—”

“We ain’t signing shit.” I stalk across the room. My breathing is eerily calm; my eyes narrowed on the dick in the suit.

I need to stay calm. I know that. I need to let this arrogant bastard get his rocks off however he does it and not fuck up my plans. But the longer his words echo in my brain, the lesser my grip on logic becomes.

“Don’t get testy.” He laughs. “And don’t let a girl like Hadley get to you like this, Machlan. Women always ruin a good man.”

“You think she ruins me?” I shake my head, the words getting jumbled in my mind. It’s almost a plea because something in his eyes, something right under the surface, tells me he’s going to press. And if he presses like I think he’s going to, it won’t end well. “You don’t know jack shit.”

“I know enough to know I was going to turn your offer down, but the fact that she knew you made me more comfortable. But seeing you now, all hyped up over her, makes me rethink your abilities.”

“This isn’t me hyped. I’ll assure you of that,” I say. “And what I do when people like you talk about her has nothing to do with the contract.”

He twirls his glasses in the air. “I disagree. If you get wound up so easily by me, how do you think you’ll survive a room full of teenagers?”

“Because they aren’t assholes.”

He drops his glasses; his thin lips pressed together. The wheels are turning in his peon brain. I’ve seen it a hundred times. I’m usually really good at ignoring it when a pussified motherfucker thinks they’ve found your weakness and chooses to push. Today might be different.

“Tell you what,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “I don’t really want to lose this sale. As you said, I’ll make more money off you than I would if I sold it outright. So, have your attorney look over the addendum, and if it’s manageable, it’s a deal. I’ll even knock off five thousand if you tell me how tight Hadley is.” He snickers, picking up his pen. “She probably has a sweet little cunt, doesn’t she?”

“You motherfucker,” I growl, my pulse hitting me so hard I can barely hear his cackle. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you bastard.”

He grabs his phone and presses a few keys as I stalk around the corner of the table. I could hit him with one hand and end his fucking day, but I want to enjoy this one. I want him to feel every word he just spit at me. I want him to taste the blood on his lips. To remember it the next time he tries to open his mouth.

The table legs scratch across the floor as he shoves it around, trying to keep it between us.

“Look at you running like you were just running your mouth,” I say, my voice eerily calm.

I step right. So does he. I step forward. He steps back.

I laugh. “You do know how bad this is gonna hurt, right?”

“Let’s calm down,” he says, his voice trembling.

“Nah, you wanted this. Cause and effect, bitch.”

It’s only going to take one shot to knock him out, and that won’t feel nearly as good as seeing the fear in his eyes does.

Spencer looks over my shoulder, then back at me. “I hope Hadley is smart enough to stay away from you. It makes me sad for her that she’s gotten caught up with trash like you.”

Adrenaline rockets through me as I charge around the table. Spencer runs toward the back of the room.

The door swings open behind me. I glance over my shoulder before pursuing Spencer.

“What’s going on here?” Kip asks, taking off his sheriff’s hat. “We had a 911 call.”

I stop in my tracks; my teeth still pressed together so hard it hurts.

“Machlan?” he asks. My cousin raises his brows. “What’s going on?”

“Not a damn thing,” I say. “Just teaching this pudfuck some manners.”

Kip motions for me to come toward him. “Come here.”

“Give me five minutes. Nah, two,” I beg. “Just walk out of here for two minutes.”

Kip doesn’t blink. “You don’t want an assault charge. You’ll lose your license for the bar. Now come here before you lose everything you have.”

Looking over my shoulder at Spencer, I point a finger his way. “You have one coming.”

“That’s a threat,” Spencer says. “Did you hear that, Sheriff?”

Clenching my hands at my sides, my nostrils flaring as I try to rein in my fury, I head toward Kip.

“Did you hear that?” Spencer shouts again. “That’s clearly a threat.”

“I didn’t hear anything. Go get in your truck,” he says under his breath. “And go home. Got it?”

“Our contract is void,” Spencer shouts from the other side of the room.

I whirl around. “You think?”

The door slams behind me.

Thirty

Hadley

The clock on the stove moves past another hour.

My hair is almost dry from the bath I took around eleven in hopes he’d return and join me. The dishes from the leftovers I heated up around noon have been washed, dried, and put away. The bed has been made, a reality episode consumed, and now I sit at the kitchen table unsure what to do. Phone in hand, I unlock it.

His name is at the top of my text messenger. Running late is the only thing I’ve heard from him, and that was around the time I climbed out of the bath.

I wish I hadn’t eaten. The steak and potatoes are too heavy on my stomach, and every time I move, my stomach churns. I jump at every sound I hear, thinking it’s him.

As comfortable as I was earlier, I’m not now. Whether it’s the stark difference in the note and text or that he hasn’t come back, I don’t know. There’s an uneasy knot in my stomach I can’t shake.

“He probably just got busy,” I tell myself. Brushing a bit of salt off the table, I get to my feet and head to the hallway.

My steps echo through the house. A loneliness burrows in my gut, and I try to kick it out and find the happiness I had when I woke up, but it’s hard. I really thought today would be different and he wouldn’t leave like he used to do. And as much as I tell myself he might not have, that there’s a perfectly logical explanation for this, I worry.

I gather my things. I try not to look around, to overthink anything, to see the spot on the couch where he spread me last night and buried his face between my legs.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles as I slip on my shoes. Leaning against the wall, I pull out my phone again.

Me:I’m just going to go back to the apartment. I hope everything is okay.

I watch as the chat bubbles start. Then stop. Then start again. Then stop. Finally, as I start to type again, they come back on and remain.

Machlan: Probably a good idea. I’m sorry.

Me:No worries. I’ll see you tonight. Em is coming around six.

I wait, sure this will get a reaction. There’s not even a start of a chat bubble this time.

My mouth dry, my stomach twisting, I exit the house and climb into my car. My phone pairs to the Bluetooth when the engine turns over, and a loud ring blares through the car as soon as I put it in drive.

“Hey,” I say.

“How’s my little sister doing today?” Cross asks.

“You know what? I’m not sure.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

Trees line the streets leading back to town. They’re tinged with burgundies and oranges and, if I wasn’t so perplexed by Machlan, I’d drive slower and appreciate them.

“Have you talked to Mach today?” I ask.

“No. I think he had to go to the building he’s buying at some point.”

“Yeah.” I bite the inside of my cheek as I take a left. The farther I get from the cocoon of his house, the more turbulent my nerves get. “I stayed all night with him. He left this morning to go do that but didn’t come back.”

“What?” Cross asks. “What do you mean he didn’t come back?”

“I think that’s self-explanatory, isn’t it? He left, and I haven’t seen him since.”

My chest tightens, smooshing together my insides until I’m squirming in my seat. Talking about it out loud makes me wish I’d never answered the damn phone.

“Maybe he got busy with something else,” Cross offers. “You know how he gets.”

“I do. I know how he is better than anyone. But I just feel like something’s … off. I can’t explain it. It’s like intuition or something.”

Beecher Street approaches much faster than I anticipated. I suck in a deep breath as I pull next to the stairs leading to the apartment. I do a quick scan of the area and don’t see his truck.

My lungs expel the breath I’ve been holding as I place the car in park. Navie is outside the back door of Crave. A broom is propped up next to the wall next to a large garbage bag.

“I got a call today from my new job. They want me to start in two days,” I say.

“Are you going back tomorrow then?”

Machlan’s cologne is still on my shirt. My body’s still tense from being wrapped around him all night. My heart is still tender from his sweet whispers.

Maybe that’s all it is. I’m too tender. I’m too on edge from everything and just making a mountain out of a molehill.

I swallow hard. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do. If he wanted me to stay, I’d stay. But this morning makes me think maybe I should go.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I say, watching Navie use the broomstick as a microphone.

“Do you really think it’ll be any different between you guys if you stay?” Cross asks. “I mean, I hoped it would. God knows my life would be easier.”

“Ha.”

“I mean it, Had. You’re confident. You make decisions. You’re stronger than I’ve ever seen you. As much as I hate to admit it, Vigo seems to have done you some good.”

“Yeah, well …”

Cross sighs. “Just promise me that you won’t let Machlan get to you. You can’t fix someone else’s problems, no matter how hard you try.”

“I’ll be fine. Promise.”

He sighs again. “Come see me before you leave, okay? And call me if you need me.”

“I will. Love you, brother.”

“Love you too.”

Ending the call, I reach for my purse when my phone buzzes again. This number I don’t know.

“Hello?” I ask, blowing out a breath.

“Hadley?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Spencer Eubanks.”

Sitting up, I wonder how he got my number. My eyes flip to Crave, and I wonder if something has happened to Machlan.

“What can I do for you?” I ask. “Is everything okay?”

“I know we don’t really know each other, Hadley. And I’m sorry for getting your number from my mother, but I thought it was imperative we speak this afternoon.”

My mouth is dry. “Okay. What’s going on?”

“I had a meeting with Machlan today.”

“I know.”

“Hadley,” he says with a gush of a breath that isn’t a chuckle, but more like an exasperated reaction. “How well do you know him?”

“Very well. Why?”

“He threatened to kill me today. It was ugly. I’ve never seen someone snap like he did.”

My jaw drops to the floor. I almost drop my phone.

“What?” I open the door, needing the fresh air.

Nothing about this makes any sense. Is this why Machlan didn’t come home? Where is he? Is he okay?

“He literally threatened to kill me,” he says again.

“That’s not like Machlan, Spencer.”

“He went into a rage when I told him my attorney had issues with his business plan. Had I not called the police when I did …”

My eyes bug out. “You called the police?”

“It was that or get hurt. Hadley, the man is reckless. Please, please be careful around him.”

“I … What?” My head hurts, pain streaking over my forehead as I attempt to reconcile this information. “Spencer, this doesn’t make any sense.”

“I agree. It doesn’t. But you need to watch yourself around him. He’s … impetuous.”

The way he spits the last word out snaps me back to reality. I switch the phone between my hands, the sun warming my back just enough to make me sweat.

Imagining Machlan snapping on someone without just cause doesn’t seem likely. He might have a temper, but it’s never unjustified. And the longer I think about Spencer pushing him or needling him to get a reaction, knowing he’d get one, the angrier it makes me. Because that’s what had to have happened. It’s the only explanation.

“I appreciate the call,” I say, a rush of energy pulsing through me. I need to find Machlan. “Take care.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“If Machlan lost his cool, it was for a good reason.”

Spencer chuckles angrily. “Remember that when he’s in your face ready to hit you.”

My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t look the other way, Hadley. Men like him are dangerous.”

“You know who is dangerous? Men like you,” I snarl. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I’d bet my life that Machlan didn’t start it. And I’d bet even more that he’d never hurt me. This call you just made? It was to hurt me as a way to hurt him because you obviously feel like he got one over on you today.”

“Hadley—”

“Goodbye, Spencer.”

I end the call. Stepping out of the car, I head for the stairs and decide how to find Machlan. The railing wiggles as I yank on it and start the ascent. Only then do I hear Navie.

“Hey, Hadley!” she exclaims, popping her earbuds out of her ears. “How are you?”

I don’t stop. “Good. How’s it going?”

She laughs. “Good. Machlan taught me how to do the ordering today, so I think that means I have some job security.”

My foot falters. I turn to her, my hand on the rail. “Mach was here today?”

“He came in about halfway through lunch. I’d keep some distance today. He’s in a really bad mood.”

“Hey, Navie,” Machlan’s voice drifts through the air.

I look up. His eyes meet mine somewhere over the ashtray, and he clearly didn’t expect to see me.

My heart slams against my ribcage, my breath caught in a gasp and an exhale. Whether it’s the way he holds his body or the steeliness of his eyes, I don’t know. But I can’t smile or walk to him. That much I know.

He holds my gaze for a long second, maybe even two, before he gives me a twitch of a smile and turns to Navie.

“Did we order any brandy?” he asks.

“Yeah. Two bottles, I think,” she replies. “Remember? You made a comment about how you never sell it, but if you stop carrying it, everyone orders it.”

I watch them banter back and forth, my heart splintering in my chest. He was here. After all that with Spencer. And he couldn’t even call me, let alone come to me?

My stomach drops, and I consider just going to the apartment. But just as I do, he drags his eyes back to mine.

“How are you?” he asks carefully.

“Confused.”

Navie gathers the trash bag and broom. “I think I’ll go inside. If, um, yeah …”

Machlan steps outside and holds the door open for Navie. It closes softly behind her. He looks at me but doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. I’ve seen him pull away from me a number of times in my life. This look hasn’t changed.

What has changed, though, is I’m not going to just let it happen and go suffer quietly. No. I’m done with that.

“What happened today?” I ask.

He leans against the brick wall of the building and angles his chin to the sky. “Nothing.”

“No, Mach. What happened?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Well, I do. You didn’t come back. You didn’t text me, and clearly, you were right here. So why wouldn’t you have told me to just come here with you or at least told me you had work to do? Why leave me to sit there all day not knowing what was going on?”

He squeezes his eyes shut before lowering his chin. He still says nothing.

We’re having two different conversations on two different wavelengths. He’s not hearing anything I’m really saying. We’ve been here a million times before, and despite what I’d hoped, he’s still on that level.

Frustration pours through me as I set my jaw. “What happened with you and Spencer?”

His head whips to mine. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because he called me and said there was an incident that ended with the police being called.”

“He called you? That motherfucker called you?”

“He seemed to be more talkative about his day than you are.” I glare at him. “I love getting information like this secondhand.”

He shoves off the wall. “He …” His lips press together as he shakes his head. “Yeah. We had words. The deal is off.”

“Can I do anything?”

“He called Kip on me, Had. Do you think there’s anything you can do? Not that I’d want you to at this point anyway.” He refuses to look at me. “Everything’s fine.”

“He called the sheriff. It doesn’t seem like everything is fine. But what do I know? I’m getting my information from the enemy.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” Now he looks at me. “I mean, I get it. I’m the bad boy. Always my fault.” He turns to the door, but I won’t have it.

“Go ahead. Walk away. That’s what you do best.”

He spins around. “I walk away, so you don’t get drawn into my fuckery. Don’t you get that?”

“I’m already drawn into it, Machlan.”

“And you shouldn’t be, and I hate that you are,” he says, his eyes on fire.

“You want to know what I told him?” I say, my teeth gritted the same as his. “I told him I was behind you one-hundred percent even though I didn’t even know what happened. Yet you don’t have enough faith in me to even fucking tell me.”

Something shifts in his eyes, but it doesn’t stay. Instead, he pulls the door open.

We stand, staring at each other, a hundred emotions flittering between us. I fight back a set of tears as I feel whatever we had last night dissipate.

If I could reach out and grab it and hold onto it forever, I would. But as I look at him, see the coolness come back to his eyes that I’ve seen so many times over the past few years, I realize what reality is. And what dreams will never come true.

“I’m supposed to go back to Vigo tomorrow,” I say. “They want me to start this week.”

My breath stalls in my chest as I hold onto the final strand of hope that this will be the moment I’ve waited on: the moment when he asks me to stay. That he’ll see our fate is in his hands. He can ask me to stay or tell me to go. As he looks at me with a crooked brow, I say a silent prayer he’ll come to his senses.

He slips the chew can out of his pocket. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it just as quickly. He looks at the ground and shakes his head. “Drive careful.” And then he’s gone.

Thirty-One

Hadley

“I don’t know, Em.”

My best friend tucks her bra strap under her shirt. “I do. You’re going to go out strong.”

Rolling my eyes, I gather the last of my things scattered around the apartment and stuff them into my bag. Everything will be a wrinkly mess when I get back to Vigo, and the bottle of lotion tucked between a shirt and a pair of socks may or may not have been completely closed.

Oh, well.

That’s the least of my worries.

“How do you feel about everything?” Emily asks. “You’re kind of freaking me out a little with how cool you’re being.”

I’m kind of freaking me out a little with it too.

Tears gather in my eyes again, and I force them back. I catch myself every so often wanting to run down the steps and throw open the door and let him have it. But I won’t. I won’t be the one to try anymore.

My stomach somersaults without fail, rolling around and around as I see Machlan’s face as he says, “Drive careful.”

Then the tears come back again.

“What am I supposed to feel?” I ask, yanking the bag closed.

“I don’t know. Sad. Hurt. Pissed off. I mean, if your story from last night is true, probably a little sore at a minimum.”

I flop down next to the bag. “Do we seriously have to go there?”

“Nope. We can totally focus on the positive in all this.”

“Which is?”

“Which is … now you know where things stand.”

“Maybe not,” I say, scooting over to make room for her on the couch.

“Had.” She towers over me with her five-foot-eight frame. She sits. “I’m not saying he doesn’t love you in his own way because I know he does. I’ve seen the boy. Machlan loves you. But he’s never been ready to commit for whatever reason. And it looks like he’s still not.”

He’s not.

If only I understood why he refuses to give in and allow himself to feel the way I know he does. Because for the first time in my life, I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Machlan Gibson loves me. I also know, with the same certainty, it doesn’t change anything for him.

Despite the rock weighing down my emotions so I don’t lose complete control before I get home, there’s a comfort in this. This I feel completely.

Knowing my love wasn’t unrequited, only displayed in a way I don’t understand, does make accepting this reality a tad bit gentler.

“You’re right,” I say, my voice garbled. “Nothing is going to change with him.”

“And that’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine,” she adds when I shoot her a dirty look. “It hurts you. I know that, and I get it. But he’s the one stuck in whatever misery he’s in, and you can’t pull him out. God knows you’ve tried.”

I have tried. For so long. And accepting I can’t try any more strangles my heart.

“I hate he’s this way,” I say, my heart aching.

“But he is. So cry over him if you want.”

“Oh, I will. I’m sure. I just gotta get out of here first.” I look at my friend. “I guess this means I got my answer and can go on with my life.”

She puts her arm around my shoulders and gives me a gentle shake. Her head rests against mine.

Tears come again, but this time, they aren’t for Machlan. They’re for me.

“I want you to do something,” Emily says.

Wiping the wetness off my face, I laugh. “If this has a punchline, I’m not there yet.”

She laughs. “It doesn’t.” Pulling away, she takes in my mess. “Forgive him for hurting you, okay? And accept him for who he is. Not because he’s worth it or deserves it, but because you do.”

“Wow. I didn’t know you were so poetic.”

“I have moments.” She gets to her feet. “Now get off the couch. Wash your face. Change your shirt.”

“Em …”

“I didn’t come here to see you. I came to see Peck.” She takes my hand and pulls me up. “I’ve sat here and given you therapy; now you can go with me into the bar and see the guy I want to give me babies.”

“Oh, my God.”

“I wonder how many times he’d make me moan that?”

As I process her request, to follow her to Crave, I have no problems forgetting Peck. “What do I do about Machlan?”

She flaunts across the room and rifles through a drawer in the kitchen. “You’re going to have to see him again at some point. You might as well do it now.” She removes a dishcloth and dampens it. “This is like getting back on the horse once it bucks you off. We’re taking the fear out of it.”

It’s a crazy proposition. I’m crazier for taking the cloth and cleaning my face. And for putting on mascara. And for changing my shirt. And when I’m walking into the bar just a few seconds later, I legit consider I might be without a damn mind.

* * *

Machlan

“Are you going to tell me what’s up your ass tonight or not?” Navie leans into the cooler and plucks out a beer.

“Or not.”

“You are one frustrating man, Machlan.”

Every noise the crowd makes has me ready to blow a gasket. Every laugh, every cheer, every shout of something I’d probably find amusing most nights is like nails on a chalkboard. But even if I went home, there would be no relief.

I don’t know where this fucking day went wrong. How do you wake up beside the girl of your dreams and end it with her leaving because you told her to?

Because I’m me. That’s how.

Maybe someday she’ll get it. Maybe she’ll understand I did her a huge favor. Maybe she’ll see when she finally falls in love with someone else that life can be good for her. She can look at me then and realize she deserved better than a guy who fails at everything he touches, who risks everything he has at the drop of a hat.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, Kip was right. If I would’ve lost my head today, I would’ve lost everything.

Planting both hands on the cooler, I hang my head. The music starts up again, and I just wish for it to stop. I wish all these people would go home and someone would lock the door behind them so I could sit here and drown everything out.

Navie’s hand rests on the small of my back. “I’m really kind of worried about you, boss.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. Good. Glad to hear it. Hadley just came in, so maybe that will help.”

I shove off the cooler and jerk my attention to the door.

There she is.

In a green shirt with sleeves that come down to her elbows and jeans that shows off her ass, she watches me blank-faced. It’s a blow that hits in the center of my chest.

She doesn’t look away like she usually does when she doesn’t want me to see what she’s thinking. She doesn’t smile or laugh or even glare. I’d take any of those three things right now.

I take a step toward her. This makes her look away. She says something to Emily that makes her friend laugh, and they head to a table on the opposite wall of the bar.

Swallowing takes more energy than it should. Breathing is a little more complicated. Ensuring I don’t run over there and tell her I’m fucking sorry as shit takes everything I have.

“Want me to get that?” Navie asks. Her bright blue eyes shine with a look that reads there’s a problem, and she’s correctly identified me as the cause.

I take an order, dole out two beers, and give the customer change without looking away from Hadley. Her shoulders are tight, her smile practiced, and her attention pointedly not even coming close to me.

Puke bubbles in my stomach, the taste bitter and disgusting. My voice is so loud inside my head, screaming at me to do something, that I can’t do anything at all but wince and watch.

Navie comes back and takes a beer and a bottle of water from the cooler. “Hadley ordered water,” she says.

A faint smile graces my lips. I wish I could look at her and grin, tease her a little, but that’s over with.

“How is she?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says, grabbing a fresh order pad from the stack by the register. “Why don’t you ask her yourself.”

I glare at her.

“Why do you do this, Mach? The girl loves you.”

“You want to know why?” I growl, leaning toward her. “Because I love her.”

Navie’s eyes go wide. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. I can’t blame her because I didn’t expect it either. That doesn’t make it any less true.

“You said you love her,” Navie points out. “Mach.”

“What?”

“You said you love her.”

“So?”

“Guys don’t say that without it being big!”

“What’s big?” Peck sits at the bar, smacking his hands off the top. “I mean, I know something that’s big …”

Navie laughs. “Oh, do tell me more.”

I grab a beer and slide it to Peck. “Here. Be quiet.”

“Oh, it’s one of those nights,” Peck groans. “I’ll be over there if you need me, and by there, I mean anywhere but near him.” He winks at Navie and takes off through the crowd.

“I have these little fantasies,” Navie says, “that Peck says he loves me in the throes of passion.”

“I ... That’s … Great,” I say.

She laughs. “I wonder if he is big?”

“I don’t fucking know. I …” I spin around to face her. “We can overstep this boss slash employee relationship if you want. That’s cool. We can be friends, but we aren’t gonna be those friends, all right? I’m not the one to talk about cock sizes. I. Am. Not. The. One.”

She laughs harder. “Okay. Fine.”

Tuning her out, I look to the side. Hadley still isn’t looking at me. She’s seemingly engrossed in something Emily is saying while Peck stands next to their table.

I wonder how much she’s thought about what Spencer said. I wonder if she believes even an inkling of what she heard.

I can’t go the rest of my life and have people whispering things to her about me. Eroding that look in her eyes like I hung the moon. Tearing away the faith she has in me. Destroying the bond we have that keeps us linked despite everything else.

If she’s mine, that’s what it’ll be. People have a lot of feelings about me. My name was in the paper a lot growing up. I’m the kid with no parents who went a little wild for a period of time. I’m the guy who owns the bar downtown. I’m the one people whisper salacious things about because I’m the easy target.

The door opens, and Logan strolls in. He winks at Navie as I pour a bourbon neat for a customer. I watch him wander through the room.

There’s a cocky strut to the asshole that I don’t like or appreciate. The guy is on a mission to wreak havoc. He’s on that mission every time he’s been in here this week.

“Here you go,” I say, handing the drink to the guy across from me. “That’ll be …”

Logan stops at Hadley’s table. He brushes against her arm in a move that’s intended to appear innocent. I know it’s not. Hadley knows it too. She scoots away from the edge of the booth.

My teeth grind together as I watch this bastard make a play.

“How much is it, Machlan?” the customer asks.

“It’s on the house.”

I step away from the bar slowly, watching Hadley. She smiles, but her body tells something different. As Logan talks, Hadley moves her water between them in some unconscious defense mechanism.

Logan touches her arm. Hadley pulls away.

I jump across the bar, sliding across the top, and stalk my way toward their table.

“What’s happening over here?” I ask, my voice hitting them long before I actually arrive.

“Hey, Machlan.” Emily grins. “How are you tonight?”

“This is gonna be fun,” Peck grumbles.

“What are you doing, Machlan?” Hadley sighs. Everything about those five words is heavy. Weighted. Burdened.

“Are you with him?” Logan asks, motioning toward me over his shoulder.

For the first time since she walked in, Hadley looks at me. There’s a puffiness to her eyes and a pout to her lips that tells me she’s been crying. I wish she wouldn’t have looked at me at all.

My heart splits open. I know what she must be thinking. Here I come again after pushing her away, but what the fuck am I supposed to do?

“I’m not with him,” Hadley says, ripping her gaze from mine.

I shiver as a chill catapults up my spine. My mouth opens to argue with her, but I can’t.

Logan looks at me and cackles. “Lucky me.” He licks his lips with a wink before turning back to Hadley. “Do you want to get a drink, beautiful?”

The chill is replaced by a fury that’s hard to contain. “She doesn’t.”

“Don’t speak for me,” Hadley says.

“Just trying to help.”

“I don’t think she needs your help, pal.” Logan laughs.

“I’m not your fucking pal.”

“No, you’re not.” He grins. “And apparently you aren’t hers either.”

My fists clench, my arms primed by a shot of adrenaline. Hadley’s eyes go wide as she watches the two of us.

“You’re gonna need to walk away,” I say to Logan. “Do us both a favor and just get out of here.”

“Fuck you,” he snarls. He squares up with me, facing me head-on. “What do ya got to say about that, bud?”

Peck grabs my arm. “Easy there, Mach.”

I shrug Peck off. Loosening my shoulders, I keep my gaze pinned on Logan. “I’d say you’re running out of time.”

“You wanna go with me?” He looks at Hadley over his shoulder. “Because I’m not getting great vibes in here.”

Hadley doesn’t move. She looks at me with a sadness in her face. A resolution, maybe. “I’m not getting great vibes in here either.”

“Then let’s go.” He reaches for her hand.

I turn to the side, a punch loaded.

Peck jumps between Logan and me, making it impossible to unload without hitting him in the process.

“I can only save you for so long,” he says to Logan.

Hadley looks my way as she climbs out of the booth. “I’ll walk you out, Logan.”

“The fuck you will,” I say.

“Yes,” she bellows, whirling around so fast her hair follows in her wake. “I will. I will talk to who I will. And date who I will. And fuck who I will.” She glares at me. “But don’t worry. I’ll drive carefully.”

I stand so we’re only inches apart. My heart pumps so fast I think it might spin out of control.

“I won’t stand here and watch you walk out of here with him,” I say, blocking out everyone around us. “He’s no good, Had.”

“And how do you know that?”

“He was just trying to fuck Navie yesterday. He was with Molly in here two days ago.”

“He what?” Peck barks.

I ignore him. “This guy will chew you up and spit you back out, and I’m not gonna stand here and watch it.”

She shoves her delicate shoulders back and looks at me with a sadness I’ll never un-see. “Then don’t.”

It’s a challenge, a plea to walk out of here with her myself. It’s a dare I don’t take.

Her face falls. “You ready, Logan?”

He grins at me. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

I step toward him but keep my attention on Hadley.

I never see the punch coming.

His fist connects with the side of my face flush, the bones cracking upon contact. I’m knocked to the side and into Peck before I even realize what happened.

“You son of a bitch.” I fire a right, then a left, then a right hook into his kidney before he gets his hands up. Each punch lands, punishing his flesh. The sound of cartilage popping rings through the bar.

Logan wobbles on his feet. “What the fuck?”

Peck stands in front of me and waves his hand once through the air. “Point made. Enough.”

Slowly, as the haze of the adrenaline begins to lift, do I realize the spectators. And only after that realization hits do I see Hadley.

A single tear slides down her cheek as she watches with her mouth agape. “You are a fucking idiot.”

“Logan threw the first punch,” Emily says. “What was Mach supposed to do?”

I can’t even thank her for the defense. My heart is too busy breaking under Hadley’s gaze.

“I’ll get him out of here.” Peck sighs.

“Here.” Navie thrusts a towel toward Logan. “Get this on his nose. I don’t do blood.”

“You can have her. That better be some good pussy,” Logan says, his voice muffled from the towel.

Peck shoves him toward the door. “My God, man. Shut the hell up.”

The crowd slowly dissipates. It’s encouraged by Navie who offers a sale on vodka. I don’t even care.

“I’m sorry,” I say. So many things roll through my mind that I can’t sort them. I can’t do anything but look at her and hope to God this makes sense to her. That she gets it.

“You know what? I don’t even care anymore.” She shakes her head, a lump visible in her throat. “You’re only sorry now because you got your way.”

“That’s not true.”

“No, it is true. You don’t want me, but you sure as hell don’t want anyone else to have me either.”

“Had …” I drag in a lungful of air in hopes it steadies the panic taking over my insides.

“Don’t. I’m done. This is not how this works anymore.”

My stomach lurches. Bile rises into my mouth, but I swallow it back. “Don’t do this.”

“Me? Don’t do this? Machlan, I would’ve followed you to the ends of the Earth if you would’ve just asked. But you’re either too chickenshit or don’t care enough to even ask.”

The break in her voice breaks me. My heart shatters as my worst nightmare plays out right in front of me. She’s right, though. I’m too chickenshit to ask her for anything.

“I came here in hopes of figuring things out with you so I could go on with my life. I didn’t think you’d make it this easy.” Her eyes fill with tears as she turns away. “Don’t follow me.”

She passes Peck at the door as I watch her leave.

Thirty-Two

Hadley

“Good morning,” I croak.

Squinting, I take in the mess in my living room. The ride to Vigo took forever with Emily driving last night, and by the time we got to my house, I didn’t care about anything but lying down and making the heartache stop.

My bag sits on a chair; the contents spewed across the room from where I dug through them last night. Emily is lying half on and half off the sofa. On the coffee table are an empty pizza box and two bottles that held wine a few hours ago.

“Is this what a hangover feels like?” I ask, squeezing my temples.

“Yup,” she says, with a pop on the p. “Who let us drink that much?”

“You. You were in charge.”

“That was your first mistake,” she groans, struggling to sit up. “What time is it?”

“Nine.” I head into the kitchen. “I’m going to find my phone and call Cross and go back to bed. What do you take for a hangover?”

“Hangovers and heartbreak are the same. Both take time.”

My feet hit the cold linoleum as I enter the kitchen. I shiver, spying my phone next to the coffeepot. The idea of coffee makes me nauseous. The prospect of looking at potential missed calls makes me sicker.

If Machlan called, I'd fight myself from calling him back.

If he didn’t …

I look at the screen.

He didn’t.

My eyes close again as another shiver rips through me that has nothing to do with the temperature of the floor.

“Try some crackers,” Emily says from the living room. “And bring me some, please.”

Fishing a box of saltines out of the cabinet and a couple of bottles of water from the fridge, I make my way back through the living room. I toss her a drink and the crackers. “Here,” I say. “I’m going back to bed. And if you ever let me drink again, ever, we’re not friends.”

“Are you a mean drunk? Because I don’t remember you being mean last night.” The crinkle of cellophane dances through the air. “You were pretty funny, actually.”

“I was?”

She shrugs, taking a bite of a cracker. “From what I remember.”

“Fabulous,” I mumble, heading to my room.

I climb into bed and tug the blankets over me. They aren’t as soft as Machlan’s, and I don’t sink into my mattress like his either. I also don’t remember when the bed got this big.

As I lie in my dirty clothes from last night and feel the wine churning in my stomach, I try to sleep. But as soon as my eyes close, my mind starts to drift.

The pain I numbed last night comes barreling back. A hand goes to my chest, the sadness cutting so deep it physically hurts. The worst part of all is pinpointing what hurts worse—the pain of losing him or the pain of never really having him at all.

Just as my nose starts to burn, alerting me of tears to come, my phone rings in my hand. I pull it to my face and see Cross’s name emblazoned across the front.

“Hey,” I say with no enthusiasm.

“I heard you left town last night.”

“You heard right.”

“I also heard Machlan punched a guy in Crave over you. Again.”

“You heard right,” I repeat. “Again.”

“What the fuck happened, Had?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Oh, I’m going to,” he tells me. “But I thought I’d get your side first.”

Groaning, I sit up. My head throbs from the movement. My body begs me to quit the day and just burrow down in the blankets and sleep it off.

Cross sighs into the phone as I take my time propping myself up with pillows. By the time I’m ready to talk, he’s out of patience.

“Can we get on with it?” he asks.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m over here trying to figure out how to sleep off a heartbreak. My bad.”

“A heartbreak?” The question is cold. Pointed. Full of promises he doesn’t have to verbalize.

It’s my turn to sigh. “No. Not a heartbreak. I mean, yeah,” I babble. “I don’t fucking know.”

“Well, Peck called me late last night and just said there was an incident and you were fine but left town.”

“How’d he know I left town?”

“He’s Peck. You don’t think he made damn sure you were okay?”

My heart fills as I think of my sweet friend.

“He had eyes on you until Emily was driving your car and you were on the highway back to Vigo. But he wouldn’t really say what happened. And, Had, I wanna know.”

He’s at his wit’s end with this. I can hear it in his voice.

It must be hard for him, being Machlan’s best friend and my big brother. He loves us both. And he should. Machlan is a great friend to him.

The idea that Cross and Machlan would have a wedge between them because of me makes my head hurt even more, and the longer I ponder it, the more I realize I can’t let that happen. I can’t ruin their best friendship because I have this stupid love for a man who refuses to let me do just that.

I could spin this story a couple of different ways if I wanted to be a jerk. But I don’t. I don’t want to do that to them.

“This guy, Logan,” I say, “was hitting on me. Machlan didn’t like it too much.”

“Oh, I bet he didn’t.”

“In Machlan’s defense, Logan hit him first. I don’t think Mach even saw it coming,” I say. My stomach drops as I remember Machlan’s head jerking to the side as Logan’s fist pushed across it. “All Mach did was hit him back.”

“Once?”

“Eh, a few times. It was actually kind of impressive.”

“What made you leave town then?”

“I just … He’s not going to change, Cross.” My words are barely audible as I sniffle. “I told him I was leaving, and he told me to be safe or something stupid like that. Even after the days we spent together, you know, it was just back to the old Machlan.”

“Don’t cry.”

“Well, it’s hard not to,” I say, wiping a tear. “But I’ll be okay. For real this time. This time, this one is on me.”

“How do you figure?”

“I came back. I asked for it. And I got my answer. I can’t blame him for that.”

My head starts to swirl, his laugh filling my mind. His touch is hot on my skin, his breath whispering against my ear, and then it hits me. I’ll never have that again. I got a glimpse into a world I can never have.

“Do you want me to come up there?” Cross asks. “Or send Kallie? Or … something.”

“No,” I say, drying my face with the blanket. “I just need to cry it out today. I’ll be okay. Emily is here, and I’m going to eat all my feelings and probably watch a sappy movie or two and just be done with it. Tomorrow, I start my new job. Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life. Today, I’ll mourn the last day of my old one.”

“Had, look, I know this sucks, and I know you’re hurting right now. I just … I don’t know what to do about it.”

I relax against the pillows. “The fact you would do something is enough. You’re a good brother.”

“I will always be there for you. And I can’t kick Mach’s ass, but I’ll sure give it a shot if you want me to.”

Giggling, I snuggle under the blankets. “Not yet. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see how the day goes.”

“I’ll get limbered up.” He laughs. “I’m gonna go check on Kallie. I think she got Mariah’s virus. She was up puking all night.”

“Gross. Go. I’ll be fine. Sorry I didn’t call last night.”

“I’m just glad you had Emily with you. Now go eat or watch television or whatever it is you do. Call me if you need me. I can be there fast.”

“Love you, Cross.”

“You too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I drop my phone on the blankets and pull a pillow over my head. I still miss him. And that’s pathetic.

* * *

Machlan

“Can you fix it or not?” I ask my brother.

“Can I fix it? Yeah. But it’ll cost you more than if you just buy another one.” Walker goes back to the tractor parked in Crank’s lot. “What the fuck did you even do to it? You completely fucked that tire up.”

“Hard to say.”

He whacks a screwdriver against a bearing. “That good, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ll leave it here until you get it fixed if Peck can give me a ride home.”

Peck comes out of one of the shop bays. He sees me and slows his steps. “Hey, Mach.”

I lift my chin in acknowledgment of his presence.

My cousin has seen me act like a fool more than both my brothers combined. We were closer in age and both had an interest in things that went fast or were stupid. I never care what he thinks about the things I do. I am curious what he thinks about last night, and that bothers me.

“I grabbed that ratchet off the wall, but it’s too small,” Peck says to Walker. “Where’s the one you had last week for that dozer?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Walker says. He wipes his brow with the back of his hand. “Let’s put that on hold for a minute.”

“Yeah …” Peck looks over my shoulder. “Let’s do that.”

I spin around to see Cross turning into the parking lot. He kills the engine before the truck is even in park. His feet are on the ground before the dome light comes on.

I face him. There’s nothing worse than letting a pissed off Cross think you’re submissive. It gives him power. I can kick his ass, but it’s close. Too close to let him get a head start.

“Hey, Walk,” Cross says. “What’s up, Peck?” He doesn’t wait for their response before setting his sights on me. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.”

He lets his fingertips trail the hood of my car as he walks around it. The squeal of the metal cuts through any hope I had that this conversation could be civil.

“Just got off the phone with Hadley,” he says.

“How is she?”

The question comes out before I can think about it; my inherent need to check on her taking precedence over logic or etiquette. Of course, I shouldn’t ask about her. Not when Cross has that look in his eye.

“Let me tell you something,” Cross says. “I’ve put up with the two of you for years. Practically my entire fucking life. You’re on. You’re off. You love her. You hate her.”

“I’ve never hated her.”

He’s not thrilled with my interruption. “I stay out of it all I can because I love her and I like you. But by God, Mach, when I have to hear her cry, it cuts through me.”

It’s a gamble, a big one, to run my hands over my face. It takes my sight off Cross for more than a half a second. He could fire a punch and, if it hits just right, could knock me on my ass. But it’s a gamble I take because I can’t stand the look in his eye.

“Why do you do it?” he asks. “Why do you fucking humor every fucking whim she has? If you don’t fucking want her, let her fucking be.”

“I do fucking want her,” I tell him.

“Then what the fuck is this?” He holds his hands to his sides. “Because I’m not following you. And God knows she’s not.”

My pulse pounds in my temple, my neck screaming with tension.

“I got in two fights yesterday,” I tell him. “Did you know that?”

“I heard.”

Not what I was expecting. I try again. “I lost the building on Ash.”

“I heard.”

“So … why are you here?” I shout.

He looks at me like I’m not making sense. “Are you fucking stupid?” he bellows.

“No, but I’m starting to think you are.”

Peck is beside us. His hands are in front of him, his back foot planted in case all hell breaks loose. “Listen, guys. Let’s calm down just a second.”

“Fuck it, Peck,” Walker yells from the tractor. “Let ’em fight it out. Maybe Cross will knock some sense into Mach.”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” I shout back.

A wrench rattles off the tractor as Walker throws it to the ground. He storms our way, reminding me of the few memories I had of our father when he was pissed.

I haven’t seen Walker mad like this more than twice in his life, and neither time was at me. I could take him—that I’m sure. But looking at this bull of a man stalk my way is a lot less appetizing than watching Cross get pissed.

Biting my lip, I watch Walker’s face swirl with an anger I’m not comfortable having directed at me.

“Listen, fuckhead. We’re all sick of this shit,” he says.

“You don’t think I am?” I ask. I look at my family, Cross included. “You think this is fun for me?”

“Guess what? Life’s not fun,” Walker says. “But we all manage.”

“And you don’t think I manage? Fuck you, Walk.” My head is going to explode. I know it. I’m going to blow into a million pieces in the middle of this parking lot. “Aren’t you guys hearing me?”

“Loud and clear,” Peck says.

“Then what’s there not to understand?” I ask. “I lost my shit on Spencer Eubanks yesterday and lost a building because he said some shit about underprivileged kids and some things about Had I won’t even touch.” My fists clench at my sides. “He’s alive because Kip walked in.”

“What did he say?” Cross asks.

I laugh angrily. “And then,” I say, giving Cross a look not to push, “Logan Jerrell bled all over my fucking bar last night.” I look at them all one by one. “I’m a mess, you guys. A fucking disaster. Why aren’t you guys telling her to run?” I look at Cross. “Especially you.”

“You know why?” He slips his hands in his pockets. “You know why I’m not telling my little sister to run away from the biggest asshole I’ve ever met?”

“I’d love to know,” I say, my back flexing with pent-up aggression.

He takes a step toward me. “Because you don’t deserve her. She’s way out of your league, Mach.”

“You don’t think I know this?”

“But here’s the thing,” he says. “She deserves you.”

Peck raises a hand. “Excuse me, but I’m not following.” We all look at him. His arm lowers. “Okay. It’s just me. Got it.”

“As I was saying,” Cross says, “Hadley deserves someone who will fight for her. Who isn’t afraid to step up and do what needs to be done to protect her. To shield her from assholes like Spencer and Logan. To love her so fucking much they’d push her away even when it kills them.”

My shoulders drop. If I was a pussy, I’d cry. That heat at the back of your eyes that comes right before tears well up is there.

“Much to my chagrin, that’s you.” Cross takes his hands out of his pockets. “If you aren’t man enough to go after her, then I’ll have to rethink everything I thought I knew about you. Set your goddamn pride to the side and do it, Mach. And if you don’t do it soon, don’t do it at all. Please. Let her go.”

Walker’s boot shuffles across the gravel. “I don’t even know what’s happening right now, but I want to go take apart a large piece of machinery to convince myself I still have balls.”

“Shut up,” Cross says, jabbing Walker in the side.

Walker and Peck walk off, jabbering away about pistons and oil weights. Before I know it, it’s just Cross and me.

“Thanks,” I say. “I mean, I don’t know what to do about any of this, but thanks for what you said.”

He grabs my shoulder and shakes it a little as he walks by. “I don’t want to have to try to kick your ass, but you’re really asking for it.”

With a laugh, I follow him to his truck. “Want to give me a ride to my house? I kind of blew the tire out of the car today doing doughnuts out at Bluebird.”

“I guess.” He grins. “But I’m going to talk the whole way, and you’re gonna listen.”

For some reason, that doesn’t sound as bad as it usually does.

Thirty-Three

Hadley

“I know it sounds like a lot, but it’s not,” Sandy says. “The biggest thing is not to mess with Tom on Fridays. Spending the weekend with his wife stresses him out, so just stay clear.”

“Noted.” I smile at the woman whose position I’m taking at Boseman. “You’ve been so helpful this morning—not only with tips about the processes but also with who’s who. I appreciate it.”

She leans closer. “One more thing. Tricia can be a stick in the mud. So, if you have any of those Not Safe For Work things …” Her eyes widen. “I had a video my friend Jenn sent of this guy who could bend over and give himself a blow job. Let’s just say Tricia didn’t find that as interesting as I did.”

I laugh. “I kind of want to see that video and kind of don’t.”

“Email me your phone number, and I’ll text it to you.” She winks. “Okay. Get settled at your desk. I have a few things I have to wrap up that won’t affect you, and then I’ll be back to grab you for an afternoon experience of the supply closet.”

“Sounds kinky.”

Her laughter follows her down the hall.

My desk sits in a little office off the exam rooms. Since I’m new, I’ll spend less time with the dentists and more time doing paperwork, which is fine by me.

The walls are a bright yellow, amplifying the morning sunlight streaming in the windows. A giant toothbrush sits across the front of the desk with a smiley face and a silly grin that reminds me of Peck.

I grab my purse from the chair by the door. My phone is lying on top of my wallet, and I take it out and hit the home key.

My stomach falls to my feet.

One missed call. From Machlan.

It was over an hour ago, and there’s no voicemail. When the screen falls asleep, I wake it up to see his name again.

My thumb rests on the screen as if it’ll bring me closer to him. That’s where I want to be. With him. But as my heart softens to the idea of calling him back, the start of a pimple on my cheek takes the opportunity to burn. It reminds me of crying all day yesterday. Of going to bed without washing my face. Of waking up with pizza sauce in the corner of my mouth and doughnut icing on my shirt.

As much as I want to hear his voice, what I really want is resolution. What I need is to be able to wake up in the morning and start the day without wondering if he’ll call.

The chair squeaks as I sit down. My purse hits the floor. I rest my forearms on my desk and open the phone.

I find Machlan’s name and let my fingers fly.

Hey, Mach. I saw you called. Look, I’m sorry about everything this weekend. I hate that all that went down, and you got punched. I take responsibility for that. I shouldn’t have been there.

I hope you’re good. I hope you’re always good. I apologize for trying to give you everything of me before asking if you wanted it. I shouldn’t have assumed or hoped or whatever it was. I’ve tried to hold your hand so many times, and you keep letting go. I get it now.

I’ll be in town to visit Cross and maybe even Nana from time to time, and I hope if we see each other, we can wave and be friendly. I don’t hate you. I’ve loved you too long to ever hate you.

Take care of yourself. Stop chewing if you can. And don’t leave that plug-in turned on if you don’t refill the scented oil because it’ll burn your house to the ground and that worries the shit out of me.

Please don’t text me back. Don’t call. Everything is fine between us. I just can’t.

Xo

I snap my phone shut and put it back in my bag.

* * *

Machlan

I am not going to look and see if she called me back.

The grilled cheese grew cold twenty minutes ago, but I take a bite anyway. It’s not melty anymore.

“She’s probably at work,” I tell myself, sliding the sandwich in the trash.

I rinse the plate. In the dishwasher, it goes.

She actually left. I gave her some space before heading to the apartment last night, and when I found it empty, a piece of me died.

My fingers strum against the counter as I look at the doorway leading into the hallway which leads into the bedroom where my phone sits.

Hands in my hair, I pace a circle around the multicolored rug that looks like a kid made it with pieces of rolled-up fabric. Kallie called it a Jelly Roll rug when she was here with Cross. I’ve spent more time today studying the different colors than any adult should ever spend.

I haven’t slept, and that isn’t helping anything. There’s more coffee in my system than blood. I feel like one of those little dogs that runs laps through your house, sliding around corners and slipping into doors because they can’t even slow down to a walk.

It took all day yesterday to concentrate on what Cross had to say. It wasn’t until nightfall that I accepted he wouldn’t say anything just to make me feel better. That he must have meant what he said. At least to some degree.

And then during the night, after the infomercial about waterproof tape, I was able to mellow out enough to absorb it. And at some point as the sun came up, I realized he was right. Mostly.

I stop walking. There’s an itch at the back of my neck, an urgency rushing through my body.

Hadley deserves someone who will fight for her. Cross’s words creep through my mind.

I’ve fought for a lot of things in my life, for Hadley’s honor even, but I’ve never fought for her.

I jog down the hallway. My keys are on the table by the door, and I scoop them up. My hands shake, the keys jingling in my palm, as I search for my phone.

She’s fought for me her entire life, and I’ve let her go every damn time.

Except this one.

A zip of fear like I’ve never felt before swamps me, but it doesn’t stop me. It motivates me to hurry. To hustle. To get to her and fix this bullshit before it’s too late.

If anyone is going to love Hadley, it might as well be me. I’d die for that girl with no questions asked. I’d rob a bank to make her dreams come true. I’d prune the rose bushes and buy all the fizzy bath shit if it made her smile only for a second.

Hadley loves me. Why, I don’t know. How, I’m not sure. But she does. She’d have to if she’s still coming around. And even though it terrifies me to think I’ll fuck something up with her, I’m already doing that by not just loving her back.

My phone isn’t on the couch.

“Damn it,” I hiss. Turning around, I jog to my room and swipe the phone from where I tossed it on the bed. It springs to life.

I stop.

I open Hadley’s text.

I read the words in her voice—not the one she used last night at Crave, but the one she used when she told me she was leaving. The one she used right before I told her to drive carefully.

“No …” My head goes side to side as I take in her words, skimming over them on the first read and then starting over again as a form of torture. “Had. No.”

She can’t mean this. Not now.

Tears wet my eyes as I toss my phone back on the bed. It lands on the spot where she slept, the spot where I laid last night when I tried to sleep. The spot where I held her when she was sleeping and promised her I’d always be here for her.

A lump sits in my throat. My chest burns, the pain encompassing every part of me. I’ve never felt something this severe, something that literally feels like I’m going to die.

Thirty-Four

Machlan

“What the fuck?”

I sit up in my bed.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Something is pounding somewhere, and I’m not sure if it’s just in my head or if I’m really hearing it.

My head is foggy as I try to sort through fact and fiction.

The light coming through the bedroom windows touches the door to the closet, and that only happens when it’s after four o’clock this time of year. I know that because I leave for the bar around four. As I’m walking out of my closet after I change into my work clothes, the sun is usually hitting me in the face.

“What time is it?” I ask out loud.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I stand, my legs heavy, and I glance at the clock. It’s 4:16 in the afternoon.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

My phone is lying on the bed, and I grab it. It’s dead.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Fuck,” I hiss.

Running a hand through my hair, trying to figure out how in the hell I’m asleep in the middle of the fucking afternoon, I head down the hallway.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Machlan! Open this goddamn door!” Peck’s voice is almost shrill. “Fucking hell, Mach! Open up!”

“For fuck’s sake.” I pull the door open. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

His face is pale. “Mach. It’s Nana.”

“It’s Nana, what?”

“Sienna went by to take her some muffins and found her in her chair.” His voice breaks. “Come on. They just took her by ambulance to the hospital.”

* * *

I look at the clock. “You’d think they’d have some information by now.”

My entire body hurts. The chairs in the waiting room don’t help, but the drain of energy is what kills me. I’ve paced. I’ve prayed. I’ve berated us all for not taking better care of her.

Lance’s head hangs. “What are we gonna do if something happens to her?”

“Don’t talk like that,” Peck says. “She’ll be fine.” He works his bottom lip between his teeth, an empty coffee cup in his hands. “She has to be.”

“Did you call your brother?” Walker looks at Peck. “I know there’s nothing he can do, but someone needs to tell him.”

Peck nods. “Yeah. I called Vincent on my way to Machlan’s. I told him I'd keep him posted.” He dangles the cup between his legs. “He was supposed to come home last month. He was gonna bring Sawyer to see Nana and surprise everyone, but Sawyer got sick and then Vincent got busy at work, and he just didn’t make it happen.”

“He needs to make it happen,” I say. “When’s the last time he’s been here?”

“Christmas. I think,” Peck replies. “But it’s not easy having a kid and being on your own. He does the best he can.”

I nod, looking at the floor. Peck is right. Vincent is a hell of a father to his kid. I’m just pissed off.

We sit quietly, the only sound coming from a cable news program on a television hanging precariously from the ceiling. I studied it earlier in-depth to take my mind off what’s happening here.

“Blaire is on her way down,” Lance says, looking at his phone. “She just sent me a text.”

Walker gets to his feet and heads to the vending machine. He doesn’t buy anything. Just looks.

I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes, imagining I’m at home and in bed, and Hadley is there at my side.

There’s an unsent text in my phone to Had. I’ve gone back and forth in the three hours we’ve been here about calling her or texting her to let her know about Nana. I told Cross in a quick outburst on the way over, but he was a couple of hours away at some boxing clinic and promised he’d come by as soon as he got back to town.

She wanted space. Does this count? Or is this something I should tell her?

My lungs threaten to collapse.

I have no fucking idea, and I have no one to ask. It just feels like bullshit.

I stand but sit again.

I rough my hands down my pants.

I stand again and pace a small circle, ignoring my brothers’ sideways glances.

I sit again.

What the fuck do I do?

I want her to want to know. I want her to be here, holding my hand, waiting for the doctor. I want to wipe her tears if she’s sad and buy her cookies from the vending machine if she hasn’t eaten.

I’m in a room surrounded by my family and a few people who are waiting on people of their own, but I couldn’t be more alone. They aren’t mine. They have people waiting on them, lives to go to, things to live for. And I don’t.

I can’t even text her.

I lost her.

I finally fucked up in the greatest way possible.

My hand grips my stomach as pain rips its way through.

“The Gibson family?” A doctor in light blue scrubs and a clipboard stands in the doorway.

We all spring to our feet. Walker walks toward him. “That’s us. Do you know anything? How is she?”

“Follow me.”

We scurry after him down a long hall and into a room not quite big enough for all of us to fit comfortably. We watch the doctor sit on a stool.

“I’m Dr. Moore,” he says. “Mrs. Gibson is your grandmother? Is that correct?”

“Yes,” we all say.

“And who might be the decision maker?”

“Blaire,” I say. “Our sister. She’s on her way from Chicago.”

He scribbles on the clipboard. “Very well.” He sets the pen down. “Your grandmother has had a myocardial infarction, or a heart attack, as it’s commonly called.”

“Is she going to be okay?” I ask.

“The blockages appear to be partial, which is a good thing,” he says. “She’s resting now. We’ve given her some medications to calm her down, and I expect she’ll be out of it for a while, if not most of the night. She took a bit of a beating today.”

I sag against the wall. “Can we see her?”

“When she wakes up, you can. But as I said, that likely won’t be for a while. In the meantime, we’re going to send her charts to a cardiologist and see if we can get him in here first thing in the morning. He’ll take over her case and put together the best game plan going forward.”

“But she’s going to live, right?” Peck asks.

“Right now, she’s stable,” the doctor says. “Her vitals are good, and from the information we had on file from Dr. Burns’ office, she seems to be fairly healthy. I have hope, but as I tell all my patients, I’m not God. I can’t guarantee anything.”

Walker stands and extends a hand. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“You’re welcome. You should get some rest. She’s going to be counting on you in the days and weeks ahead. Remember that. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

With a final nod of his head, he’s out the door.

A collective exhale rattles the room as we look at each other.

“I’m not leaving,” I say. “You guys do what you want, but I’m staying.”

“Me too,” Peck says quietly.

Walker clamps a hand on Peck’s shoulder. “I’ll head back to Crank and lock up. I’m not even sure we locked the damn doors.” He looks at Lance. “And you look like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” Lance admits. “I think I got Mariah’s flu.”

“You go home,” Walker commands.

“No. I’m fine. I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna go home.” Walker narrows his eyes. “If something happens, someone will call you. But you’re doing no one any good sitting around here feeling like crap. Get some rest. Get some food. And when she wakes up, and we can see her, we’ll let you know.”

Lance looks at the rest of us. “You guys sure?”

“Yeah. Go home,” I say.

Peck nods.

Lance stands, still unsure.

“When you come back, bring us some food, okay?” I ask, figuring it’ll give him something to focus on. “A burger is fine. Whatever.”

“Okay.”

Walker guides Lance toward the door. Before he leaves, he stops. “I’ll be back soon. Call me if anything happens.”

“We will,” Peck says. “Hey, make sure I turned off the parts cleaner. I think I left it on.” He rubs his forehead. “I’m not sure.”

Walker nods and disappears out the door.

I pull out my phone and look at the unsent text to Hadley. My thumb hovers over the green button to send it.

“We probably need to go back to the waiting room,” Peck says.

With a final, lingering look at my phone, I shove it back in my pocket. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Thirty-Five

Machlan

The waiting room on the fifth floor is quiet. An older woman was in here earlier but left a couple of hours ago. Peck sits next to me with his feet straight out and hat over his face.

Walker left around midnight after we promised we’d call for the millionth time. Blaire got stuck in traffic and didn’t get in until Walker got home and went there to get a couple of hours sleep. There was nothing she could do here anyway.

I yawn, but sleep won’t come. When I try, all I get is nightmares of Nana being alone in her chair having a heart attack or Hadley’s voice telling me not to call her again.

I’ve almost lost them both in the matter of a few hours. My grip on reality wavers.

Someone turned the lights down a while ago. I turned the television off when they started jabbering about politics.

Fuck that.

I yawn again, and this time, I close my eyes. It’s Hadley’s voice I hear, but I try to imagine her laughter instead. My lips part into a smile. The stress on my shoulders starts to melt away just a little as I live in a fantasy world.

“Gibson family?” The door to the waiting area cracks a little more. A nurse is standing in the stream of light coming from the hall behind her. “Is the Gibson family here?”

“Yeah.” I nudge Peck as I sit upright. “That’s us.”

“She’s awake. You aren’t really supposed to go in at this hour, as visiting hours were over at eight this evening, but we’ll make an exception for a few minutes if you’d like to peek in and say hello.”

“We would,” Peck says.

We follow her down a long corridor and then through the double doors labeled Intensive Care Unit in bright red letters.

My heart beats so hard I swear Peck can hear it as we walk side by side down the hall. The shuffling of papers and the constant yet inconsistent sound of machines beeping keep the air from feeling as stuffy as it smells.

The nurse sticks her head in the room before motioning for us to go in. I make Peck go first.

“Hey,” he says before I can see her. “How ya feeling, Nana?”

I step around the curtain, and my heart sinks.

She’s so pale with an oxygen tube under her nose and various monitors attached to her chest and arms. Her eyes show the strain she’s under.

I grip the side of her bed. She reaches for my hand but can’t move for all the wires, so I reach out and touch hers instead. She squeezes me for all she’s worth.

Peck takes her other hand.

“Nana,” I say, choking back a sob. “What the fuck?”

She tries to shake my hand in an attempt to quiet me. “Stop that.”

Peck and I look at each other and laugh quietly. He brushes away a tear from under his eye.

“If you wanted Blaire to visit, I’m sure you could’ve called,” Peck says. “This was a little dramatic.”

Nana furrows a brow. “Blaire? Here?”

“She’s at Walker’s,” I tell her. “They won’t let any of us in until morning. Well, they let Peck and me come see you for a few because we’re ridiculously handsome …” I grin as she tries to laugh. “Everyone will be here in the morning. They’ve all been worried sick about you.”

She tries to talk, but her throat is too dry.

“Get her water,” Peck says. “Beside you. On the tray.”

I grab a pink pitcher and pour some water in a cup. There’s a straw on the tray, so I add it. Bringing it to Nana’s lips, I help her take a drink.

“Ah,” she mumbles, relaxing back against the pillows. “That’s better.” Her voice is hoarse. “Did you boys have dinner?”

“Will you stop it?” Peck sighs. “You’re in the hospital, and you’re worrying if we’ve eaten.”

“That’s my job,” she says. “You’re getting a little thin.”

“Better get out of here and make me a cheeseball then,” he jokes. “How do you feel? Honestly?”

She considers this. “Like I had a heart attack, I reckon.” She turns to look at me. “Want to explain why you look like you’ve been in a fight?”

I hang my head. “Can we do this later?”

Thankfully, the nurse pokes her head around the curtain. “We doing okay in here?”

I nod. I try to smile but can’t. I can’t find the fucks to pretend everything is fine. It’s not.

I want to scream we almost lost our nana. That the fact we’re even here means we aren’t okay.

“Good,” she says. “Can I get one of you to come here for a minute? I need a signature on a couple of forms.”

“My sister is the power-of-attorney,” I volunteer. “She’ll be here in the morning.”

“That’s fine. If I can get someone to just sign that I gave you these forms, that’s all I need tonight.”

Peck looks at me. “I’ll go.” He brings Nana’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss on her knuckles. “I love you.”

“And I love you, baby. See you in the morning, all right?”

Peck nods. With a look my way, he disappears into the hallway.

“So …” I blow out a breath. “I’m trying to decide if you’re moving in with me or if I’m moving in with you.”

She smacks my hand, but it lacks the gusto of her usual admonishments. “You stop that.”

“Me stop? You sat in a chair and had a heart attack. You’re lucky Sienna stopped by.”

She looks at me. “She did? I don’t remember that.”

“That’s what I heard. Peck came and got me.” I grab a chair beside her IV pole and pull it to the side of her bed. “Do you remember anything?”

“No. The last thing I remember was watching my soap operas. Skylar just found out Octavia had his babies and fled the country.”

“Who’s Skylar?”

“On my show,” she says. “It’s a good one.”

“I bet,” I say, making a face.

She swats me again. This time, she grabs my hand again and holds it in hers. “I want to talk to you.”

The way she says that has my stomach turning inside out. I run my free hand down my pants. “About what?”

“First, we will talk about that black eye.” She winces. “You haven’t looked like this in a long time.”

“Please. Let’s not. Another day, we can talk about it, but I can’t today.”

She looks at me carefully, then nods. “I had a dream the other night,” she says. “I was at a wedding. It was beautiful. Pink flowers and green grass—I think it was outside.”

“Lance?”

“No. You.”

My heart sinks. It’s salt in a wound, an ass fucking with no lube. It hurts, and it’s raw, and if I wasn’t in a hospital, I might yelp from the pain of it all.

“Sorry,” I say. “Not happening for me anytime soon.”

“And why is that?”

I shrug, looking at the window blinds.

“I’m going to tell you something that might make you mad. Or it might upset you, and if it does, I’m sorry, sweet boy. But if I die tonight—”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’ll die at some point, Machlan.”

I look at her. “Can you get on with it and leave out the dying shit.”

She sighs. “I’ve let this go as long as I can. And if I don’t say something, and God forbid, something happens to me, I’ll roll in my grave over and over.”

The beeping of the machines pierces the air, suddenly louder than they were before. I watch Nana fight to find the words.

“We can talk about this later,” I offer, shifting in my seat.

“No, we can’t.” She takes a deep breath. “I know you had a baby with Hadley.”

My blood runs cold. I try to slip my hand out of hers, but she hangs on for all she’s worth.

I shiver, the words resting heavily on my already battered heart. I can’t look at her and see the disappointment I know will be there. I can’t do it. Not tonight.

“Nana …”

“Something came in the mail while you were in Ohio. It was during that one month out of your whole life when I couldn’t get a hold of you.”

I nod, remembering that month specifically. I couldn’t call her back. I didn’t want to lie to her, and I didn’t want her to hear the stress in my voice because she’d know something was wrong.

“Your mail was forwarded to me, and I opened it by accident,” she says softly. “I’m sorry, Machlan.”

I can’t do this. Not today. Not after everything else.

“Nana, I love you, but I can’t.” My voice is as raw as my insides.

She winces as she moves until she’s comfortable. “I can’t imagine how hard that was for you.”

Staring through the blinds at the lights below, I feel detached from reality. As though this isn’t happening. As though I’m going to wake up and the past few days will be a nightmare.

“I’m not gonna lie,” she says. “The fact you never told me broke my heart.”

I can’t look at her. I stare straight ahead and grip the arm of the chair with my left hand while she holds the right.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me something like this? Why wouldn’t you let me help you?”

I force a swallow. “It wasn’t your responsibility.”

“No, but that doesn’t mean you can’t rely on other people to help you. At least help you make the decision.” She squeezes my hand again. “The part that kills me the most is thinking of you and Hadley alone. It breaks my heart.”

Her body shakes as she cries. I stand and bend over the rail and hug her, her tears pressing into my shirt.

Tears well up in my eyes, too, as I hug her.

“I’m sorry, Nana,” I say.

She pats my back and pulls away. I hand her a tissue, and she blots her eyes.

“I called you the night I got that letter,” she says quietly. “And there was a resolution in your voice. For the first time, you sounded like a man. And I realized you were going to be okay. And you’d make sure Hadley was too.”

Her eyes are crystal clear as she watches me.

“You made the hardest decision a parent can ever make,” she says.

“I’m not a parent,” I tell her. “I couldn’t do it.”

“You don’t love that baby? Right now, your heart isn’t full of love for that child?”

I look at the ground, fighting the bubble of emotion from spilling in the room. “Of course,” I say, sounding hoarse. “Of course I love her.”

“That’s what makes you a parent, Machlan. Your love for that child. A girl?”

I nod.

“I bet she was beautiful,” she says, wistfully. “I want you to know something. You didn’t think of yourself. You didn’t take the easy road out. You put that child and what was best for her over everything else and that’s commendable.”

“It feels like the easy way out sometimes,” I admit.

“Easy? I beg to differ, sweetheart. Most people couldn’t do what you and Hadley did. You two loved that baby more than you loved yourselves. A lot of people would’ve kept the child out of pride or some sense of obligation. You made a very grown-up decision at a time when you weren’t one.”

Something stirs deep inside my gut, maybe even my soul, as I sit on that plastic hospital chair.

“Where’s Hadley now?” Nana asks.

I shake my head.

“I see. You need to fix that,” she says.

“What if I can’t?”

“You have to. You want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll never look at another woman like you do her. You look at her like your granddad looked at me. Like Walker looks at Sienna. Like Peck looks at a cheeseball.”

I laugh softly, before feeling the heaviness of this again. I look at my grandmother. “She told me not to call her.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she did because she’s stopped expecting anything different out of you. When’s the last time you went after her?”

I shrug, avoiding her gaze.

“She won’t come back this time, honey, unless you go get her. She’s not a little girl anymore. She’s smart as a whip. Strong. A beautiful woman and if you don’t give her something to believe in, she’ll stop trying to believe in anything at all.”

I pull my hand away. “I don’t think she’ll talk to me.”

“On the phone, probably not. And if you let her leave, she shouldn’t answer it.” She tries to point her finger at me, but the cords stop it. “Go to her. Now. What time is it?”

“It’s late,” I say. Even as I say it, I’m math-ing how much time it would take to get to Vigo and what my odds are that she’ll call the police. “What if she makes me leave?”

“Play it by ear. But if you don’t go, it’ll be the first time in your life you’ve disappointed me.”

There are so many more things I want to say. Things I want to ask. Things I want to get to the bottom of. But as I look at her and see the sparkle in her eye, I realize she needs this with Hadley as much as I do.

Or close.

“Nana,” I say, leaning over the bedside rail. “I gotta go.”

I kiss her cheek. She cups the side of my face and pats it gently.

“Tell her how much you love her,” Nana advises. “Give it all you’ve got. This is your chance. You might not get another one.”

“I love you,” I tell her. “I love you so goddamn much.”

She looks at the ceiling as a machine starts beeping. “Get out of here before you give me another heart attack with that mouth.”

I walk backward toward the door. “Not cool, Nana. Not cool.”

“Go.” She chuckles, shooing me out.

Peck is at the doorway when I turn around. “Go. I got this under control.”

“I owe you one.”

“Just wipe my tab.” He laughs. “Now get to Hadley before Logan does.” He holds his hands up. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.”

I’m not.

With a spark in my step, I jog down the hall and through the double doors.

Thirty-Six

Hadley

The paragraph starts to blur. Instead of putting the reading device down and turning off the light to try to sleep, I yawn.

Sleep is unattainable. My body refuses to rest, and my brain certainly won’t shut off.

I try to re-read the chapter I’ve been on for over an hour, but it still doesn’t make sense. I don’t know what’s not to understand about a couple having dinner and falling in love, but it’s not landing.

Laying the device against my chest, the screen warm against my T-shirt, I close my eyes.

Machlan’s smiling face is what I see, the default go-to of my tired brain. There were so many new experiences today at work that I should be focusing on. That I should want to focus on. This is what I’ve wanted—to start fresh.

But I’m not. I still see him.

I wonder how long it’ll take to stop thinking of him every ten seconds. How long does it take to stop a habit you’ve had for most of your life? Probably longer than two days. Maybe even two years. But at least there’s an end in sight.

When I open my eyes, only a minute has passed.

Ripping off the blankets, I swing over the side, and my feet hit the carpeted floor. I pad through the bedroom into the darkened living room. I pause at a window and peer into the starless night sky.

Somewhere out there is Machlan. And with him is a piece of my heart I’ll never get back. I don’t even want it back. I gave it to him willingly. It belongs with him. I just have to figure out how to live without a whole heart.

“Stop it,” I chastise myself.

I step into the kitchen and flip on the light. I’m reminded of the night making grilled cheese with Mach and how he cut them into four little squares like a madman instead of in half diagonally. I can’t fight the grin that comes with the memory or the way my heart feels like it bleeds a little.

As I turn to open the fridge, a thud rumbles through the air. It’s a low-frequency sound. I almost feel it more than I hear it. My hand freezes midair as I listen.

A neighbor’s dog barks, and I’m suddenly hyper-alert. Something jingles. Shoes scrape against the concrete porch. What has to be a flower pot falling from its perch on the little stand by the front door rings out like a bell.

“Oh, my God,” I mutter.

I look through the dark living room to my bedroom. My phone is on my bedside table. My heart pounds in my chest, my breathing so quick I’m afraid whoever is lurking around can hear it.

I tiptoe to the doorway. The darkness of the living room sets off a shot of panic as I suddenly feel exposed. It’s common knowledge if you stand in the light and someone else is standing in the dark, they can see you, but you can’t see them.

I flick the light off.

The only light now comes from the little piece of glass at the top of the front door to my right. It’s an orange glow from the streetlight outside. The trees move, casting shadows through the foyer, and I tell myself not to panic. Panicked women die. I also remember vaguely to scream fire and not help because no one will help unless it’s a fire. I read that somewhere once.

As soon as my foot hits the floor of the living room, a soft knock raps against the front door. I dash into my bedroom and leap from the doorway onto the bed as if it’s a safe zone of some kind.

My heart pounds, white noise rushing by my ears. My body trembles as if I’m cold as I grab my phone off the nightstand. My finger goes to the emergency call when I look at the locked screen.

Machlan:Hey. If you’re awake, will you let me in?

Another knock rolls through the house.

My stomach flips.

I can’t breathe.

Maybe I read that wrong.

Machlan:It’s me. I’m at your front door.

Tears well despite my best efforts tonight to rein them in.

I want to run to the door and rip it open because he came. But, then again, I want to tell him to fuck off and stop this madness.

I can’t do that. Even I know that.

Machlan:Please let me in, Had.

There’s no way this is real.

I pinch a piece of flesh on the inside of my thigh. “Shit!” I hiss, shaking my leg.

Machlan:Please.

I climb off the bed. My phone still tucked in my hand, my legs wobbling beneath me, I walk through the house.

An eerie silence settles over me. I don’t check my ponytail or look in the mirror for any sleep in my eyes. I just flip on the light in the foyer.

Everything stills inside my body. My hand completely level as I reach for the handle.

“Who is it?” I say, just in case.

“Machlan.”

His voice hits me right in the heart. I look at the ceiling as I open the door and will myself to stay strong. When I look down at him, I almost break.

Dark circles make his brown eyes look hollow. His bottom lip is cracked, and a slight bruise sits on top of his cheekbone on the right side. His hair sticks out everywhere, a hat not to be found.

He tries to smile, but it’s like he doesn’t have the energy for it. “You have other guys coming by this time of night?”

It’s an ode to a few days ago when he would come to the apartment above Crave and give me hell. It seems like ages ago.

“What do you want, Mach?”

“Can I come in?”

I lean against the door. It’s not a quick drive here, and it’s almost three in the morning. It would be rude not to invite him in, but if I do, I’m just screwing myself.

“Why are you here?” I ask. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I needed to see you.”

My heart skips a beat. “You could’ve called.”

“I did.” His smile fades. “You told me not to call you back.”

“And that made you think it was okay to show up?”

My hands itch to reach for him, my arms begging to hold him. He looks so tired, so sad, that all I want to do is make him feel better. But if I do that, who is going to put me back together?

I’ll just be sucked into a never-ending cycle, and I’m too tired for it. I can’t anymore.

“I’ve had a long day,” he says, his voice gruff. He runs his hands down his face, blowing out a breath. When he looks at me again, he’s resolved. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I ask.

“Where do I start?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one that showed up here.” The longer I look at him, the quicker my determination to keep him away melts.

His stomach growls. He frowns. “As I said, it’s been a long night.”

The neighbor’s dog starts barking again, and a light comes on in the house beside me. As much as I know I shouldn’t I give in, I can’t screw up everyone’s night because of this.

“Fine. Come in.” I pull open the door and step to the side. Before he can reach for me, which I’m fairly certain he’s about to do, I head to the kitchen and flip on a light.

He sits at the table without being asked. His clothes are wrinkled, his shoulders sagging. He looks like hell.

I grab a couple of pieces of pizza from the fridge, pop them on a paper plate, and shove them in the microwave. “What’s going on? I have to work in the morning,” I say.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “There’s something I’ve never said to you that I need to say.”

The microwave buzzes. I take out the plate and hand it to him. He sits it on the table without even looking at it.

“I don’t want to be nice to you,” I say. “I just can’t take people being hungry.”

He searches my eyes. A small smile touches his slightly swollen lips. “I love you, Hadley.”

My insides shake as I stare at him. “No, Mach. Don’t do this,” I say, backing away. “Please, don’t do this.”

Tears fill my eyes—years’ worth of emotions springing forward. He’s a blur in front of me. An unmoving, quiet mess of a vision that I can’t deal with right now.

“I’m going to bed,” I say. “Let yourself out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

I look at the ceiling as the tears drip down my face. “Why do you do this to me? Why can’t you just let me be?”

“You want to know why? I’ll tell you why.” He walks across the room until he’s in front of me. “I might’ve thought I fought for you our whole life. Hell, I got into two fights a couple of days ago over you. Both of them,” he says, his voice rushed. “But I was wrong, Had.”

I look into his face—his handsome, grief-stricken face. My distrust of him is at odds with the earnestness of his voice. I want to believe him. It would be so easy to. And really, he probably means it. But will he mean it tomorrow? Or the day after that? And the day after that?

It takes everything I have to tell him to go. “I need you to leave.”

“No. I’m fighting for us now,” he says, resting his hand on my arm.

“I’ve fought for you over and over, and you push me away every time.”

He nods. “I know. I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Mach …” My voice is full of tears, both shed and unshed. I don’t even try to stop them because it would be futile.

“When I look at you, I don’t just see the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I see the next sixty years of my life.”

My breathing hiccups as I try to keep my emotions contained. They spill over my walls like a tropical storm that hits out of nowhere.

My heart breaks from the pain in his face and the loneliness in mine. But if I fix one, it’ll only exacerbate the other. If I hold him, it’ll hurt that much more tomorrow when he leaves. And if I make him leave, it’ll add more pain to him tonight.

For the first time in my life, since the day he walked in while I was sorting clothes, I pick me.

“I’m so glad you’ve come to this realization, but it’s too late,” I say, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

“It’s never too late.”

“Why is this supposed to matter to me now?” I ask, feeling engulfed in a situation I couldn’t manage before. “What caused this change of heart?”

A sadness drifts across his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does. Because all of a sudden I’m going to be okay and here you are.” I shake my head. “I’m out. I’ve tried. I’ve fought for you until I can’t fight anymore. I don’t want to.”

“Give me one more chance,” he says.

“Why? What will be so different this time?” I throw up my hands. “You’re only here because I stopped chasing you. You knew I was serious, so you had to run me down and keep me in the loop.”

“You seriously think that?”

“I don’t know,” I say, my anger getting the best of me. “What will stop you from not telling me about things you tell Navie about? Because you told her about Spencer before you told me, didn’t you?”

His face falls.

I laugh at how betrayed I feel. “Just go.”

“I’m not leaving.”

I’m too tired to fight. Too broken to argue. I have to work in a few hours, and I’ll be damned if he’s going to ruin that too.

I turn around and head to my bedroom. “If you need to sleep, do it on the sofa. But be gone before I get up.”

There’s no way I can look at him. So I don’t.

Leaving him standing in the middle of the living room, I take my tear-stricken face into my room, close the door, and lock it. I climb into bed, pull the covers up, and cry myself to sleep.

Thirty-Seven

Machlan

I haven’t moved.

The sun started to come up a half hour ago, filling the little living room with a subdued light. It’s a cloudy day from the looks of it, and that’s fitting.

Her things are scattered around, many of them things I can place. I know where she got the little picture frame that holds a picture of her and Cross on the mantle, and the vase sitting on the little shelf was a Water Festival purchase the year we had our daughter.

I’ve mostly stared at her bedroom door all night and told myself I can’t go in there. I can’t bust it down even though I could with probably nothing more than a hard hit of my shoulder. I don’t even get up to find the bathroom in case she comes out. I want her to see I’m still here when she does.

I’ll be here forever.

Peck has sent me a few texts, letting me know Nana will have more tests today. She fell asleep right after I left, and he sent a few pictures of himself in the waiting room in various precarious positions. It helped what was left of the night pass.

Blowing out a breath, I fight to stay awake. I’m drained. Utterly and completely drained. It would be easy to rest my head against the sequined pillow that spells Hello when you run your hand over it and fall asleep.

But I don’t.

A soft rummaging comes from the other side of the six-paneled door. My phone chirps and my attention is pulled between it and Hadley’s room.

Taking it out of my pocket, I see a text from Peck.

Peck:All good here. Lance got here first thing with Blaire. You sure she isn’t a doctor?

Me:Tell her not to piss anyone off until I get there.

Peck:Too late. LOL

I laugh, shaking my head.

Me:I’ll be there as soon as I can. Keep me posted.

“What’s so funny?” Hadley asks.

My head snaps up. I get to my feet like a stumbling idiot.

She looks beautiful with her sleepy eyes and messy hair, despite the glare she’s shooting my way. It’s a good thing I see through it.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Why are you still here?”

“I told you I wasn’t leaving.” I shrug.

She breezes by me. “I have to work today. Please don’t fuck up my head and cost me my job.”

I stifle my usual reaction of saying something asshole-ish. She’s going to do what she wants. I might as well get used to this since I’m in it for the long haul.

“Go to work,” I say, following her. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“No, Mach.” She spins on her heel. “Why won’t you just leave?”

“You wanna know why?” I move across the kitchen until I’m standing in front of her. Her cheeks are tear-stained, her lips plump from crying. She’s so goddamn pretty. “I’m not leaving because you never left me.”

“Until I did. And now, all of a sudden, you’re here. Typical you.”

I grab an orange out of a bowl on the table and peel it. She rolls her eyes and starts to make coffee.

I have no idea how this is going to work or what will happen if she does take a long time to give in. She is as stubborn as me. Who will run Crave? I have no clothes. I have to check on Nana.

But as she turns around and puts a hand on her lip, I realize I’ll figure it out. She’s the top of the totem pole. She’s the only thing that really matters right now.

“I’ll make dinner while you’re at work,” I offer. “Want anything in particular?”

The Keurig latch slams in place. “I have dinner plans tonight.”

“Oh, really? With who?” I shove two orange segments into my mouth, so I can’t say anything stupid because she’s about to. I can see it on her face.

“Samuel.” She fires a challenge in my direction, and it lands. Hard.

My insides burn as I struggle not to let her see my fury. I chew the fruit slowly, considering my response. By the time I swallow, she’s irritated.

“You can bring him by here,” I say, the fruit adding to the acid in my stomach. “I’ll make enough for all three of us.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t blame you. I’d hate me if I were you until I realized how much I saw the error of my ways.”

She takes her coffee cup from the machine. “You can’t see the error of your ways because you’re always right. The all-knowing. The one who gets to decide everyone’s fate.”

I grab her elbow and spin her around. The coffee sloshes around the mug but doesn’t spill. She gasps for breath as she looks at me.

“I was wrong. Okay? I thought I was helping you by just taking me off your plate so you could walk away. That’s stupid. I see it now.”

“Totally stupid.”

“I know. And if I’m being honest, I pushed you away for me too. Because if you weren’t here and a witness to my failures, then that was a little easier. And it was easier not to have to think I tainted you with my shortcomings.”

“You don’t think I know your shortcomings?” she asks. “I know your failures better than anyone, Mach. And there are a lot of them. But I have a lot of them too,” she adds.

She sets the coffee down but doesn’t take her eyes off me.

“We’re both imperfect, Mach. We’ve both made mistakes in our lives. But the thing is, I try not to repeat them. You’re hell-bent on doing them over and over.”

“Until now.”

“Which is a miracle I can’t believe.” She raises a brow. “Look, Mach—”

“Listen to me,” I say, reaching for her hand. I’m surprised she lets me have it. “I love you. I’m so fucking in love with you it scares the shit out of me, okay? What if something happens to you?”

A knowing look flickers through her eyes. “You weren’t responsible for what happened to your parents, Machlan.”

“I know. I do,” I say when I see she’s about to argue with me. “I know shit happens. But look at what happened to me in the wake of all that. Do you know what would happen to me if something happened to you? I’d die, Had. I’d fucking die.”

My voice wobbles as I hope she gets it.

“Something does happen to me every time you don’t love me back. I die.” She smiles sadly. “You can’t control everything. Being alone doesn’t make you impenetrable.”

“If I’ve learned anything over the past few days, it’s that I can’t control jack shit. Trust me. And half the things I think I know, I don’t. The only thing I know for sure is that you love me, and I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch for that.”

I think back to my talk with Nana and the things Cross said. I take Hadley’s other hand in mine. The feeling of her palms in mine, the softness of her skin, the fact that she’s still here when she shouldn’t be has a tear trickling down my cheek.

“You’re the smartest person I know. You’re the strongest person I know. You’re the most patient and kind and thoughtful person I’ve ever met,” I say. “So, I’m going to give you all the facts and let you decide what you want. And whatever that is, I’ll respect it.”

She seems amused by this, which is fine. I am too.

The truth is, I need her to choose me. I need her to look at me like a baby standing in front of her and still decide I’m the right choice. I need her to choose me and forever with me.

My heart pounds, my palms sweat as I look at her.

“Okay,” she says. “Shoot. What are my options?”

Her hands relax, and her fingers lace with mine. I’m not sure she realizes she’s doing it.

“I promise not to let my shit get in the way of you and me. And if I start to do it, I want you to call me out on it, which I know you’ll hate doing.”

She pretends to consider this.

I take a deep, shaky breath.

“I’ll just … I’ll love you. And I’ll take your love, which is hard for me because I start overthinking everything and …”

She places a hand over my mouth and takes a step toward me. The jade flecks shine like the stars on a clear night, and I want to kiss her like she needs to be kissed. But I can’t. Not yet.

I’m going to spell it out, bare it all, and if she says yes, I’m all in. I’ll be in so far she won’t know what hit her.

“I want to grow old with you,” I whisper as she drops her hands. “I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up with you curled up against me, making me too hot. I want to fix you grilled cheese when I come home from the bar and hold you when you have a bad day.”

“I want you to hold me when I have good days, too.”

My heart beats a mile a minute. “I love you more, Hadley. Not more than you love me, but more than all our fights and disagreements. I love you more than the bad days and the bullshit we’ll have to go through in life. Because if I have to go through it, I don’t want to do it without you.”

“Oh, Mach …”

Her voice cracks as she wraps her arms around my waist. She buries her head in my chest, and I hold her so tight I think I might break her.

“All I can promise you is you’ll never find someone to love you more than me,” I say, kissing the top of her head.

She pulls back and looks up at me. “You know if you would’ve done this a long time ago, it would’ve stopped a lot of problems, right?”

“Yeah.”

She bites her lip. “You’re serious. Right? Like you won’t leave or second-guess this or back away once reality hits you.”

“No.”

“I swear on my life, if you pull that shit again, I won’t come back, and I’ll find the one guy in the world who will drive you absolutely crazy and marry him on the spot.”

“You’re pushing it.” I give her a look.

“I mean it. I’ll marry Logan just to spite you.”

She laughs.

As the sound washes over my ears, I think back to what Lance said about getting married. And then I think about Nana lying in the hospital bed, the wedding ring on her finger from a man who’s been dead for years.

Looking at Hadley, I kick myself for all the years we’ve wasted because of me. Letting another day go by seems like such a waste of a life. Too many days have come and gone to forfeit another.

I suck in a breath, my head spinning, but I’ve never felt more confident in a decision than this one.

“You’ve never really been mine but have always been mine,” I say.

“Your fault.”

“Yes. My fault,” I agree. “I don’t have a ring because I didn’t think this out, but thinking gets me in trouble sometimes, and I’m really trying to just go with the flow here and do what’s right and …” I take a deep breath, bending on one knee. “Will you marry me, Hadley Jacobs?”

She jerks her hands out of mine and covers her mouth. Tears stream, her body shaking so hard I can’t quite figure out if this is good or bad.

“Only you,” she says, laughing through the tears. “Only you can go from one to one thousand in half a second.”

“I’m doing what feels right,” I say, a nervous wobble to my voice.

“And you want to propose?”

“Even if you say no, I’ll love you and I’ll convince you that—”

She hits me in the chest before propelling herself at me. I fall backward, holding her as I land on the floor.

She continues to cry, but now, it’s intermixed with crazy, wild laughter. I just keep my arms around her and hope for the best.

Because that’s all I can do.

Hope for the best and love her until the day I die.

Thirty-Eight

Machlan

“I should’ve driven my car.” Hadley leans against my shoulder and pops a Swedish Fish in her mouth.

“It was your choice.”

She taps me with the side of her head. “Stop saying that.”

“Everything is your choice. The candy at the gas station. Whether you go to work or quit your brand-new job. Whether you move in with me.”

“I just accepted a marriage proposal.” She sits up and laughs. “Should I not move in with you?”

“It’s your choice.” I smirk, reaching over and grabbing her thigh. “Whatever you want.”

“If you say that again, I’m gonna kill you.” She pops another candy in her mouth. “What am I going to do now? I just quit a job I had for a day.” She makes a face while she chews. “I don’t think I would’ve liked it anyway.”

As I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, a spark of anxiety flickers in my gut. “You aren’t having second thoughts, are you?”

She grins slowly, another red candy sliding past her lips.

“Can you not fuck with me right now?” I ask. “I’m trying to be this nice, good guy and back off and let you do your thing, but when you look at me like that when I ask you something this fucking serious, it makes me wanna—”

“What? What’s it make you wanna do, Mach?”

I study her for a long second. “It makes me want to turn the truck down one of these side roads and pull you on my lap and have you ride me until I come in your pussy.”

“Do it.” She gulps.

I snicker.

“Come on,” she says, reaching across the truck and grabbing the crotch of my pants. I groan, thrusting my hips toward her. “Chicken.”

“I can’t. I have somewhere to be.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” She settles back in her seat. “And where might that be?”

“I need to get to the hospital.”

“The hospital? Why?”

My foot eases up on the accelerator. Peck said she’s fine in a text he sent right before we left Hadley’s. Still, I haven’t told Hadley, and I’m not sure how she’ll take me not telling her until now.

“Nana is in the intensive care unit,” I say carefully.

“What?” The candy flies off her lap as she twists to look at me. “What are you talking about?”

“She had a heart attack yesterday.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Her jaw drops. “You were at my house when she was in the hospital? Machlan!”

I take my hand off her leg. “Trust me. She was fine with it.” I rough my hand over my chin. “We were there all afternoon yesterday until, well, whatever time I showed up last night.”

“And you didn’t tell me? Is she okay?”

Looking at her, I let her see the somberness in my features. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to be about that. I want this moment to be about us. I didn’t want you to think I showed up at your house because of that. I didn’t.”

She nods, mulling that over. “But … is she okay?” she asks softly.

“She’s okay. Peck has been texting me. Everyone is there. Even Blaire.” I catch a look of concern on her face. “I know Blaire can be scary, but she’ll love you.”

“She’s so not like me, Mach,” she says warily. “She’s … extra.”

“Extra?” I burst out laughing. “That’s a good way to put it. Extra. I’ll tell her that.”

“Don’t you dare,” she warns. “She’ll kill me with one look. I’ve never been terrified of someone my entire life except Blaire.”

“Chicken,” I tease.

“Damn right. Now, back to Nana.”

“Anyway,” I say, “they’re running tests today to see how bad it was. I talked to her for a long time last night, and she sounded strong.”

Hadley rests her head on my shoulder again. “I can’t believe you left her, though. She wasn’t alone, was she?”

“She had Peck. He was convincing her to get better to make cheeseballs. Trust me, they’re fine.” I kiss the side of her head. “She told me to leave, actually.”

“Why?”

“She told me to go get you.” I extend my arm toward her. “She pointed out a lot of good things, some of them we’ll talk about someday, and made me realize I’d never get over you. So I might as well go get you.”

She wraps an arm around my middle. The cab of the truck is warm. Soft country music plays on the stereo, and Hadley hums along as we go down the road.

I think about Nana and all the things she said. And about my parents and how my mother always said to find our blessings.

That’s been a hard one for me over the years—to find my blessings. A lot of my life felt as if I’d been robbed of most of them. But right now, sitting here with Hadley, going to see my Nana and getting to see my extra sister that doesn’t come home nearly enough, I feel pretty fucking blessed.

Mom used to say blessings weren’t always pretty. That sometimes they came hidden, and you had to pluck them out of the ugly and use them.

Maybe a blessing was Hadley finally getting fed up with my shit. Maybe a blessing was Nana getting shook up enough to have a conversation that wasn’t easy for either of us. If those things are true, I have to use them. Otherwise, they’ll go to waste.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask.

“You just did.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” I bend my arm around her back and snuggle her closer to my side. “It’s your choice, but—”

“Fucking stop it.” She laughs. “You’re going to run this in the ground, aren’t you?”

I chuckle. “Seriously. I would like to get married sooner than later.”

“I don’t know …” She tries to pull away, but I don’t let her. I need her close, touching me, while she thinks about what I’ve said.

My stomach swirls with apprehension as she quiets. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up, but I had to. It’s the right call.

“I do know.”

“You’re sure?” she asks. “You don’t have to rush this, Mach.”

“I don’t have to do anything. But I want to marry you as soon as possible.”

She tries to rise up again. This time, I let her go.

“Why?” she asks, her eyes full of concern.

“When you know, you know.” I shrug. “And I’d like Nana to be there when it happens. And I’d like to stop wasting fucking time pretending it isn’t going to happen because we’ve done that for long enough.”

She doesn’t answer. As I turn my head to try to get a hold of her reaction, she scoots all the way next to me.

“This has nothing to do with anything but me and you,” I tell her. “Whatever comes our way, we’ll figure it out together. I mean, can you imagine us fighting on the same side for once?”

Her mouth covers mine. I laugh against her lips, trying to see over her head so we don’t wreck. “Had,” I mumble. “I can’t see.”

She pulls back, smiling wickedly. “Don’t worry.” Her hands go to the button of my jeans.

I gasp as she undoes the button. The zipper cracks through the air.

“You’ll be able to see over me from here,” she says.

“Oh, God,” I mutter through clenched teeth as she licks the top of my cock.

My phone buzzes from the holder by the radio, and I see a text from Peck.

Peck:Taking her back for tests. Will be a couple of hours. Don’t rush. Everything is fine.

I take a quick right onto a dirt road. The abrupt motion makes her grip my thighs so she doesn’t fall to the floor.

“Where are we going?” she asks as she sits up and looks around.

“I’m trying something new today.”

“You aren’t trusting your phone for directions, are you? Mine almost ran me off a bridge the other day.”

I laugh. “No. Not that.”

“Then what?”

“We’re going to go to the hospital in a minute. I’m going to be there for my family. But starting today, you come first.”

I pull off the road behind a little-abandoned shed. I kill the engine and look at her.

Hadley grins. “I hope that has a double meaning.”

I grab her, making her squeal, as I pull her on my lap. “Whatever you want.”

She smacks my chest, starting to tear into me, but I smother her with kisses.

Epilogue

Hadley

“Yours looks better than mine.” Sienna makes a face, holding up a bowl of scalloped potatoes. “Are they supposed to look like this?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. But they look a little dark.”

“Is that a nice way to say burnt?” Sienna laughs. “I should’ve ordered this at Peaches, put it in a dish at home, and brought it over. My mom does that sometimes.”

Mariah laughs. “Well, the baked beans are stuck to the bottom of the kettle, so there’s that.”

“We’re a mess, girls.” Sienna shrugs. “None of this may be edible.”

“Peck will eat it,” I say, leading everyone to the table. “If nothing else, we’ll send it all home with him.”

We enter Nana’s dining room to see our men all settled around the table. Nana is at the head, the color in her face a little rosier than it has been. I get why. It would be hard to feel like crap surrounded by the Gibson boys.

Peck takes the bowl of potatoes from Sienna and doesn’t comment a bit about how black the top is. Walker and Lance discuss one of the Landry businesses Sienna’s family runs as I sit next to Machlan.

It’s been a week since Nana was released from the hospital. The ten days she was admitted was one of the most interesting experiences of my life. I’ve never seen anything like it.

One of her grandchildren was always with her. No one complained or couldn’t make it, not one of them ever bailed. The four of them traded off with the expertise of a well-oiled machine with this woman in the center.

Mariah, Sienna, and I stayed too when Blaire left. She had a big case in Chicago and had to leave after a couple of days. Seeing Blaire, this gorgeous, powerful woman, break down in tears beside Nana’s bed was a scene I’ll never forget. The love and acceptance are something I’ve always wanted, the feeling of being together through thick and thin. Having them accept me into the fold makes me feel like I’m walking in the clouds.

“Peck, will you say grace?” Nana asks.

Machlan takes my hand and holds it under the table as Peck says grace. I watch him out of the corner of my eye during the prayer. His eyes are closed, a silent prayer of his own going up to the man upstairs. It fills me with a warmth I can’t explain.

Hands reach for spoons, Nana dishing out instructions to add more butter here and to give the baked beans a final stir.

I catch Machlan watching me. He raises a brow, and I nod.

“Hey,” he says over the chaos of the table. “Had and I have something we want to say.”

Everything quiets. All eyes shift to Mach.

“Hadley and I have decided something,” he says. He nudges me with a mischievous grin. “You tell them.”

“We’re getting married,” I say.

I bow my head as everyone celebrates, a mixture of clapping and cheering with a few jabs thrown in from Peck. My heart threatens to explode at the happiness everyone shows for us. When I finally look up, I see Nana.

She’s wiping her eyes with a napkin, wearing the sweetest, softest grin on her face. She reaches for Machlan, and he takes her hand.

“Hadley, sweetheart, I can’t tell you how happy this makes this old lady,” Nana says. “I love you, little girl.”

“I love you, Nana,” I say.

This shouldn’t make me want to cry, but it does. No one has said they love me except my brother, and Machlan as of late, since I was in high school. To hear her say it makes my lips tremble.

“We’re going to elope,” Machlan jokes to take the attention off me.

Nana taps the top of his hand and gives him a no-nonsense look. “I’ll hear none of that,” she says. “I’ve put up with you all these years, and you aren’t cutting me out of the good part now.”

“He’s kidding, Nana,” I say.

“Good. Because if you let them elope, we’re eloping,” Lance says. “I mean, we even have a good excuse.”

There’s something about the way he says it that has everyone looking at him.

Mariah smacks Lance’s shoulder. He must’ve put his foot in his mouth because his eyes go wide. Mariah casts him a glare that really doesn’t look mean before setting her fork next to her plate.

“Everyone,” Mariah says, clearing her throat. “We’re going to adopt a baby.”

“Oh, dear sweet Jesus,” Nana says, clutching her chest. “Are you really?”

“We are,” Lance says. “We’ve been going through the process for a while. It’ll help things if we’re married, which is why we floated the idea of eloping.”

“I still don’t like it,” Nana says, “but if it speeds things up, maybe we can do something here. Would you be up for that?”

Mariah beams. “Nana, I just want to be his wife. We can do it in your kitchen if that works. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“You come here and hug me,” Nana says.

“I really hope you and Sienna will help me get a nursery together, Hadley. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I need some help.” She smiles at me across the table. “I don’t know the first thing about this, and I’m so nervous.”

“Of course,” I say. “I’d love to.”

Sienna carries on about a designer she knows. Machlan wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“You okay?” he whispers. “With the nursery thing?”

I nod, looking into his eyes. “I am. I’m really happy for them.”

Nana sniffles. “You kids are gonna make sure I have another heart attack, aren’t you?”

“Not funny,” Walker and Machlan say at the same time.

She dabs at her eyes again. “Two weddings and a baby. Walker, what do you have for me?”

“Oh, that’s not putting him on the spot.” Peck snorts.

Walker’s chest puffs out like a peacock. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He grins. “Sienna just got a huge contract for designing gowns for a bridal company.”

“That’s amazing,” I say. “I didn’t know you did that!”

“She can design anything,” Walker beams.

Sienna’s smile lights up the room. “I got the contract a while ago, but with Nana being sick and then I had the flu …” She fires a look at Lance. “I know I got it from you.”

“How’d you get it from me?” he asks.

“You came over that day to get the soup I made for Mariah and left your germs.”

“That soup was excellent, by the way,” Mariah tosses in.

“You made soup, and I didn’t get any?” Peck asks. “Sienna. I’m hurt.”

Walker sighs. “She’s my girlfriend. Not yours. How many goddamn times do I have to tell you that?”

Sienna laughs, resting her head on Walker’s shoulder. “I’ll make you some tomorrow, Peck.”

“Thanks.” He smiles smugly at Walker. “And since everyone is listening to me for a change, I have some news of my own.”

“They aren’t going to like it,” I tell him.

He and I exchange a look at the news he shared with me last night. I want to be excited for him. I want to encourage him and be happy for him, but I’m not. And they won’t be either.

“I don’t care if they like it or not,” he tells me

“Just prepare yourself,” I say.

“Will someone tell the rest of us?” Machlan asks. “And I don’t like you two having secrets.”

“Watch him,” Walker says, taking a bite of beans. “He’ll try to steal your woman.”

Peck glares at Walker and then at Machlan.

He fills his fork full of scalloped potatoes and takes a bite. He winces as he swallows the burnt potatoes but doesn’t say a word about it. He just washes it down with a drink of iced tea.

“Any day now, asshole,” Machlan says, getting a look from Nana.

“I have a date.” Peck sits up, shoulders back, and grins.

“Navie?” Machlan asks.

“Nope. Molly.”

“What the fuck?” Machlan asks.

“Machlan Daniel. Enough,” Nana says.

“I told you,” I tell Peck.

“Oh, wait till you meet her,” Lance tells Nana. “You’ll be ‘What the fuck-ing’ along with the rest of us.”

Peck’s face falls. “Guys, be nice. I don’t give you hell.”

“Yes, you do,” they say in unison, making everyone, even Nana, laugh.

“I’m sure she’s a nice girl if Peck likes her,” Nana offers.

“That’s one way to put it,” Walker mumbles. “She’s nice to everyone, if you catch my drift.”

Peck shrugs and goes back to his meal. “Well, I’m looking forward to it. Things are starting to come around.”

The table breaks out into chatter again, everyone sparring back and forth in typical Gibson fashion. Machlan takes my hand again and holds it while we eat.

I take my time, eating slowly and taking in the love and family around me. I’ve wanted this my entire life. For a while, I didn’t think I’d ever have it.

But as I sit at Nana’s table, listening to Peck give Walker crap about a tractor at Crank and watching Machlan dote on his grandmother, I realize something: things like this, like what’s sitting around this table, don’t happen overnight. You can’t force them to happen. You can’t make them not happen. You just have to water them with love and give them room to breathe and enough support to anchor the roots into the foundation of something good.

If Machlan and I had tried to stay together years ago, our roots weren’t planted yet. They would’ve given in to the weight of the world and we wouldn’t fallen on our faces.

All those years of not being together weren’t in vain. They weren’t a waste, like Machlan thinks. They were a way to build us up to this point so we can enjoy it now.

I look at the little tattoo on my wrist. Machlan catches me looking at it and lifts my arm to his lips. He presses a kiss where the wings meet, letting his lips linger on my skin for a long moment.

“I love you,” I whisper.

He smiles my favorite smile. The one that’s just for me. “I love you too.”

The End

Copyright © 2019 by Adriana Locke

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.

Cover Image: Adobe Stock

Cover Design: Kari March

Editing: Marion Making Manuscripts

Jenny Sims, Editing 4 Indies

Also by Adriana Locke

The Exception Series

The Exception

The Connection

The Perception

The Landry Family Series

Sway

Swing

Switch

Swear

Swink

Sweet

The Gibson Boys Series

Crank

Craft

Crave

Crazy

Dogwood Lane

Tumble

Tangle

Trouble

Restraint- Coming Soon

Standalone Novels

Sacrifice

Wherever It Leads

Written in the Scars

Lucky Number Eleven

For an email every time Adriana has a new release, sign up for an alert here: http://bit.ly/AmazonAlertAddy or text the word adriana to 21000

One

Peck

“It’s you.”

A pair of red flip-flops come to a stop next to the truck. Dust billows from the harder-than-necessary halt to movement and flows under the truck and right into my face. I wave my hand in front of me and cough.

“Yeah?” I ask. “What’s your point?”

Toenails painted the color of grass on a spring day tap against the gravel. A thin gold ring adorns the second toe.

“Are you proud of yourself?” she asks.

The tone she’s using nixes any ideas I may have had to scoot out from underneath this vehicle. It has that flair to it, that you’ve-done-and-gone-screwed-up-but-I’m-going-to-make-you-wallow-a-while thing that turns men’s blood to ice.

The only problem is that I can’t figure out what I’ve done. Or who she is.

I drop the wrench in my hand and study the tanned legs visible from my disadvantageous position. They’re short and tanned, the muscles in her calves flexing as she pops one foot up on her toe.

The voice—one that’s clearly annoyed with me for some reason—isn’t familiar, nor are the legs. A quick scan of recent activity doesn’t unearth a woman who should be pissed. Not that a woman needs a reason to be pissed, but still.

“Well,” I say, “it depends on why you’re asking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you’re asking if I’m proud of the fact that I diagnosed and will have Dave’s truck fixed in under an hour—minus the time I spend in this conversation with you—then yes. I am. Or if you’re asking about the black lines down the middle of Main Street, I’m proud of that too. I—”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Do I?” I scratch the top of my head.

Staring at the undercarriage, I attempt to figure out what the heck is happening here. The day has been a doozy already. Between Nana calling me at four in the morning because she couldn’t get out of bed and my cousin Walker’s pissy mood when I got to work at his mechanic’s shop, Crank, I should’ve just called in sick. I should’ve stayed in bed instead of trying to make the best out of the day.

Sometimes, you just know better. I knew better this morning. I’m just not smart enough to listen to myself.

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” she says with a huff. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “No, I take that back. You’re more than that. You’re a jackass.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Um, nope. I really don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Now come out here and face me like a man.”

“If you insist,” I mutter.

Pressing my heels into the gravel, I roll myself out from under the truck. The sun is bright, almost blinding me with its early afternoon rays. I shield my eyes and look up into the face of a woman who looks like she wants to kill me.

Her bright green eyes widen just a bit before resuming their narrowed position. A set of full lips are pressed together in a hard line. Her face is framed by a couple of unruly strands of sandy brown hair that’s fallen from a lopsided ponytail.

I bite back a smile. I’m one hundred percent certain I’m supposed to be intimidated and not entertained right now, but I can’t help it. She’s fucking adorable.

“Well, here I am,” I say.

She takes a step back. Her eyes release from mine and drag down the length of my body. When they return to my face, she narrows them again. “You’re a jackass.”

“You’ve said that.” I get to my feet and brush off my hands. “Look, do I know you? Not that I don’t love being yelled at by a stranger …”

“You are incredible,” she says, dropping those pretty little lips of hers open.

“Thanks.” I smile. The gesture does not get returned. “If you’re Tad’s daughter or something, tell him I put the gas cans back. It was an emergency. I swear. Just tell him they’re behind the shovels in the barn, and I’ll pay him back. Okay?”

She cocks a brow. “And you steal gas too. Wow. What a winner.”

“You’re awfully judgy for someone who doesn’t even know me.”

“I know all I want to know about you.”

“That’s a shame,” I say, sliding my hands down my jeans.

A gasp sneaks through the air as her hands fall to her sides in exasperation. I take a step back for self-preservation. Just in case.

“Are you hitting on me?” She blinks once, then twice.

“No,” I say. “I mean, if you want me to, I’d—”

She throws her hands up in the air. “She said you worked fast and would move on without thinking twice about it, but I had hoped that she’d be wrong.”

“Who? Who said that? I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

She lets out a little laugh that’s anything but funny. I wait for steam to come out of her ears, but the only thing rolling off her is the scent of oranges.

I glance around for cameras because this has to be a joke. Surely, one of my cousins is setting me up. But the longer I look, the more it becomes apparent: she’s as serious as a heart attack.

“You’re exactly like she said you’d be,” she says.

I rub my forehead, wishing once again I’d have stayed home. I have a good twenty minutes left on this truck and then a fifteen-minute drive back to Crank to clock out. Then I need to check on Nana and make sure she got lunch before I can go home and get a shower and close my damn eyes. But before any of that can happen, I have to figure out what the hell this girl is talking about.

Blowing out a breath, I focus.

“Let’s just restart this whole thing,” I say. “What’s your name?”

“We’re really doing this?”

“Doing what?” I hold my hands in front of me. “What are we really doing? I don’t get it.”

She flashes me a disapproving look. “You’re really asking my name?”

“That’s what ya do when you don’t know somebody. At least it is around here.”

“Fine. I’ll play along. I’m Dylan,” she says as if she’s talking to a baby. “And we talked last week about how much you love my best friend.”

The last part of that gets loud. Really, really loud. She takes my cringing as a sign of weakness.

She moves toward me, her eyes flashing her fury at me like bolts of lightning. Her finger jabs me in the chest.

“You better be scared of me,” she says. “Thinking you’re gonna ghost her like some careless asshole after she opens up to you about—”

“Whoa, wait—”

“No, I’m not gonna wait.” She jabs me again, harder this time. Her face twists when I don’t budge. “I shouldn’t have even shown up out here because that probably will make your ego explode.”

My brain scrambles with her accusation but gets even more fogged up with the look in her eyes. Worry is etched on her face.

“Listen, I’m sorry about your friend. Honest. But—”

“I highly doubt that.” She takes a deep breath, the passion starting to wane as she thinks her point has been delivered. “You better stay away from her. Do you hear me?”

I have no idea what we’re doing here, but I feel bad for Dylan. And her friend. And for the guy who ghosted her friend if Dylan ever catches up with him.

A part of me wants to maintain my innocence, but I’m not sure it matters.

“I get it,” I tell her. “Your friend is hurting, and you’re ready to go to battle. I respect that. Lord knows the battles my family has gotten me in. But I …”

This placates her a little. She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Another deep breath is taken, causing the tiny chip of diamond in her nose to shine.

She’s pretty. This girl with her golden-brown skin and long eyelashes and personality for days would have me chasing after her if I didn’t want to run out of fear for my life.

The venom in her eyes subsides. She reaches up and brushes back a strand of hair that came out as she railed me, and I see a tattoo on her wrist. It’s the word family written in a delicate script. I think about my brother, Vincent, and how many times I’ve gone to war for him or my cousins.

I consider telling her I’m not who she thinks I am. But if I do that, she’s going to start shouting again, which means I’ll just be here longer fixing this damn truck. Besides, I did nothing wrong, so maybe I’ll let it go. Let Dylan get it off her chest and move on. I have broad shoulders. Besides, the guy, whomever he is, probably wouldn’t give a shit anyway from how it sounds. It’ll probably make her feel better to think the guy feels bad—at least a little.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Is there anything I can do to make this better?”

“Stay away from her.”

“I will. Promise. Cross my heart,” I say, acting out the gesture in front of her. “Anything else?”

She nods, looking around Dave’s front yard. “Well, you could bring her pots and pans back. They were the first nice thing she ever bought for herself, and it makes it easier to save money if you can cook at home. I’m sure she’d like to have them returned.”

“Okay,” I say, wondering why some dude would take a woman’s kitchen equipment. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I bite my bottom lip, trying to figure out how to get a set of pans back from a guy I don’t even know. Dylan scrutinizes every move I make. Finally, she shakes her head.

“You pawned them, didn’t you?”

“No,” I insist, slightly offended. “I wouldn’t pawn someone’s pots and pans. Who do you think I am?”

“A jackass.”

I roll my eyes. “Right. I forgot.”

“And you could bring me a bottle of Jack. After all, I’m helping her pick up all the pieces of her heart that you so thoughtlessly threw against the wall. So thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

She scowls. “Really?”

“Look, I’m doing my best here,” I say with a chuckle. “Give me some credit.”

Her arms cross over her chest as she considers this. “Fine. I’ll give you some credit for at least sort of taking responsibility. That’s it. That’s all you get.”

“Good enough, I guess.”

With a satisfied nod of her head, she starts to turn away, but then she stops before she gets too far. “One more thing,” she says, looking at me over her shoulder. “Don’t tell Navie I was here.”

I blink once. Twice. Three times.

Navie? Bartender Navie? Navie-Who-Works-At-My-Cousin’s-Bar Navie?

My friend Navie?

Navie knows Dylan? And Dylan doesn’t know me?

Am I being set up here?

I grab at my temple with my right hand.

“You won’t, right?” Dylan asks when I fail to answer.

“Yeah. Sure. I, um, I won’t say a word,” I say, trying to piece all this together.

Her shoulders relax, the V-neck dropping low enough to see the cleavage that I would enjoy any other time except right now when I’m mentally marinating Navie knowing Dylan and Dylan thinking I’m some other guy.

I run a hand down my face and, once again, regret not going back to bed.

“It’s a shame you’re such a jackass,” she says.

I drop my hands. “Well, thanks. But I’m not one really.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Suit yourself,” I say. “But tell Navie that if she needs to talk—”

“Nope. If you want to talk to her, you do it. Be a man. Prove me wrong.” She walks toward her car again. “And bring back her pots and pans. Do you hear me?”

“If I can find them.”

She stops at her car and flings open the door. Her eyes narrow again. She’s so damn cute, and this entire thing is so bizarre that I can’t take it. I laugh.

“If you don’t find them, I’ll come find you,” she says.

“Could you warn me first? And let me schedule that into my day because I’m running about a half hour behind right now.”

She fights a smile as she climbs into her car. She pulls away just as quickly as she arrived, and I’m left standing next to Old Man Dave’s truck, wondering what the hell just happened.

Two

Peck

I tug my hat down to block out the early evening sun. Stepping over a broken piece of sidewalk that the town of Linton hasn’t bothered to fix in at least fifteen years, I make my way toward Crave.

My cousin’s bar is my usual haunt after work, and today is no exception. What is different about today, though, is that I have a reason to be here besides not just wanting to be alone.

My face breaks into a grin as I remember the little spitfire. Her finger pressed against my chest as she leveled warnings makes me laugh. But as entertained as I am with Dylan’s moxie, an uneasiness settles over me when I think of Navie.

I would like to think Navie and I were close enough that I’d know if she was seeing someone seriously enough for them to steal her cookware. And I’d really hope she knows she could ask me for help if she needed it because if this guy is the jerk that Dylan seems to think he is, then what else has he done?

The door chimes as I tug it open. Eighties rock music is playing on the speakers, letting me know my cousin Machlan, the owner of the bar, is still here. Pieces of streamers and popped balloons are stuck on random nails and pictures from Machlan’s birthday party that got a little out of control last weekend.

“Hey,” Machlan says from the other side of the bar. “You’re in here early.”

“Long day.”

I plop down on a barstool. Machlan slides a beer down the bar, and I catch it with one hand.

“Tell me about it,” he says. “Hadley woke up mad at me for something I did to her in her dream last night. And then Navie was an hour late and about as happy with me as my girlfriend for some unknown reason. I can’t win.”

I take a long sip of beer. The glass has the perfect level of dew on the outside. Setting it back on the bar, I look at my cousin. He doesn’t seem to know things he’s not telling me, but Machlan is good at hiding shit.

“What’s going on with Navie?” I ask with as much nonchalance as I can muster.

“Fuck if I know. I’ve learned it’s best not to ask.” He leans forward, his elbows resting on the counter. His lips turn up into a smirk. “Tad was in here earlier looking for you. Said something about gas cans and a note left scrawled on a two-by-four in spray paint last night?”

“I left a damn note, and I returned the gas cans. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Maybe that you broke into his barn,” Machlan offers.

“I did not.” I look at Machlan. He’s still wearing that stupid smirk. “What? The door was open. That officially makes it not a break-in.”

“Pretty sure Tad and all relevant legal definitions don’t agree with that assessment.”

“Well, common sense does. Think about it. I didn’t have to break anything to enter, and I returned everything—except the gas, but there wasn’t much in there, really.”

Machlan doesn’t look convinced.

“Besides,” I say, “he would’ve given to it me if I’d have asked.”

“Which is what you should’ve done.”

I shrug, taking another drink. It was a couple of gallons of gas. If Tad is really that pissed about it, I’ll just remind him of this the next time he calls me with a broken down tractor at dark.

Machlan chuckles. “Well, you owe me twenty bucks for the gas. I paid him to keep him from coming to find you.”

Eyeing him curiously, I tip my bottle from side to side. “Why are you being nice to me?”

He rolls his eyes as he starts to respond, but he’s interrupted by a loud crash from the storeroom. It’s followed by a loud string of profanities before Navie comes marching into the room.

Her hair, streaked with bright pink strands, is a haphazard mess on top of her head. She comes to a halt in front of Machlan.

“If you want me to serve tequila tonight, you’re gonna have to get it off the top shelf yourself because I’m not screwing with it. I almost just died.” She gives Machlan a don’t-mess-with-me look before flipping her gaze to me. Her irritation eases a bit. “Hey, Peck.”

“Navie,” I say with a tentative nod.

She flips me a forced smile before refocusing on my cousin.

“Why does he get a smile,” Machlan says, pointing at me, “and I get yelled at?”

“Because Peck didn’t set a death trap for me in the storeroom,” she replies. “And he’s cuter than you. And nicer. And—”

“And I sign your check,” Machlan counters.

“And I’m cuter.” I grin as they both look at me. “What? She said it. Not me.”

Machlan sighs, handing Navie a white bar rag. “I beg to differ on that, Peck.”

“It’s true,” Navie says. “I’d be all over him if he didn’t feel like my brother on some level. That and he has that thing for Molly McCarter. That makes me a little concerned about his well-being.”

She rolls her eyes so hard that it has to hurt.

“Never understood the Molly thing either,” Machlan says.

“Let’s keep my girl out of this,” I say. “She’s never done anything to either of you.”

“Because I keep my pants zipped up when she’s around. Otherwise, there’s no doubt she’d have done things to me that she’s done to every other guy who lives in this half of Illinois,” Machlan says. “When are you going to let that whole thing go?”

I take a drink of my beer and set it down with a thud. “Never.”

The two of them go into an already-heard, overly tired tirade about Molly. They share a venom with the rest of the town against the woman I’ve always defended.

Molly was my first crush. Since the first night she crawled in my bedroom window when we were six, I’ve had a soft spot for her. It’s crazy, I know, and the sentiment hasn’t exactly been reciprocated, but I can’t help it. I like her. Period.

Machlan looks at his watch. “I’ll go get your tequila, but then I gotta head home. Add twenty to Peck’s tab for gas.” He shoots me a look before heading toward the storeroom. “Behave.”

I take another drink as Navie pulls out a white takeout box from Carlson’s Bakery from behind the counter. She sets it on the bar.

“I know it’s bad manners to bring food from one establishment into another, but this sandwich is my breakfast, lunch, and probably dinner,” she says, “so I don’t care.”

I lean against the counter and study her. Besides her annoyance, there’s no sign she’s been through something like Dylan described.

Dylan.

I grin.

“What are you smiling about?” she asks, picking the onion off her sandwich.

“Oh, nothing. Why didn’t you just cook?”

“Busy.”

Unhelpful.

“Do you usually cook?” I ask, prodding a little harder.

She quirks a brow as she shoves a bite of turkey and cheese into her mouth. “Sometimes.”

“What’s your favorite thing to make?”

“What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?” She rips a napkin out of a container in front of me. “Why do you care what I like to cook?”

“Gee, take it easy,” I say, leaning back. “Just making conversation.”

And probing you for information, but I’ll keep that to myself.

Her face falls. She tosses the wadded-up napkin on the counter. “I’m sorry. Bad day.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” She takes another bite, a bigger bite, to keep from talking. “I’m fine. I’m always fine.”

Frustration is written across her face. I look at the television hanging above the coolers and try to hide mine. Why won’t she just tell me what I want to know? It’s not like I can just blurt out that her friend Dylan accosted me today and told me all her secrets.

Thinking of Dylan with her hands on her hips makes me grin again.

“Machlan said your brother was coming to town,” Navie says, dabbing a napkin against her mouth.

“Yup. Vincent and Sawyer are coming in for a couple of days.”

She raises a brow. “Sawyer? Do you have another brother I didn’t know about?”

“Sawyer is Vincent’s son,” I clarify. “He’s a cute little shit.”

“So is this brother of yours a lot like you?”

I swirl what’s left of the beer in the bottom of the bottle and consider her question. “Vincent is a couple of years older than me. I think he might’ve hit thirty this year.” I make a face. “Anyway, he’s more of a troublemaker than I am.”

“Oh, really?” Navie grins. “Is that possible?”

“Yes, really,” I say with a shake of my head. “While I’ve always pulled questionable behavior, like Tad’s stupid gas cans, Vincent pulled questionable-er behavior. He was always in trouble from doing stupid shit … until he had Sawyer.”

Navie’s features soften. “That’s sweet.”

“I mean, he didn’t really have a choice, being a single dad and all. But he really pulled a one-eighty.” I chuckle at the thought of my brother, the one who absolutely did not give a shit about anything, beaming at Sawyer the first time he rode a bike with no training wheels. “He’s a good dad. Nah, he’s a great fucking dad.”

She grins. “That’s awesome.”

“It’ll be nice to have him back around for a few days. I miss him, you know?”

She turns away and grabs a pop out of the cooler. “I do know, actually. Not that I have a great relationship with my family and I did move here to be away from them, but loneliness is a real thing. Sometimes that leads to really stupid mistakes.” She makes a face. “But my friend Dylan just moved to town, so hopefully that’ll help me stay sane.”

Ding! Ding! Ding!

“Dylan? New boyfriend?” I ask as if I don’t already know the answer.

“Nope. She’s a girl I’ve known my whole life. Probably the only friend I have—friend who’s a girl,” she adds for my benefit. She unscrews her drink. “She’s staying with me for a few days until her rental is vacant.”

“That sounds … fun.” Other adjectives are on the tip of my tongue, but I let them go because I’m not supposed to know her.

“It will be.”

“What brought her here?” I tip my bottle back. I’m not sure if I want to know who stole her pots and pans or not, but I have to try. It’s the only way to know who’s on the right side of life.

Navie watches me take my drink with a heavy dose of curiosity. I’m not sure if she thinks I’m prying, which I am, or if she thinks I’m interested in hearing more about Dylan, which I also am, but she’s clearly warring over how to answer this question.

I’m not surprised. Navie is fiercely private about her life outside of Crave, but she opens up to me more than anyone, I think. Her laughter is usually free, her heart warm and genuine, but she keeps stuff about herself kind of locked up tight. I’m good with that, normally. But if someone is stealing her cookware, that’s an issue. I just want her to know I’m here for her.

She throws her sandwich tray in the trash and faces me with a resolution that makes me a little nervous. “She wanted to get a fresh start anyway …”

“And …”

She closes her eyes.

My stomach twists.

“And I was dating Logan and it—”

“Whoa,” I say, my eyeballs about popping out of my head. “Logan. Logan? Logan, the guy I threw out of here, what, six months ago? For fighting with Machlan? For fighting me? The complete douche?”

She sighs. “That would be him.”

“Navie. Really?”

I think back to the night that Logan challenged Machlan over Hadley. It was ugly. And bloody. And my fist hurt for a week afterward. He’s a good for nothing and can’t even take a punch the right way, let alone know how to treat a woman.

She winces as she looks at me. “Please don’t tell Machlan.”

“Why did you think that was a good idea?” I ask. “I mean, come on, Navie. You’ve seen him in action. You’ve seen him in here, drunk off his ass, acting like a fool. He’s nowhere near good enough for you.”

“Thanks.” She grins sheepishly. “I know. I do. Or I did. Whatever. I just ran into him at Peaches one night when I was picking up takeout, and he apologized for that whole night, and I … I guess I was lonely, and things just … happened. But not anymore.” She shakes her head. “We’re done, and Dylan is here and ready to swoop in and take my mind off it in case I succumb to some kind of asshole withdrawal.”

“You were that beat up about him that your friend had to move here to keep you company?”

“No.” She rolls her eyes. “Just perfect timing. Dylan’s pretty stressed out and wanted to kind of get away from everything. She tells herself I need her to justify it in her own mind, but I’m fine. You know that.”

I raise a brow to silently challenge that idea. Navie may always pretend she’s fine, but I have doubts. She’s strong as hell. She’s smart. She’s capable. But she’s a human being with weaknesses like the rest of us, much to her chagrin.

Her answer is to stick her tongue out at me.

“Logan?” I ask again.

“Shut up, Peck.” She shakes her head again. “Not my best decision, I’ll agree, but it was okay for a while.”

I tip my bottle toward her. “I’m gonna doubt that.”

“My heart is a little tender, okay? I’d appreciate a bit of pity.”

I watch her over the lip of the bottle as I down the rest of my beer. I set it on the bar and knock it with the back of my hand. It sails down the smooth bar top and falls into the trashcan at the end with a satisfying clink!

“I should eat the rest of that sandwich,” Navie says. “Eating out is going to get expensive, and I don’t have that kind of expendable income. Heck, I don’t have a lot of non-expendable income.”

“Why don’t you just cook?”

“Mind ya business, Peck.” She sticks her tongue out again as she pulls a stack of napkins off the shelf behind her.

I climb off the bar stool. Taking my hat off, I run my fingers through my blond hair. That was a warning not to press, and I want to respect her request, but I also want to make sure she understands why I was pressing.

“Do you need anything, Navie?”

Her eyes fly to mine as she sets the napkins on the bar. “Why did you ask me that?”

“I don’t know. Seems like a fair thing to ask a friend.”

“No. I’m fine. Thanks for asking, friend.” She smiles before looking down at the napkins. “The world needs more men like you.”

“Convince Molly of that.”

She looks up and laughs. “I’m never gonna understand your infatuation with her. Never.”

“And I’m never gonna understand why you’d even breathe the same air as Logan.” I signal goodbye and head to the door. “Add my drink to my tab. And that twenty for the gas unless you accidentally forget. That’s cool too.”

“Goodbye, Peck.”

I keep my head down to avoid the sun as I step back outside. I can completely understand why Dylan called me a jackass now. She thinks I’m Logan. Navie and Logan? Makes me sick. That’s not even being lonely. That’s being … stupid.

A grin splits my cheeks as I imagine the look on Dylan’s face when she realizes her mistake. A chuckle rumbles past my lips as I consider the reaction of that little spitfire when that happens because it will. Linton is too small of a town for it not to.

Trudging along the sidewalk, my mind goes to the text I got from Nana earlier about coming over for dinner. I told her I’d be by, partly because I love fried chicken and partly because I can’t tell her no.

But as I climb in my car, I do some quick math. I can be at Nana’s in ten minutes, and she’s expecting me in about twenty. I start to take off when I see Navie’s car tucked in behind Crave.

“I’ve been late before,” I grumble and head the opposite way of Nana’s.

Three

Dylan

“That hurts.”

I wince. My little toe that’s silently screaming for assistance is swollen. It’s a shade of red like it’s been slapped … or taken a sucker punch from the corner of my suitcase, which is what actually happened.

“Darn thing,” I groan. Hobbling over to the sofa, I collapse against a pile of pillows. There’s one covered in pink sequins, and another that’s a soft, bright yellow that looks like it’s been crocheted. Next to that is my personal favorite—a blue, almost water-like design that evokes serenity.

Usually. My throbbing toe kind of supersedes the Zen.

Navie’s apartment is small but cute as a button. There’s an abstract painting of what I think is a farm over the couch, and a lime green and gray rug that stretches across the living room. A diffuser sits on the little round table in the area that’s probably pitched as a dining room slash breakfast nook.

I hold my toe and work it back and forth. The pain burns at first and slowly subsides as I tend to it. Sinking back into the pillows, I fill my lungs with oxygen. They inflate … effortlessly, which is a surprise.

There has been a tightness in my chest for as long as I can remember.

Stress, the doctor said. What in your life is stressing you this much, Ms. Snow?

Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that it’s falling apart.

I sat on the examination table—an appointment I only made because Navie made me swear I would go—and looked at him blankly. Wouldn’t it be an easier question to answer if he asked me what isn’t causing me stress?

Surely, this was normal. That’s what I kept telling Navie. Doesn’t everyone walk around with pain in their shoulders and their chest squeezed so tight that they can barely breathe at least twice a week? Aren’t panic attacks normal when your boyfriend leaves you for his ex-fiancée and your mother basically makes you earn her love?

Apparently not. And this whole breathing easy thing is everything they said it would be. It’s definitely something I could get used to.

Closing my eyes, I feel the muscles in my body give in. The tightness that’s become second nature starts to relax when my phone rings.

“Crap,” I say, eyeing the contents of my suitcase strewn around the room.

I hop up and dig through the clothes that will get me through until the moving truck delivers the rest of my stuff. Finally, under a tee shirt with a pair of lips painted on the front, I spy the phone.

“Hey,” I say, testing my weight on my toe.

“You doing okay?” Navie asks.

“Yup. It’s been a very eventful afternoon.”

She sighs. “That worries me.”

Laughing, I retake my spot on the couch. “Don’t be worried. It’s fine. My toe isn’t broken, and Logan was effectively put in his place.”

“What did you do, Dylan?”

I twirl a strand of hair around my finger and smile. “I might have gotten bored, and I might have just happened to see a sign for Dave’s Farm Stand or whatever it is. And then maybe I wanted to see if he had any produce—”

“You did not.”

“Or I remembered that you said Logan worked out there sometimes and helped Dave, whoever he is, work on trucks and farm … shit. So I took a look.” I shrug. “I can’t help it that fate decided Logan and I should meet. He was just standing there, so-to-speak, when I arrived.”

“Fate didn’t decide that. You did,” she deadpans.

“I’d rather be karma than fate. Anyway, I did my greatest Best Friend Fuck You speech, and he promised to stay away from you and bring back your pots and pans. I think that’s a total win. You can thank me later.”

I pluck at the hem of my shirt. How nice would it be to be karma? To have the powers of justice and fairness? That might be better than endless tacos.

A girl can dream.

“You know,” Navie says, “I don’t even think I want the shit back. I’d rather just forget he exists at all.”

“I’ve had those.”

“Had those what?”

“Those guys you wish didn’t exist.” I drop the edge of my shirt. “Case in point: Charlie. I’d rather forget that I was left after committing a year to a relationship because he realized that he didn’t love me—that he couldn’t possibly love me because he truly loves Vanessa.” I sigh. “Or take this one guy I dated once. Super cute. Looked hygienic. Paid for dinner and let me pick some movies. But there was this one night,” I say, feeling my stomach rumble as the memory comes back to me. “I got up in the middle of the night to pee and legit stepped in his urine. The dude sprayed all over the floor, and it was on my foot.”

Navie makes a gagging noise, and I try not to throw up in my mouth.

“I wish I could forget they both exist,” I say, fighting off a shiver.

“I bet you do. That’s how I feel about Logan. I didn’t even really like him. I’m just pissed off he took my kitchen utensils and then ghosted me. He was just a stupid fling. I don’t know what I saw in him in the first place.”

Logan’s face flutters through my mind. His bright blue eyes and almost shy, yet mischievous smile light a bubble of excitement in my stomach.

I snort. “I do,” I say before I can catch myself.

“What?”

“I saw him. He’s cute, Navie.”

“Dylan …”

“I mean, he’s an asshole,” I say, getting to my feet. “We know that. But it’s not hard to see why you took him up on whatever offer he threw down.”

She groans. “He’s not that cute. I have guys in the bar every night cuter than him.”

“Then I think it’s time that I accompany you to work.”

“Not tonight,” she says. “Machlan just left, and I’m here alone. I can’t protect the men from you.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. See ya when you get home.”

“Adios.”

I end the call and toss my phone onto the couch. The apartment is ridiculously quiet—even quieter than my apartment in Indiana. There are no neighbors fighting or talk shows seeping through the walls. Heck, there’s not even the smell of burnt pizza. Everything is just … still.

It’s very Navie, very calm-in-the-storm. She always has a way of doing that. Riots and chaos can be going on, and Navie is the one in the middle doing yoga.

We met on the first day of kindergarten and bonded over chocolate pudding as finger paint. We were virtually inseparable until she left to come here.

I was devastated when she left, but I understood. If my family is difficult, hers is toxic. Seeing her so happy and adjusted here makes the months I spent without her okay. I’m just glad to be here with her, my only real friend, now too.

I study the length and try to guess how many steps it would take to get from one to the other when a movement catches my eye outside the window. I slink over to the curtain.

Logan walks up to the front door with a big box in his hand.

“Victory is mine,” I whisper as I reach for the door handle. I yank it open. “Well, hello there.”

He grins over the top of the box. His teeth are white and straight, his hat pulled down over his forehead.

“I was going to leave this here,” he says, tapping on a box of pots and pans.

He’s the enemy, Dylan. Be strong.

He shoves the box toward me. “Since you opened the door, here you go.”

I take the box and set it inside. I should flash him a tight smile and close the door, but I’m only human. Besides, I’m not the queen of karma, so I should probably have manners.

For karma’s sake.

“I’m happy to see you bringing those by,” I say, clearing my throat. “Even though they aren’t her old ones, they’ll do.”

“I couldn’t find the old ones.”

“Pawned them.”

He fights a laugh. “I’m doing the best I can here, okay?”

I lean against the doorframe and take him in. He’s so disarming with his blond hair poking out the sides of his cap and tall, lanky frame. And no man should have lashes that long. It’s just not fair.

But it is proof that everyone is a disappointment. I’ve speculated for years that no one actually cares about other people anymore, and this Logan thing proves it. By looking at him, you’d think he was the kind boy-next-door type when, in reality, he’s a hedonistic jerk. It’s very disappointing.

It’s either that, or I set my standards way too high.

Like top of the ozone layer too high.

“Navie will appreciate you being a man about this after all,” I say.

“Yup. Logan is a real winner.”

I arch my brow. “Third person? Really?”

“I didn’t take the pots and pans, Dylan,” he says with a sigh.

“Then what happened to them? A burglar broke in and ignored the television and her computer and the cookie jar of cash that probably holds thirty bucks, but still? Not plausible, Logan. But why you’d want them, I don’t know. Was it to get back at her in a way she’d think about every day? Is that it? Are you so in love with her—”

“With Navie?”

“Obviously.”

He laughs. “No. She’s like my sister.”

My brain scrambles. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Forcing a swallow, I eye him carefully. “I have a lot of questions as to why you’d sleep with someone who’s like your sister and then steal from her, but I’m not sure I want the answers.”

“Good,” he says, leaning forward. “Because if I start giving you answers, you’re gonna feel really stupid, and I don’t want to see your pretty little face all scrunched up in embarrassment.”

“Don’t flirt with me.”

He shrugs, the corner of his lips tugging to the sky.

He’s lit from behind by the setting sun and a sky full of vibrant rays. It’s like he’s the center of a painting, the star of a poster from some Hollywood romantic comedy, and I can barely take it.

I have to look away.

And berate myself for thinking this about a guy who screwed over my friend.

“I forgot your Jack,” he says. “I can bring it by later. Thinking maybe you need it.”

“Nah, I’m good, Chef Boyardee. I shouldn’t drink anyway. Drinking puts me in all my feels, and that’s not the place for a sane girl to be.”

“You mean you’re sane?” he teases.

I level my gaze with his and try not to laugh. “Yup. You don’t even want to see me really mad.”

“Does smoke come out of your ears and everything?”

“Yup.”

We both struggle to keep a straight face. In seconds, we’re laughing.

The sound of our voices mixing together sets a too-comfortable ambiance on Navie’s front porch. It shouldn’t be this easy to be friendly with Logan, and I shouldn’t be questioning how he could possibly be such a jerk to Navie, but I am.

I’m a traitor.

A traitor who can’t quit talking.

“Did you get that truck done?” I ask.

“Yup. And I paid the guy back for the gas. Just mentioning that so you don’t think I’m a thief.”

“But you are. You know, pots and pans.”

He takes his hat off and scratches the top of his head. “But I brought the pans back and paid for the gas. So maybe I’m a good thief like the good witch in the Wizard of Oz.”

“She was still a witch,” I say.

“But pretty in that pink dress. It was pink, right? It’s been a while.”

He moves to put the hat back on. The air comes alive with his cologne. It’s aromatic with an aquatic, slightly woodsy hint that barrels through my veins and makes my brain foggy.

Glancing at his watch, he frowns. “I gotta be hitting the road.”

“Hot date?”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and grins. “Yup.”

My stomach flip flops as I take a step back toward the door. The logical part of my brain tells me that this is a good thing—that he’ll be leaving Navie alone—but the female part of my brain, the one that favors charisma and looks over sensible actions, is kind of sad.

“My date tonight makes the best cheeseball in the world. She puts extra bacon in it just for me, and word on the street is that she made fried chicken. It’s the best,” he adds. His eyes twinkle as he describes the night waiting for him.

“Good. I need to get going too,” I say, jamming a finger behind me. “I have to, you know … make sure all of my stuff is ready to move and all that.”

“Where ya movin’?”

“I’m renting a house on Vine Street. Just waiting on the tenants to get out. They were supposed to be out last week, but the landlord had a hard time getting them to go, so now I have to wait.”

He nods. “Cool. Well, if you need anything done around there, I know people who’ll work for cheap.”

“Thanks.”

“Now I gotta get going, or Nana will be pissed.”

“Nana?” I say as he heads down the sidewalk. “What kind of name is that?”

He smiles before climbing in his truck. The engine starts before he rolls the window down.

“Don’t forget to give Navie the pots and pans,” he says.

“I will.”

“And if you get a hankering for fried chicken, I know a grandma who loves to feed people. It’s one of Nana’s best recipes.”

My mouth drops open. “You just ghosted my best friend, and you’re inviting me to dinner? With your grandmother, no less.”

Even though I’m quietly thrilled Nana is his grandmother and not some exotic beauty, I feign indifference.

“Sorry,” he says, revving his engine. “I forgot about all that ghosting thing.”

“You’re a bastard, Logan.”

His laughter is loud as he backs down the driveway. He waves from the street before his tires bark as he pulls away.

I go back inside and close the door behind me. Venturing into the kitchen, I spy a shirt slung over the back of a chair. Navie tossed Logan’s shirt there this morning as she complained about not being able to make breakfast.

Glancing back at the door, I try to imagine Logan screwing Navie over like that.

It’s hard to imagine him being such a dick. He seems so … I grin before I can even get the words into a coherent thought.

“Face the facts,” I say as I pick up the shirt. “He’s a troll like Navie said.”

I toss the shirt into the trash can.

And force myself not to take it back out.

Four

Dylan

“I am an adult, for heaven’s sake.”

Glancing at the pile of paperwork in front of me—bills that need paid, papers that need my signature, and a budget that I need to peruse to remind myself of its existence—I do the logical thing: I fall back on the floor, sending papers flying in the air, and think happy thoughts.

Happy thoughts that, by definition, don’t include adultish things.

“I need a grown-up,” I moan.

I think back to my last birthday, the one where I turned twenty-nine, and how I thought this would be the year I got myself together. The year I felt like I knew how to handle all the things. Life. Paperwork. Insurance.

Instead, I’m camping out on Navie’s couch at two in the morning while she’s at work, and I’m killing time. I don’t even have my own place yet and am living out of a suitcase and a duffel bag.

I might never reach adult status when it comes to all the things.

I gasp as the front door pushes open. The only available weapon close by is a tube of mascara. I grab it and hold it in front of me as Navie walks in.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I say, blowing out a breath.

“Sorry. I just live here.” She shoots me a tired smile before dropping her purse on the table. “And what were you going to do with that?” One of her fingers makes a slow circle in the air as it points to the mascara in my hand.

I drop it.

“Um, maybe poke the intruder in the eye,” I offer with a sheepish shrug. “That’s a solid plan. Right?”

She nods like I’m crazy. “Sure. Or you could’ve smothered him in all those papers. What on earth are you doing?”

Grabbing the closest paper to me, I take a look at it. “Sorting my life.”

“I hope it’s going better than it looks.”

“It is. Kind of.” I peruse the financial data on the paper I’m holding. “According to this, I’m doing great at living on a budget. Well, except for this one little line item.”

“Eating out?”

“Kind of. I call it the HAS Line,” I say.

“Has? Like, you has to have it?”

“Kind of again. It stands for Hungry Angry Sad. It’s where I put all the things I buy when I’m hangry, mad, or sad. It’s quite the line,” I cringe. “I’ve heard of stress eating. Who knew stress shopping was a thing? Because it is, and this HAS Line proves it. I mean, who spends two hundred dollars, give or take, on gourmet ice cream delivery? Me. That’s who.”

“Hey, I’m not going to judge you over ice cream. But I will take a little offense to the fact you didn’t bring any of it here.”

I laugh. “Don’t say that. I’ll order some and that HAS Line will double next month. I mean, do you like pistachio coconut or brambleberry pecan?”

Navie giggles. “Neither. Right now, I just want to save enough money to cook at home without using the microwave.”

“Oh!” I bounce to my feet. “I helped you with that today. Can’t help my damn self, but I did help you.”

Navie gives me a worried look while she unwraps her hair from a bun on the top of her head. Then she slips her arms into her shirt, shimmies around, and then tosses her bra toward the closet that houses the tiniest washer and dryer known to man.

“There,” she says. “I can think now.” She slumps into a chair with lavender padding and looks at me. “What did you do?”

I smack my lips together with a little shrug and turn my eyes toward the big box by the door. She follows my gaze.

Her head falls to the side as she looks at me again.

“What?” I ask.

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Afraid to ask what? I got your pots and pans back.” I sit on the sofa. “You can say thank you. That’s the socially acceptable reply.”

“You didn’t buy that, did you?”

“Nope. Logan did.”

I’m unsure if the sigh that comes from her mouth is in disbelief or frustration. She rests the back of her head against the chair and watches me carefully.

“What exactly did you say to him?” she asks.

“Nothing that I feel sorry for.”

She chuckles. “I’m not sure that you’ve felt sorry for anything you’ve ever said in your life.”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I thought I’d feel bad about it.”

“So …”

I pull my legs up on the couch. “I just told him what a jerk he was and the least he could do was return your stuff. I must’ve been very convincing because he took the money he got from pawning your stuff it and bought you a new set.”

She cringes.

I smile widely.

She cringes harder. “You’re a pistol,” she says.

I’m not sure she means that as a compliment, but I definitely take it as one. “Thanks. I think so too. Why do you always underestimate me?”

“I don’t know, but I really did this time. I mean, Logan isn’t a cupcake, if you know what I’m saying. He doesn’t bend to people’s will very often.”

I imagine him throwing punches and sweating all over the place. Dayum.

“It’s just hard to believe he succumbed to your … tactics,” she says.

“Well, I don’t really like the word threaten because it sounds so harsh. But I guess you could say that I kind of threatened him—in a very ladylike manner, of course.”

She presses her lips together and nods. “Ladylike. I’m sure.”

“It was,” I insist. “I don’t even think I cursed. And I didn’t suggest the removal of any body parts either. Ladylike. Boom.”

She laughs, wiping her hands down her face. “I bet he didn’t know what to do with you.”

“I didn’t know what to do with him,” I admit. “I expected him to be cocky and just completely disgusting, but … he wasn’t.”

I pull my knees to my chest and think of Logan’s smile. He wasn’t any of the things I thought he’d be. He was sort of kind, actually, and not quiet, per se, but polite. He definitely let me say my piece—even if I didn’t give him much leeway to talk.

Still, he wasn’t the manwhore I braced myself to encounter.

Navie screws her face up as though she can’t understand my thought process. “He wasn’t?”

I look at her like I’m missing something. She looks at me like she’s awaiting an explanation.

“No, he wasn’t. And I feel bad for saying that because he ghosted you, and he’s a thief,” I say. “He’s completely the enemy, and I get it. I’m with ya, sister. But he was … nice. Although I’m sure it was an act,” I add.

“Interesting.”

I shrug. “Or not.” I bite the end of a fingernail and contemplate a way to change the subject. Luckily, she does it for me.

“You look comfy,” she says.

“I am. Considering we’re sharing about six hundred square feet of space, I’m rather cozy.” I pick up the yellow pillow and toss it side to side. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

She laughs. “Shut up.”

“I mean it,” I say, laughing too. “I actually took a couple of mental notes about how you use mirrors to make the rooms feel bigger, and the use of plants to make it feel more outdoorsy or something. I don’t know what it is, but I like it.”

“We’ll have fun decorating your house. When does your stuff get here?”

“A couple of days. The moving guy left me a text today that they’re a couple of days behind, which works out perfectly since I don’t have my house yet. And I don’t start work at the bank for a couple of weeks, so it should be enough time to get semi-settled before I start work.”

A bolt of excitement tears through me as I think about my new place. There’s so much hope in a new house—a place free of negative vibes. I’ve needed this for a long time, probably longer than I even realize. Navie has been saying it for years.

“Have you heard from your mom?” she asks.

My spirits sink as I avert my eyes from Navie. My heart is still sore, my feelings tender about leaving my family behind. It was definitely by choice because I made the decision to go, but I wish it didn’t have to be this way.

“Yes,” I say. “She texted me yesterday and asked if I made it. I said I had, and I haven’t heard from her since.”

I attempt to keep my voice void of any emotion, shielding Navie from the hurt I feel at my mom’s antiseptic behavior toward me. But she’s Navie. She hears it. She’s seen it. She’s walked every frustrated moment alongside me and has been angry on my behalf many times.

“I’m sorry, Dylan.” The words come out thick and heavy.

“It’s okay,” I say past a lump in my throat. “She’ll call when she needs something—when there’s an opportunity to earn her love.”

Navie reaches out and places her hand on my thigh. She gives it a gentle squeeze. “I wish I could say something to make this easier, but I know I can’t.”

“Yeah, you can’t. It’s just one of those things we can’t do anything about. People choose where they spend their energy, and my brother and sister are that place for my mom. They get her love even though they’re massive fuckups. I have to prove my worth. It’s okay. It’s just how it is.”

Navie’s palm lifts from my leg, and suddenly, I feel very alone again.

She’s been the only person in my life who I’ve been able to talk freely with about my relationship with my family. Everyone else assumes there’s something wrong with you if things with your parents and siblings aren’t perfect. They don’t stop to consider that maybe you’re the one wanting and trying to have a great situation while the others don’t. And maybe it has nothing to do with you.

I force a swallow.

“You deserve a great life, Dylan,” Navie says. “You should have people around who make you laugh and help you when you’re sick and are present in your life every day, not just when it benefits them.”

“That’s what I want. I mean, it’s not asking for too much to want them to see me as a human being and not just as some … tool to helping them get what they want, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why does that feel selfish sometimes?”

I frown. The vulnerability of talking about this feels as if I’m bleeding right in front of Navie, and I loathe it. The back of my neck tightens as I war with myself whether to shut this conversation down while I can or to open up to the one person who gets me.

“It feels selfish because that’s what society tells us to think, and it’s bullshit,” she says. “You don’t have to take the gas out of your tank to fill everyone else up. You’re allowed to keep some of your energy and spirit for yourself.”

She’s right—or I hope she’s right, anyway. My tank is so empty I can hear it rattle, and it’s because it can’t run on empty promises.

I need help bailing Reese out of jail. I know you just got your bonus at work. You don’t mind helping your family, do you?

Koty’s electricity is going to get turned off. I’m sorry it’ll cost you all your play money again this month, but you need to do this for your sister. She’s going to look for a job next week. She’d do it for you.

I spent the last of my savings to take Koty for a spa day. Poor girl was so upset about the divorce and all that I just needed to perk her up. Now I can’t pay my cable bill. There’s nothing to do here but watch television. I can see depression right around the corner. Unless, of course, you’re going to help me out.

I sigh.

It was one thing after another. If I said no to any of it, despite the fact that Reese will just get thrown back in jail again in a couple of weeks and Koty wouldn’t bother giving me a drink of water if I were dying of thirst, then I get the silent treatment. It’s the same treatment I get if I need help. But, on the contrary, if I jump when they need me, I get invited to family cookouts. I have to fight for my place in that family. And I’m tired of it.

“I just hate feeling like this—like me doing something for me, setting some actual boundaries, isn’t okay. Like, I know it makes sense. I do. I need to be able to live and grow and not exist for them. But last night when I laid here and closed my eyes, I felt this twist in my gut, and I started second-guessing everything again.”

“Don’t.”

She gets off the chair and takes the three steps to me. She nudges me with her hip until I scoot over and she can drop beside me.

A lump grows in my throat as she looks at me with the kindest eyes.

“Listen, Dylan. You weren’t put onto this planet to be Reese’s clean-up crew. Your brother is a grown ass man, and he chooses over and over again to screw up his life. It’s not your problem anymore. Heck, it never was.”

“I know.”

My admission must lack enough gusto for Navie to believe it because she continues.

“And Koty is a decent person,” she says about my sister. “And I hate that her husband left her and the kids behind, but you can’t be expected to foot the damn bill for their lives. At some point, she has to grow up and take care of things herself. And even if you say no, they should still love you. It’s bullshit how they treat you. I don’t know how you took it this long.”

I settle my gaze on a mirror facing me on the opposite wall. It’s an odd picture—me sitting with Navie on her couch when I was in my own home just a few days ago. It’s almost hard to believe the reflection is true.

But it is.

I don’t want to think too much about it. If I do, the tightness in my chest will be back. And the headaches. And … No. Stop, Snow. New place. New start. New me.

“Okay,” I say, getting up and finding my computer. “Honey and jam ice cream, or should we try the whiskey and pecan?”

Navie shakes her head.

“Right,” I say. “Both.”

Click!

Five

Peck

“I think it’s a great idea.”

Machlan looks at me from the other side of the bar. The look on his face is fairly unreadable. It could be that he’s pretending my suggestion is terrible. But there’s a remote chance he’s contemplating my proposal for a new weekend activity at Crave with the seriousness it deserves. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless.

“Peck,” he begins. “Shut up.”

“Think about it,” I say, not shocked he reverted to dismissing my moment of brilliance. “Move the pool tables to the side and add a giant bull right in the center and let people ride it. I saw this thing once where—”

“Pretty sure that’s a violation of my insurance policy.”

“Then your policy is a pussy.” I tear at the label on my beer. “What about a wet T-shirt contest?”

“I think Hadley would find the idea of women dancing on top of bars with their T-shirts soaked so everyone can see their nipples kind of in bad taste.”

“Karaoke?”

Machlan tips his head back and looks at the ceiling.

“Fine,” I say. “Belly shots. It’s a tried-and-true way to increase revenue. I mean, I don’t have facts to back that up, but I just don’t know how you can go wrong with it.”

“Peck …”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to have to go there, but you’re shooting down everything I fire your way.” Leaning against the bar, the edge digging into my ribs, I level my eyes with his. “If you want to do it and take all the credit, I’m fine with that. I know you like everyone to think you’re the genius.”

“Who’s a genius?” Navie comes out of nowhere. Her purse flies under the bar with a thud. She looks at me, then at Machlan, and then back to me. “Cleary, it’s neither of you two.”

“Hey,” I say, leaning back and clutching at my heart. “That wounds me.”

Machlan rolls his eyes at my antics. “I mentioned how I’d like to shake things up on the weekends, and Boy Genius here came up with some ideas that would do one of three things: get my insurance cancelled, have Hadley leave me, or turn the place into a porn club.”

Navie twists her lips. “Tell me more about the last one.”

“See?” I yelp as I sit up. “Belly shots are the answer, Mach. Fuck it. I’m taking the credit for this.”

Navie laughs as she swipes a piece of hair off her forehead. “You know, I could’ve guessed where that idea came from without anyone telling me.”

“Because it’s genius, and you equate me with genius things, right?” I ask.

“Something like that.” She and Machlan exchange a grin. “So let’s keep thinking of ideas—in case there’s a gelatin shortage or something,” she adds, looking my way, “and see what happens. In the meantime, does anyone know how to treat a burn?”

She grabs her wrist and winces. There’s a red welt across her skin that looks like it hurts like hell.

“What did you do?” Machlan asks.

“Burned it frying a hamburger. I mean, I don’t cook for a couple of weeks and then try to fry a hamburger, which I do here all the time, and apparently forget how.”

A glimmer of happiness shines in her eyes, and it hits me right in the chest. There’s a weight off her shoulders. I doubt it’s the pots and pans specifically, but probably more like she thinks things are put to bed with Logan. That makes me happy—even if I had to pretend to be him and get guilted into buying him out of trouble.

How did that even happen?

“You’re welcome,” I say before tipping the rest of my beer back.

“For what?” Navie asks.

“For being me, I guess.”

Ignoring the confused looks of my friends, I send the bottle careening down the bar. It flies into the trashcan at the end.

“Butter,” I say.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Machlan asks.

“Butter on burns.” I shrug. “I read that once. Or heard it. Or something. You put butter on burns to make them better.”

Machlan chuckles. “That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t. What’s the science behind that?” He crosses his arms over his chest, enjoying a situation where he thinks he has the answer. “Butter is a fat. Fat would keep the heat inside the burn. It’s counter-intuitive.”

He has a point. Damn it.

“While you take that up with the interwebs,” I say, “I’m going to figure out how to make you money.”

I have no clue what I’m going to do, but what I’m not going to do is sit here and have Machlan prove me wrong. It’s not that I was guaranteeing butter would work. I was just suggesting it, and I’m not giving him the opportunity to flaunt his minor victory over my head.

I look around Crave. There are a few people in the back. Pool balls are being racked up as they chat over the table.

“Hey,” I call back there. “Question—what would you guys like to see in here on weekends?”

“What are you doing?” Machlan asks.

I look over my shoulder. “I’m taking a survey of your five patrons—myself not included.”

“People don’t know what they want. You just have to give it to them,” Machlan says.

I smirk. “Pretty sure that’s illegal in all fifty states.”

Navie laughs, jabbing Machlan in the ribs, as I turn back to the pool players.

“So?” I ask.

“Cheaper drinks,” one of them suggests.

Machlan snorts behind me.

“What else?” I ask.

The blonde puts a pool stick between her boobs and grins. “How about you strip teasing on top of the bar?”

“That I can do,” I say.

I turn to face Machlan. His eyes are narrowed.

“Don’t,” he says.

“The people want it. A good businessman delivers what the people want.” I glance over my shoulder. Again. “You want it, right?”

“Do I ever,” Blondie says.

I shrug. “See?”

“I think we give him a shot,” Navie offers. “I mean, it could really—”

“Peck,” Machlan shouts as I leap onto the bar.

Staying a few feet away from him so he can’t reach out and swipe my legs out from under me—been there, done that—I plant my boot-clad feet shoulder width apart. I’m not expecting the country song that pulses out of the speakers.

“Get it,” Navie shouts over the beat.

Laughing, I start with a roll of my body. I don’t have a damn clue how you’re actually supposed to do this. I just get up here from time to time to get a rise out of Machlan because it pisses him off … and hopefully to get a little attention from Molly if she’s around.

A whistle screams through the air from Blondie as I lift the edge of my diesel truck logo shirt. I spin my hat around backward, the music just starting to feed into my blood when it shuts off.

“Down, Peck,” Machlan barks.

“Don’t blame me if you go broke,” I shout back to him.

The bar is flooded with light. The front door opens, and Dylan steps inside.

My stomach flip flops at the sight of her.

She has on the same cutoffs that she had on the day she ripped my ass at Dave’s. A T-shirt falls easily off one shoulder. It has a rainbow across the front.

Her eyes scan the bar, lighting up when she sees Navie. I stand still—both unable and afraid to move.

“Hey, Navie,” she chirps. The door closes behind her. She makes her way across the room toward the bar. “Thought I’d check this place out tonight …” Her voice falls as her gaze lands on me. “What are you doing here?”

I gulp.

I’m not sure how to play this off … and in front of Navie, no less. I look at my friend and spy a quirked brow.

“I’m volunteering to host a strip tease event on Saturday nights,” I say. “Want a preview?”

“Get. Down,” Machlan says. Again.

Dylan presses her lips together. Still, there’s a hint of a smile that makes me grin. I don’t know what it is about her refusal to be nice to me that’s so amusing, but it is.

“I can’t believe they let you in here,” she says.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Navie asks.

I bow my head as I hop to the floor. The soles of my boots squeak against the concrete. If I look up, I’ll see the equivalent of a rainbow-shirt wearing iceberg get plowed by a few Titantic-esque truths that are probably going to hurt.

Me.

That’s who it’s going to hurt. Because she’s going to blame me for not telling her, and her fingernail poking my chest hurts like a motherfucker.

Dylan pops her hip, a hand finding the bend right above it. Her eyes are glued to me as she sighs. “Well, at least he returned what he stole.”

“Good thing we don’t kick him out over not paying for shit,” Machlan says, heading toward the storeroom. “Fucker always has a tab.”

“I pay it off every month,” I yell at him.

I turn slowly back around to see Navie and Dylan looking at me. Dylan looks defiant, as usual, but Navie’s something else. Curious, maybe.

“I didn’t know you guys knew each other,” Navie says.

Dylan raises a brow. “I told you I met him yesterday.”

“Huh. I must’ve missed that.”

My heart starts to pick up its pace as I feel the impending bomb drop hovering overhead. “I’m going to head out.”

“You want me to add your beer to your tab?” Navie asks.

Dylan’s jaw drops. “How can you be so nice to him? I mean, I know he brought everything back and all that, but seriously, Navie. Be mad. Be angry.” She balls her fists up and shakes them in front of her. “Stand up for yourself, girlfriend. Don’t let him ghost you and then just pop back up with that stupid charm and cute smile.”

Navie cocks her head to the side. I smile sheepishly.

“Tab. Yup,” I say, walking backward toward the door.

“See ya later, Peck,” Navie says.

My foot halts midstep as the realization I’ve been waiting to hit Dylan flushes over her face. Her eyes widen before they narrow. The apples of her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink as she starts putting pieces of things together.

I retreat again, quicker this time—

“Stop,” Dylan demands.

Navie comes around the bar, a white bar towel fisted in her hand. “What’s happening here?”

“Who is that?” Dylan asks, pointing at me.

“I really gotta go,” I say.

“What’s his name?” Dylan looks at me. “What’s your name?”

“Little late to be asking that now, isn’t it?” I rotate my hat around again, pulling it snugly down as far as I can.

“You’re Logan. Right?” Dylan watches me intently. “Tell me you’re Logan, or I’m going to flip tables.”

“What are you talking about?” Navie asks, laughing at her friend. “That’s not Logan. That’s Peck.”

Dylan lets out a little shriek as she flies in a half-circle to face Navie. “What are you talking about? That’s not your cute best friend here … until I moved here. Now I’m your cute best friend here. Anyway, that’s Logan. The jerkface that ghosted you!”

Navie’s laugh fills with confusion. “No, it’s not. That’s Peck. Why on Earth would you think …” Her voice trails off. A lightbulb goes off as all the pieces in a puzzle are snapped together in her brain.

“Yeah ….” I mumble.

“Peck,” Navie warns.

“Don’t Peck me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“The hell you didn’t,” Dylan interjects. “You let me think you were Logan. You brought Logan’s pots and pans … or Navie’s pots and pans that you—I mean, Logan—stole … Ugh. This is giving me a headache.”

Both of them watch me for a reaction. Navie is mildly entertained, but Dylan looks mostly shocked. If I had the balls to laugh at her pretty little face scrunched up in horror, I would. Buuuut I don’t. Not even close.

I shuffle my feet, unsure if I should get another beer or run before I get poked in the chest again.

“That skillet was a good one, right?” I ask.

It’s a stupid thing to say, but this is a stupid situation. Maybe the stupidest situation I’ve ever been in, and with Walker, Lance, and Machlan Gibson as cousins, I’ve been in a whole lot of them. So that says something.

Navie’s features soften. “You bought those? For real?”

“Yeah.”

“Both of you hush,” Dylan says. She moves her weight from one foot to the other. “You aren’t Logan. You’re Peck.”

“Yup,” I say. “I’m pretty sure we’ve made that clear—ouch!”

She slaps my bicep. The sound echoes through the bar, catching the attention of Machlan as he reappears. I plead silently for him to help me. He laughs instead and disappears once again into the storeroom.

Fucker.

“What’s that for?” I ask, rubbing my arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked,” I say. “And you didn’t give me a chance.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bullshit what?” I say with a chuckle. “I was under a damn truck, and here you come roasting me for all this stuff, and I finally was like, ‘Okay. I’ll be the bad guy if it’ll make you stop talking.’”

She gasps.

“Only because you were confusing the hell outta me. I had work to do, and you were accusing me of being some asshole who ghosted my friend.” I blow out a breath. “So now that you know I’m not Logan—thank fuck—we can move on. Right? Are we friends here?”

No one answers. It’s like they’re stunned silent.

“Also,” I add since they’re being quiet. “I’m still the cute best friend here. I won’t relinquish that title.”

Still … nothing.

I slide my hat on backward again. “I’m going to figure out who is going to feed me tonight. Good night, ladies.”

“I heard Sienna made Walker chicken noodle soup today,” Machlan calls as he comes out of the storeroom again.

I jab my finger in the air as if to say, “Gotcha,” and head for the door.

Six

Peck

“If you’re such a crack mechanic, why haven’t you fixed this yet?” Walker walks across the parking lot of Crank and wipes his face with a purple bandana. There’s a smear of grease along his eyebrow that makes him look a little like a pirate. “How does it take this damn long to take an oil pan off a machine?”

“Simple. Some genius told me not to use penetrating oil because it’s for pussies. Could’ve had it fixed in ten minutes otherwise.”

“Ten minutes, my ass.”

“Okay, maybe twelve,” I joke. “But … watch and learn, Captain.”

I smack the final bolt with a hammer to loosen it the rest of the way—hopefully—and then grab the wrench. A few twists, and it’s off. The oil, thick and black, splashes into the tray underneath.

“Annnd done—the hard way, I’ll point out,” I say. “Which was stupid and a huge waste of time, but you’re paying me by the hour, so what do I really care?”

Walker’s arms are smeared with grease too as he crosses them over his burly chest. He’s as big as a damn house and strong as an ox too. Regardless of how menacing he looks or assholish he sounds, he’s one of the best people I know. And now that he has Sienna Landry living with him—and on the verge of marriage, if I’m guessing, and I’d have to be guessing because Walker doesn’t talk about those kinds of things—his edges are getting a little softer too.

I wouldn’t tell him that, though. Soft edges or not, he could still kill me.

“That’s a good point,” he says, jamming the bandana in his back pocket. “Maybe I oughta pay you a salary. Then I could just give you a list of things to do every day and not give a shit how long it takes you to do it.”

“Maybe I’d quit.”

He snorts. “I’ve tried to get rid of you for years. Ain’t got ya to leave yet.”

We exchange a smile because he’s right, and we both know it. I’d never leave him, and he’d never let me anyway. Somehow, our dynamic gets shit done. Four or five mechanic shops have tried to open in Linton in the past handful of years, but they close down fast every time. No one can compete with Crank because we don’t steal our customers’ money and actually give a damn about our work. It’s not exactly a cutting-edge business model, but it works. Well.

“I’m gonna grab some lunch,” he says. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Where ya going?”

“Home. Sienna made this beef thing her sister sent her the recipe for.”

My ears perk up. “Oooh. Tell her to save me some. I’ll be by for dinner.”

“Fucking hell, Peck. She’s my girlfriend. Not yours.”

“Clearly,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But she likes cooking for me too. As friends. As family.”

He heads to his truck. “If I didn’t need ya around here, I might strangle ya.”

I laugh as I get back to the tractor. Satisfied that the oil is doing its thing, I head underneath the back end to check on a bearing. The gravel bites in my back as I get situated under the machine.

No matter how many rocks I pick out of my hair or how scraped up my skin gets, I’d never trade this job for anything in the world. Every project is like a puzzle I can solve. I know I can. And when I do take something broken and repair it, it gives me a high. When a farmer calls and asks Walker to send me to a field to get his equipment back on track, it maybe even gives me a purpose.

There’s nothing like it.

There’s nothing like knowing you’re useful, that you’re good at something. That someone needs you around … even if it’s for something as ordinary as fixing equipment.

I check the bearings and make sure they’re good. Climbing out from under the tractor, I watch a car pull into the parking lot. It’s a blue compact car with a cute little brunette in the driver’s seat.

Leaning against the tractor, I grin as Dylan steps out of the car.

“I’m Peck,” I call out. “Just thought I’d start everything off right this time.”

She grins. “I got that. Thanks.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

I press off the tractor.

She’s so darn pretty.

I take her in as she approaches and realize I’m not even looking at her physical traits. I’m smiling at the possibility of what’s going to come from her mouth. Despite her jazzing me, bantering back and forth with her and having her give as good as she gets is entertaining.

I chuckle.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing. What’s up? Need to blame me for some other deviant’s mistakes?”

“Ha-ha. No.”

I rub a hand down the side of my face. “Then are you coming to blindside guilt me into making a purchase for some random housewares that really have nothing to do with me?”

She drops her chin and looks at me through her lashes. “Really, Peck?”

“Ah, that’s a good sign! You’re using my real name.”

She tries not to laugh but fails. Finally, she gives in, and the sweet sound billows across the parking lot.

A truck honks as it passes, and I wave without looking at who it is.

“Your real name can’t be Peck,” she says.

“And why can’t it?”

The idea that maybe she’s just offended me flitters across her face. “Well, I guess it can. It just doesn’t seem like a proper first name. That’s all.”

“Is there such a thing as a proper first name these days? You’ve got kids named after space dust and fruit and cartoon characters. I don’t think Peck is that crazy, to be honest.”

She grins. “I dated a guy once—well, I don’t know if you could say I dated him, if you know what I mean. But anyway, his name was Prince. His actual God-given name was Prince. Who does that?”

I mumble something. What? I’m not sure. I’m too busy trying to shove off this idea of her going at it with some dude named Prince.

“Your name is Dylan,” I tease, rerouting my brain away from the guy I’ve decided I dislike. “What kind of name is that for a girl?”

“Hey, now. That was my grandma’s name.”

I jab at her with my elbow as I start to walk away from her. “I’m just kidding.”

She follows me across the parking lot, sidestepping the mud puddles. Her nose crinkles as she touches the water with the side of her foot.

I get to the door of Crank before her and pull it open. Watching her try to get by the last two holes—the deepest ones in the lot—will be the highlight of my day. She bites her lip as if calculating quantum physics as she studies the possibility of hopping between them.

“Um, you could go around them,” I suggest. “Or walk through them like I did.”

“Ew. No.”

“It’s water. It’s not gonna kill you.”

“It’s mud and oil and … stuff.” She sighs. “And I’m not going around them. This is my path, and I’m bending it to suit me.”

“Well, if you could bend it a little faster, that’d be great. All the air conditioning is going outside.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “You could shut the door.”

“And you could just walk through the damn puddle.”

Firing me a last playful glare, she tries to hop over the last two holes. Her shirt glues to her body as she bounces, her hair shifting around her shoulders. It’s playful and fun and fucking sexy, and I’m not prepared when she loses her balance. Her flip-flop must get wet because she slides to the side, her legs splitting apart into a wide stance, and she grabs my arm to steady herself.

Her hands wrap around my bicep. They’re small and dainty, but her grip is strong. I flex without thinking, and her eyes light up.

She looks up at me, her lips parted. My throat goes dry as I try to keep myself unaffected—or at least something other than grabbing her and kissing that look off her face.

“Should’ve walked around it,” she says softly. She releases my arm and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay. Let’s go in before the electric bill is outrageous.”

“After you.”

She darts in around me, taking a wide berth so we don’t touch. The door closes behind me.

“It’s so quiet in here,” she comments. “I expected it to be loud.”

“Walker is on lunch, or it would be. The tools are pretty noisy.”

She forces a swallow. “So I hate doing this. It pains me, really. But … I wanted to say I’m sorry for … kind of … screwing up everything with Logan and you and all that mess. And I wanted to thank you for buying Navie those pans. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did. You would’ve come looking for me if I hadn’t.”

“So you bought them so you wouldn’t have to see me again?”

There’s a twinge of a challenge in her voice. It sends me into overdrive.

“No,” I say. “Not at all. I mean, yes. I did buy them so I wouldn’t have to see you like that again. Damn, girl. You can be scary. But I don’t mind seeing you like this.”

The corner of her lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t come.

I lean against the window that overlooks the shop bay. “Fine. I kind of like seeing you when you’re not pissed, okay? Does that make you happy?”

She grins. “Yup. Thanks.”

She walks around the lobby and takes in the magazines, sample tires in the corner, and candy machines. She wants to say something, but I don’t know what it is.

Guilt. It could be guilt. Maybe she’s feeling bad about me buying stuff out of pocket for the stuff for Navie.

It has to be.

I consider letting her feel bad but can’t. There’s no way in the world I wouldn’t help Navie out after that asshole took her stuff.

“Just so you know,” I say, “I would’ve bought all that for Navie without your guilt trip had I known.”

She looks at me over her shoulder.

“I would’ve. Really,” I insist. “Navie’s my buddy. I had no clue she was dating Logan at all, or I would’ve convinced her not to—which is why I didn’t know. She didn’t tell any of us.” I suck in a breath. “Probably a good thing because Machlan would’ve killed him.”

Dylan turns to face me. “He’s your cousin, right?”

“Yup. Him and his brothers, Lance—a teacher—and Walker. He owns this place. And they have a sister, Blaire, who’s an attorney in Chicago.”

“Machlan seemed really nice last night.”

It’s a statement. Not a question. An observation that lingers in the air for me to pick up and take off with.

“He is,” I say.

“You guys take care of Navie, huh?”

I shrug. “Yeah. I mean, that’s what you do, isn’t it? Take care of your friends?”

She twists her lips before looking at the floor. “That’s what’s supposed to happen. I’m glad she found you guys.”

My chest starts to ache, and the discomfort propels me to move. I press off the window and busy myself with repositioning my hat on my head.

Her tone bothers me, but I don’t know her well enough to ask her about it. I don’t want to pry. I hate when people try to pry things out of me.

“Well,” I tell her. “Now you’ve found us too, and if you can manage not to be mean, maybe we can—”

“Mean? I wasn’t mean,” she says, cutting me off. The spark is back in her eyes. Funny that it makes the pain in my chest evaporate too. “I was being … defensive of my friend. Our friend.”

“Fine. But you owe me for your defensiveness.”

She pulls her hair on top of her head. An elastic comes from her wrist, and in two seconds flat, she’s piled her hair into some messy looking bundle. I wonder vaguely if that’s what it looks like when she gets out of bed.

“How about this?” she says. “You come to Navie’s tonight, and I’ll cook the two of you dinner in your cookware.”

Even if I wanted to say no, which I don’t, I couldn’t. There’s no way to say no to a woman who looks like that when she’s inviting you to dinner. Plus, I kind of like bantering with her. Plus plus, I love not having to find food on my own.

“I really can’t turn down dinner,” I say. “Especially when I’m already so invested in it.”

“Great. See you tonight. At … six?”

“I don’t get out of here until about five thirty, so how about seven? That way, I can shower first.”

She starts to crack some comment. I can see it on the tip of her tongue. But she laughs instead, nods, and heads for the door. “See ya at seven.”

She leaves a trail of orange-scented air behind her.

Seven

Dylan

“That’s really good, Dylan.” Navie gives her finger a final lick. “Like, really good.”

“Why, thank you.”

I give the spaghetti sauce a final stir and then switch off the heat.

My grandma’s recipe called for homemade red sauce, but I used jarred. She’s probably rolling over in her grave right about now, but there’s not a lot I can do about it. Inviting Peck over for dinner just shot out of my mouth without any forward thought, and I wasn’t prepared to spend six hours watching a pot simmer.

That’s insane. But it makes the best sauce for people who care about those things. People like my nonna. Not people like me.

“It was really nice of you to offer to cook dinner for Peck,” Navie says.

I’ve been her friend too long to miss the hint of humor in her voice. It’s not just humor. That would be one thing. It’s a tease, a prod of some sort that has me rolling my eyes.

“Well, I felt like a dick.” I pick up the spoon I used to stir the sauce and give it a good lick. “Besides, he’s your friend. Since I’m going to be living here too, it makes sense for me to make friends.”

“Uh-huh.”

I turn away and lick the spoon again.

She’s crazy. The invitation I extended to Peck was merely to make up for my miscalculations about his identity. And I do need friends here. It can’t hurt to be acquaintances with a guy who can change tires, anyway, can it? Seems super logical to me.

“I’d go with friends with benefits, if I were you,” she says.

The spoon hits the spoon rest with a thud. “Navie.”

“What?” she asks, pressing a hand to her chest like she’s taken aback by my rather forceful use of her name. “What are you Navie-ing me for?”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop insinuating I’m trying to get laid or something.” My cheeks turn the same shade as the sauce. I pop open the oven and bend to retrieve the meatballs. If she comments on my red face, I’ll claim it was from the heat. “I’m righting wrongs over here, not … lining up dongs.”

Navie snorts so loud I look to make sure she’s not choking.

“Besides,” I continue, “dealing with some guy, no matter how hot he is, is the absolute last thing I need to be doing right now.”

Thoughts of Charlie threaten to blitzkrieg their way into my brain. I jumped into that too fast. There were probably signs he wasn’t ready for a relationship, and I ignored them. I wanted his attention. I craved his love. The problem was that he wasn’t in a space to give me either because he was still in love with Vanessa.

I force those thoughts out of my mind with every bit of mental energy I can gather.

I set the meatballs on the counter before flipping the sauce back on. One by one, I lay them into the pool of tomato-y deliciousness.

Navie takes a slice of mozzarella off the plate beside me and nibbles on the end. “Can I give you one tip?”

“No.”

“Wrong answer.” She bites off the end of the cheese. “There’s this girl named Molly McCarter. Peck says he’s in love with her, but he’s not,” she says. “He just thinks he is. He couldn’t possibly be in love with that rat, and she’s definitely not in love with him—or so says the chain of men who have escorted her out of Crave every night last week.”

I cover the meatballs with a lid and try to reason why a woman would blow a guy like Peck off if she knew he was into her. I’d bet double or nothing on my HAS budget that his body is rock hard under all those car company T-shirts. And he’s so damn funny and sweet and kind—so far, anyway. I suppose he could, theoretically, not be her type, but I don’t know a woman who wouldn’t die over him.

Except me. Because I’m not into the idea of competing for another man’s affection.

Nope.

“I don’t care who he loves,” I say. “Or who loves him. I’m just your cutest best friend making dinner for you and your ex-cutest best friend.”

Navie laughs, plucking another chunk of mozzarella off the plate. “I’m going to go change my shirt before dinner. This one smells like fingernail polish remover.”

She traipses across the room, mouth full of cheese, her head bobbing side to side. As soon as she’s gone, I slink against the cabinets.

I hope this was a good idea. It felt like it at the time, and it’s not like it feels like it’s a bad idea now, exactly. Navie’s leap to Peck’s love life is just a little jarring.

Sure, he’s adorable with a heavy dose of subtle sexiness that’s pretty incredible. But he also seems like really good friendship material. He can take a joke. His patience runs deep. Quite frankly, he’s the kind of guy I should make friends with.

If he’s in love with someone else, won’t that make it easier? He’ll friend-zone me right from the start.

I press off the cabinet as the doorbell rings.

“Grab that, Dyl. Please,” Navie calls out from her bedroom.

I suck in a deep breath and make my way to the door. I tug it open.

“Heya, Dylan.”

Peck smiles brightly on the other side of the doorway. Clean jeans stretch down his long legs, and he’s traded a diesel company’s shirt in for an eighties rock band. A blue baseball hat with white stitched L.A. sits on his head.

“Hey, Peck.” I step to the side so he can walk in. “How are ya?”

My voice is too high. It’s like my brain worries that Peck could somehow telepathically know I was just mulling over his love life and feels embarrassed. Either he doesn’t pick up on it, or he’s too well-mannered to point it out.

“Great. Something smells good in here,” he says.

“I just threw a little spaghetti and meatballs together. Easy dinner, you know?”

“That sounds like it would be a big pain in the ass to make, actually.”

I grin. “Well, not true, but I’m happy to play along. You should be so grateful I went to all this trouble to make a pain in the ass dinner for you.”

The blues of his eyes match his hat. I can see it as he moves toward the window. The light makes his irises shine, blending different shades of aqua together.

“Let’s be honest,” he says. “This isn’t for me. It’s for you.”

“What’s for me?”

“This dinner. It’s an apology dinner because you have guilt.” He turns on his heel and looks at me. A giant smirk lights up his face. “As you should.”

I gasp. “I have no such thing … Well, not much,” I admit. “But I’m not making you dinner out of guilt.”

“Huh.”

I try to glare at him but can’t quite get it just right because of his stupid smirk. My efforts are saved by Navie.

She flings her bedroom door open with a flourish before striding into the room with not just a new shirt but also different jeans and sneakers too.

The ones she wears at work.

I give her a look she pretends not to see.

“Hey, Peck. Welcome to my humble abode,” she says, holding her arms out to the sides like a game show host. “I wish I could stay and have dinner with you guys, but Machlan just called and said he needs me to come in. Who am I to say no to the boss?”

Peck raises a brow. “You. Every damn time you work.”

“Well, he really seemed like he needed me this time.”

“I’m sure he did,” I deadpan. “You’re a terrible liar, Navie.”

Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she gently pushes Peck out of the way. “I’ll see you two later.”

The door closes with a loud wumpth.

My eyes flick to Peck’s. I have no idea what he’s going to say now about being stuck here with just me. I’m not sure what I even have to say about this because I was not prepared. Not that this is anything to prepare for. It’s just an apology dinner between two potential friends. No big deal.

My stomach ripples as his lips part, and the easiest smile ever is shot my way. Immediately, tension I didn’t know I had melts away from my shoulders, and I sink into a smile of my own.

“I’m glad she’s gone,” he says.

My mouth goes dry. “Why?”

“Have you ever seen how much that girl can eat? Now that she’s gone, that just means more meatballs for me.” He winks as he walks by me and into the kitchen area. “Tell me you made garlic bread.”

A laugh topples from my lips. “I did.”

He takes a plate off the table. “Can I fill my plate?”

“Sure.”

He busies himself with the pasta and garlic bread. “What did you do today? Accost any other unsuspecting guys about crimes they didn’t commit?”

“Are you ever going to let me live that down?” I take a plate and begin filling it too.

“Nope.”

We finish getting our dinner in silence. The only sound in the apartment is the silverware clamoring against our plates as we load up with spaghetti.

In a few moments, we sit across from each other at the table. Peck removes his hat and hangs it on the back of his chair. His hair sticks up wildly as though he put the hat on it while it was still wet. I have to force myself to look away.

I clear my throat. “So you asked what I did today. I actually got a call from the landlord at my new digs. He said I can get the keys tomorrow.”

It’s the best redirection I can come up with.

“Cool. Vine Street, right?” he asks.

“Yup,” I say, trying to hide how impressed I am that he remembered that. “Just passed that house with the big balcony on the second floor. Man, I’d love to have one of those one day. It reminds me of Gone with the Wind or something. So romantic. Anyway, it’s perfect timing because my stuff is coming tomorrow too. Finally, something is working out.”

I slice a corner of meatball and shove it into my mouth to keep from talking. Peck doesn’t fill the void, though. He sits in his chair and watches me chew.

“What?” I say through a mouthful of meatball.

“Nothing.”

“Come on.” I squeeze the bite that’s still too big to swallow healthfully down my throat. “What?”

“Does it ever occur to you to breathe when you’re talking? Or do you just worry about that if you pass out from oxygen deprivation?”

I take the napkin beside my plate and throw it at him. He laughs as he easily dodges the flimsy paper product.

“I have a lot to say. A lot of passion,” I joke.

“Do you?”

“I do.”

He takes a sip of the ice water on the table, and I realize I had beer in the fridge.

“Hey! Don’t drink that.” I scoot my chair back and jump up.

“Did you poison it, and now feel bad?”

“You’re so funny,” I say, the words mixed with both sarcasm and a laugh.

I grab a bottle of beer that Navie said he’d drink and open it. As I carry it to the table, I narrow my eyes. “Now I regret being this nice to you.”

“Now I regret teasing you,” he says as he takes it. “Thanks, Dylan.”

“You’re welcome, Peck.” I get seated again. Spinning a forkful of pasta around, I feel him watching me across the table. “What’s the story behind your name, anyway? Surely, your parents didn’t just love the name Peck.”

“What’s not to love about my name?”

I drop my fork. “Come on. Were you never teased? No one ever called you peckerhead?”

He laughs, setting the bottle on the table. “A few times, I guess. Mostly by Machlan, come to think of it.” He grins. “But the name Peck is actually a nickname.”

“Aha! I knew it.”

“Want a cupcake?”

“I always want a cupcake.”

He shakes his head.

“What’s it mean?” I ask. “Is it short for peckerhead then?”

“Uh, no. My grandfather gave it to me. Legend has it that I was four years old, and we were in Crank. Crank was Pop’s shop originally. He left it to my Uncle Ed—Walker, Machlan, Lance, and Blaire’s dad. He was my mom’s brother. And then when he died, it went to Walker.”

I’ve only had a few conversations with Peck over the past couple of days, but I’ve never seen him this serious. The joke that’s always right there, waiting to come out is nowhere to be found.

My instinct is to reach out and put my hand on his or touch him on the shoulder because there’s pain there. Or emotion. Or something. But I don’t know him well enough to do that, and it feels like it would be intrusive somehow.

So I intrude a different way. Because I can’t help myself.

“Does that bother you?” I ask.

“What?”

“That your Pop’s shop is Walker’s?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s how things go. What was Pop gonna do? Leave it to my mom?” The end of that sentence gets scoffed with sarcasm, the final words halting. It’s as if he has to spit them out. “Anyway,” he says, swallowing hard, “it doesn’t bother me. But I do like working there. Sometimes, I’ll see something that reminds me of Pop or even Uncle Ed. And Walker and I have had some damn good times in there.”

A grin splits his cheeks as he takes another long swig of his beer.

“So the nickname …?” I push.

“Oh, yeah. So Pop had me in the shop because I loved anything with an engine. Still do. I’d beg him to take me. Nana says I used to call up there and tell him she needed him so he’d come home, and then I could get him to take me back with him.”

I laugh. The picture in my mind is so sweet—a cherub-faced blond baby crying for his grandpa. “That’s awesome and very manipulative of you.”

“Right? And apparently one of those days, he was working on a truck. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it or whatever, and I kept saying ‘peck, peck, peck.’ I kept doing it and leaning toward the truck and finally Pop heard what I was getting at. There was a knock in the engine,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “I didn’t know how to say that, so I just replicated the pecking sound I heard.”

“Oh, my gosh. That’s so adorable.”

The apples of his cheeks turn red. His brows pull together, and he slides his phone out of his pocket. With a finger hovered over the screen, he looks up at me. “I need to answer this. I know it’s really rude, but this is the only call I have to take.”

“Yeah. Sure. Go ahead.”

“Hey, Nana,” he says into the device. He nods once, twice, and then three times. “No. No, no, no. Don’t do that.” He sighs. “Don’t. I’ll … I’ll be right there. Just sit still, for the love of God, and don’t touch anything.” His eyes find me. They’re defeated. “Love you too.”

My spirits fall as I realize he’s leaving.

“I hope everything is okay,” I tell him.

“I hate this because your cooking is awesome, and I didn’t quite mind bantering with you either.” He smiles. “But my nana has mixed up all her meds. She had a heart attack not that long ago, and I need to get over there and re-sort her pills before she kills herself.”

The affinity he has for her melts me from the inside out. Even the way he talks about her—as if she’s the best thing ever—makes me wish I could tag along and meet the woman who makes a man like him care for her that much.

“Go,” I say. “It’s fine. Honest.”

We both get to our feet quietly. Peck bumps the table as he gets his hat off the back of the chair and the silverware clatters together. The sound feels hollow, and I realize how empty this room is going to feel in a few minutes.

“I’m really sorry about this, Dylan.”

“Don’t be. I’ll tell you what. I’ll bring you lunch tomorrow. Leftovers, though. Nothing fancy.”

His face lights up. “I’ll tell you what. To make up for this, I’ll help you move in tomorrow.”

“No,” I say, flabbergasted at the offer. “Everyone hates moving. I’ll just be cleaning tomorrow mostly anyway.”

He heads to the door. “I’m a great cleaning guy. Okay, that’s not true.” He chuckles. “But you have to let me help, or else I’ll feel really …”

“Guilty. You’ll feel guilty.” I fist-pump in the air. “Thank your nana for turning the tides my way.”

He pulls the door open and laughs. “Vine Street. Just passed Gone with the Wind. Right?”

“You don’t have to do this,” I say, following him a couple of steps out of the apartment.

He faces me head-on. It doesn’t feel awkward like it can sometimes when a guy is leaving after dinner. It feels like I’ve known him forever. Yet when I think about it, I really know nothing about him. I have the comfort level with Peck to ask him whatever I want—for him to offer to help me move—but have all these questions I’m curious to have answered.

So odd.

And so great too.

“Thank you for dinner,” he says softly. “It was delicious, and I look forward to eating more of it tomorrow.”

With a final simple smile, he turns the corner and is gone. And even though I’m now on my own for the evening, I don’t feel alone. My heart is full, and my soul is … content.

If this is any indication of what it’s like to be around Navie and her friends—potentially my friends—I just might be okay.

Eight

Peck

“There it is,” I say, passing the house with the balcony.

I pull up Dylan’s driveway and hop out of the truck. My boots dig into the soft lawn on the side of the gravel driveway leading up to a cute little house. It’s pale blue with dark blue shutters that could use a good coat of paint. There are flower bushes—roses, maybe—underneath the front windows, but they’ve seen better days.

Despite needing a little sprucing up, the place isn’t bad. The roof looks solid. The windows look like they’re in good shape, and it even has a small attached garage.

Dylan’s car is pulled up to the open garage door.

“Hello?” I call out.

Taking a quick gander around, I don’t see her.

I stand in the middle of the driveway and breathe in the clean air in hopes it settles me a bit. I’ve fought myself all morning not to get here too early. After I drank my coffee slowly, I took the longest shower of my life, then checked on Nana, left Vincent a voicemail, and did a quick scope of Crank to ensure Walker didn’t need me.

Not that it would’ve mattered if he did. It just killed time.

Leaving early last night was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good because Nana royally screwed up her meds. If I hadn’t shown up, Lord knows what would’ve happened. It was bad, too, because I kept wondering if it would be kosher to show back up at Navie’s.

Dylan is just … cool. Easy to talk to. Pretty to look at. Funny as hell. Wanting to spend more time with her isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever had to justify.

I head up the driveway and enter the garage.

“Dylan?”

The bay where you’d logically park a car is half-filled with trash. Flies buzz the white and black bags that are piled mostly on the far side. I head farther into the room and climb two block stairs and give a door a little knock.

“Who is it?” her voice calls from the other side.

“Peck.”

“Come in,” she says.

The handle is loose as I twist it. The hinges squeal as I push the door open and enter the kitchen.

Dylan is standing at a bar that separates the kitchen from an eating area. Her bright pink shirt and yellow sunglasses tucked in the front don’t match the frown on her face.

“Hey,” I say. “What’s going on?”

She gives me a sound that I wouldn’t quite call a laugh. “Peck … This place is …”

I look around. The kitchen is old but workable. The flooring is intact but outdated. The ceiling sports popcorn from the seventies, but many houses here do.

“It’s solid. And we can fix anything you don’t like,” I offer.

Biting her bottom lip, she nods. “Go look in there.” She motions toward a doorway across from her.

I take a peek inside.

Animal hair is thick on the floor—so thick, in fact, that it almost makes a second carpet. There’s fur on top of a dresser that was left behind. The unmistakable odor of cat piss is present, and I’m sure it’d be worse if the window wasn’t open.

“Yeah …” I turn to face Dylan. “That’s rough.”

“It’s like that in the laundry room, and the living room isn’t much better.” Her shoulders fall. “I’m allergic to cats. Like, allergic-allergic. Like, allergic like I shouldn’t be in here at all, probably.”

“What happens to you? You aren’t going to die or anything, right?”

Her lips twist almost into a smile. “No. I’m not gonna die. But I probably will break out into hives, and my lips will blow up like balloons.”

There’s fear in her eyes that’s overkill over a bunch of swollen lips.

“Let’s go outside,” I say.

She looks around the room, gnawing on her bottom lip again.

I give her the look Walker gives me when he’s tired of my shit. “Come on.”

Her feet don’t move very fast, but she winds up at the door to the garage. I hold it open as she passes through and follow her into the driveway.

“I can go get one of those carpet shampooer things,” I offer. “Or we can rip it out and put something else down.”

She presses her palms on her forehead. “I don’t think I can do that on a rental.”

“Well, I’m pretty damn sure the landlord can’t do this to you either.”

“I can’t even think,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m bamboozled by this.”

“Did your landlord not even check it before he gave you the keys?”

“I don’t know,” she whines, dropping her hands. “I think he did. He told me they left a little mess, but I was so anxious to get the place that I told him not to worry about it.” She gazes at the house. “I’m screwed, Peck. I don’t know what I can do. Cat … stuff, whatever it is that I’m allergic to, embeds itself in the fibers of a house.”

I think she’s going to cry. Her bottom lip goes between her teeth again, and she works it back and forth. Her green eyes stay wide open like she’s afraid to blink or tears will fall down her cheeks.

My stomach twists into a knot. I don’t know what to do. This isn’t my department. I’m great at executing plans but coming up with them—especially for other people—is someone else’s job.

“Well …” I jam my hands into my pockets. “I’m sure you can get out of the contract. I mean, you haven’t even moved in. Who is your landlord?”

“Mark Billingsley.”

“Want me to talk to him?” I offer.

“It’s not just that. I mean, what am I going to do? My stuff is coming in a pod thing soon, and I have nowhere to even put it now. I could fill Navie’s entire apartment with my stuff.”

She kicks a pebble around the driveway. Her shoulders are tense. Each kick is a little harder until I’m afraid that if she aims wrong, she’ll put out a window with the rock.

“Are there storage units around?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Closest one I know of is about forty-five minutes away.”

“That’ll be convenient.” She sighs as if the weight of the world is on her shoulders. “I need to find a place to rent.”

My brain goes into overdrive. There aren’t a lot of vacant houses around Linton because most people never leave once they get here. The houses I know are rentals are occupied, and most of them are owned by a guy out of Chicago who has the personality of a wounded badger.

Dylan looks down and scratches a place on her calf. “Flea bite.”

I walk a circle trying to rack my brain for something to solve her problem when I spy the leftovers she brought me for lunch. The smell and warmth of walking into Navie’s last night stuck with me all night. So did the conversation with Dylan.

All night, I wished I could’ve stayed. It was like hanging out with Walker’s girl, Sienna, or Machlan’s girlfriend, Hadley. Being around both of them feels like being with family. Like I can say or do anything without it being held over my head—in a bad way, anyway. My family roasts me for years over every stupid thing. At least I know they care.

Dylan is like that. But more … exciting.

“Hey,” I say, turning to face her.

Her eyes lift to mine. “Yeah?”

“I have an idea.”

“Please tell me you just thought of a place to rent for cheap that isn’t filled with animal fur.”

“Maybe I have.”

She perks up. “Really?”

“Maybe …”

This could be a terrible idea. It’s probably a terrible idea.

I try to talk myself out of saying what I’m about to say because … well, because of a lot of things. Because of that old saying not to fix what’s not broken. Because she’s so pretty. Because it would be an invasion of my personal space, and I’d be asking her to do it so I can’t even get mad when it happens.

Don’t do it, Peck …

“So I know a one bedroom, one bath,” I say in a rush before I start listening to myself. “Not that big, really, but enough room to move. Not big enough for all your stuff, but there’s a big barn out back where you could keep your stuff until you can figure out what to do with it.”

I grit my teeth as she happily receives this information.

“You do? Peck! That’s great. Where is it? Is it available? Who do I call?”

“It’s available. It’s just out of town on the other side. Near Bluebird Hill.”

“I saw a sign for that. It’s some kind of outdoors area or something?”

I nod. “That’s it.”

She looks at the house and then back at me. “Do you know how much the rent is? I was paying four hundred dollars a month for this place, and that was about the top of what I can do.”

“I think it’s less.”

“That would be perfect.” She scratches her leg again. “Who do I call?”

Rocking back on my heels, I look at the ground. “Me.”

She sighs in frustration. “Don’t mess with me, Peck. I seriously need to find something.”

“And I seriously have a room you could stay in.”

I look up at her. There are equal parts of hope and suspicion in those green orbs, but I get it. I feel the same way.

A part of me is excited at the thought of having her around to joke with for a few days. But another part is worried this might be all kinds of fucked up. But now that I’ve already spilled the beans, I have to ride it out.

“I can’t stay with you,” she says.

“Should I take that personally?”

“No,” she says with a grin. “But I barely know you. It would be super careless to move in with you.”

“I was using the words ‘stay with me’ because it sounds way less permanent than ‘move in with me,’” I say. “I don’t mean forever. I just mean while you figure this out.”

Her face falls. “This isn’t your problem.”

“I’m aware of that. But if someone has a need and you can supply the fix, you should. I have a room and a bathroom that never gets used. And a big ole barn out back that’s pretty much empty. You’re looking for both those things.” I smirk. “Or you can pile your things in Navie’s apartment, and the two of you can sleep outside. Up to you.”

She narrows her eyes. “Are you serious-serious?”

“As serious as I’m gonna get.”

“Do you sleepwalk?” she asks.

“Um, I don’t think so.”

“Do you eat a lot of beans?”

I laugh. “You’re gross.”

“I lived with a guy once that loved them, but they didn’t love him back, and I’d rather not do that again if I have the choice.”

“Well, then, I’ll explicitly ask for no beans, no guacamole when I go to Peaches and get Mexican.”

Her brow furrows. “Peaches for Mexican? That makes no sense.”

“Tell me about it.”

She rubs her forehead again as she walks in a small circle. She stops to look at the house before turning on her heel and facing me again.

“I guess it won’t hurt anything since you’re in love with Molly,” she says.

My head spins with that announcement. Molly? What the fuck does she have to do with anything, and how does she even know about her?

“What? What do you know about Molly?”

“That you love her.”

She says it carefully, testing the sound of the words in the air. Each syllable is enunciated, broken out by a thoughtful tongue.

Leaning back, she waits for my response. It’s one I don’t want to give her.

Molly and my feelings toward her are complicated.

She’s been a constant in my life—more so than anyone even knows. I don’t bother to explain it to them because it’s none of their business, for one. And two, they already have their mind made up about her.

She’s not easy to get along with. There are things about her that even I don’t love. But underneath her attitude is a person who needs someone to care about her. I promised her one day a long time ago that I would always give a shit.

It’s a promise I won’t break.

“I have things to do today, you know,” I tease.

“I’m calling bullshit because you planned on helping me today.”

“And now I’m not and could go by Crank and help Walker rip a tranny out of a SUV. Or go check on Nana or have a drink at Crave.”

“At this time of day?” she asks.

“Are you judging me?”

“Maybe.” Her cheeks split with a smile. “What’s the rent?”

“Whatever you want to pay. Honestly, the room is just sitting there.”

“Four hundred a month then. That’s what I was going to pay here.”

I laugh. “Yeah. No. How about we just talk about it later? See how you like it and how it works out?”

She wants to argue with me, but she can’t. I’m her only option, and I’m not upset about that.

“Fine,” she says with a grin. “I would love to stay with you for a while.”

I look at the sky and sigh. “Like you’re doing me some big favor.”

“Oh, but I am,” she says cheekily.

“Only if you cook a lot. Can we add that to your rent? Like you have to make dinner when you can so I don’t have to go find it every night.”

She laughs. “You never cook?”

“Never. If I can’t get Nana to make something, I go to one of my cousins’ houses. If they’re not making food, I just go buy it somewhere.”

“That’s a waste.”

“It was. Now I have you.”

We exchange a smile.

The air between us picks up, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of cat pee our way. We both make a sour face.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say.

“I need to talk to Mark and get my security deposit back.”

I head to my truck. “Follow me. We’ll take care of that together in case Mark has anything to say. Then we can head to my house.” I pop open the door when I’m stopped by Dylan’s voice.

“Hey, Peck.”

“Yeah?”

She smiles. “Thanks for this. All of it.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

There’s more she wants to say, but she doesn’t. She climbs in her car instead.

It’s for the best. I need to figure out what the fuck just happened anyway.

Nine

Dylan

“If I had known you were a hoarder, I wouldn’t have invited you to come here,” Peck says. He wipes his brow with the back of his head. “If I see another box labeled ‘Not Sure’ …”

He leans against the wall of the barn. My things, in boxes laden with my generalized description of the contents, are stacked in a neat row behind him. His jeans are dusty. Bits of cardboard are stuck to his faded blue T-shirt and dot the top of his baseball hat.

We’ve worked to unload the shipping container for the past hour. Luckily, I had my personal things—clothes I wear often, dishes, toiletries, and the like—clearly labeled, and we took those inside his house. The rest we stuck in his barn until I can find a permanent housing solution.

“At least I’m honest,” I say. “I happened to look inside your kitchen cabinets, and I’m not sure you know what’s in there either.”

“Of course, I do. Kitchen stuff.”

“And these boxes have my stuff.”

A laugh sits on the tip of his tongue. “Two totally different things, Dyl.”

“Not really,” I say, trying to ignore the slip of a nickname. “Kitchen stuff means those items go in the kitchen. My stuff means it goes with me. Basically, it’s the same thing.”

I brush a strand of hair off my forehead. Peck watches me like he has all the time in the world and doesn’t have anywhere else to be.

I’ve noticed this is a thing with him. When he’s with you or talking to you, he’s with you or talking to you. It would be unnerving except for the fact that he seems like he cares.

Or at least has enough manners to pretend really well.

Really well.

Well enough that I’m convinced he could reiterate the gist of any conversation we’ve had thus far.

Who does that?

“I was in a hurry, okay?” I say. “And low on boxes. So a box might have some candle holders, a piece to a blender I used to have, some coffee pods, and a Christmas ornament. How would you have labeled that?”

“Trash.”

I gasp. “You did not just call my life’s treasures trash.”

“No,” he says, his blue eyes sparkling. “I called some random shit you just rattled off trash. But if the candle holders were made outta gold or something or if the ornament had your dog’s paw print from its first Christmas with ya, then that’s obviously not trash.”

“Dog’s paw prints?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Don’t people do that?”

“Yeah. With their kids’ fingerprints,” I say with a laugh.

“I bet people do it with their dogs too.”

“Maybe. Doubt it, though. Wouldn’t the paint get stuck in their fur or something?”

He shoves off the wall and walks by me with a grin. “You think too much. Come on. Let’s go get a drink.”

I follow him out of the barn. The late afternoon sun teases the horizon, painting the sky with colorful rays, and the crickets begin to sing their ode to the day. It’s so peaceful here. It’s unlike any other place I’ve ever been.

Just like its owner.

Peck is a few feet ahead of me. I happily remain a few steps behind. Today has been a whirlwind. When I woke up this morning, there was no way I thought that I would be bunking with Peck by the end of the night. I would’ve said I would’ve been way too nervous to share a house with a man at all, let alone one I barely know.

But I’m not.

I don’t know how to feel about that yet.

He stops at the steps leading up to the back porch. “You comin’ or what?”

“You walk too fast.”

His smile touches his eyes. Leaning against the rail, he waits on me to catch up.

I stop next to him. A warm breeze trickles over my skin, bringing the scent of pines and freshly cut grass with it. It smells like a candle you’d buy with hopes that it would take you back to a vacation or a moment in time when you had no worries in the world. It’s that smell.

He climbs the stairs after me, giving me plenty of room.

“That’s all your stuff, right?” he asks.

“Yeah. The rental company will be by tomorrow to pick up the empty storage container.”

The back porch squeaks as I step on it. A grill sits to my right and a porch swing to my left. Some type of orange lily grows in a pot at the end, stretching toward the setting sun.

We step inside the house, and Peck flips on a light. He washes his hands and then busies himself with pouring two glasses of lemonade. I take his spot at the sink.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He glances at me over his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

“I want you to know that I won’t take this for granted. I’ll be on the lookout for a place on my own starting tomorrow. I won’t wear out my welcome.”

I dry off my hands before taking a glass from him.

He moves around the kitchen, wiping off the counters as I sip my lemonade. The kitchen is on the small side anyway but looks even smaller with him in it. It’s not that he’s huge—I’d guess he’s right at six foot or so—but he fills out a space somehow. I’m not mad about watching his muscles flex and ripple as he moves.

Not mad at all.

The sweet drink quenches my thirst as I watch him tidy up. Everything he does, he does with intent. It’s like tying up the garbage bag is an important project he’s taking on, and he’s doing it with care. There’s a quality about that I find soothing in a strange way.

He tosses a sponge in the sink. “So …”

“So …”

I set my drink on the table.

What happens now? I have no idea.

This isn’t like sharing a space with Navie or another friend. This is Peck Ward, a guy I’ve known a few days but somehow trust implicitly. Even if Navie didn’t already know him and adore him, I think I would’ve. Or maybe it’s because of their friendship that ours is so easy. It’s as if I’ve known him for a long time. And through Navie, I guess I have. I’ve heard so many stories about this man, stories that have made me laugh until I cried. Through the tales, I picked up that he’s been in Navie’s corner since she arrived in Linton.

Maybe he’s in mine too.

There’s a kindness in his eyes that settles all the anxiety I think I should be feeling. But I’m not. At all. How could you feel nervous when he’s so nice?

I bet they said that about serial killers too.

It hits me that this is the modern day, grown-up version of getting in the car with a stranger. Only, instead of a car, it’s a house. And instead of a puppy, it’s puppy dog eyes.

I’m probably dead.

My mouth opens to ramble something random, something to take up the space between us until I can figure out how to dart out of here before he carves me up with a knife, when he laughs.

“What?” I ask instead.

“What are you thinking?”

“Why? Can you read my mind?”

He snorts. “No, thank God. I have a feeling that inside your mind is a scary place.”

I pick up a saltshaker from the table. If nothing else, I could wield it at him and give myself a couple of seconds to run if this goes awry.

“You know what else would be a scary place?” I ask.

“Inside one of your boxes?”

“Very funny. I was thinking something more like …” I toss the shaker in the air. Surprisingly, I catch it with the same hand. But I have no time to celebrate how cool that probably looked. I have work to do. “Soundproof rooms. Trunks of cars. Barns with power tools.”

His brows pull together.

He’s even cuter when he’s serious.

Damn it.

“You got something you wanna tell me, Dylan?”

“Not if you don’t have anything you wanna tell me, Peck. If that’s even your real name.”

A light bulb goes off over his head, and he begins to laugh. Humor dances across his face, his hand dragging the jawline that’s speckled with the day’s stubble.

“You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?” he asks.

“No,” I say too quickly. “I mean, not really. You know … totally am.”

My lips smack together. I toss the shaker again, but this time it lands on the floor in front of me. “Shit,” I mumble as I bend to scoop it up.

“You don’t think I pressured you into this, right? Because I’m not that guy, and if I did or said something that made you—”

“No.” I shake my head fervently. Heat tinges my cheeks as I feel very, very silly. “I’m just nervous, I guess. I’m sorry for acting like a weirdo.”

“Why are you nervous?”

It’s an honest question. He stands tall, facing me completely as if to demonstrate his openness.

A lump settles in my throat. “I just get a little enthusiastic sometimes and was worried that maybe I jumped into this too soon. I mean, I don’t really even know you.”

“You were kind of quick to accept my offer.” He tosses me a wink. “I’m kidding.”

“I’m not. One time, I told someone I liked kids and, the next thing I knew, I had a part-time job at a daycare watching a bunch of babies for minimum wage. And then I tried to quit, and they wouldn’t let me and …” I sigh. “I can get in over my head fast.”

He walks across the kitchen, his jeans showing off a set of thighs that were probably crafted by the hands of God, if I were guessing, and picks up his lemonade. The longer it takes him to down the lemonade, the antsier I get.

Finally, he drops his glass in the sinks and smiles. “If you don’t want to stay here, I get it. Although I might bitch—meaning I will—about packing your shit up again, I’ll do it. A woman should never stay anywhere she’s not comfortable.”

“It’s not that, Peck, I am comfortable with you—here, I mean,” I say, correcting my misspeak. Because although the first part is true, it sounds weird. Like I mean it more than I do.

“Good.”

“Everything just happened so fast that when I had a second to look up, I realized you could be a serial killer, and all I had was this saltshaker.” I set it on the counter.

“And what were you gonna do with that?”

“Hit you in the eyeball.”

His laugh is quick and loud and, even though I know it’s at me, I laugh too.

“I might just cancel my home security with you around, Hawkeye,” he chuckles. “A saltshaker? Really?”

“It’s all I had.”

“Just a helpful hint—knives are in that drawer,” he says, pointing behind me. “Unless you have some super skill I don’t know about, they’ll come in handier than a damn saltshaker.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. The veins flex in his forearms beneath nicks and scrapes and scars. I look away before I get distracted in a very real way.

“Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll give you two minutes to ask me anything you want before we leave.”

“Leave? What do you mean, leave? Where are we going?”

“One minute, fifty seconds.”

I grin. “What’s your name?”

“Wesley.”

“Aha! I knew it!”

“You knew what?” He laughs.

“Your name wasn’t Peck.”

“I told you it wasn’t Peck, genius,” he teases. “I just didn’t tell you what it was.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “No one calls me that. Sometimes, I forget my name isn’t Peck.”

“Wesley, huh? What’s your middle name?”

“Chapman. Wesley Chapman Ward.”

I ponder that. It’s a very strong name and reminds me of a pastor in the Old West that would shoot you with his six-shooter if you acted up.

“I like it,” I say.

“Well, good, because there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.” He looks at his watch. “Anything else? Or are you sure I’m not a murderer?”

I raise a brow. “Well, I’m fairly certain you’re not. Wesley sounds much more good guy than bad buy.”

“And you’re pinning your safety on that? My name?”

No, I’m pinning it on that smile.

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“Nope. Your life.” He grins. “Now come on. We have somewhere to be.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere.”

“Unless that’s the name of an actual place, that’s a cop-out.”

He laughs and heads for the door. “Come on, Hawkeye.”

“I’m not dressed to go anywhere,” I say, looking at my dirty shirt and shorts. “I’m not presentable.”

The light fills the room as he pulls the door open. He stops with his hand on the knob and looks at me. He grins. “There’s not a damn thing wrong with how you look. Now come on before dinner gets cold.”

He bows his head and heads out the door. I follow, my cheeks aching from the smile on my face.

Ten

Peck

“Here we are,” I say.

My truck rolls to a stop next to Nana’s rose bushes. I cut the engine and take a deep breath.

Although I’ve never lived in the white house with black shutters, it’s the place I think of when someone says the word “home.” It’s where I’d go if I had a bike wreck—or a car accident as I grew up. This is the place for pot roast on Sunday afternoons, and where my cousins and I would gather to watch baseball games or fighting events because she’d fix us so much food we couldn’t eat it all. Christmases have always been held here, and the lawn has hosted more Easter egg hunts than any place I’ve ever been. Even now that we’re all in our late twenties and early thirties, we still hunt candy-filled eggs each spring just because it makes Nana happy.

And maybe us.

I look over my shoulder and see Dylan looking at me.

“Why do you look nervous?” she asks.

“I’m not.”

“Liar.”

Either I’m way too easy to read, or she’s making a stab in the dark, but she’s not altogether wrong.

I’ve never done this. Sure, I’ve watched my cousins bring girls to Nana’s house dozens of times, but I’ve never walked through her door with a woman. It’s always felt like a big deal to me. Like bringing a lady to meet the most important person in my life would be the moment I knew I’d found the person for me.

Yet here I am, sitting in the driveway with a girl I barely know.

I just invited her to tag along like I was heading to Carlson’s Bakery or something. I blurted it out before thinking it through beforehand—something Walker and Sienna say I need to do more often.

Clearly, they’re right.

Dylan leans against the door, squaring her shoulders to me. “Just because I’m staying at your house for a while doesn’t mean you have to cart me all over the world with you.” Her eyes glint with mischief. “I mean, unless you think I’m gonna steal your stuff while you’re gone or something.”

I laugh. “I have a history with you that makes me believe you’re anti-theft. Plus, you have this vigilante justice thing going on—ouch!” I say as she takes a swipe at my shoulder.

She laughs too. “Honestly, though. I can see you’re having second thoughts about bringing me here. I can just sit in the car. I’m totally cool with that.”

I consider for a split second backing down the driveaway and heading toward Carlson’s after all, but the longer I take in her button nose and the spray of freckles across her cheeks, the more I kind of want to take her into Nana’s with me.

She’s just a friend. It’s not like I’m taking a girlfriend.

Totally different thing.

I think.

“Come on,” I tell her as I pop open my door. “Let’s go.”

“Peck …”

“If you don’t come on, there won’t be any food left, and I’m not gonna feel bad that I’m stuffed and you’re starving.”

The passenger’s door squeaks as she pushes it open. The metal clinks as she swings it shut. I stand at the front of my truck and wait on her.

She rounds the corner, shaking her shirt. “You could’ve at least let me clean up.”

I could’ve. But something tells me Nana will like her just fine the way she is.

“Nah,” I say.

“This will be a terrible first impression.”

“Don’t worry,” I say as we head toward the back door. “You’ll never get the honor of being the worst impression anyone has ever made on Nana. That goes to a girl Vincent brought here in high school. In a bikini.” I laugh at the memory of Nana’s reaction. “I think she was a little drunk too.”

Dylan’s eyes go wide. “What? Drunk and naked? Was he out of his mind?”

“I’m not sure Vincent was ever in his right mind back in those days.”

I pause at the ramp leading up to the back door. Dylan eyes me carefully with a smidgen of trepidation in her eyes as she walks slowly up the wooden planks. I follow, gazing at a trail of dirt down her right side. It bends at the curve of her hip and slides down the back of her shorts.

Focus, Peck.

“Hey,” I tell her as we get to the top.

She turns and looks at me. My chest rises and falls so quickly that I’m aware of it. So many things are running through my mind, and I can’t sort them all. Especially knowing Nana has undoubtedly seen us by now and is waiting on us to come in—probably loaded with a hundred questions and even more presumptions.

“I should’ve warned you before now,” I say. “But, um, this is kind of a new thing for me, and I don’t know what Nana’s going to say or think or … whatever.”

I take in her rosy cheeks and the soft curve of her lips. I’d be damn proud to walk in there with her hand in mine. It would thrill Nana to death. Probably literally. I make a mental note to be this sure of the woman I do take to meet my grandma someday.

Dylan sticks her tongue in her cheek. “So what you’re saying is that she’s going to think we’re screwing?”

I cough like I’ve been knocked in the gut. And in the balls. They both ache like a motherfucker.

She laughs at my reaction, grabbing my shoulder as I sputter. The contact doesn’t help. At all.

Cringing, I take a step back.

“Please behave,” I almost beg.

“Define behave.”

“Why do you have to make everything hard?”

She fights back a laugh as I realize the innuendo she just ran with. “I make things hard. Good to know.”

The inside of my cheek burns as I bite down on it.

“Sorry.” She clears her throat. “So I should make it clear that we aren’t screwing?”

“Can we not talk about us screwing on my grandmother’s back porch?”

She spies my discomfort like the little troublemaker she is. My attempt at adjusting myself doesn’t go by unnoticed. She doesn’t even pretend to have missed it.

“Oh, so we are screwing? I thought we weren’t?”

My lips part when a tapping sound rings out from the sliding glass door behind Dylan. Nana stands on the other side, her face lit up.

This is gonna be fun.

Giving Dylan a narrowed eye, I venture past her—being careful not to touch her—and slide open the door.

“Hey, Nana,” I say as unaffectedly as I can.

“Well, hello to you too.”

Her smile is too bright. Way too bright. Shit.

“I didn’t know you were bringing a girlfriend,” she says. The happiness in her voice can’t be mistaken.

I look at Dylan. She looks at me. And smirks.

She’s getting way too much enjoyment out of this.

“Nana,” I say, forcing down the lump in my throat. “This is my friend that’s a girl named Dylan.”

The emphasis is lost on my grandma. She doesn’t even hear it. She blocks it out like she does when Machlan tells her that cake for breakfast is bad for her blood sugar.

“Dylan, it is a pleasure to have you over for dinner,” she says, taking in my friend. “Please, come in. Have a seat. Make yourself at home, dear.”

Dylan saunters by me, bumping me in the side with her shoulder. “I think she likes me,” she whispers.

“Behave,” I mutter. But if she hears me, she ignores me.

Par for the effing course.

“Look at this kitchen,” Dylan says as she climbs on a barstool. “It’s so lovely.”

“Why, thank you. My husband had this redone for me the year before he passed away. I’d like to update it a little, but I don’t quite have the heart.”

“Well, I happen to love it.” Dylan smiles genuinely at my nana. “It feels like a kitchen should, you know? All warm and cozy.”

My grandmother beams.

I lean against the wall completely forgotten as this little mischief-maker wins over Nana. A chuckle passes my lips as I wonder what Nana would think if she heard the shit that usually comes out of Dylan’s mouth.

Dylan hops off the bar and gets into a discussion with Nana about cookie jars. I couldn’t chime in even if I wanted to. The sight of the woman who’s been like a semi-comfortable nail in the bottom of my foot chatting it up with my silver-haired grandma like they’re the best of friends is enough to make my head spin.

“You could put them up there,” Dylan says as she points at the top of a cabinet. “We could put some ivy around them or little lights, and it would be so fun. I think that would be so cute.”

Nana’s smile splits her cheeks. “You think like I used to think, back when I could do things for myself. It’s hard once you become dependent on everyone else.”

“Oh, stop that.” I tug open the refrigerator. “It’s not like you’re dependent on anyone. I have to fight ya to let me help you most days,” I say. I peer behind the wall of butter containers that hold various leftovers. “Has Lance been here?”

“Yes. He was here today. Why?” Nana asks.

“Because he ate the rest of my cheeseball.” The door closes with a thud. “I’m gonna kick his as—butt.”

Nana gives me a stern look. “Just do it before Sunday dinner. I refuse to get in the middle of your cheeseball wars.”

Dylan laughs. “You fight over cheeseballs?”

“Um, yeah,” I say. “If you’d had her cheeseball, you’d get it, Hawkeye.”

“Stop calling me that.” She sits across from me. “Or else I’ll call you something … Wesley.”

Our lips upturn at the same time.

“You two lovebirds are too cute together,” Nana says.

Dylan’s eyes fill with amusement. “We aren’t actually lovebirds.”

“Oh, don’t start with me,” Nana says.

“What?” Dylan laughs. “We’re not. We’re …”

Her voice drags off as the humor in her features starts to fade. She sticks her hands under the table as she looks at me for help.

“We’re friends, Nana,” I say. “You know Navie, right? This is her friend.”

“I’m old, but I’m not stupid,” Nana says. She runs a hand through the air like she’s silencing us. “You two can call it what you want, but I know. I’m not blind.” She walks to a cabinet. Bending over, she reaches for a tray and almost falls.

I spring out of my seat and grab onto her. “Whoa, there. You okay?”

“Yes.” She pats my hand on her arm. “These cabinets are just so deep. I get dizzy when I bend over and dig around for what I need.”

“Hey,” Dylan says. “I saw a thing in the store the other day. You can attach these little trays that slide in and out of your cabinets so you don’t have to dig around.”

Nana leans against the counter. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Can we do that, Peck?”

“Sure.”

Dylan adjusts her weight from one foot to the other. “You know, I don’t want to interject myself into a situation that’s not mine to be in … but, um, I’d be happy to come over and help you with those and to rearrange the cookie jars. I mean, if you want. I don’t start work for a while …” Her cheeks flush. “I’m doing that talking without breathing thing again, aren’t I?”

I wish I had a funny comment in my back pocket to whip out. That or something to redirect everyone’s attention from the fact that Dylan is looking at me. But I got nothing. This woman doesn’t know my nana from Adam, yet here she is offering her time and thoughts and energy five minutes after saying hello. Like I would or Walker or Sienna. Like family.

“You would do that for me?” Nana asks.

Dylan nods. “Sure. Of course.” She then turns to me, looking … contrite. “If I overstepped, I’m sorry,” Dylan says quietly when I fail to respond.

My tongue is tied up, twisted around as I take in what’s happening. Dylan being so sweet to my grandmother, and Nana thrilled to have someone take an interest in something she values.

“You didn’t overstep,” I tell her. “Not at all.”

My throat is lined with cotton as I try to force a swallow down the narrowed tubes. I wish I could reach for her and give her a hug, but that would be out of line.

Because she’s my friend.

And Nana seems to have forgotten that too.

“I’d love to spend time with you,” Nana says. “It would just thrill me. I was afraid I’d be dead and gone before Peck was going to settle down. It’s like he thinks I’m gonna live forever.”

“Well, that’s because you are,” I deadpan.

“And again, Nana,” Dylan says, testing out the name, “I’m not Peck’s girlfriend.” She looks at me with a weighted stare. “I’m sure whoever gets that title will be deserving of it, but it’s not me.”

“Well, it should be,” Nana says, smacking me on the chest before going into a speech about how if I don’t hurry up, she’ll never get to see my children.

I don’t want to have this conversation with Nana at all, let alone in front of Dylan.

It’s not that I’m against getting married or having a family or even having a steady girlfriend. I’m not. I even like the concept and see it work well for other people. I just don’t think it will work for me. Not really.

Sure, I’ve dated a little here and there. I’m never alone if I don’t want to be. But hopping from bed to bed like Lance did before he met Mariah isn’t that appealing, and dedicating yourself to a relationship you think might work out over time is such a drain when it doesn’t work out. Because do relationships ever really work out?

It’s so much work to care about someone on that kind of level just to see them walk away. Because that’s what people do. They walk away. Even if they love you now, even if they gave birth to you, they’ll take off for the next thing when it comes. It’s the story of my life. Besides Nana, Molly McCarter has been the most consistent person in my life when it comes to women, and we’ve never been … anything.

I look up into Dylan’s face. She eyes me carefully like she can see through me. It’s a little unnerving.

Nana sits in her rocking chair that faces the kitchen from the living room. She cringes as she gets settled.

“Where are you from, Dylan?” Nana asks.

“Indiana. I was born in Detroit, though. We moved when I was little—six or seven, I think—so I don’t remember much about it there.”

“What brought you to Linton?”

“Well, I suppose I looked up one day and realized I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.” She looks up at me and gives me the shyest smile. “I needed some space. New friends. To be closer to Navie because she gets me.”

My chest fills with a warmth that almost burns. “I can’t imagine anyone not loving your fuzzy personality,” I tease.

“Believe it or not, I can be a little too … fiery … for some people,” she says with a wink.

“Yeah, well, every group of friends needs a firecracker.”

She laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You know what I think?” Nana asks.

We both look at her. She rocks gently back and forth, a look of pure contentment on her face. “I think every firecracker needs someone to light their fuse for them to really glow.” She scoots to the end of her chair before hoisting herself up to her feet. “Now, who’s ready for dinner?”

My gaze catches Dylan’s somewhere over the middle of the island. Slowly, our faces break into a smile as something is shared during the quiet exchange. Whatever it is, it ends with Dylan’s bright laughter.

Dylan stands. “Can I help you get it ready, Nana?”

“I’d love that,” she says.

They work side by side, Nana telling war stories from the kitchen as Dylan listens intently. They laugh like old friends as they plan the changes for the kitchen. I don’t think they even notice when I get up and slip out the back door.

Planting my hands on the railing, I look at the dark sky. Stars are sprinkled above and shine down like Christmas lights twinkling softly.

I fill my lungs with air and blow it out in one long, steady gush.

My head is filled with so many thoughts. There’s a fullness in my chest that I can’t ease either. Seeing Dylan here—being so sweet to Nana and so damn pretty with a layer of orneriness just under the surface—is so confusing.

Mostly because I like it.

And I think I could probably get used to it, if I wanted to.

“Easy, Peck,” I whisper. “Don’t get in over your head here.”

Because I’m not. Yet. But I might be on my way if I don’t catch myself now.

Eleven

Dylan

“Oh, screw it.”

I rip the blankets off me. Blowing out a breath, I kick until my feet are on top of the sheets. The room is cool and dark and quiet enough to fall into a peaceful sleep.

Except I can’t. Closing my eyes just makes things worse.

My brain is too busy to let me rest. It’s like a squirrel has taken up residence inside my head. It’s bouncing from one topic to the other, replaying the events of tonight over and over again.

I can’t shake the feeling in my stomach—the one I get every time I think about Peck and Nana and dinner in her little kitchen. Nana asking me questions like she really wanted to get to know me threw me for a loop. Sure, she did it because she thought I was Peck’s girlfriend, but still. She asked.

A soft laugh breaks the stillness around me as I recall Peck’s reaction to her assumption. He was so adorable as he tried to make it clear we aren’t dating.

Because we’re not.

I flex my toes and then point them. Back and forth, they go as I try to distract myself from my new landlord. That’s easier said than done. He’s taken up most of my brainpower since we got home, and I can’t seem to shake it. Or him. Or whatever this is that’s ruining my sleep.

Peck is an anomaly, an unexpected layering of a man who is so much more than he appears. At first glance, he’s your typical good ole boy. An adorable class clown type who can’t be serious if he tried.

But that’s not all he is. Navie is a good judge of character, so I always knew he’d be a good and kind person. If she trusts him, I do too.

But seeing him care for his nana … how attentive he was, how gentle. And then how he quickly offered me a place to stay when he didn’t have to.

I’ve gotten glimpses of more, and I can’t help but wonder what else there is to see when it comes to Peck Ward.

“Ugh,” I groan. I grab my phone and fire a text to Navie.

Me: Can’t sleep. Tell me a story.

Navie: I watched two men have an arm-wrestling contest tonight at Crave, and the loser ended up with a broken arm. I heard the snap and everything.

Me: That’s disgusting.

Navie: Tell me about it. Why can’t you sleep?

Me: Don’t know. New place, maybe?

Navie: Probably. I need to finish picking up the bar so I can go home. Call me tomorrow?

Me: Ok. Be careful.

Navie:Yes, Mom.

I toss my phone on the nightstand.

Looking around the room in the muted light from the moon streaming through the window, I can make out the barn in the distance. Everything I own, except for what fits in my suitcase in the corner, is in that barn. In cardboard boxes. Probably getting trampled by mice.

What has my life become?

I never really cared to have some deep connection with a person or a place. That’s probably because I never have felt that way about anything besides Navie. But I didn’t expect to be almost thirty and basically starting over. I have nothing to show for my life up until now except for a wariness about life.

That’s sad. Even I know that.

My legs swing to the side of the bed. I get up and stretch before heading to the bedroom door. It opens quietly as I step into the hallway that extends off the kitchen. I make my way down the little corridor that holds the bedroom I’m staying in and a separate bathroom.

My bare feet smack against the hardwood floors as I make my way into the kitchen. There’s a light on above the stove but no sign of Peck. He said he had some things to do when we got home, and even though I waited around to see him again, I finally took a shower and went to bed.

I pull open the refrigerator and try not to laugh at the contents. There’s a tub of butter, a gallon of milk that I’m fairly certain is expired by the date printed on the container, a couple of takeout cartons, and a few bottles of water.

After making a note to go to the grocery store for necessities, I take a bottle of water and close the door.

The drink is cool as it trickles down my throat. I gaze out the window over the sink at the barn in the distance. The yard looks like it falls on the far side of it, and I wonder if there’s a lake or something back there.

I’m mid-daydream about swimming in the lake I might have just made up when a sound causes me to jump. I spin around and

My

Mouth

Drops

Open.

Holy effing shit.

“Sorry,” Peck says. “I … um …” He forces a swallow as he takes in my body barely covered in a pair of short shorts and a tank top. “Guess I need to remember I’m not here alone anymore, huh?”

Not if it stops you from walking around like that.

A white towel is tied around his waist. It sits just below his belly button—low enough to show off the top of the lines etched into his sides.

His body is thick and strong, his skin tanned to perfection. His stomach is cut into hard, muscled squares, and his shoulders are broad. The line from his neck down to his shoulders is enough to make my mouth water.

The corner of his lips turns up.

“Oh,” I say, clearing my throat. “Yeah. Um, I guess I need to do that too. Remember I’m not here alone anymore. I mean, I’ve never been here alone, but you know what I mean.”

My cheeks flush as he chuckles.

“Right. Learning curve,” he says.

He saunters past me like we do this every night. Like he’s not displaying a body that looks handcrafted by God himself.

He rummages around in a cabinet. I watch his back flex and his muscles move. The towel dips to the lowest part of his back, and the way his sides taper down is incredible.

I think my brain might explode.

Sure, Peck is good looking. I’d bet any girl he’s ever met has a crush on him. There’s nothing to not like. But does anyone realize just how hot this man is because, if they do, how is there not a woman here permanently?

He turns around with a box of cookies in his hand. The simple smile on his face matched with the layers of sexiness below is a complicated vision. Add in that he’s crushing on someone else and I’m his renter for a while, and that leaves me in a conundrum.

“Want one?” he asks.

Definitely.

I shake my head and try to gather myself. “No, I better not.”

“Suit yourself.” He takes a cookie and shoves it in his mouth. “I have a thing about snacking at night. I can’t sleep if I haven’t had a bedtime snack.”

I drink in his body again. “I like bedtime snacks.” Stop talking.

He flashes me a puzzled look before setting the box on the table. “So are you a night owl or just can’t sleep?”

“I can usually sleep anytime, anywhere. It’s probably because this is a new place and all.”

He nods. “Well, you didn’t really have a chance to settle in. We kind of unloaded your stuff and then went to Nana’s. I probably should’ve left you alone to get situated a bit.”

“Oh, no,” I say. “I enjoyed meeting your grandmother. I’m glad you took me.”

He gets a glass out of a cabinet. He opens the refrigerator and takes out the milk. His nose wrinkles after he unscrews the cap. “That’s spoiled.”

“I thought so. I’ll go to the store tomorrow.”

The milk hits the trash with a thud. “I can go. I just usually don’t bother because it’s just me, and I don’t eat here a lot.”

“Is there a reason behind that?” I ask.

“Behind what?”

“You not eating here?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just …” He shifts his weight. “If I tell you something, you won’t laugh at me?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Which means you will.” He grins.

“Which means I’ll do my best. Try me.”

Stop. Talking. Dylan.

Luckily, he takes my words at face value and doesn’t read into the innuendo. I grab a seat at the table partly because my legs are a little weak and partly because it gives me a better vantage point.

He leans against the counter, his hair wet from the shower. Like me, he’s barefoot. I couldn’t paint a more delicious picture if I tried.

Still, something in his eyes mutes the vision. I brace myself for what he might say.

“When I was a little kid, I was alone a lot,” he says. “Nana and Pops babysat me most of the time when I was a really little kid, but once I was six or seven, I was in school and stayed with my parents more. Theoretically, anyway. They were usually gone.”

“So, you were home by yourself?”

“Most of the time.” His face sobers. “I remember coming home and making myself a plate of tortilla chips and cheese and watching television. And all these families on the sitcoms had big meals together, and I always thought how great that would be—to come home and sit down and have someone ask you about your day. To be there every single day.”

My chest tugs. I can just imagine this blue-eyed, angel-haired little boy sitting alone waiting. It breaks my heart. How could his parents leave him like that?

“I guess now I just … I still like that idea. And because I have no one here, I go to Walker’s or Lance’s.”

“Why don’t you have anyone here?” I ask softly. “I mean, I’m one-hundred percent sure you could have a girlfriend if you wanted one.”

He shrugs. “Probably. I guess I could.”

“So why don’t you?”

“You’re pushy, you know that?”

“I think you’ve known that since the day we met.”

He laughs. “I think you’re right.”

I wait for him to answer my question. When he doesn’t, I press on.

“So?” I ask.

“So what?”

“So what’s your story? Why is a guy like you single?”

I pull my legs up on the chair. His eyes whip to my legs as I draw them up. My body heats from the weight of his gaze, and I try not to melt into the chair.

He looks up at me. “Why is a girl like you single?”

“Well, to be honest, I had a boyfriend not too long ago.”

“What happened to him?”

“He left me for the woman he was engaged to before.” My insides twist as I remember the phone call when he delivered the news that he was not, in fact, coming back to Indiana. That he was staying in Wisconsin with “the love of his life.” “He loved her first, and I can’t compete with that.”

Peck walks across the room and sits across from me. The scent of his body wash caresses me as he gets situated. Every cell in my body responds, becoming fully awake at his presence.

“That guy must’ve been an idiot,” Peck says.

“I’ll agree to that.” I give him a small smile. “So I answered you. Now, you answer me.”

He leans back in the chair. His body is long and lean as he looks at me over the bundle of bananas in the center of the table.

“I don’t know, really,” he says carefully. “I guess I’ve never made it far enough with a woman to ask her to move in.”

“Does this mean you and I have made it further than you and anyone else?” I tease. “I’m so honored.”

He snorts, clearly amused at my take on the situation. “We’ll be starting a family soon.”

I think about that. “I’ve never really been dead-set on having a family.”

“Why?”

“Because my family is … a hassle. It doesn’t sound terrible to think about only having to take care of myself for a change. I sort of shunned all deep relationships for most of my life because it felt too exhausting to have to manage them.” I think about my relationship with Charlie and how I kind of forgot that for a minute. “But then I met Charlie, and it felt manageable to me for the first time. Probably because he was on the rebound, and I didn’t know it, so he was telling me all the sweet and precious things.” I laugh at myself. “And then he was on ‘a business trip’ which means a secret trip to reconcile with his ex. Then it wasn’t so manageable anymore.”

“He fucking what?” He shakes his head. “He’s an asshole, Dylan. Didn’t deserve you.”

“Yeah, well, what’s done is done.” I shrug. “And I’m tired of competing for people’s affection.”

Peck considers this. “Well, I always wanted a family of my own.”

“So why don’t you have one?”

He looks down and fiddles with his fingernail. There’s a long pause. I don’t think he’s going to answer me when he finally lifts his gaze.

“Kind of like you, I guess. I’m not sure I can manage it,” he says.

“You’re built for something like that,” I tell him. “I’ve seen you with your nana. You’re a family guy.”

He grins. “Well, that’s the thing. I am a family guy. If I were to get married, I’d be married forever. But people …” He blows out a breath. “You know, people come and go these days. They don’t commit to anything. It’s like they’re married because a big party sounds fun and then they get a wild hair up their ass, and they’re on to the next thing six months later.”

“Not if it’s love,” I say. “If you love someone, you can’t live without them. That’s what they say, anyway. That’s what I told myself when Charlie left me. He loved her first, and that’s where his love was always rooted. I can’t fight that. True love always … finds a way.”

His brows rise, and I think he’s going to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward. “Does it, though? Does love always find a way? Or does it sometimes go unanswered?”

The question is fired in the tenderest of ways. It’s not a rhetorical thought; he wants an answer.

I lean forward too. Across the small square table, we look at each other. His eyes are so blue, so pure, that I could fall into them and never find my way back out.

“Can you really, truly love someone who doesn’t love you back?” I ask softly.

He raises his shoulders but doesn’t answer as if he’s expecting me to continue with my thought.

“Love should be based on mutual respect. A healthy love, anyway,” I say, thinking as I go. “I’m not sure you can be in love with someone who doesn’t open themselves up to you in the same way. Maybe you can love them, but not be in love with them. Those are two different things.”

He rises slowly, tightening his towel as he stands. I get to my feet too. We stand face to face, which is entirely too close considering he’s wearing practically nothing and looking delicious. The playfulness I usually see in his eyes vanishes, and an intensity takes its place. It steals my breath.

I want to kiss him. I want to reach up and take his stubbled face in my hands and touch my lips to his, pressing my body against his.

He steps toward me, his body angling ever so slightly to mine. I think he’s going to reach for me.

His weight shifts, his fingers flexing. At the last second, he runs a hand down his cheek.

My body falls. I exhale with more force than necessary, but the breath I’ve been holding burns.

“I’m going to head to bed,” he says. “Feel free to watch television or whatever. I sleep like a rock. It won’t bother me.”

“Thanks,” I say, forcing a swallow down my throat. I feel as though I’ve been dismissed, yet not. His stare stays on my face, not once moving down my body.

He walks by me but stops at the door. He looks at me over his shoulder, but there isn’t enough light to read his expression.

I stand in the middle of his kitchen, holding my breath. I don’t know what I want him to say, but he doesn’t say anything. He just gives me a smile and disappears into the night.

Twelve

Peck

“Went by Nana’s this morning,” Walker says. He blows across the top of his coffee.

The early morning sun floods the open bay of Crank. I turn my back to the light and try to focus on the truck in front of me. It’s futile. I know it. And by the look on Walker’s face, he knows it too.

Fucker.

“Oh, yeah?” I ask.

“Yeah. Sienna made her some blueberry muffins, so I dropped ’em off.”

“Send me any?”

His hand drops to his side. Coffee sloshes to the dirty garage floor. “For fuck’s sake, Peck.”

“But she knows I love them.”

He shoots me a glare. “Anyway, Nana said you brought your girlfriend over last night.”

The wrench I’m holding drops to the floor. It sends a pinging sound through the bay.

“So Nana’s not crazy. Got it,” Walker jokes. “Anything you wanna share?”

“There’s nothing to share. I told Nana that.” I pick up the wrench. “Can’t I just take someone by for dinner?”

“No.”

It’s my turn to glare.

I go back to the fuel filter in front of me. It’s an easy job that I’ve done ten million times in my life. But for some strange, green-eyed reason, it’s taking me a lot longer than necessary today.

This is why you think before you speak. Or act. Or invite some woman you’ve been too interested in from the moment she marched her cute little ass your way and demanded you go buy cookware to your nana’s. If you just jump into shit, you end up in the kitchen in the middle of the night ready to kiss the hell out of her.

Part of me thinks I just should’ve done it. I’m fairly certain she would’ve been receptive. But what if I’m reading her wrong? What if she’s just really thankful that I bailed her out of her situation? Besides, it’s just asking for trouble in the one place I don’t want it: home.

“So … who was it?” Walker asks.

“When did you become such a nosy bastard?”

He slurps his coffee just to annoy me.

“Dylan,” I say with a sigh.

“Okay. Wait. Dylan. Is that a girl? Or …”

“Yes, Dylan is a girl, you fucker.”

He holds his hands up. “Fine. I’d have been cool with it either way.” He takes another quieter drink. “Who is she?”

I work on the filter and don’t look up. Maybe he’ll get the hint. “Navie’s friend.”

“And …?”

“Oh, good Lord.” I blow out a breath and stand. Facing Walker, I hold my hands out to the sides. “Can we make this quick? Someone is paying me to do a bunch of shit, and it won’t matter that you’ve wasted my fucking time today, he’ll be a dick at the end of the day if I don’t get enough done.”

Walker grins. “He sounds like an asshole.”

“He is.”

“Better humor him them.”

I shake my head.

“I’m sorry that I’m a little shocked. I mean, you took a girl to Nana’s. That’s some big shit right there, Peck.”

“It’s not,” I insist, ignoring the stupid twist in my stomach. “She’s just a friend of Navie’s who needed a place to stay. So I offered her a room until she finds something—”

“She’s living with you?”

I watch the realization settle over his features. It starts as shock and ends somewhere around confusion mixed with complete and utter entertainment.

Sliding my hat around backward, I look at him. “What’s it to you?”

“Is she hot?”

“Damn it, Walker.”

“She is. She fucking is, isn’t she?” He laughs, his big ass chest shaking as he humors himself with my life.

I don’t dare tell him how hot she is. Or that I couldn’t sleep last night knowing she was in my house. Or that I had to get up extra early this morning to take care of myself in the shower so I didn’t walk around needing to jack off all damn day.

But it’s not just that. Hell, I’ve been with other women over the course of my life, and I’ve not felt this way about any of them. I want to talk to her. Hear her laugh. Listen to her tease me. Answer questions that she poses that make me uncomfortable.

What is that? What kind of voodoo bullshit is that?

“When do we get to meet her?” Walker asks.

I go back to the filter. “Whenever you run into her,” I say, cranking on the equipment a little too hard.

“So she’s not coming to Sunday dinner at Nana’s?”

“She could be gone by Sunday, Walker. She’s not living with me forever. She had a rental on Vine Street that was full of cat hair. Like piss and fur everywhere, man.”

“There’s nothing worse than cat piss,” Walker says.

“Right?And she’s really allergic. Like, very allergic. So, she’s just landing at my place until she can find a place to rent. How hard is that to understand?”

My teeth grind together as I think about the day she’ll leave. I have no idea why, but the idea already sucks balls.

“I know a place out on Longs Chapel Road,” Walker says. “You know MaryAnn that comes in here with the van that has the bad transmission?”

“Yeah.”

“She and Mike just moved. I ran into him the other day at Goodman’s gas station. He got a promotion, and they moved over to Merom. Anyway, that house they lived in out there was a rental.”

He’s being helpful. I know that. But something about that information just pisses me off.

“I’ll tell her,” I bite out.

Walker busies himself sorting a couple of deliveries. I work on the filter and what to do about Dylan.

My chest rises and falls as I think about her. She’s dangerous. I feel the fire every time I’m around her. It’s like I’ve drunk a fifth of whiskey. My insides are squeamish, my body heated, and all I want to do is enjoy myself.

That’s what she feels like. A fifth of whiskey.

While I’m all about imbibing from time to time, one thing is always true: when it wears off, you feel like absolute shit. And that’s what this will feel like too when she moves on.

Actually, I bet watching her leave feels worse than a hangover. I bet it hurts like hell.

“You know,” Walker says, his voice falling over his shoulder, “it’s okay to like her.”

I smack the wrench off the frame of the truck. “What are you talking about?”

My annoyance must be palpable because Walker drops the sheet of paper in his hand. He turns around and raises a brow.

I wipe my hands down my jeans. A trail of grease stretches down the denim, and while that usually drives me crazy because it’ll get all over everything by the end of the day, I barely notice.

“She’s staying with me,” I say. Again. “There’s nothing to get all nuts about.”

His arms cross over his chest. “That right there is you calling me a dumb fuck.”

“What?” I ask, exasperated. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You saying there’s nothing between you two is calling me a dumb fuck because I’m not fucking blind, Peck. Neither is Nana.”

“Nana just wants us all to get married and have babies so she doesn’t have to worry about us anymore.”

He considers this. “Okay. That’s probably true. But she does have some fifth sense about shit, and she says you and Dylan are together.”

“It’s sixth sense, not fifth sense, and she just likes her because she volunteered to help her rearrange her kitchen,” I say.

It’s a lie. A bald-faced fib that I hope gets Walker to back off.

But it doesn’t. That would be too easy.

Walker’s face remains blank for a long time. Then a slow smile stretches across his cheeks. “I get it.”

“You get what?”

“You feel like you’re cheating on Molly McCarter.”

What the fuck?

“I do not,” I say with a sigh. “This has nothing to do with her.”

“How could it not? You’re the one saying you’re gonna marry her one day.”

“And I would if she’d marry me.”

Walker shakes his head. “I don’t get ya.”

“Good.”

He drops his arms in a frustrated huff. “If I could knock some sense into you, I would.”

Despite his pushiness and the way he needles me, he wants the best for me. He’d never say that. He’d pretend he doesn’t care for the most part. But he does care, and that’s what this is all about.

I sigh. “Look, since we’re pretending to be a bunch of gossiping girls right now, I’ll play along so this can be over.”

“I take offense at you calling me a girl.”

“Don’t care.” I grab a rag off the wall and wipe my hands off. “Dylan is a great girl. I like her. She’s funny, and nice, and yes, she’s hot. And pretty. And she’s not living with me. I don’t even know if she’s staying in Linton for long.”

“You could ask her.”

I toss the rag in the trash. “You’re right. I could. But it’s none of my business. She wants a relationship about as bad as I do.”

“So she’s scared to like someone who might be a decent person and like her back too? Got it.”

My eyes roll so hard that I’m afraid they might get stuck.

Walker laughs. “I got it. I know what to do.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.”

“I’m going to find a hitwoman and put a mark on Molly.”

“What does Molly have to do with anything?”

He raises a brow.

I blow out a breath. “Would I marry Molly? Yes. If she loved me, I’d marry her right now. But she doesn’t love me,” I say. The words burn my throat as I say them. “She doesn’t love me like that. I’m not sure she’ll ever love someone like that. But at least I’d protect her.”

“She needs protecting from herself is what she needs.”

My jaw clenches again.

I turn away from my cousin and walk outside. The fresh air hits me in the face, the breeze stronger than it was when I got here an hour ago.

I inhale a large breath, and something in the air reminds me of wet paint. Just like that, my mind is taken back to a night many years ago.

Tap! Tap!

I look out the window. A little girl with messy pigtails is on the other side of the glass. Her eyes are filled with tears. Her lip is split. And as soon as I lift the window open, she starts to cry.

“Can I come inside, Peck? Please? I need to hide for a little bit.”

My chest burns as I turn around. Walker is watching me from beside the truck.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“Good. Old Man Jacobsen called. His tractor is sitting out by the highway. Thinks he got some bad gas. Can you go out and help him?”

I nod and start out toward my truck.

“Peck,” Walker calls out.

I grab the door handle and swing it open.

“You’re a good guy.” He grins. “And if you tell a damn soul I said that, I’ll call you a liar.”

I smirk. “I’m a good guy, huh? Is that why it bothers you so much that your girlfriend loves me?”

He throws something in his hand my way. It whizzes by my head and sails across the street.

Chuckling, I climb in the cab as he flips me off. I give him a little wave before throwing a little gravel with my tires before hitting the road.

Thirteen

Dylan

“I’m really excited to get started.” I smile at Joanie Phillips, my new boss at Linton Bank and Trust. “I’ll see you soon.”

Joanie shakes my hand. “We are so excited to have you on board. I think you’re going to be an excellent fit here.”

“Me too.”

I turn to leave the bank when Joanie calls me back.

“Oh, Dylan. There’s one more thing.” She pulls her eyeglasses to the bridge of her nose and peers at a piece of paper in her hand. “When you were hired, you didn’t have your address yet. Do you happen to have that?”

“I do. Well,” I say, “I have a temporary one. The rental I was going to use didn’t pan out, but I’m staying with a friend.”

Peck’s face rushes through my mind, and I have to fight to keep my smile professional and not giddy. I take the pen she offers and scribble down Peck’s address.

“You know,” Joanie says. “I know where there’s a rental. A friend of my daughter’s is moving to Merom, and their house is a rental. Her husband got a promotion.”

“That’s nice.”

“They’re such good people. I’m happy things are turning around for them. Anyway,” she says, bringing herself back on topic. “I can get you the landlord’s information if you’re interested.”

“Oh, um, yeah. Absolutely. That would be great.”

She winks. “Perfect. I’ll see you next week. And if I get that info beforehand, I’ll call.”

“Thanks again.”

I slip outside. My steps should be much lighter after the meeting with Joanie. Not only did it go swimmingly, but she also offered me a dollar an hour more if I would get my notary certification, which I have no problem doing. Even though I struggle with budgeting myself, I’ve always loved working with money. I’ve worked in a bank my entire life. Joanie seems wonderful.

And she knows where there’s a house for me.

I press my lips together and make my way toward Navie’s car. The thought of leaving Peck’s house so soon should be exciting. I’ll be back to good, creating the new life I came here for. Except … it’s not exciting. Or good. Or welcome.

It’s annoying.

Listening to him getting ready this morning, smelling his cologne in the house after he left, and seeing his coffee cup in the sink and toast crumbs on the counter should be annoying too, but it’s not. There’s something very satisfying about it. And honestly, I want more of that. It’s not that I can’t live alone because I can, and I’ve always kind of loved it. But this feels … different.

Maybe the house won’t work out. I won’t be that disappointed.

“Hey,” I say as I climb into Navie’s car. “Thanks for waiting.”

“How’d it go?”

“Oh, great. Um, she offered me a little raise already. Can’t beat that.”

“Look at you go,” Navie says. She pulls the car out onto the street. “So we got your groceries. We met the lady at the bank. Do you need to do anything else before I take you home?”

She pilots the car around a pothole and then takes a right-hand turn. Her hair is freshly cut with new pink streaks from root to tip.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” I tell her. “I could’ve done this alone.”

“I know. But I haven’t seen much of you since you left me for Peck.” She grins. “But I can’t say I blame you for that.”

“I didn’t leave you for him. I didn’t have a place to put my stuff, and you don’t want to walk around me on your couch forever.”

She shrugs as if she wouldn’t mind. Truth be told, she probably wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean it would’ve been the right choice.

“So … how are things going with you and Mr. Ward?” she asks.

The lines etched into his skin last night reappear as if they were waiting on an invitation. I squirm in my seat.

“Fine. Things are fine,” I say.

She snickers. “I bet they are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve seen the man before. Shirtless, even. I know him, Dyl. What I don’t know,” she says, turning onto the long road that leads to Peck’s house, “is how you refrain from jumping his bones.”

I laugh at her crude language. “It’s not that hard to control myself.”

“You’re a better woman than me.”

“Then why didn’t you hook up with him?” I ask.

She considers this. “Well, I would’ve. Trust me. But somehow our relationship became very brother and sister, and it just never had the opportunity to become sexual in nature.” She looks at me smugly out of the corner of her eye. “But if you venture into that arena, I want every single delicious detail.”

My stomach flip flops at the idea. It’s hard enough to think about Peck. I haven’t had to see him face to face after our late-night kitchen meeting last night.

All day long, I’ve thought about him. And how serious he was. And how I thought, and maybe even hoped, he was going to kiss me. Following that thought is the worry that things will be different between us today.

I hope not.

That would be a shame.

Navie pulls the car up Peck’s driveway and turns it off beside Peck’s truck. She pops the trunk as I climb out. We meet behind the car and load up the grocery bags and carry them inside.

“Thanks for coming with me today,” I tell her.

She nods, taking in the kitchen.

“What?” I ask.

“Just seeing how he lives.” She turns in a circle. “I’m weirdly impressed. It’s so clean.”

I giggle as I sort through the purchases from the grocery store. “He is clean. And pretty damn organized, to be honest. I mean, this place could use a woman’s touch, for sure, but it’s not even close to some of the bachelor pads I’ve seen in my life.”

Navie grins. “Maybe you could put a little touch on this place.”

“Why? I’ll be leaving soon.”

The door opens, and Peck walks in. He gives Navie a little wave and then sets his sights on me. His head bows as he searches my eyes.

There’s a minuscule amount of awkwardness hanging in the air between us. If there’s anything in life that I don’t want, it’s for things to be weird with Peck.

“Don’t,” I say.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t ask me what I’m making for dinner.” I hold up two packets of hamburger. “I’ll cook with you, but not for you. At least not every night,” I say, correcting myself.

He laughs. “I can deal with that.”

Navie giggles and heads for the door. “You two are adorable together.” She stops at the doorway. “You should come to Crave tonight, Dylan.”

I glance at Peck. He’s watching me carefully.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Um, what time?”

Navie’s grin gets wider. “Whenever. The fun usually gets started around nine thirty or so. Wouldn’t you say, Peck?”

“Yup. That’s usually when I get there,” he says with a rogue grin. “Talked to Machlan today?”

“Why?” Navie asks.

“Just getting a feeling as to his temperament today. Wondering what I can get away with.”

Navie laughs, turning her attention to me. She jams a thumb in Peck’s direction. “And he calls me a troublemaker.”

“So nine thirty?” I ask.

“Does that work for you? I mean, you can come whenever, but it’ll be pretty quiet before then,” she says.

“Yup. That’s fine. I have no plans. Obviously,” I tell her.

She gives me a thumbs-up before opening the door and walking out. Somehow, the room gets smaller without her. When it’s just Peck and me together.

“I got groceries,” I say, stating the obvious. But it seems like as good of an icebreaker as any. “I don’t know what you like, so I got the basics.”

He takes an apple out of a bag and tosses it in the air. He catches it easily. “I like about anything. But you didn’t have to do this. I could’ve gotten groceries. I should’ve, huh?”

A ripple of uncertainty passes through his eyes.

“No,” I insist. “It’s not your job to feed me. I actually enjoy grocery shopping. Is that weird?”

“Does this have anything to do with that Have Line thing?”

I laugh. “It’s HAS Line, and sometimes it does. But I like to buy food even when I’m not angry or sad.” I take out a jar of peanut butter and set it on the table. “I think it’s a control thing, to be honest.”

“Control of the menu?”

“No. More like that I have my shit together. I can buy groceries. There was a time in my life, my late teens, when I couldn’t just walk in the kitchen and get an apple. Things were hard. And now that I can go and buy whatever I want—within reason, of course—it feels good. I think that’s why I like it.”

He moves across the room until he’s standing next to me. I swear that having him this close messes with the electricity in my brain because everything misfires. All I can smell is the scent of his cologne. All I can feel is the electricity sizzling between us. All I can taste is that almost-kiss last night.

Damn it.

Lifting the packages of meat, he carries them to the fridge. “I will tell you a little secret.”

That you regret not kissing me too?

“What’s that?” I ask, holding my breath. He’s not going to mention not kissing me, that I know, but as long as he doesn’t answer, there’s hope.

“I’m actually a decent cook.” He shuts the refrigerator door. “At least, I think I am. No one else may like it, but I do.”

“And you’re telling me this because you’re fixing dinner for me tonight?” I tease. “You sweet thing.”

He laughs. “Not tonight. I need time to consider the menu. Besides, we’re going to Crave tonight, and I don’t want to have to rush dinner. Perfection takes time.” He winks.

I try to play off his charm. It would be really easy to dance a little jig, but I don’t. Because I’m an adult. Ish.

“We are going to Crank?” I ask. “Together? I mean, that’s great, but I just didn’t expect you to go with me.”

“Yeah, well, it’d be good for you to meet the townsfolk.” He winks. “And Navie told you to come tonight. On Friday. At nine thirty. When the place goes a little bonkers, usually.”

“Hey, it sounds fun.”

“Oh, it is.” He leans against the wall and smiles. “But you’re gonna need a bodyguard.”

“Are you volunteering for the job, Wesley?”

He scowls, making me laugh. I toss a tub of butter his way. He catches it and puts it in the fridge.

“I had one of those,” he says.

“Sue me for not trusting it.” I take out a box of crackers. “What time do we leave?”

“Well, I think it’s probably best to get there earlier than nine thirty. But I need to run a couple of errands first. So maybe we meet there around eight? Kind of break the place in first?

“That sounds good. I need some time to get cleaned up.”

“I think you look great.”

I ignore the look in his eye and the riot inside me. He’s being kind. Period. Nothing more.

“Well, thank you, but I need a shower and to change,” I say.

He glances at his watch. “I need to run a part out to a farm for a tractor and then swing by Nana’s and … okay, really, I need to go see if she saved me one of Sienna’s blueberry muffins. But I also need to make sure someone visited her today. It was Lance’s turn, but he called earlier. He and Mariah had something come up with the baby they’re supposed to be adopting, so I said I’d go over.”

“Go. Tell her hello from me. I can meet you at the bar later,” I offer.

He nods. “Sounds good. Just shoot me a text when you’re on your way over, and I’ll make sure I leave. It’ll be my diversion. Sometimes I get over there, and it’s hard to leave.”

“Gotcha. I’m just gonna put the rest of this away. I mostly got staples since you were kind of lacking, well, everything.”

He eyes the food on the table. “Want me to help?”

I do. Not because I need it, but because I want to keep him around. But there’s no way I’d stop Peck from going to Nana’s. She’s such an amazing woman that it’s no wonder Peck and his cousins look after her. I’m almost envious that I won’t get to see her. Although, turning up two days in a row would definitely get her started on the relationship train again.

Not going there.

“Nope. I got it. Have fun,” I say.

He grins. “Okay. Tomorrow, I’m cooking for you,” he says, pointing a finger my way.

“Deal.”

He flashes me a final killer smile before disappearing outside.

I walk to the window and watch him get in his truck. He looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“That’s what I need to do,” I say, dragging myself away from the window. “I need to have less cares in the world.”

My phone rings on the table. I look at the caller’s name on the screen. I reach over and silence the call from my mom.

“Starting now.”

Fourteen

Dylan

“Who knew there were this many people in this town?”

My voice is drowned out by a large truck with huge tailpipes. They’re so big that I’m pretty sure I could crawl into one of them and hide in the event of a zombie invasion.

Trucks line the street outside Crave. There are a few cars here and there, but it’s by far and large trucks. Big ones. Loud ones. Dirty ones.

I run a hand down the front of my coral-colored faux-silk shirt. Way too much thought went into choosing my outfit to go to some small-town bar. I even went as far as taking selfies in the fullest-length mirror I could find in Peck’s house and scrutinizing them that way. The winner was the pinky-orange shirt that skims my curves and makes my breasts look like they exist. Paired with a pair of denim shorts and some strappy wedges, I don’t look too I-got-dressed-out-of-a-suitcase.

I don’t think.

“It’s just a bar with friends,” I whisper as I pull open the door to Crave.

Surprisingly, it’s not too packed. The building is long and narrow with a couple of pool tables in the back. A bulletin board lines the front wall, and a long bar extends down the right side. Christmas lights hang above a mirror behind the bar, showcasing the bottles of liquor and random signs that seem to have been hung haphazardly on the glass.

Patrons fill the booths dotted along the wall parallel to the bar. Others take their chance with darts and pool sticks in the back. Navie makes a drink for one of the men sitting at the bar. Her head falls back as she laughs at something he said.

Peck is nowhere to be seen.

I suck in a breath and head her way.

“Hey,” she says as I approach. “Where’s Peck?”

“I’m not sure. He said he’d meet me here.” I get situated on a stool. “Um, how are things tonight?”

Navie laughs. “Relax, Dyl. You look like you’re ready to go in for a root canal.”

“I do not.”

She shakes her head and hands me a beer. Hoisting a finger in the air to a woman at the end, she leans in. “Have fun. Meet people. This place is a lot of fun if you let it be.”

“I’ll try.”

She grins, letting out a little laugh. “I gotta work. But I’ll check on you in a bit.” She scoots down the bar to the woman with the red bandana wrapped around her head.

I take a sip of my beer, giving a forced smile to the man sitting three chairs down. He tips his bottle my way before turning back to the television he can’t possibly hear hanging above the coolers.

“Hey, roomie.” Peck’s voice is inches away from my ear. It makes me jump. He chuckles, taking the seat next to me. “Sorry it took so long. My brother showed up at Nana’s, so I got sidetracked. I haven’t seen him or his boy in a long time.”

“You didn’t have to leave for me,” I say. “Do you need to go back?”

“Nah. He was getting Sawyer ready for bed. I told him to come up here, but I think he was looking forward to a low-key night.”

“I get that.”

Peck grins, and I think the whole place lights up.

My chest burns with some unnamed emotion as he takes off his black baseball hat and runs a hand through his hair. The air is kissed by the scent of his cologne. My view is blessed by the sight of him in a plain white T-shirt. He moves to accept a beer from Navie, and I can almost see the lines of his body move under the cotton.

“So,” he says, pausing to take a drink. “What do you think?”

That you are delicious.

“Um, yeah.” I fight to remember the question. “I, yeah. I think this place is nice.”

He laughs at my confusion. “This place is not nice, Hawkeye. But you get two points for being polite.”

“It is,” I insist, a laugh in my voice. “I like it. It feels homey. Homier than the last time I was here.” I cringe internally because I have no idea where I was going with that, and now I sound like a fool. “You know what I mean.” Even though he doesn’t. He can’t. I don’t even know.

His brows raise, pulling up the corners of his lips into a grin as he takes a drink.

“Look at you two. My two cute best friends,” Navie says.

I glance up to see her standing beside Machlan.

My mouth goes dry. His short dark hair is styled in a way that looks like he just got out of bed and rolled with it. Tattoos dot his skin, and a wicked smile toys on his lips.

Shit.

“I don’t think we’ve actually met,” Machlan says to me. “I’m Machlan.”

“I’m Dylan.”

“Like I told you,” Navie says, “she’s my best friend. Besides you, Peck, of course,” she says with an exasperation that makes us all laugh.

I press my lips together, feeling my cheeks heat. Why in the world was Navie dating a douchebag named Logan if she had such gorgeous best friends and co-workers? Clearly, she had better options.

I’m looking at them. And the night has just started.

Her eyes perk up, and I know some shit is about to be stirred. I grip the sides of my chair as I silently plead with her not to do whatever it is she’s about to do. She grins.

“Hey, Mach. Did you know Dylan and Peck are living together?” she says.

“I did not,” Machlan says, looking at Peck. “Why didn’t you mention that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s none of your fucking business?”

“He’s renting me rent a room,” I say. “It’s not a big deal.”

Machlan’s attention lands on me. I shift in my seat under the weight of his gaze.

“Dylan, with all due respect—a woman who looks like you is living with Peck. It’s a big fucking deal.”

He flashes me a grin that would probably melt weaker individuals. But as Peck opens his mouth to fire something back at his cousin, I decide to intervene.

“Well, thank you for what I’m taking as a compliment,” I say. “I’ll be sure to keep you posted on any other ‘big fucking deals,’ should they happen.”

Peck bursts out into laughter. “That’s gold.”

“Coming,” Navie shouts down the bar. She taps the wood in front of me with her knuckle and grins. “Please don’t get into any trouble tonight. I don’t really have the money to bail you out.” She winks. “Come on, Machlan.” She grabs his arm and pulls him down the bar with her.

Peck toys with the label on his bottle and looks at me from the corner of his eye. “So …”

“So …”

We grin at the same time.

“Machlan is an asshole,” Peck says. “Just kind of ignore what he said.”

“No way. He said I was cute. I’m not ignoring that.”

Peck’s grin turns into a smirk. “He said you were hot. Not cute.”

His lips twist around like he’s not sure what to say next. I’m not sure either. I’m not sure I can talk because my temperature just spiked to a million degrees. But if I don’t say something and just sit here in all my feels, this could get weird.

“Well,” I say, “I’m okay with him thinking that too. It’s not bad for the ego to think a guy finds you attractive.”

“He’s not wrong, you know.”

Our gazes collide in the small space between our bodies. His smirk digs in deeper, pulling mine along with it.

The room gets hotter. His cologne stronger. My shirt feels like its plastered to my skin as I let Peck Ward taunt me with his eyes.

Dear Lord.

He leans toward me. I’m not sure if it’s to whisper something he doesn’t want to be heard or if it’s … something else. But as I bend toward him, ready to accept either thing, the music overhead changes, and the bar erupts with chants of Peck’s name.

“Can you excuse me for one second?” He grins. “I’m being beckoned.”

Pulling back, he shoves a hand up in the air. The crowd roars loader.

The iconic song by Ginuwine that has absolutely nothing to do with a pony pulses through the building. Peck downs the rest of his beer and then hops up on the top of the bar.

My heart pounds in my chest as I watch him roll his hips as he plants his feet on the bar. He looks down, his hat over his forehead and hiding his face.

He pops an invisible collar. Cheers erupt from the back of the room. He lifts the hem of his shirt just enough to show a sliver of skin, and I wonder if this happens regularly. If it does, where the hell have I been?

I get situated in my chair and watch as he grabs the bill of his hat with one hand and his junk with the other. He thrusts his hips forward a couple of times before twisting his hat on backward. His eyes find mine immediately, and he grins.

Raising a brow, I grin back. He laughs. I can’t hear it over the roar of the music, but I wish I could.

He dances down the bar, gyrating and rolling with the beat. A whistle breaks out through a lull in the lyrics, and Peck tugs on the neckline of his shirt. His hips tilted forward, hat on backward, tongue sticking out of his mouth makes me crazy.

I can only imagine him doing that in that stupid white towel. Or less.

Knowing how hard his body is was one thing. Now I have to know that he can move the damn thing? Having knowledge of both of those delicious pieces and not being able to partake in them shouldn’t happen. It’s not fair.

I squeeze my thighs together as Peck dances back down the bar. He stops in front of me, towering over my perch in the chair.

“Not bad,” I mouth.

He points in my direction and then bends his finger, curling it for me to join him.

I lean back. “What? No,” I say, shaking my head.

His grin grows wider. He squats down, extending a hand my way.

The crowd loves this, goading me to join him. Blood roars through my veins as he looks at me with a sexiness that I’m not even sure he realizes he possesses.

“Peck …”

He reaches forward and takes my hand. His palm is hot and sweaty and such a turn-on that all resistance melts. I climb onto the top of the bar, ignoring Navie’s shocked face a few feet away, and stand next to Peck.

My brain gives up trying to process the sensations ripping through me at the speed of sound. It switches on autopilot as my endorphins take over.

Peck’s eyes are glued to me as he turns me to face him. I can feel the heat off his body.

The song hits the chorus. Peck puts a hand on my shoulder, leans back, and pops his hips toward me.

“Come on, Dylan,” Navie yells behind me. She’s seen me dance before. I’m not great at it, but I’ve danced a time or two on top of a bar.

I take a deep breath. Go big or go home. I shake my head. Don’t think of home. Home is him in the kitchen with a towel. Think of this.

With a teasing little shrug of my shoulders, I turn away from him. He dances up against me as I sit back and shake my ass against him.

A muffled groan hits my ear as his hands plant on my hips. We move together, in sync, his solid build up against me. His fingertips dig into my skin, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt and touching my body. My head rests against his chest.

The lights are hot as I breathe in the scent of his sweat mixed with his cologne and try to not lose all control.

He takes my arm and throws it behind me, over his neck. My fingers touch the dampness of his skin. He rolls against me. I press back. We move in a circle and end up facing the other way.

The crowd roars as I bend forward and shake my ass his way. He bites his lip for effect, making me laugh, before pulling me against him once again.

“Damn, Dyl,” he whispers in my ear. But I’m not sure if I’m supposed to hear it. Instead, I look at him over my shoulder and wink.

“That’s enough,” Machlan shouts.

It’s only now that I hear the crowd. I’d forgotten they were there.

It takes everything I have to press away from his body.

The crowd boos as we separate.

The back of my shirt is damp from his body, and the eyes of the crowd suddenly feel heavier than before. I look at Peck. His hat is skewed on his head, his cheeks pink from the dance. An effortlessly sexy smile breaks out across his face, and I forget all about the crowd.

“That was awesome,” he says. He doesn’t wait for my reaction. Instead, he hops down as the song comes to an end and takes my hand again. I give it to him without hesitation and let him help me down.

Our breathing is ragged as I stand in front of him. Someone walks behind him and claps him on the shoulder, making some comment that I don’t quite register.

His eyes are so blue, the color of the angry sea, as he looks down at me. A mixture of confidence and vulnerability dances across his face as he watches me for my reaction.

“You don’t dance too bad,” I say.

“You either.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling a big, lopsided grin. My hand is still encapsulated by his when he looks down at them.

“Guess I could let you go now,” he jokes.

“I mean, you can,” I say. “Or just keep me close in case your fans want an encore.”

His eyes light up. “Maybe I can instigate them into it.”

“I have a feeling you could do that with very little effort.”

He raises our interlocked fingers between us. We both watch as he separates our hands.

The energy between us thickens, preparing for the next interaction. The trouble is, I don’t know what I want that to be.

I mean, I do know. I want him to pick me up and set me on the bar and grind against me again. That’s the hedonistic answer. That’s the response of a woman who hasn’t felt this light and amazing in a very, very long time.

But the responsible woman knows that the longer I encourage physical contact with this glorious man, the more it will make things harder in the long run.

Like the next time I run into him half-naked in the dark.

I shiver. “I, um, I need to use the ladies’ room.”

He nods. “It’s over there.” He points at a sign next to the pool tables. “Want me to walk with you?”

“I got it.”

“Okay.”

I dip my chin. As I make my way through the crowd, surrounded by bodies and laughter, I feel … exposed. Vulnerable. Defenseless.

“It’s time to build up some walls,” I mutter. “Before I find myself a mess. Again.”

Fifteen

Peck

I flop down on a barstool. My heart thumps in my chest as if I just ran a marathon. Sweat dots my brow, and I wipe it off with the tail end of my shirt.

What the fuck just happened?

The smile on my face and throb in my balls will both stick around for a while. As a matter of fact, I doubt either will ease up until I figure out how to deal with Ms. Dylan Snow.

I can still feel her skin in my hands—the smooth curve of her hip. The warmth of her body and the way it molded to my palms.

Motherfucking hell.

I look toward the bathrooms but don’t see her. I have a half a notion to go back there, but there’s really no reason to. Except that I crave that feeling—the one where every cell in my body feels alive when I’m next to her.

“That was some show you put on up there tonight,” Navie says.

She slides a beer my way. Propping her elbows on the bar, she rests her chin in her hands. She’s getting comfortable. It’s her way of letting me know she’s not going anywhere until I humor her. I usually do, but tonight, I kind of don’t want to talk. It feels like it would spoil it somehow even though I don’t know what “it” is.

“What?” I tip the drink back. It spills down my throat. The cool liquid splashes into my stomach, soothing the riot in my overheated veins a bit.

“You know what,” Navie scoffs. “What the hell was that? I mean, I loved it. I think it’s epically great. But … you know … what’s it mean?”

I shrug.

She sighs. “Come on, Peck.”

The bottle hits the bar top with a thud. “I don’t know what it means. I was just fucking around. But …” I look for Dylan again. “I’m not mad about it.”

“It looked like you were pretty damn happy about it, if you ask me.”

The corner of the label is nicked. I pick at it instead of looking at her.

I suppose it’s obvious that I am pretty damn happy about it. How would anyone not be dancing with Dylan and having her enjoy it and not be pretty damn happy about it?

I probably need to reel that in a little bit.

“See?” I ask. “That’s the thing. I didn’t ask you.”

I tip the bottle back and forth. The rattle is a nice distraction from the pressure of Navie’s interrogation.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” she says, standing tall. “I think the two of you together are magic.”

Magic. A smile plays against my lips.

I don’t know what she means by that, exactly, but I know being around Dylan feels a little like magic. Special. Easy. Like something—anything—could happen at any given moment. And having her dance with me tonight—a stupid tradition I started years ago—was epically great, as she put it.

But magical? That’s not even a real thing.

“Hey, bartender! I need another drink,” someone shouts from the other end of the bar.

Navie’s face falls. “I’ll catch you later. But this conversation isn’t over, pal.” She starts to turn but pauses to give someone a penetrating glare over my shoulder before she walks away.

I don’t have to guess who she’s looking at.

A hand squeezes my arm. I turn around and see a pair of whiskey-colored eyes looking back at me.

“Having fun?” Molly asks. She bats her eyelashes my way to hide the irritation behind them. “It looked like you were too happy to make an ass out of yourself up there.”

I search Molly’s eyes for some thread of warmth, for some inkling that she’s in a good place tonight, but there’s nothing besides a vacant abyss that I’ve looked into time and time again over the years. The only emotion in the midst of the light brown orbs is a sadness that is as constant as the little mole beneath her right eye.

That’s what pulls me in, what weakens me, every time she pulls one of her stunts. And that’s what this is, make no mistake about it. She saw Dylan and me, and she’s not happy about it.

Good for her.

Because tonight, for the first time maybe ever, I like how I’m feeling a whole hell of a lot more than I care about her being pissed off.

“I didn’t see you come in,” I say.

She squeezes my arm one last time before letting her hand fall to her side. “Yeah, well, I just got here a few minutes ago. Long enough to see your little performance.”

The question she didn’t ask, the one about Dylan, hangs in the air. She doesn’t want to lower herself to ask who she is, but she’s not about to leave before finding out.

It’s her modus operandi, the way she operates. She strings me along just enough to think there might be a chance between us someday, and for the most part, I go with it. I tell people I love her—and I might. I care about her a whole hell of a lot, even if she isn’t the nicest person sometimes. But I see what Molly does and who she is. I know her better than anyone. And I know it’s driving her absolutely crazy to see me enjoy myself with someone else.

“Who are you here with?” I ask.

“My sister. She’s talking to some guy outside.” She blows a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I didn’t want to wait out there like a third wheel or something.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She flashes me a half-smile. “No. I’m fine.”

She is fine. She’s just pissed, but I’m on too much of a high to really worry about it too much.

I take a long drink. Molly stands beside me and watches like she expects me to swallow and then explain all the things she wants to know. I would if that would make her go away, but it won’t. Not a chance.

I start to get up to go find Dylan and talk her into getting a burger somewhere else when she slides up next to me.

“Hey,” Dylan says. Her smile falters as she assesses the situation. “Am I interrupting something?”

Molly’s hand goes to my shoulder. “Oh, no. You aren’t interrupting,” she says sweetly. “I was just talking to Peck.” She runs a fingertip down my arm.

Dylan watches Molly’s antics. “Oh. Okay. Don’t mind me.”

I expect her to leave, but to my amusement, she doesn’t. She sits on the stool to my right. I can’t fight a chuckle as Dylan stands her ground against a woman most women avoid.

Molly bristles to my left. “Who are you again?” she asks Dylan.

“Molly …” I warn under my breath. I hear the edge in her voice that indicates she’s about to get out of hand.

Shaking my arm out from under her hand, I sigh. “Molly, don’t you need to go find Megan?”

“No. Megan’s a big girl. She’ll be fine,” she says.

“It’s nice to meet you, Molly,” Dylan says. There’s an emphasis of her name—a confirmation that she’s put a few things together. Namely, that this is the person she’s heard about me being in love with.

Shit.

“I’m Dylan Snow,” she says.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“No. No, you haven’t. I’m new to town.” Dylan lets her gaze drop to mine. She’s hesitant, careful even, as she picks her eyes back up and looks at Molly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Molly laughs. “I’m sure you have.”

Dylan leans back. Her posture is more rigid, her jaw set firmer than before. Still, a practiced smile is on her face.

“Peck,” she says, “I’m going to head on out. I’ve had enough excitement for one day. See you at home.”

I cringe as I look at Molly out of the corner of my eye. Her brows shoot to the ceiling. She grabs my forearm instinctively as she recovers from the shock of Dylan’s words.

“You didn’t mention a roommate,” Molly coos beside me. “Is this your cousin or something?”

“Nope. Not a cousin,” I say. That would make a lot of thoughts incestuous.

“Oh.”

I should say something. I should at least try to explain the situation to Molly and get her to go find Megan and do whatever it is she does on Friday nights.

But I don’t.

I don’t say a word because there’s a hint of misbehavior in Dylan’s eyes that I kind of want to see play out. She has the situation under control.

“No, we aren’t cousins,” Dylan says with a laugh. “That would make things … weird.”

“That would make a lot of things really weird,” I agree.

Our eyes meet in the space between us. Even though we aren’t touching, we’re close enough to kickstart the buzz I feel when we’re together. I want to reach out and touch her—even if it’s the top of her hand.

She searches me for an answer to a question I’m not privy to. But the longer she looks, the more my stomach clenches. Because what if I don’t have the answer? Or what if she doesn’t like the one she finds?

“As Peck’s closest and oldest friend—” Molly begins but is cut off by Machlan.

“Yeah, that’s my title,” Machlan says. He wipes the bar in front of us. “It’s definitely not yours.” He flips Molly a disgusted look before venturing away.

Molly ignores him much the same way she ignores everyone. “Peck and I have been friends since we were children. Isn’t that right? We’ve spent many nights together, curled up in his room, watching the sunrise—”

“Molly, I—”

“Why do you wear this hat?” Molly interrupts me. She takes off my hat and runs her fingers through my hair. “I love the red one with the blue socks on the front better. It brings out the blue in your eyes. I wish you hadn’t lost the one with the fish on it. It was so you.”

I duck out from underneath her hand and take my hat back from her. I shove it on my head. “Molly, stop.”

“What?” she asks, a tinge of hurt in her voice. “Am I not allowed to play with your hair anymore?”

I roll my eyes.

Dylan laughs, getting to her feet. “Peck, tonight has been … real.” She glances over my head at Molly. She laughs again and lets her gaze fall back to me. “See ya later.”

She gives me a final smile, one that’s laced with annoyance, and walks right out of the bar as if she owns the damn place.

I’m still watching the door when Molly sits down beside me in the chair Dylan just vacated.

“What the hell was that?” Molly asks.

I drag my eyes back to her. “Just stop. You don’t care. You just want—”

“I always care. You know that.”

Her eyes soften as her entire face shifts to something more vulnerable. It’s true—she’s vulnerable. But not in the way she’s playing me right now.

“Molly, just stop it. Please.”

“Why are you being mean to me?” she asks.

“I’m not being mean to you.”

She takes my beer and downs half of it. Her bracelets clamor against the bar as she sets the bottle back down. Without Dylan around, there is no touching my shoulder or batting her lashes. Why? There’s no audience.

“I’m not being mean to you,” I repeat, “but don’t do that. It’s not cool.”

“Don’t do what? Don’t put that girl in her place? She was making a fool out of you, Peck.”

I glare at her. “No. You know what just happened? She made a fool out of you.”

Her jaw drops.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” I ask her. “Damn it. You’re better than this, Molly. You don’t have to go up to some woman who’s done nothing to you and be a jerk.”

“First of all, I wasn’t a jerk.”

I slow blink in response.

“Second, she did do something to me.”

“What? What could she have possibly done to you?” I pause, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come. “She had the audacity to have fun with me in your presence? Is that what she did?”

“Peck …”

Navie slides me another beer. A bit of the liquid sloshes out onto the bar. I’d normally grab a napkin and clean it up, but I don’t. My head hurts too bad, my body too pulled to a place outside this establishment to care.

Instead, I take a long, slow drink before turning my attention back to Molly.

“Dylan is nice. You could’ve made a friend there,” I tell her.

“I don’t want to be her friend.”

“Good, because it’s probably not going to happen now.”

“Good, because I don’t care.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “She’s not right for you.”

A chuckle passes my lips, but it’s not one of humor. It’s filled with years of frustration at a woman who refuses to see the light. Any light. Anything besides the darkness that’s surrounded her for the past twenty-six years.

“I like Dylan,” I tell Molly. “She’s funny and sweet and …”

Her face falls.

I sigh. She’s going to play this card until it can’t be played anymore. The longer I sit here, the more I want to leave. To go home. To see Dylan and make sure she’s not fucked up by this little show Molly’s put on. She’s not used to her antics and might not write them off like everyone else does.

“Molly, I need to get going.”

“Are you going to see her?”

“Well, we live together.”

A look of panic settles on her face. It’s a fear for herself, not for me. She’s never really cared about me.

This is not a revelation. I’ve known this stinging fact about her my entire life. I’ve always just been unsure that she was able to care about anyone, like maybe that part of her is broken. I’ve never blamed her for that, considering the reason behind the nights we’ve spent together over the years. Reasons I’d still go to prison for if the police hadn’t taken care of it already.

I take Molly in—the feel of her hand on my arm, the smell of her perfume dancing through the air. The pull of her gaze trying to bring me back into her world.

Usually, those things matter. They’re so familiar, and I worry that if I don’t have them, my life will be off-balance. That or someone else will be in my place and hurt her.

But tonight, things are … different.

It’s not her touch I crave, and the strength of her perfume is strangling out the remnants of Dylan’s on my shirt, and that alone annoys me. The eyes I want to be looking into—the ones I want to be checking to make sure they’re okay—aren’t whiskey colored. They’re the prettiest shade of green there ever was.

I let the rest of the alcohol flow down my throat. “Molly,” I say, motioning to Navie that I’m leaving, “have a good night, okay?”

“Peck.” My name comes out in a rush as she reaches for my arm. “I’m sorry,” she says.

She bites her bottom lip, waiting to see if I’ll cave. I always do.

“I just sort of lose my mind when I’m triggered, and it’s been a bad night,” she says. “Then I come in here and see you and her and … I just love you, you know?”

Dylan’s words on love, which have stayed with me since she said them, come barreling back. Can you really, truly love someone who doesn’t love you back? Love should be based on mutual respect. A healthy love, anyway. Molly doesn’t respect me. She’s happy to have me on the periphery, someone she uses when needed. But she doesn’t want me or love me.

And maybe, just maybe, love isn’t what I feel for her either.

“Good night, Molly,” I say again.

A streak of panic flashes across her face. I give her the best smile I can manage before I walk out. And for once, I’m walking away from her. And it feels just fine.

Sixteen

Dylan

“Well, this isn’t going to work.”

I take out the last shirt from my suitcase and lay it flat on the bed. The remnants of the wardrobe I packed to last me a few days until my rental was ready stare back at me from the top of Peck’s black guest room blanket.

My options for work at the bank are more limited than I realized. It’s fancier than the bank in Indiana, and I don’t think I have enough pieces to really stretch my wardrobe longer than six days or so.

I try to focus on my clothing predicament and not the other one—the one prickling at the back of my brain. It’s much easier to worry about the logistics of getting clothes out of the barn, or getting a dresser, or moving into the rental Joanie might have information about rather than thinking about what Peck is doing with Molly right now.

Sitting on the bed, the mattress dipping with my weight, I blow out a breath.

It’s none of my business what Peck is doing. None at all. Tonight was just us goofing off and having some fun. So what if I felt more alive on that bar with him than I might ever have before? It didn’t mean anything. To him.

“Damn you,” I whisper.

Despite the words toppling from my mouth, I smile. The man just gets better and better the more I see of him.

I can still feel his hands on my body and the weight of his gaze. His cologne still clings to my hair. I close my eyes and can almost put myself back on that bar with his body behind mine—nothing mattering except our movements to that song. I’ve never done anything so … sensual in my life. Not with any other boyfriends over the years. Not even with Charlie and I dated him for a year and a half.

No, this was different. Crazy in the best way. Real, raw, and electric.

But when I open my eyes, I’m forced back to reality.

And Molly.

A knock on the door gets my attention. I look up. My heart skips a beat as I see Peck standing in the doorway. I didn’t hear him come in, but there he stands with one arm gripping the top of the doorframe.

“Hey,” I say. “What are you doing back so early?”

His muscles flex as he grips the door tighter before releasing it. His hand drops to his side. The light from the hallway billows around him, making him look taller and broodier than he is.

I stand so that I’m not at a disadvantage.

“Did you have fun tonight?” he asks, ignoring my question. He moseys through the room, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood.

I hesitate. Did I have fun? With him, yes. But if he means all-around, including the last piece where I watched a girl Navie and Machlan hate, a girl Peck loves, fawn all over him to stake her claim, then no. Not so much. They have history. Something that no amount of dancing on a bar can compete with. At least, unlike with Charlie, I was warned up front and knew I needed to pull back.

He reads my uncertainty. “I’m sorry about Molly,” he says.

“Don’t apologize for her. She’s a big girl. She knows what she’s doing.”

“You’re right,” he groans. “She does know exactly what she’s doing.”

We face each other a safe distance apart. I wonder why he doesn’t come closer—if he’s fighting the same pull to me that I’m struggling with over him.

There’s a chance I’ll never be able to be around him now and not feel this tingle, this need to be in his orbit. I’m not sure how all of this will work if I can’t shake that.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask.

“Sure.”

“Is she always this …” I search for the right word. “Aggressive?”

“Believe it or not, she can be just as indifferent.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. The waistband of his jeans dips, and I have to fight myself not to stare.

“Can I ask you another question?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Why do you like her?”

His eyes fire immediately. It’s like he was prepared for this question. His lips part, and I know I’m going to be given some spiel that he gives everyone about Molly. But that answer—that canned response—isn’t what I’m after.

I hold up a finger. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t say it.”

“But I’m just tryin’ to answer the question you asked.”

“I want you to answer it,” I say, picking up a shirt and folding it. “But I want you to think about it first.”

He makes a face like he’s confused.

“You’re going to give me some practiced answer, and that’s not the answer to the question I asked.” I plop the shirt by the pillow. Turning around, I look at him directly. “I want to know why you like her for real.”

His hands slip out of his pockets, and he watches me curiously. A sober look filters his features. He looks around the room, meandering slowly until he ends at the window. Leaning against the wall, he stares into the night.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I say softly.

“It’s fine. It’s just that no one has really asked me that before.”

“Really? No one?” It occurs to me that maybe it’s not my place to ask. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping my bounds here—”

“You’re not.”

He doesn’t move. His body faces away from me as he stands there with his shoulder against the wall like he has all night to talk about this.

I sit on the edge of the bed. My stomach spirals with a flutter of nerves as I try to figure out what he’s thinking.

He bites his bottom lip as his gaze drifts out the window again.

“I just …” I stammer. “I just don’t understand. Clearly, you like her—even by your own admission. So there has to be something you see in her that justifies it. Not that it has to be justifiable to like someone. You can like people just because you do.”

I suck in a hasty breath.

His lip pops free of his teeth. His face becomes completely passive. It’s like he relaxes right in front of me.

The wrinkles on his forehead smoothen as his shoulders fall, and I wonder how I didn’t realize how stressed he looked before.

“It’s hard to explain,” he says softly. “It’s … complicated.”

“I think that’s pretty normal,” I offer. “I mean, I can’t really think of a relationship that I’ve ever had that’s not been complicated. Once emotions get involved, everything sort of tangles up.”

“Yeah …”

An awkward silence settles over us. The easiness that we usually enjoy is tainted somehow by the discussion of Molly.

“I told you about Charlie,” I say. “Not everyone understood our relationship, and I was fine with that.”

“What was your relationship with him like?”

“Good,” I say, picking up another shirt. “Mostly. We were together for about eighteen months. Navie really never understood our coupledom, and my mom hated him. But she hates anyone who takes potential attention away from her, so that’s not all that crazy. But anyway, no one really got why I liked him, and I couldn’t explain it. We just had over a year of experiences built up together that felt like something substantial. And it worked for me. I saw him differently because I knew the things he’d been through and fought against and his insecurities and all that.”

I fold the shirt and set it on top of the other one.

“I’m sorry he hurt you. He’s a fool.”

My heart hurts as I think of Charlie but not in a ravaged, heartbroken kind of way. I never did have that feeling with him. It was more like a betrayal that he lied to me about going on a work trip when, in reality, he was going to see his ex. Deciding while with me if the grass was actually greener on the other side. Which it was. Ouch.

“Nah, it’s okay,” I say. “He was my first serious boyfriend, so I think it meant more to me than it did to him. He had way more experiences with his first love than he did with me. Hence, my theory that first loves are always the most powerful.”

I wait for him to give me some indication of what he’s thinking. His features remain thoughtful as he presses off the wall and stands tall. But he still doesn’t come near me.

“I think you’re right in some ways,” he says. “I think the deeper your roots go with someone, the harder it is to cut that off. Even if it is sucking poison.”

My spirits fall.

His hands go back in his pockets again as the lines resurface on his forehead. “I met Molly right before the start of first grade. Her family moved in next to mine.” He wanders around the room. “My dad was a dick back then. He drank a lot and would yell and carry on. It was more emotional manipulation of my mother than anything because Vincent used to take me to the side and tell me how big and powerful we were and how all the garbage he said wasn’t true. And I knew that. I mean, we spent so much time with Nana and Pops that I knew nothing was wrong with Vin and me. It was that something wasn’t right with Dad.”

My chest pulls with the pain of imagining a little Peck scared or worried. I take another shirt, mostly to busy my hands.

“So, one night, Dad pulled his shit. Vincent and I had climbed out of my bedroom window and climbed the big oak tree on the border of our yard and Molly’s. We stayed until we figured Dad had passed out before coming back home and climbing through the window.” He frowns. “We weren’t in there that long before a little rapping sound knocked on my window. I turned to see this little girl with pigtails.”

I fold the fabric slowly, watching him choose his next words.

“She’d seen Vincent and I crawl through the window. She was scared.” He gulps. “I thought my dad was an asshole, but hers …” He snorts angrily. “Mine was nothing compared to hers.”

He turns and looks at me, a fire in his eyes so hot that I almost flinch.

“She kept coming back. Sometimes with bruises, other times with a swollen lip. Every time scared out of her little fucking mind of this six-foot-three-inch man who had full custody of her and her sister.”

“Peck …” I wad the fabric up in my hands. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles sadly. “Vincent and I were her safe place, you know? She’d tell us things he did and beg us not to tell.” His fists bunch at his sides. “She’d lay in my bed in her little Barbie pajamas and ask me if she deserved that.”

My eyes sting with tears as I imagine children having to deal with the things he’s alluding to. It’s not fair, and my heart breaks for them.

“I get it,” I say, my voice cracking.

“No one knows all that, so I’d appreciate it if you keep those things to yourself.”

“Of course.”

He nods. “I just … if people understood what she’s been through, maybe they’d have a little empathy for her. Maybe they’d cut her some damn slack. Or maybe not. She is a grown woman and needs to quit using that shit as an excuse.”

“That’s not really an excuse,” I say, unable to believe I’m defending the woman who was just a jerk to me. “That’s … rough.”

“Yeah. It is. It’s why she can’t connect with people. She trusts no one. She sleeps with anyone looking for someone to love her …” His face falls.

Mine does too. “But you love her,” I say cautiously.

He walks around the room. “I do. I love her. For sure. But …” He glances at me over his shoulder and stills. “Maybe not like I thought I did.”

“Oh.” My heart beats so hard I can hear it. My mouth dries like it’s swabbed in cotton. My brain sings with a mixture of hope and caution because this doesn’t mean anything.

This doesn’t mean he likes me.

“I’ve always cared about her,” he says. “Like you said, our roots run too deep not to. But it kind of became this … thing. People jumped to, ‘Oh, you love her—look at you defending her all the time,’ and I went with it. Because maybe I did. I don’t know. But looking back on it, maybe … I don’t know.” He shakes his head.

“Like you said … complicated.”

He leans against the wall again. “She deserves a lot of what she gets. As you witnessed tonight, she’s not easy to deal with. But it’s hard for me not to look at her and see the wounds that I know are there.”

“I get that. I do. And you’re a nice guy for being her friend when it’s not easy to do that.”

Bowing my head, I go back to my little pile of shirts. I fold the one in my hand, add it to the stack, and grab another.

I’m on my fifth shirt when I look up. Peck is standing right in front of me.

His lips are twisted into an unapologetic grin. I drop the shirt I’m holding onto the bed in a messy lump.

“What?” I ask, a nervous laugh woven into the word.

“I’ve had enough talking about Molly.”

“Okay.” I grin. “And?”

“I didn’t think you’d get up there with me tonight.”

“On the bar?” I raise my brows. “I’m not going to back down from a challenge.”

He laughs. “Good to know.”

My breathing matches his as he takes my hands and pulls me up. I stand in front of him, chin up so I can look into his eyes. There’s no sign of a thought of anything but me.

I gulp, energy surging through my veins so fast I think I might pass out.

He reaches out. A finger settles in beneath my chin, and he lifts it higher. I look into his eyes as he peers into mine.

I swallow carefully, not wanting to jostle his finger. The simple touch is like a match to a pile of embers deep inside me. My blood is hot as I wait for him to do something.

To kiss me.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For caring.” He smiles shyly, his finger falling from my face. “Don’t forget that I’m making you dinner tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I breathe.

“Good night, Hawkeye.”

With a final, lingering gaze, he turns toward my door.

“Night, Wesley,” I whisper.

He pauses for a moment in the doorway but doesn’t turn to look at me. He taps the wall with his palm, then makes a fist, then disappears down the hallway.

I sit on the bed again, my knees threatening to melt out from under me.

My fingers go to the spot where he touched me as I look at the doorway.

“Damn you, Peck.”

I grin, falling back into the pile of shirts stacked beside me.

Seventeen

Peck

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Vincent calls out.

I look across the parking lot of the grocery store to see my brother climbing out of his pickup truck. He slides his sunglasses off his face and tucks them into the front of his shirt.

He heads across the asphalt with a rip in the knee of his jeans that’s too straight to have been done by accident.

“You didn’t buy your jeans with a rip, did you?” I goad him.

He grins.

“Come on, Vin. You’re pussying out on me.”

He laughs, running a hand through his short hair. “They were a gift. From a very … happy woman.”

I slide my cart in the return slot and trek back to my truck.

“I just leave happy women in my wake,” he jokes. “So, really, what’s up?” He leans against the bed, his forearms resting on the rail. He toys with the handle of one of the bags. “What’s all this?”

“Nothing. Just doing a little cooking tonight.”

“This have anything to do with that hot little thing Machlan was telling me about last night?”

I unlock the driver’s side door and toss my keys in the cup holder. “When did this family turn into a bunch of gossiping assholes?”

“I dunno, but it’s better than everyone having a stick up their ass.” He laughs. “So does it?”

“Fuck you,” I say, shaking my head.

“That’s a yes. Good for you.”

A car pulls up beside Vincent. A woman who works at Carlson’s sometimes gets out. She waves at me before giving my brother a long, leisurely once-over. He nods at her in the subtlest way, as if to say, “I see you but haven’t decided if it’s worth a full nod yet.”

I sigh. “How did you even see Machlan last night? I left the bar around eleven or so, and he was still there.”

“He sent me a text after they closed, and I met him in the apartment over Crave. We just shot the shit for a while.” He fiddles with the bag again. “It’s kind of nice being back home.”

I kick at a pebble on the ground, thinking the same thing. It’s nice having him home. Sure, I have my cousins, and they’re great, but there’s a different bond between brothers.

“Where’s Sawyer?” I ask.

“Happy as a pig in shit with Nana,” he says with a laugh. “She let him have cherry pie for breakfast. Now he’s out back fixing up that treehouse in the woods. Kid won’t want to go home.” He gazes into the distance. “He’s happy here.”

“Yeah, well, what’s not to be happy about?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I get sick of everyone every once in a while.”

“I can see that.”

“It doesn’t take long to get your fill of Lance,” he jokes. “What’s that fucker doing now, anyway? I haven’t seen him yet.”

“Still teaching. Engaged to Mariah. Adopting a kid. Living the life,” I say. “I’m sure he’ll be at Nana’s for dinner after church tomorrow.”

He nods. Pressing off the truck, he runs his hands through his hair again. “I forgot about church. Shit. I don’t think I brought anything decent for me or Sawyer to wear.”

“Nana won’t care. She’ll just be glad to have you there.”

“That’s true. She’s made it very, very clear over the past twenty-four hours that she’s happy to have us here.”

“I’m sure she is. She doesn’t get to see you or Blaire enough. Speaking of Blaire, she’s coming home for a visit too I heard.”

“I haven’t seen her in forever.” He kicks at the ground, his smile faltering. “How’s Nana? Really?”

“What do you mean?”

His shoulders rise and fall as a storm brews inside his eyes. “I mean, she looks good. She is good, right?”

Concern is stretched over his face as he awaits my response. Guilt too—the regret of a grandson who hasn’t been around a lot.

“She’s okay,” I say. “We take good care of her. Have a system. I do her medications, and Machlan takes her for her hair appointment and shopping. Walker fixes shit. Lance pays her bills. Sienna, Mariah, and Hadley help with housework as much as she’ll let them. You know how she is.” I shrug. “But … she’s getting old. You know that.”

Just saying that out loud pummels me. I never thought about a life without Nana. And then she had a heart attack and seeing her in that hospital bed struck a chord inside me that I haven’t been able to shake.

She was so pale. So … lifeless. I watched her lay there with those monitors beeping, the only thing that let me know she was alive and prayed. I told God I’d do whatever he asked of me if he just let Nana be all right.

“I worry about her,” Vincent says. “I mean, she was more like a mother to us than our own mom.”

“It wasn’t Mom’s fault. Dad kept her on the edge all the time.”

Vincent’s eyes flash with a shot of anger that has me taking a step back. “No. She doesn’t get that excuse. Once you’re a parent, your loyalties lie with your kids. Period. She let Dad run all over her. That was a choice.”

I want to argue that because I don’t quite agree. But it would be hard considering we haven’t seen or heard from our parents in a couple of years. Who knows where they are?

“Anyway, I’ve been thinking about moving back,” Vincent says. “Might be good for Sawyer.”

“Yeah, well, it might be good for you too.”

We exchange a smile.

“It’s a lot to think about,” he says. “Sawyer has a great school and a lot of friends. We have a nice little neighborhood with all the fucking fences and flags and shit. I even have a home owner’s association.”

I burst out laughing. “So that’s why you’re thinking about moving? They’re kicking you out.”

“Not yet,” he jokes. “But they probably would’ve if I hadn’t fucked the president a couple of times. That got me out of a few fines.”

“Only a couple?” I tease.

“She was kind of married,” he says, cringing. “But I didn’t know that until later. I told her that despite my reputation, I do have some standards. Or one,” he corrects. “I won’t bang married chicks.”

“How benevolent of you.”

“I try.”

He leans on the tailgate, one foot across the other. It’s odd to look into someone’s face and see something so close to what you see in the mirror.

Same blue eyes. Same face shape. Same straight hairline with a tendency for hair to fall to the left.

“You know anybody hiring around here?” he asks. “I’m working for a company out of Logansport, but they don’t work this far north.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“You do that.” He scratches the top of his head. “I gotta get back down here before the whole family loses their balls.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hell, all of you are settling down. Ran into Walker and Sienna—where’d he find her?”

I laugh at the memory of how we met Sienna. “Long story. Funny story, but long story.”

He shrugs. “And then Lance is adopting a kid. And Machlan is still Machlan for the most part, but just as the whiskey was settling in last night, he had to go home because Hadley sent him a text. Probably a nude by how fast he got out of there.” He grins. “And then there’s you.”

I stretch my arms over head and feel the sun on my face. I’m way too relaxed about this conversation to have it mean anything good.

Usually, when people start talking about significant others and projecting their ideas on me, I just go with the flow. There’s never been a real plan over here. I take things one day at a time and figure I’m happy, and if this is as good as it gets, I’m still pretty damn lucky.

But today I know he’s hinting at Dylan. And I kind of like it. I like the idea of my name and her name being roped together like Machlan and Hadley’s. I like the idea of having her be around in discussions like this.

And that can’t be a good thing.

This thing with Dylan is a microcosm of my life. It will never last. There will come a day when she leaves, and I’d be stupid not to remember that.

“You think you’ll settle down like the rest of them?” Vincent asks.

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Why don’t you?”

He gives me a half-grin. “I totally would if I could find the perfect woman. But usually, I don’t get one that can pass the first two levels.”

I sigh. “Which are?”

“Level one: get Sawyer’s approval. Level two: handle the dick.”

I shake my head and walk toward the driver’s side door. “You’re probably better off alone.”

He laughs as I climb into my truck. I shove the key in the ignition and start the engine before looking at my brother through the open door.

His features are void of the humor from a few moments ago. There’s a severity there that causes a shiver to ripple down my skin.

“We’re both fucked up,” he says. I can barely hear him over my diesel engine. “It’s taken me a long time to accept that. But we are, and it’s not our fault. Our parents were absolute shit. Hell, we were their parents more often than not. And then we had Molly …” His lips press together. “What’s she up to these days?”

“Being Molly.”

He blows out a breath. “I should probably go say hi to her today.”

“You do that.” I pop the door closed and roll down the window. “She’s probably pissed at me today, so be warned.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s say everything you heard about Dylan from last night happened in front of Molly. And then she came up to me and did her usual Molly shit to Dylan, and I had to tell her to back it down a little.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Vincent blows out a breath. “You’ve always been her blankie.”

I slouch in my seat and let my wrists hang off the steering wheel. The truth of his words sinks into my brain as I stare at the green suburban parked in front of me. It’s bright with a glossy finish and reminds me of Dylan’s eyes.

“You gotta stop living your life with consideration of Molly,” he says.

“I don’t do that.”

“You do. You always have. Hell, we both did for a while, but your time is done.”

I want to argue, which is my standard response, but Vincent was there. He knows. He saw. He held her too.

But he left. And I stayed.

He grabs my shoulder and shakes it. “Remember when you were a junior in high school, and you didn’t go to the big field trip to Kings Island because you’d be gone on a Friday night during the first of the month, and that’s the weekend Molly’s dad was more of a dick than usual?”

My heart sputters as the memories of that night come back. “Yeah.”

“You’ve always worked around her. And that’s great, Peck. You’re a great fucking guy. But you’re almost thirty now, and you’re holding yourself back in a lot of things because of a woman who’s perfectly capable of living without you.”

I don’t look at him. I just keep watching the sun glimmer off the paint in front of me.

“I know she appreciates you,” he says. “But you’ve done your job. Hell, it wasn’t even your job, and you’ve done it. You’ve protected her and been her friend. And you still can. But you don’t have to sacrifice your life for her. She sure as shit isn’t returning the sentiment.”

He’s right. That’s why it hurts.

Pops always said the truth hurts. He told it to me the first time when he told me not to swing a hammer like I was or I’d hit myself in the forehead. Which I did. “Truth hurts,” he’d said as he took the hammer away from me.

I’ve never forgotten that.

“I like Dylan,” I say carefully, testing it out. “But she’s …”

“She’s what?”

“I don’t know. She’s … wild.” I laugh softly. “She doesn’t really want a family. She moved here on what seems like a spur of the moment. Her shit is stacked in my barn, and she doesn’t even know what she’s going to do with it.” I look at my brother as if that explains everything. “What would be the point?”

Vincent taps the side of the truck, a big smile on his face. “The point would be that you thought enough of yourself to give it a try. Now, I gotta go get eggs so Nana can make Sawyer noodles for lunch.”

“See you tomorrow,” I say.

He gives me a little salute and jogs into the store.

I put the truck into reverse but don’t take my foot off the brake. Instead, I look at that green paint again. The sun hits it, causing the golden speckles in the finish to shine.

Just like Dylan’s eyes.

I grin. She’d wanted me to lean in and kiss her, and fuck how I wanted to.

But then I recall her eyes after telling her about Molly. There had been real compassion and sadness, something no one else in Linton has every shown Molly. Maybe because they’ve never known the truth.

Yet Dylan had asked for the truth. Forced me to open up about a subject I’d simply shelved as part of life.

“You’re almost thirty now, and you’re holding yourself back in a lot of things because of a woman who’s perfectly capable of living without you.”

Pops is right—the truth hurts. But maybe learning to use a hammer the right way taught me something else too. Doing something properly takes more time to learn but gives better results.

I grip the steering wheel, my palms sweaty.

What would happen if I did things the right way?

With Dylan?

Is something like that possible?

I back out and take off for home.

Eighteen

Dylan

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Navie pushes through a rack of clothes and stops on a dime. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

There’s an iced coffee in one of her hands, complete with a pink straw, and a purse dangling over her other arm. Her hair is a mess in some half updo thing. She’s still so pretty that it makes me laugh.

“I can believe that.” I point at the side of her face. “Lipstick is a little outside the lines on that side.”

“Shit.”

She runs over to a mirror on the wall and rubs her face until the red is only where it’s supposed to be. Pop music plays on the overhead speakers as Navie fixes her hair.

I go back to the rack of clothes in front of me. An eggplant-colored shirt hangs on the end, and I hold it up to my body.

“Not your color,” Navie says, coming my way. “I like the cut, though.”

“Really? I kind of like the purple.”

“I mean, you’re the one that’s going to wear it, but …” She plucks a shirt off the rack and dangles it in front of me. “Try this one. Same cut but in blue.”

“Ooh. I like that.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

She takes the shirt in my hand, puts it back, and then hands me the blue one.

“What’s been going on with you today?” I ask. I spy a cute little dandelion print top and pluck it off the hanger. “You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”

“I know. I was watching this video online last night about how to cut up a shirt and make it all edgy and cool.”

“That’s a good use of your time.”

“I know. It was one of those two a.m. rabbit hole things. Anyway, I woke up this morning and wanted to try it out.”

“How’d it go?” I inspect a charcoal-gray suit that would look awesome with a crisp white shirt, but it’s overkill for the bank, so I put it back. “Not good, I’m guessing, since you look like you’ve been wrestling a whale this morning.”

She sighs. “Very funny. But you’re right. It wasn’t nearly as easy as the cute little chipper blonde made it look. Hers looked chic and retro. Mine looked like a five-year-old got a hold of her mommy’s scissors and hacked up her shirt.” She scrunches up her face. “Why are things always harder than they look online?”

“That’s not something you hear a lot,” I say with a snort.

“What?”

“That things are harder in real life than you see online.” I wink. “Bad joke. I apologize. But you’re right, and that’s why I don’t attempt that sort of thing.”

We walk through the store, holding up various garments for consideration. I’ve already looked at most of the things in the little shop—the only thing that resembles a department store in Merom. Linton had nothing. Not even a store where everything is a dollar.

Navie slurps the rest of her coffee. The straw sucks air, sending an obnoxious sound through the store that gets her a side-eye from the cashier.

“Can you stop it?” I ask her. “You’re going to get us thrown out of here, and I’m not done shopping yet.”

She tosses it in a trash can. “Are we just looking at clothes for the bank, or we looking for … other things.” She stops in the middle of the walkway and grins.

“Just work,” I say carefully. “I don’t like that look on your face.”

“Ha.” She spins around and grabs a light pink negligee. It hangs from her finger like it’s made of spun gold.

The garment is beautiful. The fabric begs you to touch it while the lace lining the top and bottom teases you to touch what would be underneath.

My eyes flick to hers. “Navie …” I warn.

“What? You’d look awesome in this.”

“Don’t what me. I know what you’re implying.”

And that implication has my body humming. Dim lights, candles flickering, Peck’s eyes filled with unbridled passion …. I shiver.

“Um, I’m not the one who started this,” she says. “You were implying a whole hell of a lot when you were dry humping him on the bar.”

“I was not.” My face burns. “We were dancing.”

“It’s a choice of words.”

“The correct choice,” I say. I take the item away from her and put it back. “Don’t start this.”

When I turn around, Navie is watching me with a hand on her hip.

“Don’t regret that,” she says.

I walk away from her toward the perfume counter because it’s the farthest thing from her at the moment. My mind ponders her request.

Don’t regret that.

Do I?

The back of my brain says I do. It says things are going to get weird between Peck and me. And being that the more I see of him, the more I like him means that I’ll probably be packing myself up and out of there. Maybe even with a broken heart.

But my heart has things to say of its own. It doesn’t take being shattered into consideration. It’s contemplating lazy Sunday afternoons watching football and arguments over who is making dinner—things that I’ve never really wanted before, and things I have no business wanting now. Not with him, anyway.

The push and pull ripped at me all night after Peck left my room. It was present through my shower this morning, all during breakfast, and accompanied me here.

I’m a mess.

“Does that frown mean nothing happened when you got home last night?” Navie asks. “If you say yes, I’m going to be so disappointed.”

I frown deeper.

Her face falls in a dramatic fashion. “No, Dylan.”

“We … talked,” I say. “It was fine.”

I turn my attention to the sample perfume bottles. Suddenly, I’m very interested in the smell of sunflowers.

Navie leans her back against the glass counter. “You talked. After that?”

“Yes. Because we’re adults, and adults talk. I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of it.”

“I’m not. I just expected …” She wiggles her brows. “You know. A little more of what I saw at the bar with a lot fewer clothes.” She waits for me to respond. When I don’t, she sighs. “Talk to me.”

“I thought talking disappointed you.”

I walk over to a settee next to an ad for handbags and take a seat. Navie wastes no time plopping down next to me.

Setting my potential purchases next to me, I ignore my friend for a moment. This conversation is not going where she thinks it is, and a part of me is a little embarrassed by that. She thinks I’m going to tell her that Peck and I talked about dancing together or … anything to do with us.

“We talked about Molly,” I say without looking at her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope.” I twist my lips together and peer at her. “It’s just as well. I mean, she’s the elephant in the room with him, right?”

Navie rolls her eyes. “So what did he say? And if you tell me he said he loves her and all that shit, I’ll go kill him right now.”

“Not exactly.”

“Not good enough.” She starts to stand. “He’s dead.”

“Navie, stop,” I say, laughing.

“Why would he talk about Molly McCarter when he’s got you with him? Alone. In his house?” She shakes her head. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s my fault. I brought her up.”

Navie blinks. “Why?”

“She came up to us before I left the bar, and … it was a painful interaction. She’s … a lot.”

“She’s a whore.”

I focus on the lines in the tile on the floor.

She might be right. I don’t know Molly well enough to know if that’s true. But when I open my mouth to say something negative about her, I hear Peck’s voice telling me Molly’s history in the soft sensitivity he used last night. And I can’t do it.

Maybe I can’t do it because it feels like a betrayal to Peck and his opening up to me. And maybe I can’t because I kind of feel bad for her. Either way, I can’t.

“I don’t know what she is,” I say. “But Peck likes her, and that’s that.”

“I’ve never been fully convinced he actually does like her. For the record.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure he does.” I look up at Navie. “At least in certain ways. I don’t know. I just know I don’t need that negligee tonight. Or ever.”

My spirits sink as I speak the truth. Because it’s the truth.

“You don’t know that,” Navie insists. “Maybe seeing you in that would break the Molly spell.”

I lift the shirts I’m going to buy and lay them on my lap.

As Navie said, I was alone with Peck in his house with no other distractions. Except that’s not true. Because even though he clarified why Molly means so much to him, it didn’t mean her presence disappeared.

It’s so much a part of him. She’s so much a part of him. He could’ve kissed me. I wanted that kiss. But it’s not mine and probably never will be. And I can’t fault Peck for that. In fact, that loyalty, that … honor, it makes me like him even more.

“I wish there wasn’t a Molly spell,” I admit. “If there wasn’t, I’d be all over that. He’s … like sunshine. He makes you feel good.”

She snorts. “I bet he’d make you feel real damn good.”

I hit her with my shoulder.

“You need to take a chance,” she says.

“You’re right. I do. I deserve to be happy and in love. Or just to screw around if that’s what I decide to do. But … I owe it to myself to do that with someone who’s safe to do it with.”

She cocks a brow. “Define safe.”

“Do you know why Charlie left me?”

“Yup. Because he’s a narcissistic asshole.”

“Maybe, but he’s also a decent guy. And while I’m angry that he betrayed me to do it, he really just did what he thought was right for him. And I give him kudos, quietly,” I joke, “for doing it when he did and not dragging it out.”

She scoffs. “Your logic is irritating.”

I grin. “So the answer to my original question about why Charlie left me is that he went back to his first love.” My smile falters. “How do you really argue that?”

A flash of understanding billows through Navie’s eyes. She nods, her lips parting.

I stand. Tossing the clothes I want to purchase for my new job over my arm, I look down at my best friend.

“If I start a new relationship, I want to do it with a man who’s free and clear. One who doesn’t have some deep connection with someone else that I have to worry they’ll rekindle. I just want it to be easy. I don’t want to have to fight for a position.”

She nods again. Getting to her feet, she sighs. “I get that. I really can’t argue it.”

“Right? There’s nothing to argue. And with Peck … he’s a great guy,” I admit sadly. “If all we can be is friends, then I’ll take it. I’d much rather have that then try to embark on some journey that’s doomed before it even starts.”

Navie throws her arm over my shoulder as we head to the cash register.

“If there’s one thing I know for sure about Peck, it’s that he’s not disappointing.”

“Not yet. But everyone will disappoint you at some point.”

“Hey,” she says, shoving me gently. “I take offense to that.”

“I didn’t mean you.”

“You better not have.”

I place my items on the counter and return the attendant’s smile. She rings me up, and I hand her my credit card.

“There is an alternative,” Navie says.

“What’s that?”

“I could hire an assassin.”

I laugh. “She’s kidding,” I tell the woman working the register. “Thank you.”

I take my credit card and receipt. Navie grabs my bags. Together, we head into the early afternoon sun.

The air is not too warm and not too cool. The sun is bright as if luring me into happy thoughts.

“You need to stop overthinking everything,” Navie says. “You just think and think and think, and before you know it, you’re worrying about situations that you’ll never even encounter.”

“Overthinking prepares me.”

“No, overthinking ruins you.” She steps away from my trunk as it pops open. “You’re so used to being the adult. You’ve parented your mother and your siblings your whole damn life. Just … be a twentysomething for a while. Cut yourself some slack.”

She tosses my bags in, and I close the lid.

“I don’t know how to do that,” I admit. “It seems … irresponsible.”

“You know how to take chances. You moved here on a whim, basically. You danced on a bar last night. You moved in with a man you just met.”

“True …”

“So why don’t you take chances when the result could make you really happy?”

“Living here does make me happy.”

She glares at me. “Not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t write people off just because you had a bad similar experience. So Charlie didn’t pick you. Seriously—good for you. But that doesn’t mean it’ll always be that same situation with every guy you meet.”

“So I’m not the proverbial rebound girl?” I grin. “I’m not the time-killer?”

“Just … shut up.” She laughs. “What’s wrong in that head of yours?”

“A lot. And on that note, I gotta go. I have a bunch of errands to run today.”

“Like what?”

I think back through the list of things I need to do. “Well, I need to run to the post office and drop off some envelopes. I need to do some non-food and non-clothing shopping.”

“What do you need?”

“Bathroom stuff. Notepads. Dish soap.”

She nods. “There’s a place on the other side of Merom. Follow this street to the right, and you’ll see it in a couple of miles.”

“Perfect.”

“I work tonight,” she says. “Come see me if you get bored.”

I climb into my car. “Thanks for coming by today.”

“I was no help, but you’re welcome.” She heads across the parking lot. “See ya.”

“Bye, Navie.”

She walks away like she has no care in the world, but that’s not true. She has more cares and problems in her life than I do.

No one knows that, though. She hides things so well. In some ways, we are so similar.

I came to Linton to support Navie, not just because of the Logan business, but because I knew she needed me. But now I think we simply needed each other.

Daily phone conversations, watching movies and then calling each other to rant or rave at the best parts, and planning trips together we’ll never take helped us stay close when she moved here. And while I’ll never be grateful Logan hurt her or that my family and Charlie about broke me, those things did get me here. Thankfully.

I close the door and turn on the engine. Instead of pulling out, I turn up the radio. An old country song that I remember my nonna playing, about a man loving a woman forever and ever, flows through the cab.

Relaxing back in my seat, I listen to the words.

Is that possible anymore? Or is it always the survival of the fittest?

My phone dings beside me. I pick it up and smile.

Peck: Dinner at seven. Be hungry. ;)

Me: I’ll bring dessert.

I laugh.

Almost typed I’ll be dessert.

I toss my phone in the cup holder and head across town.

Nineteen

Peck

“All right. Let’s not fuck this up,” I whisper.

The items I bought at the grocery this morning are spread on the table. Packets of steak, giant potatoes that I’ll smash with butter and bacon and cheese and chives, and the requisite salad fixings are all displayed in a neat little line for my dinner with Dylan.

I run my hands down the sides of my pants. Sweat from my palms skid down the denim.

“Ugh,” I groan. Heading to the sink, I wash my hands.

My stomach has been clenched since I came in from the barn and heard Dylan in the shower. I stood in the kitchen and listened to the water trickle through the pipes in the wall and imagined her standing under the spout.

Wet. And naked.

She’s been out for a while now—probably upward of an hour. I told her dinner wasn’t until seven, but the longer it takes her to come out, the harder it is to fight my nerves.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” I lie to myself. “You’re just being polite.”

I’d like to politely stick my—

“Hey, Peck.”

I wheel around to see her standing in the doorway. A long, brick red dress hangs lazily off her frame, showcasing the delicate curve of her shoulders and dipping sweetly at her waist. Her hair is down, brushing against the middle of her back, and if she has a stitch of makeup on, I’d be shocked.

She’s never looked prettier.

“Hey,” I say, running my hands down my jeans. Again. “You, um, you look really pretty.”

Her cheeks flush. “Thanks. I went shopping with Navie today to grab a few things for my new job and had to have this. It’s just so comfortable.”

She enters the kitchen, the fabric flowing around her. The room fills with the scent of oranges from her perfume.

Standing next to me, she takes in the ingredients. “What are you making?”

“Steak. Potatoes. Salad.”

“I love steak,” she says. “And I’ve never met a carb I wasn’t friends with.”

I laugh. “Awesome.”

“What can I do to help?”

“You totally don’t have to help.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and grins. “I know. But I want to. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah. Having you in the kitchen with me sounds like a terrible time,” I tease.

“Oh, does it?”

“Just awful.”

She grins. “Well, I’ll put some music on to help fill all the weird moments of silence that are sure to plague us, considering it’s going to be such an awful experience and all.”

“Does this mean you’re going to dance again?”

Her face turns the same shade as her dress. The flush steals my breath as I imagine what she would look like on her back, legs spread, coming all over my tongue. Or on her knees as I take her from behind—

Fuck. Stop. You’re cooking dinner, Ward.

“I’m always on the verge of breaking out into song and dance,” she says, recovering quickly. “You never know.”

I turn back to the table so she doesn’t see my reddened face. Or my hard-as-nails cock. Because I’m imagining her dancing against me again, feeling every beat, every pulse of her skin against mine.

Holy shit. Stop.

Tonight is about dinner. Not seduction. Because after I left her with nothing but a smile last night, she probably has no idea that I’ve been fantasizing about her every minute since. And I’m still not sure what I’m doing. Is this a risk I should be taking?

“Can you get a gallon storage bag for me? And the foil? They’re below the sink,” I ask.

“Sure.”

When she walks by me, barely brushing against my arm, it sends a shot of energy through my body. Picking up the three kiwifruits on the table, I try to ignore the goose bumps on my skin.

I grab a little cutting board and a knife. When I arrive back at the table, Dylan is there with the bag.

“What are you doing with kiwifruit?” she asks.

“Patience.” I peel and slice the fruit and plop it in the bottom of the bag. After giving it a quick mash, I add some olive oil and apple cider vinegar. The steaks go in at the end.

I zip the top.

“I’m so, so confused,” she says.

“The kiwifruit will tenderize the steaks. It’s so much better than the alternatives of tough meat or overly salty meat.”

She snorts. “True. I don’t like my meat salty.”

I laugh out loud. “Good to know. Good to know.”

The oven beeps, alerting us that it’s finished pre-heating. I hit each potato with a knife, creating little holes in the skin, and then set them on pieces of foil. I have Dylan add a spoonful of butter on top and then wrap them up.

“You have very odd cooking skills,” she says, watching me put the potatoes in a baking dish. “Who taught you to cook?”

“No one, really,” I say. “I just kind of … I don’t know. I thought about it.”

I put the dish in the oven and close the door.

“What about your mom?” she asks. “Does she cook?”

Leaning against the counter, I look at Dylan. “I don’t know if she does now. I’d have to know where she is to know if she cooks. But she never did.”

Her face wobbles. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize …”

“It’s fine.”

“I just saw you with Nana and assumed that your family was picture-perfect.”

I take in the concern embedded in her eyes. There’s distress in those gorgeous greens because she’s worried about me.

No one worries about me. It’s not something I think a lot about, but I am aware of it. I’m Peck—the guy who will figure it all out. That guy who’ll be okay. The guy who’s just a goofball at the end of the day, so nothing really gets to him, right?

Wrong. Shit does bother me. I just don’t go telling the world about it.

Because the world thinks it already knows. It assumes. Dylan assumes too. But the difference is that she cares when she gets it wrong. It bothers her.

Huh.

“My family is great,” I say. “It’s just that my parents weren’t … that great.”

The vacancy inside a piece of my heart that’s never quite been filled—the one that I become hyper aware of around my birthday or Mother’s Day or the few days a year when I’m basically snowed in. My mother used to love those days. She’d make Vincent and me hot chocolate and snow ice cream, and we would light a big fire in the fireplace. The house always felt like a home on those days.

On other days, it didn’t. It was very much my father’s house, and we were allowed to stay there. A constant reminder was hauled our way that as soon as we were of legal age, they were getting the hell out of there and living their life.

They didn’t even wait that long.

“My dad always resented Vin and me,” I say. “I think he had these big ideas for his life, and then Mom got pregnant, and he felt stuck here. With us.” I shove off the cabinets, a lump in my throat.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Not your fault. Not mine either.”

Dylan bites her bottom lip. “No, it’s not. But I can be sorry for you. I know what it’s like to not really have the greatest parents in the world. It sucks. My mom is … a handful. And my dad doesn’t give a shit.”

“My mom cared. I think she knew Dad had a lot of mental issues and got sucked into that.” I shrug. “It’s her choice. Maybe he needs her more than we do. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.”

Her laugh is soft and light. “How are you even a real person?”

“What kind of question is that?”

I pull the steaks from the bag and pat them dry. They probably needed another ten minutes or so, but I need to keep moving.

She leans against the end of the table and watches me get them situated on a tray.

“You just told me that you don’t even know where they are, and you’re like, ‘Oh, that’s okay.’ How are you not bitter about it?” she asks.

Because I’ve had too many years of disappointment. My expectations have been adjusted back to zero.

“Bitter?” I shrug. “A part of me is, I guess. Vincent definitely is. But I figure everyone does what they have to do. I can’t make their choices for them. I can only make mine.”

“You’re way more of an adult than I am. I’m bitter. And angry. And frustrated.”

I look at her. And beautiful.

“At least you’re honest with yourself,” I say.

“But how did you learn to let that go?”

I grin. “The truth?”

“The truth.”

“Little League.”

“What?” she asks with a laugh.

“It’s true. When I started, I was terrible. I mean, awful. Vincent and Machlan were on my team, and both of those bastards were awesome. And then here I come. I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

She giggles.

“I had a coach my second year pull me to the side and tell me something that just stuck with me.”

She waits for me to continue. When I don’t immediately, she motions for me to hurry up. “Come on. Share this golden information.”

“He said that every time I let a strike go by, I was fixating on it. That I didn’t have a shot in the dark at the next pitch because I was worrying about missing that first one. And he was right. I went to the plate knowing I sucked and expecting the worst. As soon as that first pitch came, I was already so amped up and scared shitless that I swung. Missed. And then I stood there and berated myself over it as the next two strikes went by.”

“So you just extrapolated that over your life? Or what?”

“Well, I was twelve.” I laugh. “So not immediately. But eventually, I did. And it worked. Helped me not to hold on to a lot of shit.”

“See? I didn’t play softball. I was a cheerleader.”

I nod in appreciation. “I bet you gleaned a few valuable lessons from that too.”

“Oh, totally,” she says, nodding empathically. “Like how I don’t look great in white and olive green. And not to trust the girl who likes your boyfriend to be your back spotter.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“The short version: concussions.”

“Ouch,” I say, flinching.

“Yeah.”

I pick up the tray and head for the door onto the patio. “Be right back.”

The charcoal is nice and hot. I empty the chimney full of coals and add a few new briquettes. Once the grill is ready, I place the steaks on the grill.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. Dylan’s watching me. I know it. And instead of it making me nervous … I like the feeling of it. I like the idea of it. Of her beside me in the kitchen as we prepare dinner while listening to music and talking about our lives. When have I ever had this?

Maybe I’d cook more if this was the case.

I grin and shut the lid.

She has a bowl out and is making the salad when I step back into the house.

“I thought I’d go ahead and get this ready,” she says. “How many tomatoes do you want me to put in it?”

“However many you’d like,” I say from the sink. I rinse my hands and then grab a towel. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Well, do you like a lot of them or not so many?”

“I don’t really even like tomatoes,” I admit.

She sets the knife down. “Then why did you buy them?”

“I don’t know. Don’t they go in a salad?”

She cocks her head to the side. Lifting a cucumber, she holds it in the air. “What about these?”

I shrug.

“Do you like them?” she asks.

I shrug again.

“I don’t understand,” she says.

“The lady at the store said that’s what goes in a salad. I don’t know that stuff. So if she’s wrong, blame it on her. Not on me.” I laugh. “I also got sunflower seeds, but I do like those. Never had them in a salad, but I like them for sure.”

She laughs, her voice blending with mine. “If you basically don’t like anything that goes in a salad, then why are we having it?”

“Don’t you like salad?”

Her shoulders fall as a smile graces her lips. “Yes. I do. And I like tomatoes and cucumbers.”

“Good,” I say, trying not to show her how proud I am of myself.

She turns away, her hair covering the side of her face. A song plays from her phone, the lyrics about candles dripping on bodies striking a chord deep inside mine.

She flips her head so that her hair falls on her far shoulder, exposing the side of her face to me. She chops the vegetables, her hips moving with the beat of the song. The bass is deep, the beat slow and sensual. Her lashes fall closed as she loses herself in the words.

I walk toward her, unable to look away.

Holding her breath as I get closer, she stills.

I stand behind her and peer over her shoulder.

Kissing her would be so easy. Touching her would take all of a half of a second. But if I do either, I’m not going to stop.

And I have dinner to make.

“Looking good,” I say.

She blows out a breath.

I’m lying. She looks incredible. She smells fucking awesome. She has shown me more empathy in a few days than many of my friends had throughout my life. She is sexy as hell. But she will get to eat her dinner because I’m starting to realize that she deserves someone looking after her.

I laugh at her frustration—because, fuck, I get it—winking as I head to the refrigerator.

Twenty

Dylan

The unexpected charm of this man is on full display as he maneuvers around the kitchen with ease. “For someone who doesn’t ever cook, you sure know your way around the kitchen.”

“It’s never been fun to cook for one.”

“But it is for two?”

He lifts from checking on the potatoes, gazing through the oven window as if he’s admiring newborns in the nursery. When his blue eyes land back on me, my hands press a little harder onto the counter to steady myself.

That level of sexy should be outlawed.

The corners of his lips shoot up. “It is for you.”

The kitchen suddenly feels like a hot August day with him standing so close. I look away, directing my attention back to the salad. The blade of the knife slices through the tomato, cracking down on the cutting board.

“Careful,” he says, coming around me. “I just sharpened the knives.”

He sets a cutting board next to mine and starts chopping the onions. I think it’s the first true glimpse of how comfortable we’ve become in our living situation. I don’t know if I should be worried or appreciate it by living in the moment. The latter is feeling like a favorite T-shirt right about now, so I go with what feels good.

Peck Ward feels good. Every brush of his arm against mine, the way his laughter tickles my ear, and the heat that exudes between us is heightened. I finish dicing the tomato and take a step back, leaning against the opposite counter to get a better look at him. From that ass to those biceps and broad shoulders, he knows how to get attention without even trying.

“What are you doing, Dylan?”

My eyes shoot up to find his on me. “Just … thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?”

Your body.

“I … um …” I laugh. “Thinking about how that kiwifruit makes things soft.”

“Really?” He pretends to consider that. “I don’t know that I’d go with soft.”

“That’s true. Nobody likes soft meat.”

His smirk digs deeper as he sets the knife down. “How do you like your meat, Dylan?”

I have no idea if we’re still talking about actual meat or not, but I’m willing to play this game. If for no other reason than to see his face when he wears the look like he wants to eat me.

I gulp. “Hearty.”

He chuckles.

“Or aged to perfection,” I offer.

“Interesting choice of words.”

“What word do you prefer?” I ask. “To describe meat, of course.”

He sticks his tongue in the side of his cheek. He’s such an insane mix of playful and sexy that I don’t know which to focus on. My cheeks ache from smiling, but my thighs burn from desire.

“I’d say … hand-rubbed,” he says.

“Well done.”

“What? My comeback or that’s how you like your meat too?”

We laugh together, the sound filling the room.

He plants both palms on the counter behind him and gives it a shove. The momentum sends him across the kitchen toward me.

I can’t look away as he gets closer. My heart thumps in my chest, sending a flow of blood over my ears that makes me dizzy.

He stops in front of me and peers down. The playfulness is still there, but it’s overshadowed by the heat in his eyes.

I want him even though it goes against everything I know is right for me. He’s in love with someone else, and I’m likely just a rebound of sorts who’s being used as a tool to the nth degree. And when it doesn’t work, he can eject me out of here like yesterday’s trash.

But right now, looking up into those gorgeous eyes of his, I just. Don’t. Care. I’ll deal with it later.

“You standing this close to me isn’t fair,” I tell him.

“Why?”

His voice is a dead giveaway to the fact that he wants to see if there’s any fire under all this smoke billowing between us.

“Because I want to touch you, and you know that.”

It takes a few seconds for that to register. When it does, I know.

He adjusts his weight, widening his stance to encapsulate both of my feet. He surrounds me with his wide frame as a grin touches his lips.

“Since when do you not do what you want?” he teases.

“I can touch?” I wink, making that smirk of his grow.

“You most definitely can touch.”

Letting my hands land on his abs, I rub around and then dip under his shirt. It wasn’t the kitchen that’s been bringing the heat. His warm skins heats mine, and my breathing quickens.

“Why are you so irresistible?” I breathe the words out because I’m a hot mess of a turned-on and insatiable.

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve felt like this.

His arms wrap around me. He holds me tight against him, his chest rising and falling as wildly as mine.

His body is hard and steady, and I could stay all day with my cheek pressed against his chest. He leans down, his lips fluttering against my ear.

“I could ask you the same the question,” he says. “But why bother with small talk when I can show you.”

The moment his lips land on my neck, I close my eyes and tilt my head to the side, never wanting a man more than I do him. I was flirting—both with him and the line between us—but now I want him. I need him.

I glance at the oven timer. “We have time. Just saying.”

A chuckle vibrates from his chest. “How much?”

My breathing goes in and out at a ragged pace. I lean back to see his face. “Twenty-five minutes.”

“I only need ten.”

I start to laugh as his face wrinkles in disgust.

“Calling it like it is,” he says. “You know what I mean. I’m not going to last long with you.”

I slide my hands in his hair. My body angles toward his. “As long as it’s a good ten minutes.” I can’t stop myself from laughing.

He rolls his eyes, but then his arms tighten around me, and he lifts me on top of the counter. “Damn straight, it will be.”

“Time’s a ticking, Wesley.”

He nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck. “I love a challenge, but I’m not sure if I want to win this one or not.”

I pull away and take his face in my hands. It’s smooth, freshly shaven, as I hold his jaw in my palms. If I continue, this will be a go. There will be no way out. But as I watch him lick his lips, his eyes as constant and unshakable as I know him to be, I realize a truth: I’m already all in.

“How about we race to the finish together instead?” I breathe.

He leans forward and presses his lips softly against mine. His body moves closer until he’s up against me. I hook my ankles around the small of his back as he deepens the kiss.

I moan into his mouth; the contact glorious but not quite fulfilling. I need more.

His tongue swipes past my lips. He wraps his arms around me again and draws me even closer.

I’m surrounded by Peck Ward.

He tastes of warmth and wishes, of heat and happiness. There’s no rush, no urgency to his sweet kisses. It’s as if he has all the time in the world to commit this to memory.

The song changes. Peck slowly breaks the kiss.

I sag as his lips separate from mine. Air is pulled into my lungs, and I search his face, desperate for more.

“That wasn’t ten minutes,” I tell him.

“Change of plans.”

My dress is lifted, and on a gasp, my panties are removed. Sinking to his knees, he presses his silky lips against my inner thighs. I lean back on the counter, propping myself up on my elbows, and watch him watch me enjoy his touch.

“Ah,” I eke out as his hands run up and down my legs.

I’ve missed this feeling of being so desired, so wanted, that my partner just can’t wait to have me. I don’t even think I had this with Charlie. Not even once.

He bunches my dress at my waist and licks up and down the inside of my legs. Just when I’m about to lose my mind in the feel of his tongue stroking closer and closer to the apex of my thighs, he stands.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He calmly opens a drawer next to me. “I need to flip the steaks so they don’t burn.”

“I’m burning over here. With desire.” I half-laugh because it’s only half-funny. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

“Don’t worry,” he says, clapping the tongs together. “I plan to get back here with plenty of time to take the checkered flag.”

“I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore, but that better mean what I think it does.”

He opens the back door. “It does. Relax.” The door closes, and I sigh in frustration. There’s no way to actually relax like this—not with my body staging a riot for some kind of relief.

The door opens again, and he tosses the tongs on the counter. He stands between my legs, and I sit up.

“Now, where were we?” he asks.

“If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”

“That’d be the first time you don’t try to tell me what to do.”

I smack at him, but he captures my hand. I’m quickly scooped into his arms and kissed as he carries me to my bedroom.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“If it makes you remember where we were, then it’s perfect.”

He grins.

I turn around. Lifting my hair above my neck, I ask, “Do you mind unzipping me?”

He kisses the nape of my neck and plants a few random pecks down the side. My skin tingles with anticipation as the zipper slides down my spine. The right side is taken down my shoulder and then the left before the dress puddles at my feet. I step out of the dress, turning around to face him.

His shirt comes over his head, and all the fun, the teasing, and the games we were playing have been left in the other room. Gentle touches and soft kisses replace the laughter as his hands cover my bare back for the first time.

The reserve that usually constrains my physical interactions with him doesn’t exist between us now. Everything he’s done is to show me how he cares and that I’m safe with him. So I begin to unbuckle his belt while he reaches around to unfasten my bra.

When his jeans come down and my bra comes off, we don’t hide from the sunlight streaming in through the window. We take our time to appreciate each other.

I’ve never felt more beautiful than I do under his gaze, a smile that’s genuine and kind, and hands that touch to explore, not rushing to the next step.

I watch with rapt attention as his Adam’s apple bobs with a heavy swallow. His eyes cast down, and when he looks up, I see a struggle in his eyes. “I did this wrong, Dylan.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I should have taken the time to kiss you more.”

“We kissed in the kitchen, Peck. Checked that box,” I say, bringing a finger down and then back up in a check mark motion in the air.

He grins. “But not like I wanted to.”

“Then kiss me now.”

Strong hands take hold of my face with such care that I cover his hands with mine, feeling weak in the knees. I close my eyes just as our lips press together for the first time in a caress. Our tongues meet, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, never wanting this moment to end.

When it does, I’m left breathless and sit on the edge of the bed before lying down. “Are you going to leave me waiting? Again?”

“No ma’am, I’m not.” His pulls his boxers down, and every thought I ever had about him below the waist were wrong. He’s better.

He catches me staring.

“Sorry,” I say.

“You know how to build a guy’s ego.”

“Judging by what I see, you have every right to be downright arrogant.”

When he laughs, I smile with him. Whatever this is between us is nice. Hovering over me, he leans down and kisses me again. “So do you. You’re gorgeous and so fucking sexy.”

Since my panties were left on the kitchen floor, there’s nothing between us.

He shifts his weight so the head of his cock presses against my opening. I gasp at the contact despite expecting it. Despite wanting it.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. I reach up and place my palm on the side of his neck. His heartbeat pounds against my hand, and I feel mine amp up to match.

“Peck …” I whisper.

Our gazes lock, the heat between us sizzling. I try to look away but can’t. He holds me in place with nothing but a look as he moves his hips.

Inch by inch, he fills me.

“Oh, my gosh,” I pant.

“Open for me, baby.” It’s a command, there’s no doubt about it, but it’s said with such a sweetness that I think I might fall apart already.

My knees fall farther to the sides. He slides inside me, fulling seating himself inside my body.

“Damn it,” I whimper.

He closes his eyes and doesn’t move. The vein in his neck throbs in a look so sexy that I shudder.

His head dips, his mouth covering mine. I press my hands to his chest and then run them up to his shoulders. The muscles flex as he moves, rocking himself into me.

The blanket is soft against my back, his arms hard on either side of me. It’s an overwhelming contrast of sensations. I gasp for air but am cut off by his kisses.

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back into the mattress. He doesn’t relent, covering me with kisses, licks, and nibbles across my mouth, jaw, and neck.

I’ve never felt this treasured, this desired, by anyone in my entire life.

“Peck,” I pant, holding his face in my hands.

“Yes, beautiful?”

I grin, bringing his lips back to mine.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, dragging his hands up my arms when I raise them above my head and loop my fingers around the rails of the headboard.

“You feel amazing,” I say.

He pulls out, taunting my clit, before dipping inside me again.

“Do that a couple more times,” I groan, pleasure ripping through my body, “and I’ll come.”

“I’m having to think about fishing so I don’t lose it right now,” he says with a chuckle.

I clench my muscles. He feels it because his eyes widen.

“You do that a couple more times, and this is over,” he warns.

I lock my legs around him. Digging my heels into the small of his back, I look him right in the eyes and clench again.

“Dylan …”

He slides in and out, hitting the spot that brings me closer and closer to an orgasm.

“Right … there,” I say.

It feels so good it almost hurts.

“Look at me,” he says. “I want to watch you come.”

I do. And when I do, that’s it. It’s all it takes.

I clench again, a mass of colors tangling through my vision as I melt around him.

His name screams from my lips as a rush of fire floods my veins. He presses harder, faster, driving me into the mattress as he finds his end.

“Fuck,” he groans. He stills inside me.

I watch him fall apart. His eyes squeezed closed, his jaw tightened, his biceps strained as he gloriously hits his climax.

The ringing of a bell accompanies our victory lap.

Wait …

He pushes up and looks me in the eyes. “Do you smell smoke?”

I sit up.

“The steaks!” He runs out of the room, and I hear the back door slam against the stopper. “Fuck,” echoes from outside.

I hurry into the kitchen. The smoke from the grill has filled the house. I rush over to shut the door but stop when Peck comes inside with the steaks stiff between the tongs … naked.

“Oh, my gosh,” I say, wiping back tears from my laughter. “Now that’s a sight to see.”

He drops the charred meat on the cutting board. “So much for impressing you with a nice meal.”

His disappointment isn’t just seen in his expression, but defeat drops his shoulders. I stop laughing but continue to smile.

“Everything is fine.” I lean against his back, resting my cheek to him. “You wanted to impress me?”

“Yeah, but I screwed it up.”

“You sure did.” I slip around him, coming between him and the steaks. “In the best of ways.” With wide eyes and a big sassy grin, I ask, “Want to go screw up again?” I reach up and rub his shoulders. “I was thinking we could try your bed this time.”

When his hands grab my hips, I know I’ve got him just where I want him. “How do you feel about the shower?”

I tug him toward his room. “Better get me dirty first.”

“We’ll be getting dirty all right.” Lifting me, he puts me over his shoulder and smacks my ass. “I wasn’t hungry for food anyway.”

“What are you hungry for then?”

“I’m famished. For you.”

Twenty-One

Peck

“Peck Ward, you have some explaining to do.” Nana brandishes a wooden spoon my way. “Why wasn’t your butt in a church pew this morning, young man?”

“Let me get in the house first. Geez,” I say, closing the door behind me.

Machlan and Lance stand at the island, clearly enjoying their position as the good grandsons. That doesn’t happen often with either of them.

“Oh, leave him alone,” Lance says, popping a cashew in his mouth. “I think he was getting a little last night.”

“Hey, Lance. Shut the fuck up,” I say.

“Really with that language on the Sabbath?” Nana asks.

“Sorry.”

Lance laughs. “Getting laid brings out the feistiness in ya. I like it.”

“She’d make you feisty too,” Machlan teases. “Peck’s got himself a hottie.”

“And it’s not Molly. Hey, that rhymed,” Lance says.

I have a half a notion to turn around and walk out. I’ve got enough shit on my mind besides listening to these two idiots tease me all day.

Was I getting a little, as Lance so eloquently put it? Yes. Does Molly need to be included in this conversation? No. And is any of this their business? Absolutely not.

But they’re … them, so they’ll make it their business.

Assholes.

Nana turns back to the stove. “Well, if Peck was entertaining a lady last night”—she pauses and looks at Lance as if to make a point—“and that lady was Dylan, then he gets a pass.”

“I never got a pass,” Lance points out.

“Because you would’ve needed a pass every other week,” Nana tells him. “Peck is a good boy. He shows up for Jesus every week without fail.” She sets the spoon down and looks at me. “So were you with Dylan last night?”

Machlan and Lance burst into laughter as my jaw drops. I stare at my little grandma as she waits patiently for me to tell her who I was sleeping with.

“Nana … no,” I say. My response only makes my cousins laugh louder. “We really don’t need to discuss this.”

“I don’t want to discuss it. I know the mechanics of having sex, Peck,” she says.

I think Machlan is going to piss himself.

“All I’m asking is if you were having sex with Dylan,” she says calmly.

My hands go in the air as I walk in a circle. “I have no idea what happened to this family. It’s like y’all went off and lost your damn minds.”

“Couple of ’em in here didn’t have any minds to start with,” Walker says, shutting the door behind him. He looks around the room. “What are we laughing about?”

Lance points at Nana. “She just told Peck she wants to know who he was fucki—screwing last night.”

Nana’s hands go on her hips. “I did no such thing. Not with those words, anyway.”

“I can tell you that,” Walker says, knocking me off-balance with his shoulder as he walks by. “He’s been worthless since she got to town.”

“Fucker,” I say, ignoring Nana’s gasp. “I have not.”

He picks up a handful of cashews and pops them in his mouth. He’s completely nonplussed.

“I hate you all,” I tell them. “Except you, Nana. I love you.”

She raises a brow and goes back to the stove. The oven door is opened, and the smell of cornbread fills the kitchen.

I take a seat next to Lance. He and Machlan argue about lottery odds while Walker kisses Nana on the cheek.

“I was going to fry some potatoes too, but I’m just too tired,” she says. “Cooking takes a toll on me these days.”

“We keep telling you to stop it,” Machlan says. “Let the girls cook for you.”

“Or for us,” Lance says.

Nana shoves that idea away with the back of her hand. “Don’t be silly. I just need to go a little slower than before. I’ll get my strength back up. I just need some time.”

“Sienna would’ve been here to help, but she had to fly to Los Angeles yesterday over some contract for her company. She got a deal to design for a place that does evening gowns or something.”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “Mariah would’ve been here too but volunteered to make a bunch of cakes and stuff for the nursing home in town. They were having some birthday month party thing,” he says, unsure. “She got Hadley to help her.

Walker looks at me. “Where’s Dylan?”

“You too?” I ask, raising a brow.

He grins.

“Look, you guys. Dylan and I are just …”

My voice trails off because I don’t know what we’re doing now. I suppose the accurate term would be sleeping together, but that doesn’t feel quite right. That feels … careless. Replaceable. Those aren’t two words I care to place on whatever last night was.

It was a good night of fucking. I know that. I’ll probably go home today, and she’ll act like nothing happened. But as I lay there in the early morning hours with her wrapped around me, her hair in my face and arms tucked around me, it felt like something happened beyond a few amazing orgasms.

It felt like … I wanted to do it again. Not just the fucking, but the rest of it too. And that’s worrisome.

“You and Dylan are engaging in adult activity.” Lance grins. “See, Nana? I said that in a clean, politically correct way.”

“Good boy,” she says.

“Right,” I say, uncomfortable with that description too. “But it’s not like you should expect her here on Sunday afternoons or give her hell when you see her. Okay?”

Machlan plucks out a couple of cashews. “We’d never do such a thing.”

“Right,” I say again as the door behind me opens again.

We all look to see Vincent and Sawyer walk in.

My nephew is a miniature version of his father. He has dark blond hair, crystal-clear blue eyes, and a hefty dose of freckles across the bridge of his nose like Vincent and I used to have when we were younger.

“Hey, Uncle P,” he says, leaning against me as I pull him into a one-armed hug.

“Hey, buddy.”

I look down at him and smile.

I’ve never really understood the feeling I get when I’m around Sawyer. I don’t get to spend enough time with him to know his favorite foods or colors or what he likes to do besides fish. But I do know that if the kid called me at two in the morning for anything, I’d be there. I know I wouldn’t question his bail money if he grows up and does something harebrained like his dad and I did, and if anything ever happened to my brother, I’d take this kid in a heartbeat.

A fuzzy feeling fills my chest as I think for a split second what it might be like to have a Sawyer of my own. To have children and a wife that the rest of my family could ask about and want to see. To have a little blond-headed, maybe green-eyed kid running around, asking me to go fishing too.

I shake my head.

Too fast. Way too fast, Peck.

Nana dabs her eyes with the towel on her shoulder.

“Knock that shit off,” Walker says, pulling her into his side.

“I’m just so happy,” she says. “There are no words to explain the love you have for your grandchildren. I loved your father,” she says, looking up at Walker, “and your mother,” she says, looking at Vincent and me. “But you kids are just something special.”

“Well, we think you’re something special,” Sawyer says.

I pat his back. He looks up at me and smiles.

“You wanna tell her?” Vincent looks down at his son.

Sawyer stands tall. “Nana, guess what?”

“I don’t know. What?”

“Dad and I were talking today. And we made a decision.” He rubs his bottom lip with the side of his finger, a habit of his father’s.

Vincent watches Sawyer proudly. I see why. This little dude has the confidence of a kid twice his age, and he’s definitely got Vincent’s swagger.

Vincent is definitely fucked.

“Well,” Machlan prods. “What’s happening?”

“We figure maybe we’ll stick around.” Sawyer looks at his dad and smiles. “We kind of like it here.”

Nana’s eyes fill with tears again. Her arms spread open. “Come here and give your great nana a hug.”

Sawyer struts across the kitchen and falls into her arms. She kisses his head, wiping her eyes with her towel.

“Yeah,” Vincent says. “I figure I’ve done a thorough search of the counties down there for a stepmom for Sawyer. I need some new options.”

Nana fires him a look. “Don’t talk that way in front of him.”

“Why?” Sawyer looks up at her. “I need a stepmom. The right stepmom,” he insists. “This kid I go to school with—his name is Pete. Well, Pete’s dad got remarried in a hurry, and his stepmom is a nightmare. So if Dad needs to take his time in picking one, I’m okay with that.”

Nana looks relieved. “That’s right, sweetheart. Your dad is just being cautious.”

Sawyer walks toward me with a mischievous look on his face. “I’m not dumb,” he whispers when he gets to me.

“You little shit,” I whisper back.

He laughs. “Can I go outside and check out the treehouse before we eat?”

Walker nods. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

“But dinner is ready,” Nana says.

Machlan walks around the island. He motions for me to get up. I head that way, rolling up my shirtsleeves.

“Peck and I will help you fry some potatoes,” Machlan says.

“You boys don’t have to do that.”

“Nah, we do,” I say.

“You boys are too good to me.” She reaches up and kisses my cheek. “But I do wish you had brought Dylan.”

“Nana …”

She swipes her towel at me. “She’s a nice girl. And it’s clear she’s smitten with you.”

“Oh, she is not.”

My stomach clenches. I open the refrigerator and pretend to look for something just so my cousins don’t see my face.

Dylan isn’t smitten with me. Is she? What does smitten even mean, anyway?

Her face pops up in my memories—her head thrown back, mouth forming a sexy little ‘o’ as she dropped all her reservations and gave herself to me.

As if she can read my mind, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and look at the screen.

Dylan:I’m heading out with Navie for a while today. I made some lunch. Leftovers in fridge if you want some although I’m sure you won’t want any given you’re at Nana’s. Say hi from me.

I close the door and look up at my family. They’re laughing as Machlan peels a bag of potatoes and Vincent tells Lance about some encounter he had with a woman on a boat. Walker sips a glass of tea, leaning against the cabinets, taking it all in. The only thing missing from this scene is Dylan.

I wish she were here.

He catches my eye. The joking from earlier has subsided and in its place is a knowing look. It wasn’t that long ago that Walker was in my place and trying to decide how to deal with things with Sienna. I wasn’t sure he’d figure it out. But he did.

Maybe there’s hope for me.

For us.

Twenty-Two

Dylan

Navie gasps.

I knew she would. She has some kind of Spidey sense about things like this … things that have to do with sex or things that include me being embarrassed.

This one is a double or nothing.

“Dylan,” she squeals as I come through the door.

“I’m not even fully in your house yet, and you’re already squealing.”

“You’re glowing,” she says.

“I’m not pregnant, Navie.”

“No. Maybe not. But if I’m guessing, I’m going to say that you’ve been partaking in activities that could result in a little baby Ward.”

I don’t mean to laugh, but I do. “That’s not funny,” I say, despite the chuckle.

She plops down on her sofa. She’s downright smug.

I sit in the chair and try to maneuver the conversation to other things … before we come back to my glow. There’s no doubt we’ll discuss it. And I kind of want to. I need a sounding board.

“That new movie I was telling you about—the one with the strippers—it’s playing in Merom. I saw it on the sign yesterday,” I say.

“Mhmm.”

Redirection might be harder than I thought.

I just need a minute to get my bearings. My plan was to figure things out in my head before seeing Navie, but that proved to be difficult—if not impossible.

“Want to get some dessert?” I ask. “I’ve been wanting to check out Carlson’s Bakery.”

“Mhmm.”

“Navie …”

She laughs. “What I want is for you to tell me what put that look on your face. You want to do that in a movie theater? Cool. At Carlson’s over a Reuben sandwich? Awesome. I don’t care. Pick whatever venue you want, but we’re discussing this.”

Plucking my favorite blue pillow from beside Navie, I tuck it next to me on the chair. Might as well get comfortable. This may take a while.

“Okay. Where do I start?” I ask.

“Just answer this first, and then you can go wherever you want with it: is he as amazing in bed as I imagine?”

My skin heats as I recall Peck’s firm yet gentle touches. My lips part as memories of him taking control with his mouth flood me. My thighs squeeze as I remember what it’s like to have his head, his hands, his cock between them.

Dear Lord. I might never be okay again.

“That’s a yes,” she chirps. “I knew it. I can tell.”

“Well, it’s not like it was hard to guess correctly. You’ve seen the man move.”

“And you’ve felt it.” She scoots around in her seat. “So give me the details. Are you guys a thing now?”

I force a smile to hide my uncertainty. Truth be told, I know we aren’t a thing. I’m not messed up about that. But I don’t know what we are.

Friends? Friends with benefits? Lovers? Two people who made a mistake?

When we curled up together and fell asleep moments before dawn, I had one opinion. And when I woke up alone this morning with a note that he went to Nana’s, I had another.

It wasn’t as if I expected anything to change because we’d been intimate. But it does make me feel a little off-balance that he left me in his bed when I’d met Nana before.

“I’m overthinking everything,” I tell Navie.

“Of course you are. I’m here to help break all that down.”

I bite a fingernail, mulling everything over.

“Dylan. Stop it.”

“I just …” I drop my hand. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “But could you wrap your hand around it?”

I throw the pillow at her.

Laughing, she hands it back to me. “What’s the problem? Honestly. What are you all hung up about?”

“It’s like … now what? He’s great. We’ve slept together. I freaking live there. There’s no way, no way, Navie, this can end well.”

“And why the hell not?”

I spring to my feet and walk around the little room. Days ago, my stuff was stacked in the corner of this space. Days ago, I was waiting to strike out on my own. Days ago, I had a clear picture of what the next phase of my life would look like, but now I don’t freaking know.

“Look,” I say, stopping next to the television. “Peck was gone when I got up.”

She thinks. “He goes to church every week. I bet he didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Maybe. But the point is, I haven’t had time to talk to him, to even see him, since about five minutes after he pulled his cock out of me. And by that, I mean I don’t know what he’s thinking.”

“Probably that you looked like an angel in his bed and he wanted to leave with that imagery,” she offers, speaking slowly. “Like you said, you’re overthinking. Breathe. Relax. Go make yourself some tea.”

I shake my head. “If I go back and things are weird, do you know how awkward that will be?”

“Pretty damn awkward.” She gets to her feet. “But I highly doubt that’s what’s going to happen.”

“Fine. What if I go back and he’s like, ‘You are the love of my life’?”

She laughs. “Also highly doubt that’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Gee, thanks.” I bury my head in my hands. “I just feel like this happened so naturally and so fast that I’ve lost all perspective.” I look up at her. “A few days ago, he was professing his love for Molly, according to you.”

“He was lying,” she scoffs. “You’ve given him a taste of the real thing. He probably doesn’t even remember who she is.”

I roll my eyes but give her a smile.

This is why Navie is my best friend. She knows what to say and always has the utmost confidence in me. I love her.

I sit back down again. My feet curl up beneath me as I try to settle my thoughts into a more manageable stream.

“Okay. Here’s the thing,” I say slowly. “I did what I always do—I jumped in too fast. I threw caution to the wind and—”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, there’s not. Except for the fact that now I have to deal with the consequences.” I frown. “Peck seems like a really good idea. A damn good one. But … am I prepared to deal with a man right now? One who may or may not have an unrequited love for a very specific woman?”

Navie holds up a finger, heading toward the kitchen. It gives me a small moment to consider things about Molly.

Unrequited love isn’t really true, I guess. Peck told me he’d love Molly forever, but after our talk the other night, I know he’s reassessing how he loves her and what that love means. But it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s emotionally available for me. I mean, Peck’s a virile man, and I’m sure he’s slept with many women over the years.

And they’ve never amounted to anything.

Gah! Brain, stop thinking.

Navie comes back with a glass of tea, handing it to me and then sitting on the couch.

“If it’s what he wanted—to try to see what was between us, if anything, and it could stay so easy breezy, I could go for it. But if it’s going to get all complicated and I have to jockey for a position with Molly, I … I don’t wanna do that, Navie.”

“I get it.”

“But I also don’t want to sleep with a guy who I could be good friends with otherwise and screw it all up because of the actual screwing.” I blow out a breath. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Navie leans forward, putting her hands on my knees. She looks me right in the eye. “Yes, you should’ve. Because you have to learn to trust yourself. Something in your brain told you it was okay to let your guard down, and you have to trust that voice.”

“But that voice has led me astray before.”

She grins. “Even inner voices have bad days.” She sits back again. “You need to calm down and stop thinking about all the bad things that might happen and focus on all the good that’s possible.”

“Like …?”

“Lots of orgasms, from the sound of it.”

I laugh. “Girl …”

She laughs too. “See? And what if this whole thing turns out to be something good. Then what? Then you’ll kick yourself for doubting it in the first place.”

I take a sip of the tea and try to do as instructed. I try to relax.

My body is still buzzing from last night. My muscles ache, and some feel stretched. It’s a lovely feeling and would be even better if I could kick this mental silliness.

“Let’s think proactively,” Navie suggests. “What can you do to make yourself feel better about this? Besides talking to him, which I’m assuming you’ll do when you go home.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Okay. Good. Now let’s develop the rest of the plan.”

I rest my head on the chair and ponder my situation. If I boil it all down, the part that bothers me the most is being stuck there in a situation I don’t want to be in. If I didn’t live with him, I’d be more open into seeing where things could possibly go between us.

“I need to have another housing option in my pocket,” I say. “Speaking of which …” I set my tea down on the end table and slip my phone from my pocket.

“What are you doing?” Navie asks.

“Hang on.”

I open my text app and then scroll through my contacts until I find Joanie’s name.

Me: Hi, Joanie. It’s Dylan Snow. I was wondering if you found the information for the house we were discussing. I’m still very interested in it.

I look up to see Navie’s watching me.

“What?” I ask.

“What are you doing?” she repeats.

“Just seeing if Joanie, my boss at the bank, found any information on the house she knew about for rent.”

Navie’s lips twist. “I can’t argue your logic there. Maybe it would be better if you weren’t staying with him. I can see how that would muck stuff up.”

My stomach settles, and a calmness sweeps over me. It’s from the tea or the text or from discussing things with Navie. I don’t know which, but I do know I’m grateful to feel it.

“Okay. Now lunch?” I ask. “I really want to try the coffee cake at Carlson’s.”

“It’s the best. You should just buy the whole cake and eat the rest for breakfast. That’s what I do,” she says with a shrug. She glances at her watch. “Or we could grab something real quick and still make the movie.”

I nod.

Even though our decision is made, neither of us moves. I just sit and revel in the knowledge that I have Navie so close to me again. It feels so good to have someone in your corner.

The moment is broken when my phone buzzes in my head. I look down.

Mom: I called you a couple of days ago. Koty needs to borrow some money for Gia’s birthday party. She’ll be eight, if you didn’t remember. Could you send a check? A couple of hundred should be enough, I’d say. I told her you would.

I roll my eyes and turn my phone off. “Are you ready?”

“Yup. Let’s go.”

Twenty-Three

Dylan

The television is on. A sitcom I’ve never seen before plays out in front of me. It’s not really that interesting, and I don’t get the humor, but it’s enough of a distraction to warrant leaving on.

The movie Navie and I saw was great. The buttery, salty popcorn was even better. But now I’m home again. Alone.

I glance at my phone, but there’s no text from Peck. No missed call. No anything. I don’t know what to make of that. And even though Navie had my nerves mostly chilled out by the time I dropped her off at her apartment with a tub of leftover popcorn and a loaf of coffee cake, I’ve lost the chill. Now, I’m anxious.

What does his non-reply mean? Does he regret being with me? Does he regret the fact that I’m here?

I have no idea, and I wish I did.

Picking my phone off the coffee table, I re-read Joanie’s text. The information about the rental is in front of me. The name of the landlord, the fair asking price, the fact that it’s available now—all of it is right there, waiting on my move.

But I don’t know what move to make.

I want to stay here, but I know I should go. It’s a tough call to make when I have no help in making it.

The door opens and shuts. Peck’s footsteps scoff against the floor. I hold my breath as I watch his shadow stretch across the doorway. Then, finally, after what feels like an eternity, his handsome face comes around the corner.

He stutter-steps as he walks by. His hand grabs the doorframe, and he stops.

A mix of emotions crosses his face as he looks at me sitting on the couch. I fidget, unsure of what to say.

“Heya, Dylan,” he says. Slowly, his face breaks into a smile.

Relief courses through my veins as he enters the room.

“How was your day?” I ask. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s nearly dinner time.

He walks straight over to me with a dose of hesitation in his eyes. Leaning down, he holds my face in his hands and presses a kiss to my lips.

It takes me by surprise.

“Oh,” I say when he pulls back. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

His posture relaxes as he settles himself into an oversized leather chair.

In dark jeans and a blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, he looks delicious. But his eyes still don’t quite share the same casual vibe as his dress.

“I’m sorry about today.” He clears his throat. “I missed church, which pissed Nana off. But I got up and got to her house before lunch.”

“That’s good.”

He nods. His chest rises as he sucks in a deep breath. “I’ll be honest here—I didn’t know whether to wake you up today or not. I just … my whole family was there, and they’re a lot to deal with and—”

“Peck. It’s fine.”

He lights up. “Really? Because I really thought I’d probably fucked up. And the longer I went and didn’t call you or text you, the worse I figured it was. But I just … I didn’t know what to do.”

I rearrange myself on the couch so my feet are on the floor. I tug a pillow onto my lap for a flimsy guard to my ego and heart.

“Nana asked about you,” he says. “She was kind of pissed you didn’t come.”

Well, I wasn’t asked.

“That’s nice,” I say. “I’m glad she likes me.”

“That’s for sure.”

He holds my gaze. I think he’s as unsure of what to say as I am. So I jump right in. Might as well.

“I get what last night was,” I say.

“You do?”

I nod. “And I don’t expect you to want to drag me in front of your family because we slept together. I’m a big girl, Peck. I didn’t read into it.” Ish.

“No. No, no, no,” he says. He moves to the edge of the chair. His elbows rest on his knees. “You’re wrong. That’s not it at all.”

My body stills as I take in the seriousness in his face. I’m afraid to reply—to say anything at all—in case I just misinterpreted that.

He blows out a breath and smiles. But it’s a gesture that’s not made to ease my mind, but a sign that he’s trying to get himself together.

“Let me ask you this,” he says. “Do you think yesterday changed anything between us?”

I consider his question. “Well, I know now that you can deliver an a-plus orgasm.”

He grins.

I grin too.

“I’m glad that we still have this,” he says, looking relieved. “I was afraid we’d messed this up somehow.”

“Me too.” I set the pillow to the side. “I’ve worried all day about it. And then you didn’t call and stuff and I—”

“That was my mistake. I’m sorry. I should’ve.” He clears his throat. “I just want you to know, without a doubt, that last night … well, it meant something to me. I don’t know what, exactly. I’m still a little confused, to be honest. But I … there’s … you know.”

I do know. I think. And it’s how I feel too. But hearing him admit that out loud, his voice so earnest, does something to me—something deep and powerful.

I smile and try not to blush.

“Thank you for saying that,” I say. “But you don’t owe me an explanation. You don’t owe me anything.”

He sits back in his chair again. “I believe that. I actually think you owe me at this point.”

“What?” I laugh.

“Well, I bought an expensive set of pots and pans because of you. I’m renting you a room in my house—and a bathroom. And you got off … four? Five times yesterday? You clearly are in debt to me.”

My shoulders fall as the tension that’s built all day melts away. “I don’t pay my debts. Just so you know.”

“Oh, thanks for telling me now.” He winks. “But seriously, I’m sorry if I made things weird today. It was just … a weird day.”

I nod, mulling that over. My gaze goes back to the television, and I act like I know what’s going on. Really, I just want a minute to decipher what he said.

It was just a weird day.

What does that mean?

“My brother announced today that he and Sawyer are moving home,” Peck says.

“That’s great. Are you happy?”

“Yeah. Sawyer is a cute little shit. I’m excited to get to show him the ropes.”

“You mean make him ornery?”

Peck laughs. “Oh, he’s already ornery. I had no part in that.”

I watch his face light up. He seems completely energized and over the moon about Vincent’s news. It makes my heart happy.

It’s not hard to imagine Peck running around with a little kid as a sidekick. The idea makes me grin.

“I bet you’re a great uncle,” I say.

“I hope I am. I didn’t really have that level of family growing up. I had Walker’s dad, but he was always working at the shop, so I didn’t see him much. And he was pretty standoffish when it came to things like life lessons. You just kind of knew what he expected … and also knew he’d stick a boot in your ass if you didn’t follow along.”

I laugh.

He rests his elbows on his knees again. His head is free from a hat, which doesn’t seem to happen often. His hair looks like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times today, and I wish I could reach out and take a turn.

“How was Nana today?” I ask.

“She was good. Great, actually, since Vincent told he they’re staying in town.” He sighs happily. “Being there and watching her with us boys was pretty special. It’s … what matters in life, I think.”

He turns slowly, lifting his eyes to mine. Our gazes connect like two superheroes colliding above a battlefield.

I sit back, absorbing the impact of his stare. He leans forward as if it will help him dig deeper into my thoughts. All I can see is how he cared for Nana. How he’d do anything for her, and I’m guessing that would extend to all his family.

All those he loves.

“You’ll be a great dad,” I tell him.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” I ask.

“Do you want to be a mother?”

My breathing quickens. I fiddle with the edge of a pillow.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t.”

“Can I ask why?”

I stand and walk over to the little fireplace beneath the television. There are pictures on the mantle. I gaze at them, taking in Peck’s smiling face as a little boy and pictures of him and his cousins.

“Things like this,” I say, pointing at the images. “This makes me think that having a family would be amazing. But then I remember my own familial experience, which was nothing like this at all, and I’m not sure.” I furrow my brow. “Does that make me a bad person?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“I’ve never known a love like you should have for your kids,” I admit. “I’ve never felt anything like that coming from me, and I’ve never felt anyone else love me like that. So what if I can’t … do it? What if it doesn’t come naturally to me?”

“I think that’s probably something a lot of people worry about.”

I shrug. “I don’t want to mess someone up because a gene is omitted in my genome that gives me a mother’s unconditional love. Besides,” I say, “I’d have to find someone who wants to build that kind of life together. And I’d have to trust them explicitly to get to that point. And, well, I’m not even sure if that’s practical. Or realistic.”

“I have the same worries sometimes.”

“Really?”

He stands too. “Yeah. I mean, I want a family someday. I want the life my nana and pops had. But my luck, I’ll fall in love with someone who doesn’t want those things too.”

My heart hurts for him. He deserves every good thing in the world, and the idea of him not getting it seems … tragic.

But does that mean he’s not in love with Molly?

He walks my way, reaching for me.

My heart leaps in my chest as I place my palm in his. He rubs his thumb over the top of my hand and grins.

“You are blissfully unaware, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Of what?”

He laughs. “So let’s get the elephant in the room out in the open.”

I gulp. The elephant isn’t just too big to be ignored, but it’s sweaty and stinky and right in front of our faces.

I don’t know how this is going to go. My first instinct is to protect my heart, to build a wall as tall as I can so it doesn’t hurt when he tells me he wants to cool things off. But as I look into his eyes and feel his smile settling over me, I’m not afraid.

“I know you’re wondering what’s happening between us the same as I am. And if you aren’t, well, I guess I look like a pussy now.”

I grin. “I guess if that’s the case, you’ll just have to prove your manhood.”

He shakes his head, trying to hide his smile.

“But, yes, I have wondered a time or sixteen thousand today,” I admit. “Last night was kind of amazing …”

He pulls me close, our hands locked together between us.

“Tell you what,” he says. “Let’s take things a day at a time. If we want to hate each other one day, then fine. If we wanna fuck each other’s brains out another day, awesome.”

“No, that’s better than awesome.”

He chuckles. “And if we want space and room to sort of do our own thing, then that’s perfectly fine. But I like having you around, Hawkeye.”

My heart flutters in my chest at his simple, sweet words. I like having you around. That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Period. Because it’s not a comparison or challenge of some sort. It’s a statement. One that warms me from the inside out.

“And I kind of like having you around, Wes.”

His brows shoot to the ceiling. “So it’s Wes now, huh?”

“Wesley is a mouthful.”

“Is that one of your innuendos?” he teases.

“Well,” I say, batting my lashes. “I don’t actually know that to be true or not. But we could remedy that.”

“Name the place and time, sweetheart.”

I unwind my hand from his and take a step back. His eyes grow wide as I grin lasciviously.

“How about right here, right now?” I ask.

“I like it.”

“You will. I promise,” I say, working at his belt. “You will.”

His hands capture mine. He brings them to the small of my back as he tugs me close to him again. He kisses the tip of my nose.

“I’m going to hold you to that little promise,” he whispers. “But can I just kiss you first?”

I stand on my tiptoes and bring my lips to his. God, I love kissing this man. And I’m in awe that he didn’t want me on my knees first, pleasuring him, but wanted to kiss me before. First. Like it was more important.

What sort of a man does that?

This one. The one with a massive heart and a beguiling soul. And it’s at this moment that I know, without a doubt, there aren’t walls big enough to save me from him. If he wants to break my heart, I can’t do anything to stop him.

Twenty-Four

Dylan

I knock on the front door.

As soon as my knuckles touch the wood, I second-guess this decision. All of it. Not just the knocking on the front door as opposed to the back—the one that Peck and I used when we were here together, but also the fact that I’m even standing on Nana’s porch in the first place.

The materials I found at the hardware store in Merom today are piled at my feet. There are trays, rails, screws, and a battery-operated drill that I found in Peck’s garage. I also found some prepackaged hooks for kitchen cabinets to hang small saucepans or towels or bottles of cleaning liquids.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I singsong through clenched teeth. I bend to scoop up the stuff and scramble out of here when the door swings open.

Nana’s face lights up when she sees me. “Dylan! Oh, honey. I’m so glad to see you.” She scoots back so I can walk by. She spies the boxes at my feet. “What’s all that?”

“Well, I realize now that this might’ve been presumptuous of me, but I was bored today. I don’t start my job for a few more days. So I ventured over to Merom and spotted the hardware store, and before I knew it, I was leaving with the stuff to fix your cabinets.” I shrug meekly. “I hope that’s okay. If not, I can come back or even leave the stuff—”

“Stop,” she gushes. “This is the nicest thing. Please, come in.”

I hold the boxes in my arms and carry them inside. Nana shuts the door behind me.

She leads me through a formal living room that’s really not formal. Pictures dot the walls—tons of them. Baby pictures, others that I recognize as Peck and Machlan. The one closest to the doorway has to be a young Nana and Pops.

I pause, taking in the image. They’re standing in front of this house. Her arm is wrapped around his waist. She has the biggest smile on her face as she looks up at Pops. He’s tall, way taller than Peck, with shoulders that span a mile. He has a head of dark hair and a smirk that makes it impossible for him to deny Peck. It’s exact.

“What I wouldn’t give for those days,” Nana says. She’s standing beside me, looking longingly at the picture. “We had just had Eddie and Jessica.”

I furrow my brow.

“Eddie is Walker and the boys’ dad. Jessica is Vincent and Peck’s mom.” She smiles sadly. “He probably hasn’t told you much about her, has he?”

I shake my head. “Just that he isn’t really that close to her.” I leave out the bit that he doesn’t even know where she is to spare Nana any pain. I’m not sure what the deal is or what she knows, but I don’t want to make waves. It’s not my place.

Nana nods. “Well, my daughter hasn’t been that kind to her children. It breaks my heart.” Her voice quivers. She places a hand on her throat as she looks at the picture of her and her husband. “Jessie was a good girl. Absolutely beautiful. Smart as a whip. I just knew she was going to be a veterinarian as much as she loved animals. She’d spend every waking hour at the farm down the road if I let her.”

She looks lost in a memory I’m not privy to. I just stay quiet and let her work through whatever is going through her mind.

“Something happened to her. Drugs, I think,” she says. “She got with Mel—that’s Peck’s dad—and she was never the same. Still funny and could tell a story like nobody’s business.” She grins. “But she just … disconnected. It’s like she was afraid to get too close to anyone.”

“That must’ve been hard for you,” I say, balancing the boxes in my arms.

Nana’s hand drops to her side. “Listen to me jabber while you just stand there holding those boxes. Just tell me to hush next time.” She scoots down the hallway toward the kitchen.

I place the boxes on the island.

“Can I ask you a question?” I force a swallow as Nana nods. “How long has Jessica been gone?”

“She left for good when Peck was fifteen. Vincent was a senior. That was a hard year. Poor Vinnie acted out, causing mayhem, and Peck sort of internalized it. It was rough.”

I press my hands against the island and think of the weight Peck must’ve been carrying around. The loss of his parents. Taking responsibility for Molly and her problems. The poor kid must’ve been ready to break.

“He seems to have turned out all right,” I say.

She grins. “That he did. He’s a very good boy. If I need something, he’s there. He’s there before I need things.” She laughs. “I guess, in some ways, I’m all he has. It’s why family is so important to him, I think. He’s already lost so much of it.”

My throat tightens as I take in her words.

“All my boys are good, family-centric kids,” she says. “But Peck … it’s different with him. I don’t care what Machlan does to him or how many of my cheeseballs Lance takes or how much he and Walker bicker at work, Peck doesn’t hold grudges. He lives and loves and lets go. The other boys can be mad for a while.”

“I know he’s happy Vincent and Sawyer are moving back.”

“Me too.” She ambles over to her rocker and gets settled. “The boys think I want them all together because it makes me happy. And it does. It thrills this old heart to death. But you know why I really want Vincent back here?”

“Why?”

“Because once you get to be my age, you realize family is absolutely all you have.”

I sit on a barstool. The weight of her words falls on my shoulders, pressing me down into the hard wooden seat.

“That’s unfortunate for people like me,” I say.

“Why is that, honey?”

“My family … isn’t like your family. We just aren’t close.”

I look at the ceiling, concerned that I feel so comfortable with this woman to be opening up like this. But now that the sieve is open, I can’t close it. I don’t want to. With every word, I can feel my load lightening.

“What are they like?” she asks.

“Well, my dad is gone. My mom …” Tears well up in my eyes. “She doesn’t really even like me.” I blink back the water that threatens to spill over my cheeks. I can feel my nose turn red as I try to rein in my emotions. “I don’t know what I ever did to her, but … I have to earn her love, and that’s hard …”

She rocks gently back and forth in her rocker. The sound is soothing in a very strange way.

“Dylan, sweetheart, I’m going to tell you something. And this is a fact with my hand up.” She waits for me to look at her. “That’s not love.”

I try to speak, but my mouth is too dry.

“You don’t have to earn someone’s love. Their respect? Yes. Their loyalty? Absolutely. But true love comes freely. You can’t stop it or start it. You have no control over it.”

Her words hit me in the chest, digging right into my heart. I think they should hurt. They should cut me deep with the truth that my mother doesn’t love me. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t hurt. Because I accepted it as truth a long time ago. But clearly, from these tears, I haven’t fully grieved the loss of love from my mother.

“But here’s another thing for you,” she says. “Parents always, always love their children.”

“But …”

She sighs. “Parents are people too. Take my Jessie. I know she loves her sons. But someone looking from the outside may think, ‘How could she? She left them. She wasn’t a great mother.’ Those people have never considered that maybe the best thing she could’ve done for Vincent and Peck was to leave them.”

I think about that. If she was strung out or into bad things, maybe Nana’s right. But I wouldn’t have thought of that.

“Parents make mistakes,” she says in that steady way of hers. “Sometimes, they don’t know what to do or say. Sometimes they don’t even realize how badly they’ve treated you. They’re just dealing with things the best way they can. Does that make sense?”

I nod. It does. I’m going to need to really think about that to absorb all of it, I think, but it makes sense.

It also hurts my heart.

“Will you promise me something, Dylan?”

“Um, sure,” I stammer.

“Always remember what I just said.”

“What part?”

She smiles. “All of it. One of these days, I’m not going to be around. I haven’t told the boys yet because they’ll just worry themselves crazy, but I had some tests come back not too good. I meet with a specialist next week.”

“Nana,” I say, mouth agape. “You have to tell them.”

“I will. I promise. But I’ve been sitting on this information for a month, just waiting on the right time to tell them.” She looks at me intently. “I’m fine with whatever happens. I’ve had a great life. I’m ready to go if the good Lord calls me home. All I have left are Peck and Vincent, and Vin has Sawyer. Peck has no one. And I’ve sat here praying for God to send him someone …”

I swallow. Hard. “Oh, Nana. I’m not sure that …” I laugh nervously. “I mean, Peck and I aren’t … together. We aren’t serious.”

“You’ll see.”

As though that says it all, she stands up. A satisfied look is on her face, but I don’t feel like this can be over. I can’t have that thrown on me. Is she nuts?

“Nana, with all respect, I promise you that I’ll always … be there for Peck if he needs me, but …”

How do you tell a woman that you can’t promise your everlasting love to her grandson?

I stand in her kitchen, mid-shrug, when she laughs.

“You’ve failed me already,” she says.

“How’s that?”

“You forgot what I said.”

My brain clouds with what feels like a thousand things she just said. “What part, exactly?”

She stands in front of me, taking both of my hands in hers. They’re cool to the touch. The veins sit at the top of her skin as she squeezes me with the grip of a baby.

“You can’t start or stop love, honey,” she says. “It’s just there, or it’s not, and it’s present between you and Peck. Everyone can see it. Maybe not you yet because it’s a scary thing to finally see. It took Walker forever.” She laughs. “But you will. You can’t deny it forever.”

“Okay …”

“Just … love him. Like you, he’s never really had someone love him unconditionally but me, and I don’t count.” She smiles like she’s won a prize. “I promise you that he’ll be patient with you. He’ll be kind. He’ll drive you crazy with his incessant need to make sure you’re all right.” She laughs. “Please just be the same to him. For me.”

I stand, bewildered, as she squeezes my hands again. Before I have to figure out how to respond to that, the back door opens.

And there he is as bewildered as me.

“Um, what are y’all doing?” Peck asks.

Nana winks and drops my hands. “We were saying a prayer before Dylan starts remodeling my cabinets. Never hurts to ask the Lord to be in the midst of a kitchen.”

I bite my bottom lip to quell the laughter that shakes my chest.

Peck walks my way. “Okay …” He makes a face like he’s as confused as I am.

I hold my breath as he reaches me. He smells of sweat and diesel fuel, and there’s something entirely hot about that.

My fingers itch to touch him, but I’m still not sure where we stand with all that. It depends on the day, he said. But every day would be a touching day if it were up to me.

He leans forward, his lips hovering over the shell of my ear. “You look so damn good that it’s hard not to put you on that island and bury myself inside you.”

“Stop it,” I whisper.

He plants a kiss behind my ear. “I think today is a fun day.”

“What’s that mean?” I bend away from him so I can see his face.

“That means when you’re done doing whatever it is here, we have plans.”

“Doing what?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I’m not sure how I feel about a surprise, but I know how I feel about that look on his face. And that second, much longer kiss behind my ear? Almost has me salivating.

“So what are we doing here, ladies?” he asks, walking around me. “Did I hear cabinet reconstruction?”

“I got these things at the hardware store. I thought I could put them in the bottom of her cabinets so she can just slide them out when she needs something. That way she doesn’t have to bend over,” I say.

Peck gives me the sweetest smile. “I like that.” He looks at Nana. “You good with that?”

“I’m great with it,” she says.

I pick up his drill. His eyes go wide.

“Is that my drill?” he asks.

I hit the trigger, making it spin. “Yup.”

“We need some boundaries, woman,” he says. “You never take a man’s drill.”

I turn my back so Nana can’t see my face. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

He grins, and all is right in my world.

Twenty-Five

Peck

“What are you doing?” Dylan squeals as I take the corner a little sharp. “Peck!”

Her laughter fills the truck. It even drowns out the roar of my diesel. While I love few things more than hearing an engine roar, the sound of her laughter would be one.

My lips twist into an amused smile as I hammer the gas.

“Oh, my gosh.” She reaches up and grabs the oh shit handle. “I never should’ve agreed to this.”

“You love it, and you know it.”

She looks at me and beams. “Okay. I kind of doooo … Ah! What are you doing?”

I laugh as I pilot the truck up the hill toward Bluebird Hill.

The sun sets behind us, casting pinks and purple rays through the sky. We hit the top of the hill, and I ease up on the gas.

The vision of Dylan and Nana together comes back to me as the truck slows. To say I was blown away today by this woman sitting beside me would be an understatement.

What kind of girl spends her afternoon helping out an old lady rearrange her cabinets? Out of the kindness of her heart?

I look over my shoulder to see that woman gazing out the window.

My heart tugs in my chest.

“Oh, wow.” Dylan gasps as she takes in the view. She unbuckles her seat belt and looks over both shoulders to get a panoramic view. “This is beautiful.”

I look at her and grin. “Yes, it is.”

She smacks my knee, leaving her hand to rest on my thigh. Her fingers press against my jeans as she scoots closer to me.

Her hand is heavy on my leg. I try to ignore it so I don’t get distracted as I whip the truck around to face the valley. I park it right next to the edge and cut the engine.

Pine trees cover the hills and valleys surrounding Bluebird Hill. It’s my favorite spot in the world.

“Peck,” she says. “Wow. Just wow.”

“Right?”

“How did you even know this was here?”

“Well, there’s a sign …”

She jabs me in the side with her elbow.

I laugh. “Everyone knows about Bluebird Hill. It’s not a hill, really. Just a change in elevation. There’s a little wooded area over there,” I say, pointing to the right, “where everyone goes to park in high school.”

“Oooh,” she says.

“And back there is where everyone fights.” I gesture toward a spot behind a giant rock. “But my favorite spot, besides this one, is the one I’m going to show you next.”

“Is it better than this?”

I stick my tongue in my cheek. I can’t wait to see her face when we get back there.

“Maybe,” I say. “We’ll see what you think.”

I start the engine again and stick it in reverse. Gravel and dirt go flying as my tires dig into the ground. Dylan is all smiles.

My spirits are high. Things are just … good. Damn good. Better than I ever imagined things could be.

A part of me doesn’t want to think about it too much. Acknowledging how great things are going will undoubtedly jinx it, and I just want this to last as long as it can.

“Okay, Hawkeye,” I say. “You ready?”

“I mean, I don’t know. Am I?”

Excitement flickers in her eyes as she takes in our surroundings. I veer off onto a path that only locals would ever see. It meanders through a patch of woods, the limbs scraping the paint on my truck, before opening into a field.

A field of mud.

“Oh, shit,” Dylan says. “Can you back out of here?”

“Nope.” The last syllable pops.

“Um, then what are we going to do?” She looks around. “I mean, there are trees on three sides of us and a giant field of gunk in front of us. I don’t think you really have any other options.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course we do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Buckle up, baby. And hold on.” I grin, my heart beating hard in my chest.

She looks at me warily. “Peck …”

“Five … four …”

“But you aren’t buckled up,” she says, grasping for the seat belt.

“Because I’m an expert. Three … two …”

“Wait!” she exclaims with a nervous laugh. “Is this even legal?”

“One. No. Here we go.”

I wait until I hear the click of her seat belt before I stomp the gas. She clutches the handle above her head, her eyes as wide as saucers.

The engine roars to life as our speed increases. I move the truck a few feet to the left of center. From experience, I know that the mud pit isn’t quite as deep there, and we can rip through it a little easier.

“Peck … Ah!” She screams as we hit the mud.

Thick, brown gunk flies over the truck and coats the windows. I flip on the windshield wipers even though it won’t do any good. It’ll only smear it. Still, it’s good for the experience.

We’re midway through and blind from the mud. I keep the engine roaring as we plow through the wet muck. Dylan giggles beside me, her hand on the ceiling as she tries to keep herself pressed in the seat. I take every chance I can get to take a quick peek at her. The excitement in her eyes is worth every bit of time it’ll take tomorrow to clean this fucker.

“This … is … awesome,” she says, her voice vibrating with the movements of the truck.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

I maneuver the truck through the last bit of mud and coast up the other side.

Adrenaline races through my veins. I’m not sure if it’s from the mudding or because Dylan is beside me. … In the mud.

She unlatches her belt and spins to face me. “That was so much fun,” she says. “What is that called?”

“Um, mudding,” I say. “That was mudding.”

“Mudding. Right. Can we do it again?”

“It’s not as fun going back from this side,” I tell her.

“But wouldn’t it be the same thing?”

I flash her a look. “No, you wannabe country girl. The ruts ride differently. Take it from this side and get stuck out there. Sound fun?”

“Maybe?” She winces. “Yeah. Kind of.”

I laugh. “Okay. How does calling Machlan and Walker to come get us out sound?”

She makes a face like she sucked on a lemon.

“Exactly,” I say. “So grab the paper towels under your seat and lets clean off the glass.”

“Um, what?”

“How else are we gonna see to get home?”

She gives me a strangled laugh. “Um, I don’t know, but that’s a lot of mud.”

“Yup.” I hold out my hand. “Towels, please.”

She digs under her seat and finds a roll of paper towels. They land in my palm. I crack open my door to see her still sitting in her seat.

“Hey. You gotta help,” I tease.

“But …”

I raise a brow.

“Fine,” she huffs playfully.

We climb out of the truck. Soft dirt that’s not quite mud squishes under my boots. On the other side, Dylan groans.

I head to the front when a set of bright red and blue flashing lights ripple across the field. Kip, the county sheriff and a distant cousin, gets out of his car.

Dylan races as fast as she can around the front of the truck. She grabs my hand and stands beside me.

Her breath comes out in quick rushes as she watches Kip walk closer.

“What are you two kids doing out here tonight?” he asks.

He damn well knows the answer. Hell, he probably saw me pass by Goodman’s Gas Station on the way here and followed me. Fucker.

“Oh, I don’t know, Officer,” I say. “Just looking for a picnic spot.”

“Peck,” Dylan hisses. She takes a deep breath. “We’re sorry, Officer. We didn’t know we weren’t supposed to be out here.”

Kip eyes me curiously. He’s amused, and that only means this is going to get interesting. Except for the fact that I know he won’t haul us in. Not for this. He would’ve over those gas cans from Tad—if he could catch me—but he won’t from hauling my truck through the mud. He’s been through that hole as many times as I have over the years.

“I didn’t say you weren’t supposed to be out here,” he says.

“Oh.” She looks at me. “Well, we didn’t do anything wrong. I swear.”

Kip lowers his chin. “The first indication of someone doing something wrong is them telling you they aren’t. Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on out here, or do you want me to give you a ride to the pokey?”

The pokey? I start to laugh, but a warning shot is sent my way from Kip, so I choke it back.

“Sir, Officer, I can’t go to jail. Not over this.” Dylan looks up at me. “You said this was safe.”

I shrug, still not one hundred percent sure what Kip is up to. But I’m willing to play along.

“Damn it, Peck,” she says.

“What? I didn’t do anything wrong,” I insist.

“Clearly, something is wrong, or this nice officer wouldn’t be out here messing with us.” She bats her eyelashes at Kip. “Right?”

“Is that true, you little nice officer?” I ask.

She rams her elbow into my ribs, making me yelp. Kip tries to hold a steady face but loses control.

“I had you going, didn’t I?” he says with a laugh.

Dylan’s jaw drops.

“I couldn’t figure out what the hell you were doing,” I say. “What’s up, Kip?”

“Not much. I had a report of vandalism on the cabin on the East side. I saw the headlights back here, and thought I’d see what was happening.”

“Wait?” Dylan says. “You two know each other?”

“Cousins,” we say at the same time.

“That figures.” She grits her teeth, but her eyes shine. “You both are assholes.”

“Did ya think I was taking you in?” Kip asks.

“To the pokey?” I tease.

She turns away. I look back at Kip when a handful of mud slams into the side of my face.

“You’re on your own now,” Kip says and runs back to his car.

I head to the driver’s side of the truck and load my palm with mud.

Blood soars past my ears as I anticipate Dylan’s next move. The mud squishes as she tries to sneak up on me from behind. I crouch next to the tire and wait for her pretty little head to pop around the tailgate.

Splat!

My handful of mud finds its target and sticks to the front of her chest. She screams, the sound embedded with a laugh, as she launches her own ball haphazardly. It misses.

“Maybe I should give you a new nickname,” I say, scooping up another handful of gunk. “Something like—hey!”

A glob of mud smashes me in the side of the face. Dylan cheers, jumping up and down. She’s filthy and downright, absolutely gorgeous.

I lunge forward and am in front of her before she knows what’s happening.

Pinning her to the filthy tailgate, I take in the wildness in her eyes. I haven’t seen them this lively before. It’s amazing to witness.

Her breathing is ragged, matching mine, as I hover my lips over hers.

“Kiss me,” she demands.

“Eh, maybe.”

She palms the back of my head and tries to lower my mouth to hers, but I resist. It takes everything I have, but I manage it.

“Kiss me,” she says again. “Please?”

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

She has mud stuck to her hair, the side of her face, and the corner of her lip. Her clothes are filthy, and her shoes might be ruined. But, I don’t think she cares.

“When we get home,” I say, letting my finger trace the side of her face. A dark brown streak is left in its wake. “You have to take a bath with me. Not a shower,” I say, thwarting her interjection, “but a bubble bath.”

“Let’s think about that for a second. Do you want to sit in a mud bath?”

“I’d sit anywhere with you.”

She grins.

“But,” I say, “fair point. Shower first to get the mud off. Then a bubble bath.”

She acts as though she’s considering it.

“Think fast,” I prod.

“Fine,” she gushes. “I guess—”

I stop her words with the kiss she wanted. I halt all the overthinking we’re both about to do with my tongue. I pause all thoughts of anything besides her and me right here, right now, with my body up against hers and kiss her until the sun sets behind the tree line.

Then, and only then, do I take her home.

Twenty-Six

Peck

“What are we going to snack on?” I ask.

Dylan’s legs swing back and forth off the countertop as she watches me take inventory of the pantry.

“What are my choices?” she asks.

“It looks like you can have popcorn, raisins, or barbecue potato chips that might be stale.” I look at her. “Actually, they are stale. I bought them for New Year’s Eve like two years ago.”

“Nice.”

I shrug.

She pretends to give this every ounce of consideration that choosing your last meal would require. Not so much just a snack for a movie night, but whatever.

I watch her little nose scrunch up as she sorts through her choices. There’s still a piece of mud stuck in her hairline. I almost tell her but don’t. I like thinking of the fun we had tonight every time I see it.

I’ve never seen Dylan this carefree. This happy. Granted, I haven’t really known her all that long, but even in the moments we’ve shared, I haven’t seen her like this.

It’s as if she’s at peace. Settled. Maybe even content. It’s my most favorite look on her—even better than the flush of an orgasm or the mischief of a smartass remark. Those are both memorable but not my favorite. This little grin plastered across her cheeks tonight is the best one.

“I’m going to say popcorn since we’re watching a comedy,” she says.

“A comedy? I thought we were watching that action flick.”

“You thought wrong. Besides, action flicks require ice cream, and we don’t have any. And I can’t get ice cream delivered here in less than four days, which is stupid. The brambleberry one is my favorite, but it’ll take two weeks to get it or something.” She frowns. “That’s what happens when you live in the middle of nowhere, I guess.”

“Breathe, Dylan,” I tease.

She smiles, and I forget all about the popcorn.

I mosey my way across the room. She’s wrapped up in a giant blue towel. Her hair hangs straight and is damp from our hour-long bath. My hands go on either side of her, locking her in place. She scoots to the end of the counter and presses her lips to my forehead before resting the top of her head against mine.

My stomach pulls. It starts somewhere deep inside me, somewhere that’s never been accessed before. All I know is that I’m in serious fucking trouble with this girl.

In a short time, she’s rearranged my entire life. And not just my kitchen cabinets, which she has plans to do tomorrow, apparently. The nights I’d spend alone at Crave, listening to Machlan or Navie jabber on about their lives, are now spent doing things like having a mud fight on Bluebird Hill or playing tic-tac-toe on the shower wall with bathroom chalk—something I’m not sure how or why I even own. But I do. Or she does. Either way, I love it.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

“Just thinking that you’re a giant pain in my ass.”

She laughs, pulling away. She brushes a stray lock of hair off my face. “I don’t believe that’s true.”

“You don’t, huh?” I grin.

“Nope. I think—Ah!”

I grip her sides, right below the bend of her hip, and tickle her. She squirms in my hands, her hair flying everywhere as she bends and contorts in the sexiest of ways. I have to stop before I’m thinking with my cock and not my head. Again.

Stepping away, I watch her straighten her towel.

“I’ll get the popcorn,” I say. “You get the movie on. Deal?”

“Deal.”

She hops off the counter and swipes a hand against my ass. I turn to grab her again when the doorbell rings.

“Why don’t you get that?” I ask. “I’ll get the popcorn on.”

“Um, I’m in a towel.”

“My robe is on the chair. Slip that on,” I offer.

She grins and drops the towel right where she stands. Her body is round and full, and seeing her breasts hang—full and voluptous—makes me hard.

“Dylan …”

She laughs, pulling my robe around her and tying the belt. “I’ll be back. Stay focused, Wes.”

I shake my head at the nickname as she disappears around the corner. Retrieving the box of popcorn, I take out a packet. The plastic is removed and in the trash when I hear her feet come pitter-pattering down the hallway.

Glancing over my shoulder, I expect to see her prepping a story about the kids from the house down the road pranking us. Instead, her jaw is set.

I stop in my tracks. “What’s going on?”

“You have a visitor.”

Her words are short. Crisp. Cold.

“Who is it?” I open the microwave and shove the bag of popcorn inside.

“Molly.”

Oh, fuck.

I hit two minutes on the microwave and then start. And then, with a lot of trepidation, I turn around to deal with the latest development in my life.

“What does she want?” I ask.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Okay.” I think as quickly as I can. “Do you want to go out there with me?”

That might be the worst idea I’ve ever had—or close to it, anyway—but I don’t know how else to manage this. If Molly is here, maybe something is wrong. She never shows up here just for the fuck of it. But under these circumstances, with Dylan living here and … being with me, it feels wrong. To me. I can’t imagine what Dylan is thinking.

I run a hand down my face because I haven’t thought this far ahead. I should’ve, though. I should’ve had a game plan.

“I think I’m going to stay here,” she says.

“Dylan, I … I didn’t invite her here.”

“I know.” She forces a swallow. “I guess, really, there’s nothing wrong with it. I mean, she’s your friend. Right?”

Her attempt at being reasonable knocks the wind out of me. I pull her into me and kiss the top of her head.

Something washes over me. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before. It’s the best, warmest, quietest feeling that’s also the most powerful thing I’ve ever felt. I feel … calm. Which is completely at odds with this circumstance.

The doorbell rings again, and Dylan sags into me.

“I’ll go handle that, and then we’ll have a movie night, okay?” I look her in the eye. “I just …” I gulp. “I’ll be right back.”

She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

My insides twist as the words I was about to say so nonchalantly are still sitting on my tongue. Are they true? Do I really feel that way?

Before I can think about them too much, I have the door handle in my hand. When I swing it open, Molly is standing on the porch. I’d hoped she’d changed her mind and left.

“Hey,” I say, shutting the door behind me. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Well, here I am. Shoot.”

She looks over my shoulder, presumably to see if Dylan is anywhere in sight. “I, um, I just … I don’t want to talk about it here. It’s private.”

Irritation claws at my brain as I try to stay calm. I just want to get back in there with Hawkeye and watch our stupid romantic comedy and eat popcorn that will make my stomach hurt all night.

“Fine. What do you want to do?” I ask.

She starts down the sidewalk. I follow. When she hits the gravel of the driveway, I start to wonder if something really is wrong.

This is unlike Molly. She’s usually so self-centered that she plays a very forward card.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

The night is dark, but the sky is clear. The moon gives off plenty of light to see. Stars sparkle overhead. Molly sits on a wicker bench by a patch of sunflowers that have seen better days.

I sit next to her. “Look, I’m happy to help you, Molly. But I have plans tonight, so if you could spit it out, that’d be great.”

“Peck, I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

She shrugs.

“Like, is someone messing with you? Are you afraid of the dark? Did you sleep with someone’s boyfriend? Again?”

She shoots a dirty look my way, but I’m not sorry. The question is reasonable, considering she’s come to me for advice about this very thing three times before.

She sighs. “Do you remember when you, me, and Vincent camped out behind your house? And there was that serial killer on the loose in Iowa, and Vincent had us scared that he was going to find us?”

“Yeah. I’d forgotten about that.”

“Vin came to see me today.” She smiles sadly. “After he left, I just … Things were so much easier back then.”

I nod. “They were in some ways. In others, they’re easier now.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, we control our own destiny now. Back then, we were at the mercy of our parents. Now, we could be the parents.” I grin at the thought. “We decide who is in our life and who isn’t. Where we sleep. What cell phone company we want to pay the bulk of our paychecks to.”

That gets a smile out of her.

“I’m just figuring things out,” I say. “There’s a lot I don’t know yet. But one thing I’m realizing is that life is never easy, and when you do find something, or someone, who does seem effortless, you better lock that shit down.”

My body pulls toward the house. The popcorn is probably done by now, and Dylan’s probably watching the previews.

I glance over my shoulder.

The lights are all on, and the girl I can’t get enough of is inside. She’s waiting on me, knowing I’m out here with another woman.

But the longer I sit with Molly, the more definitively I know that I don’t have real feelings for her. I never did. In the twenty-five or so years that I’ve known her, I’ve never come close to feeling what I feel for Dylan.

“You like her a lot, don’t you?” she asks.

“I do. I like Dylan a lot.”

“Do you love her?”

I stretch my legs out in front of me. The question somehow tightens every muscle in my body. But, for whatever reason, it doesn’t get an automatic no from me. I almost lean toward yes.

“You do, huh?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say carefully.

Her eyes fill with tears. “Do you love me, Peck?”

It’s a loaded question, maybe the loaded-est question I’ve ever been asked. As I watch her struggle with reality and the tears fall down her cheeks, I know the answer.

I don’t love her. Not like she’s asking me. The way I feel about Molly is similiar to the way I feel about Sienna or Hadley—a friend that I’d take a beating for, but not one that I’d go to war for. Not like I feel about Dylan.

“That’s my answer,” she whispers.

“I’ve always cared about you.”

“But you’ve always said you love me too. Now you don’t.”

I sigh. “I do … love you, just not like I …”

I can’t bring myself to say the words to her—not before I find the courage to say them to Dylan first.

“So what happens to me now?” she asks, wiping the tears with her hands. “You’re the only person in the world who likes me.”

“Well, that’s not true. But you could attempt at being a little more likable. That wouldn’t hurt.”

“Everybody already has their mind made up about me.” She sniffles. “I don’t even think it matters what I do anymore.”

“Stop mean-mugging everyone,” I say, bumping her with my shoulder. “And taunting people. And …” I wait until she looks at me. “And show people who you are. Let your guard down a bit. Give people a chance.”

“They already hate me.”

“They don’t hate you because they don’t know you, and instead of showing them who you really are, you just feed into their assumptions.”

I look back at the house. Desperation to get to Dylan eats at me, but I know I need to have this conversation.

“I’m not like her,” Molly says. “I’m not all cheerleader-y sweet.”

“She’s not always sweet,” I joke. “But honestly, listen to me. You are better than what you show the world. Deep down inside that little black heart of yours is a girl who’s funny. And fun. And thoughtful.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Remember the time you brought me that friendship bracelet?” I tease.

“I was eight.”

“And you told me if I told anyone that you’d kill me. But,” I say as we both laugh, “it proves you got it in ya.”

“Maybe.”

“You do. I know it.”

We sit quietly, the crickets chirping around us as Molly digests my advice. I have no idea where all that came from, but I’m glad it did. I’m even more glad that she seems to be listening.

I stand, and she follows suit. We trudge our way back up the driveway. Some of the lights inside have been switched off.

We reach Molly’s car and stop. She looks up at me with mascara streaks painted down her cheeks.

“Are we still friends?” she asks.

“I told you a long time ago that I’ll always have your back. And I will. But I’m not the same person I was a month ago.”

“Do you think she’s changed you that much?”

“No. I don’t think she’s changed me. I think she’s shown me things about me and about life. She’s given me hope, you know?”

“I need someone to give me hope.”

“You work on you. Stop worrying about everyone else and looking for someone else to validate you, Mol. Use that power you have for good instead of evil.”

We exchange a smile.

“Thanks, Peck.”

“Anytime.” I start toward the house but stop. “No. Wait. Not anytime.” I face her. “Real quick—I’ll always be your friend, but we gotta have some boundaries.”

“I don’t do well with those.” The corner of her lip turns toward the sky. “I’m kidding.”

“Just … no coming by here unless you’re running from zombies. And probably shouldn’t text or call, you know? And Dylan is a great girl.”

“I’m good with all this, but can we leave off that last part?” she jokes.

I think.

“It would serve you well to make friends with her,” I say.

She opens her car door and climbs in. “I’m sure your girlfriend wants to be my friend.” She rolls her eyes.

“You never know.”

“Yeah. See ya later.”

“Bye.”

I head back toward the house. I hear her car door shut and the engine start, followed by the tell-tale sound of gravel crunching as she backs out.

I don’t look back.

The front door is partially open, and I step inside. “Dylan?” I walk through the house until I find her standing in her bedroom. Not mine. “What’s going on? What about the movie?”

“I got tired.”

“Oh.” I look around. She’s pulled her blankets down like she’s preparing to climb inside. “You sleeping in here tonight?”

“I didn’t want to go to your room without you.”

That makes sense, but I don’t like it.

“We could bring some blankets into the living room and turn the movie on,” I say. “Wanna?”

“I’m not really in the mood.” She blows out a breath. “I guess seeing you walk outside to talk to another woman kind of fucked up my energy flow or something.”

I reach for her. She lets me take her hand and pull her against me. I wrap my arms around her as tightly as I can and nuzzle my face into her hair.

“You could’ve come out there with me,” I say.

“I know. I’m just … jealous.”

The thought makes me smile. I’m a total dick. “Well, so you know, because it’s important to me that you do know—I told her not to come by. Or call. Or text. Or be a jerk to you or anyone else, actually.”

I feel her smile against my chest. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

I lean back and brush the hair out of her face so I can see into her eyes. I feel it again, stronger than ever. It’s that rush of comfort, of being perfectly content with your life. With your partner.

With the woman you love.

“What?” she asks. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

“But …”

I tug her hand and guide her to my room.

To our room.

I just have to figure out how to make that happen.

We climb in bed. She snuggles up against me, her hand flat against my heart.

“Peck?”

“Yeah, Hawkeye?”

“I didn’t like it when you left with her just now.”

“I know, and I told you that she won’t—”

“I meant, that it was different. When Charlie left me for his ex, I was angry and felt betrayed. But I don’t think I ever actually felt jealous. Is that weird?”

I think about it. “Probably. Maybe. I don’t know.” I pull her closer.

“But tonight, with you … I don’t know. It just didn’t feel good.”

I truly am a dick because that makes me feel pretty darn good. But I won’t leave her hanging. Even I have limits on dickiness.

“I know,” I say. “And every moment I was outside with Molly, I wanted to be inside with you. She saw that. She knew. She commented on it, actually.”

“She must hate me, huh?”

“Not sure, to be honest.” I kiss the top of her head. “But I did tell her that things have changed. For the better. For you.” And me.

I feel her smile against my shoulder, and nothing feels better than this moment. Dylan in my arms. In my bed. In our bed.

I gulp.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Night, Wes.”

“Night.”

It doesn’t take long before she’s sleeping peacefully.

I grab my phone and dim the light and type in, ‘How to tell someone you love them.’

Because what the hell do I know about this? Not a damn thing. I’m not even sure if this is the right thing to do.

I look down at her and smile.

Even if it’s not the right thing, I’m going to try anyway.

Twenty-Seven

Dylan

“What are you doing today?”

Navie’s voice is chipper, especially for nine in the morning. As a bartender, she doesn’t keep early morning hours.

“I’m screwing off today,” I say. “I start work next week, so this is my last hurrah.”

Navie laughs.

“Really I’m just trying to get my life in order over here. I made a list of a bunch of things I need to do before my life get hectic again.” I tap the steering wheel as I wait at a stop sign. “Why couldn’t I have been born a rich princess and just paid someone to do my life’s paperwork for me?”

“Girl, don’t even start with that. That’s my dream right there. I’ll still work for a living. I just want to find someone to come over and handle my life. Like … a wife. I need a wife.”

“Same,” I say with a laugh.

I pass a sign for Bluebird Hill. My face lights up as I remember our night up there. I’m still picking mud out of my hair, which is slightly annoying, but I wouldn’t change those memories for anything.

That’s the epitome of why I fell for Peck. His silliness and fun-loving side are balanced with a part of him that’s so effortlessly sexy. He’s the perfect package.

I was so happy last night when we got home. On top of the world, even. But then Molly McCarter showed up and put enough of a wobble in my universe that I’m not quite perched on the top of Mount Happiness anymore.

“Why are you up so early?” I ask Navie.

“The neighbor’s dog, actually. It started barking at six thirty. I’m not thrilled that I got virtually no sleep, but damn, I feel accomplished already today. Is this what the rest of the world feels like when they get up at the crack ass of dawn?”

“Not usually,” I say, laughing. “We’re usually more bitter about it.”

“Well, I don’t think I’d want to do it every day.”

My phone buzzes in my cupholder. I look down to see Joanie’s name on the screen. Goodman’s Gas Station is up ahead, and I pull my car into the back entrance. I park next to the side of the building and put it in park.

“Hang on, Navie,” I say.

I look down at the screen again.

Joanie: Hi, Dylan. Did you decide anything on the house? He has someone else interested but wanted to give you first dibs. Please let me know.

I stare at the phone. In the back of my brain, I’ve known I needed to respond to this. It’s sat there and prickled me over and over again. I don’t know why I haven’t sent her an answer. But I have to now. Time’s up.

My thumb runs over the screen as I consider my response. Even though I already know what I have to do, I think about each option.

If this text had come through yesterday, I probably would’ve told her I pass out of some orgasm-fueled optimism. But today is not last night, and my optimism game is waning. It’s not dead, but it’s not killing the world either.

“Are you there?” Navie asks.

“Yeah. Hang on.”

A pang of anxiety sits in the middle of my abdomen, wearing a hole in my stomach since I opened the door and saw Molly on Peck’s porch. The most frustrating thing about it all is that I trust Peck. I do. I know he would never hurt me intentionally. But the fact remains that Charlie didn’t necessarily set out to hurt me either.

Me: Hi, Joanie. Thanks for the text, and I’m sorry for not responding more promptly. I thought I had a solution to my housing issue, but it turns out, I don’t. I’d love to rent the house. I know I haven’t seen it, but as long as it’s not full of cats, we’ll be fine.

Joanie: Oh, great! I think you’ll love it. I’ll get with Peter and have him get ahold of you. It’s okay to give him your number, right?

Me: Yes, please.

Joanie: Great. He’ll be in touch soon.

Me: Thanks again.

I stare at the screen. The deed has been done.

“Dylannn ….” Navie sings. “Just call me back, fool.”

“I’m here. I’m here,” I say, bringing the phone to my ear. “I just, um … Well, Joanie texted me about the house she found, and I had to make a decision.”

My throat burns as I swallow.

It’s the right choice. I know that. But it doesn’t mean I like the idea of leaving Peck.

Last night, sleeping in his arms, still felt right. Right but just … unsettled. He told Molly that things were different now, but she’s had unlimited access to him for over twenty years. Will she really give up and bow out? She may not have loved him, but she’s owned him, more or less, I think. And me? I’ve only known him for five minutes.

The original plan was for me to move out. Just because things took a turn with us romantically doesn’t mean he’s ready for me to live with him. I’m not sure I’m ready for that either.

That doesn’t mean it’ll feel good to go.

“You told her no, right?” she asks.

“I told her yes. I’ll take it.”

“Um, why? Am I missing something?”

“Well,” I say, “Molly came by last night and—”

“What?” she squawks.

I sigh. “It’s … fine. I think. I guess. I don’t know. I think he did the right thing.”

“Then why are you moving?”

“Because time never hurt anyone. I rushed in to my relationship with Charlie and—”

“He’s not Charlie.”

“Clearly. I just get in over my head all the damn time, and I don’t want to do that with Peck. If things can work out between us, I want it to happen organically. Slowly. Without the pressure of having me already moved in.”

She considers this. “Makes sense.”

I open my mouth to respond, but the words fail to come. Instead, my eyes are glued to a man and a woman who look incredibly familiar. He has a blue hat on his head.

No.

They turn ever so slightly, and I get a better look.

I almost drop the phone.

Molly and Peck. It’s them. Without a doubt. They’re walking across the parking lot next to each other.

Maybe he’s just here getting gas. Maybe Walker needed fuel for something at work. Coincidences happen.

My stomach sloshes, threatening to expel the coffee I drank this morning. I grip the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles turn white.

“Navie? I’m gonna have to call you back.”

The words come out wonky. Even I can hear the emotion in my tone.

What the hell is going on?

“What are you doing?” Navie demands. “Are you okay?”

Molly climbs in a little black car, and Peck walks to the other bank of pumps. His truck is partially hidden by the fueling equipment and other trucks in front of it.

The black car speeds out of the parking lot and takes a left. I watch, holding my breath, as Peck comes to the mouth of the parking lot.

Turn right. Turn right towards Crank. Come on, Peck.

“I’ll call you later, Navie.”

I still don’t hang up. I’m too scared to move. If he turns left …

A small gasp squeaks out of my mouth as Peck’s truck turns left. Toward the direction Molly went. Away from Crank.

There’s nothing down that road but a few houses. I ventured that way yesterday morning on a boredom adventure.

“What’s happening?” Navie demands.

I wish I knew.

“Dylan! Damn it.”

“Sorry,” I say. My voice sounds weak. I hate it. “I just, um, well, I just saw Peck follow Molly away from town from Goodman’s.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes, I fucking did.”

“Dyl …”

I put my car in drive. “This doesn’t mean anything,” I tell her. “Maybe it’s a coincidence. And even if it’s not, they’re friends. They’re allowed to be friends.”

“Fuck that.”

“Navie …”

She rambles, her emotions about this situation as all over the place as mine. It makes no sense, and I refuse to believe he’s up to no good.

That’s just not Peck. I feel it in my stomach.

But I also feel that this is something I’m going to have to figure out how to deal with because she’s not leaving. And I can’t ask him not to be friends with her. I’m not that insecure girl, and I refuse to be.

My spirit feels deflated as I pull out onto the road. And head right. Toward Peck’s.

He’s serious about me. I believe that. But I also believe that this thing with Molly is going to have to be navigated, and I don’t know how to do that. I didn’t give myself a whole lot of time to think about it. I did what I do—I jumped in and didn’t consider all the consequences.

Damn it.

I squeeze my temples as I pull into Peck’s driveway.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” I ask Navie.

“I didn’t know if you remembered I was here or not,” she says. “But, yes, of course.”

“Thanks.” I turn off the car. “The guy who owns the house is supposed to get ahold of me today, so I’ll know more then. But even if I can have the keys right away, I don’t think I can sleep there tonight. I won’t have a bed or anything.”

Tears flicker in my eyes. They’re hot, almost scalding, as they topple onto my face.

“Don’t cry,” she whispers. “This will all be fine.”

“I know. It will.” I swallow hard. “I’m just, um, I’m going to get my personal things in a box and figure out what to tell Peck. I’m too emotional to really put things in a great way right now.”

“Want me to tell him?”

I laugh, wiping my face. “No. Thanks. I’d rather not have him hate both of us forever and ever.”

She laughs too. It’s a sad sound, one that’s filled with pity. And I hate that, but I am pretty pitiful at the moment.

“Come by anytime. I work at four, but I’ll be here until then,” she says.

“Okay.” I climb out of the car and face Peck’s house. “I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

“Bye.”

I shove my phone in my pocket and take in the cute little house with the rose bushes.

“Fuck.”

I head inside to pack up my life.

Again.

Twenty-Eight

Peck

“What a fucking day.”

I park my truck next to Dylan’s car. It’s a simple thing, an action that becomes routine. A habit. But every time I pull in my driveway and see her car setting there, something happens inside me. The thought alone makes things feel different. And good. And that the possibilities of life going forward might be endless.

I hop out of the truck and jog to the front door. It occurred to me today that she hasn’t eaten at Peaches yet, and while I would like to spend a lazy evening with her in the kitchen, I know I won’t be able to keep my hands off her. Plus, I’d like to take her out and make her feel special.

The door swings open. With a furrowed brow, I step inside. A banging sound followed by a thud comes from Dylan’s room.

“What the hell?”

I walk down the hallway with my senses on high alert. Peeking in her bedroom, I spot a large box from the barn on her bed … and her standing at the foot.

She looks up. Her eyes are vulnerable yet guarded. It’s not the Dylan I know.

“Hey,” I say.

She smiles. Sort of.

“What are you doing?” I nod toward the box. “Did you carry that inside all by yourself? You could’ve waited on me to help you, you know?”

“No. I, um, well, I did. But it was empty.”

“Empty?”

I pause and look around. The suitcase in the corner is zipped up instead of propped against the wall with its contents spilling everywhere. The cup of water that’s sat by the bed since the first night she was here is gone. Her deodorant and girlie stuff have disappeared from the dresser, and the books and papers that she’s been sorting through off and on are gone.

Oh, fuck.

My throat feels too tight to pass a swallow.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

She fiddles with the lid. Her eyes avert from mine. She switches her weight from one foot to the other as she tries to avoid my question.

“Dylan?”

“Oh, well, do you remember the house I was telling you about? The one that Joanie, my new boss, told me about. I think I mentioned it to you.”

What the hell is she talking about? A house? For what? What’s it matter?

And then it hits me. Like Walker slugging me in the stomach for a joke I made at his expense, I feel like the wind is knocked out of me.

“What does that have to do with you?” I ask carefully.

She forces a swallow. “Well, Joanie messaged me today about it because I hadn’t responded to her earlier text. And she said I basically had to jump on the rental or lose it because someone else was interested.”

“What did you say?”

She looks into the box. Her face is flushed, her lips swollen, and I wonder if she’s been biting them.

Why?

“I told her I’d take it,” she says.

I grab the doorframe to keep myself steady.

She’ll take it? What the actual fuck?

My first instinct is to grab her and hold her against me and not let her go. Not let her ruin this thing between us because it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever had. But she looks at me, and a fire burns through my veins like wildfire, and I can’t move.

“Why did you tell her that?” I ask. “Do you not like it here?”

She smiles, but it’s not for me. “It was never the plan for me to stay here long term.”

“Well, it was never in the plan to have you sleeping in my bed either, but I’m not arguing that.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have been doing that either. Thank you for pointing that out.”

I raise a brow. “What happened today? I feel like I went to work with one life and came home to another.”

“I don’t know, Peck. What did happen today?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

She nods. “Well, I think it’s best that we have some space for a while. As you mentioned, I ended up in your bed awfully fast, and I think it makes a lot of sense to let things simmer for a while and see how we feel.”

“I know how I feel.” I take a step toward her. “Don’t you?”

“I do. That’s why I’m doing this.”

She makes no sense. She’s lost her damn mind. Leaving me because she wants to be with me … She never said that.

“Dylan, do you want to be with me?”

The pause is too long. The silence too deafening. The hesitation lingers in the air until I release a frustrated chuckle.

“I do,” she says. “I do. You’re … great, Peck. But I have some things I need to sort out before we go any further.”

“Like what?”

Her eyes fill with an uneasiness.

My brain trolls through every minute we’ve spent together. From the day she stormed up to the truck at Old Man Dave’s house to last night when she fell asleep in my arms, I go over it. Nothing is there that would be a straight line to this.

Except Molly.

My shoulders tighten.

“Is this about Molly?” I ask.

“Not really.”

“Molly McCarter has no bearing on us, Dylan. None.”

She stands up, her gaze fiery. “You’re right. It shouldn’t. It absolutely shouldn’t, but it does, Peck. It does. She does.” Her jaw sets. “I saw you with her today and watched you follow her out of town, and I hate the way I feel about that. It’s not me. I don’t want it to be me.”

She storms past me. Her jaw is set as she grabs one of her T-shirts off the back of a chair.

“So what? Yeah, I saw her today,” I say. “I helped her sister, Megan. Her battery died.”

“And they couldn’t have called a tow service?”

“Yeah. They could’ve. But I happened to be getting a coffee at the gas station and offered to go down there and help them. Because that’s my job. I did my job, and I came home. To you.”

She spins on her heel. “You’re right. It is your job. And they’re your friends, and you would have been a dick if you didn’t help them.”

“Yeah. I would. But if it drives you this fucking crazy, I won’t anymore. Ever again.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows. She wads the shirt up and tosses it in the box.

She sits down again. It’s as if all her energy has vanished. I want to sit beside her or pick her up and put her on my lap. I want to help her, to make her better, but I’m the one she’s mad at.

I think.

A tear threatens to spill over her eyes. I reach for her, but she pulls away.

“I don’t want to be this person,” she says.

“What person?”

“This one. The girl who feels so insecure when a girl shows up that I know you don’t love. I just … it makes me feel all kinds of ways, and I hate that, Peck. It’s not good for me or you or even Molly although I can’t say she’s high on my list of priorities.” She looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I want to be good enough to be the love of someone’s life. The kind of love you have with the first person you fall for—that unconditional, inexplicable kind of love.”

“Dylan …”

My head spins at her admission. I don’t know what she’s saying. Does she not like the person she is when she’s with me? Does she think she’s worse for wear now that we’ve been together? Does she not believe I’m capable of love?

Am I capable of love?

“This isn’t about you,” she says softly. “Or Molly.”

“Then what’s happening right now?”

I kneel in front of her. She turns her head and looks at the wall. The sight of her so sad, so upset breaks my heart.

“Relationships are hard for me,” she says.

“I think they’re hard for me too … because you’re making it that way.”

She almost smiles. “I’ve always felt second or third or, hell, even fourth sometimes in every relationship I’ve been in. From the one with my mother to the one with my Nonna to the one with Charlie.”

“You’re first with me. You’re the only one in the game, sweetheart.”

I look at her with every bit of sincerity I can. I love her. I know it. There’s not a doubt about it. But if I tell her now, maybe she’ll just feel sorry for me. Maybe she’ll stay for the wrong reasons. Even though I’m desperate to stop this madness, I know you can’t make someone stay if they don’t want to.

I stand. This feels horribly familiar.

Closing my eyes, I’m bombarded with the words on the note Mom wrote. All I can visualize is the way her handwriting slanted to the left and got thicker in the loops. The paper. The confusion …

Vin and Peck,

Dad and I are taking a little trip. I’ll call you as soon as we get settled. I love you boys. I love you with everything in me. If you need anything, see Nana, okay? And just remember your mom loves you.

Love,

Mom

That’s. Not. What. Love. Does.

The sting hits me in the heart like it did the day I found it after school. It’s like a scorpion stung me over and over. She loves me with everything in her, yet it wasn’t enough for her to stay with us. With me.

Why did I think I was?

Nothing hurts as bad as someone you love choosing to leave you. Not a damn thing.

My eyes open to see Dylan watching me.

The last time someone told me they were leaving and would be back, I never saw them again. If Dylan walks out of here, will the same thing happen? I would’ve scaled the moon for my mother, but it didn’t matter. Maybe it won’t matter if I promise the world to Dylan.

My heart breaks as a tear falls, trickling down her cheek. I catch it with the pad of my thumb. My eyes get watery, too, as I feel the invisible clock ticking down.

“I’m not saying that’s not true, Peck. That I’m not first with you. But I have to get to a place where I believe this thing between us is going to work.”

She’s going to leave. I see it in her eyes. The decision is over.

And I can’t stop her.

I shouldn’t.

It’s her choice to make.

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” I say. My voice threatens to break. I cover my mouth with my hand and face the wall.

“I’m not saying we’ll never see each other again. I just think we need some space.”

I’ll call you as soon as we get settled.

I nod. “Okay.”

The room seems to grow smaller by the second. I think I’m going to pass out as the walls seem to crush in on me.

I spin around and grab her box. “Is this ready?” I ask.

Her eyes go wide. She nods subtly.

“I’ll carry it out for you.” I head to the door. I stop but don’t turn around. I don’t want her to see the single tear flowing down my cheek. “Let me know if you need anything, Hawkeye. I’ll, um, I’ll give you some space to get your stuff.”

“Peck …” she calls out.

But I’m already gone.

Twenty-Nine

Dylan

I sit on the couch. Navie’s blue pillow, my favorite, sits beside me. It reminds me of Peck’s stupid beautiful eyes, so I pick it up and chuck it into the kitchen.

And.

I.

Cry.

I hate crying. It makes me feel weak. It pisses me off, and that just makes me cry more.

I’m not even sure why I’m crying. My brain tries to make sense of it, putting ideas and memories into little boxes while my heart orchestrates the rest of my body.

“Ooh …” Navie appears out of nowhere. I look up through my tears and see her standing a few feet in front of me. She places a Carlson’s box on the coffee table. “This isn’t good.”

“No,” I say, sucking up the snot that’s gathered on my top lip.

“You sounded so much better on the phone.” She makes a face. “Can we go back and get that Dylan? I like her better.”

“Fuck off.”

She sits beside me and wraps an arm over my shoulder. No words are spoken. No questions are asked. The only thing put forth between us is Navie’s presence.

I miss him already. It hasn't even been thirty minutes.

I’m not strong enough for this bullshit.

“Okay,” Navie says. She slips her arm off me. “That’s enough.”

“Enough what?”

“Enough crying. And wallowing. You’re dripping snot on your shirt.” She makes a face. “I mean, really.”

I sniffle. “I’m sorry I’m not reacting in a way that’s good for you.”

“Girl, let me tell you something. This isn’t good for you either.”

“Well, I’m about ready to add to the HAS Line. That’ll be damn good for me.”

She rolls her eyes.

She stands and walks around the apartment. The pillow is launched from the kitchen, landing beside me. My purse is picked up off the floor and set on the table. She finds my keys in the sink and holds them in the air.

“Don’t ask,” I warn.

“Noted.”

She sets them by my purse.

“If you wanted a friend to coddle you and tell you that everything you’re doing is right, you picked the wrong friend.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not kissing your ass just because your feelings are hurt or whatever.”

I settle back on the sofa. “Of course you’re not.”

“I’m giving you the first point—Peck and Molly are beyond irritating, and he needs to cut her off.”

“He did. I think. Or so he said. But he jumped to help her again today so ….”

“Part of that is that it’s Peck. It’s in his cellular DNA to help people. He’s like a … service dog or something.”

I laugh even though I don’t feel much like laughing.

“But this is where things change.” She busies herself in the kitchen, making two glasses of tea. “You have to make some tough choices here, girlfriend.”

“I moved out. That’s a tough choice.”

She looks over her shoulder. “Okay. Noted.” She messes with a box of tea bags.

Navie’s antics aren’t what I want or need right now. Sleep is. Or whiskey. Or brambleberry ice cream.

My phone buzzes in front of me. It’s a text from my mom. I roll my eyes and silence it without even reading it.

“Who was that?” Navie asks.

“Mom.”

She makes a face. “Have you talked to her lately?”

“Not since I got here.”

“You’ve never texted her back?”

“Why? She just wants money.”

Navie carries two teacups to the couch. She hands me my favorite, the one with hot air balloons, and then sits in the chair beside me.

“Does she?” she asks.

“What?”

“Just want money?”

“It’s all she ever wants. She’s not even nice about it.”

She sets her teacup on the coffee table. It clinks as it settles.

“Have you ever wondered if maybe she’s also checking on you? Making sure you’re okay?” she asks.

“No.”

She shrugs.

“She doesn’t care, Navie. You know that. She just worries about Koty and Reese.”

“Wouldn’t it be funny if Koty and Reese were sitting around right now saying, ‘Mom totally favors Dylan. When something goes wrong, it’s Dylan to the rescue.’”

“I doubt it,” I scoff.

“Well, maybe not, but that’s how I would feel. I mean, I was talking to my sister this morning, and we got into this argument about our parents. I think they think more highly of Armie because she’s in college, wearing pleated skirts, and dating a soon-to-be doctor. She apparently thinks they think I’m a badass who doesn’t need our trust funds and isn't afraid of hard work. That I’m going to rule the world someday with my work ethic.” She grins. “Talk about a change in perspective, right?”

I grin. “You are pretty badass.”

“Obviously.”

I think about what she’s saying, but I still can’t imagine my siblings thinking that.

“I thought of something else,” she says. "Can you imagine what Molly must’ve thought when Peck told her to scram? I mean, she must’ve thought you were the alpha woman.”

“But he helped her again today.”

“And went home to you.”

Her words remind me of what Peck said. My heart squeezes. I wish he was here to give me one of his famous hugs.

But he’s not. Because I left.

“I just don’t want to be the jealous girlfriend, Navie. And I don’t even know if I can do a relationship. He wants to have a family and a dog, probably. I’m not there. What if I don’t get there?”

Navie smiles. “Look at me.”

I do.

“Peck picked you. He chose you to share his bed. He came home and climbed onto a set of sheets with who? You.”

“Because I was already there.”

“And if he didn’t want you to be, he would’ve asked you to leave.” She sighs. “You need to look at things from other perspectives. I think we, as human beings, have a darker version of our reality than the people around us. I see it all the time at the bar. One guy thinks the guy to the right is slaying it because he has a fancy watch. And that guy thinks the other guy has it made because his wife doesn’t call him every ten minutes. But the guy with no wife would kill to have a woman bother him like that. Does that make sense?”

“Kind of.”

She leans back in her chair and watches me.

I attempt to use her theory as I think about Peck. What would he be thinking right now? That I don’t want him? Because I do. That I think I’m too good for him? Because I don’t. That he’s not worth the effort? Because he is.

This probably looks like an entirely different situation from Peck’s perspective, and I hate that. I hate that he might be hurting because of me.

“Do you think I’m selfish?” I ask her.

“No. Not at all. I just think you’ve been hurt a lot and are afraid of being hurt again.”

“One of the main reasons I left is because I think he needs the space the same as me. His life is going through a lot of big changes too. A new girl who’s moved in and sleeping in his bed and acting all crazy jealous when he’s acting like a decent guy. He doesn’t need that.”

“Then don’t be crazy jealous.” She scoots to the end of the chair. “Trust him.”

“I do.”

She calls me out with a single glance.

“I do,” I insist again. “I just …”

I think about the feeling in my stomach when I think of him with Molly. Whether it’s innocuous or not, it terrifies me.

“Molly is not your competition,” Navie says. “You are your own competition. And you might kick your own ass.” She shrugs as she stands. “Now, I have to get to work. You’re welcome to stay, obviously. Just think about what I’ve said, okay?”

I nod.

She blows me a kiss and walks out the door.

I grab my phone and stand. Walking around the room, I think about what she said. It’s not much different from what Peck said about Molly, actually, and how people assume they already know everything there is to know about her.

And about him.

He is happy-go-lucky, will-do-anything-for-you Peck, but he’s also devastated, untrusting Wesley, who lost his mom because she picked her husband over her boys.

How did I not think of that before?

But will he ever trust me? He said that he let others believe what they wanted about his feelings toward Molly because it was easier that way. Easier for his heart in some ways. He never feared that Molly would leave him … because he never really gave her his heart.

Shit.

My heart falls to the floor.

I’m an idiot.

I should call him and am about to when I pause.

He doesn’t need me to check in on him and apologize. He needs me to make the choice to stay. To validate us.

Maybe I need to work out things with my mom first. Navie’s right. I have no clue what my mother or my siblings think about me. I’d already decided. I just didn’t realize it until now. Just as I assume I know what Peck thinks and wants and what my mother thinks. And maybe I’m right. But maybe I’m wrong.

I flip my phone over and hit the button to call the last number in my call log. It rings twice before I hear her voice.

“Hello? Dylan?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“I was wondering when you’d call,” she says. “Did you get my texts?”

“About Koty needing money? Yeah.”

She groans. “I told her you’d send it. Have you?”

“No.”

“Well, we need it, Dylan. Can you send a check or wire it or whatever this week?”

My spirits fall. “I’ll do my best.” It’s probably not worth mentioning that I haven’t had a job for the past two weeks.

“These siblings of yours will be the death of me. I told them the next time they need money, they’re calling you themselves and trying to talk you into it. I’m tired of begging you.”

I start to fire back my standard response—a groan and an excuse to get off the phone. But Navie’s words niggle at my brain, and I take a deep breath instead.

Imagining Mom not seeing me as the fixer of her problems, but being grateful to have me as a resource, I try a different approach.

“How are things with you?” I ask. “Do you need anything?”

She doesn’t answer me for a long moment. So long, in fact, that I pull the phone away to see if she’s still there.

“Do you know how long it’s been since anyone's asked me that?” she asks.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying a new approach to life tonight. Just testing it out.”

“I … I don’t need anything, Dylan. But thanks for asking.”

The sound of her voice—relief, maybe? Appreciation, possibly?—makes me feel warm. I grin.

“You’re welcome. I need to go though, okay?”

“Sure,” she says. “Just don’t forget that money.”

“Okay. I won’t.” I pause. “Love you, Mom.”

“Yeah. I love you, kiddo.”

The line goes dead.

I sit back down and tuck my phone under the blue pillow. I rest my head against it.

Navie’s words float back through my mind as the stillness of the apartment takes hold. Molly isn’t your competition. You are your competition.

I mull that over, tossing it around and around. Even when I close my eyes, I can’t stop her words from bouncing inside my skull.

If she’s right, I’m not only my own competition, but I’m also my own worst enemy.

I sigh. My entire body hurts. I curl up in a ball on the sofa and try to go to sleep.

Thirty

Peck

“Take it easy,” Walker shouts across the bay. “For fuck’s sake, Peck. You’re gonna tear everything we got up if you don’t stop your bullshit.”

It’s funny that he thinks I care.

I was up all night. I didn’t even go to bed. My linens still smell like oranges, and I just couldn’t handle it. Not without Dylan in bed with me.

It took four hours to decide if I wanted to call her or not. I mean, I wanted to call her. Hell, I wanted to go find her and bring her home with me. But she left. She wanted to. I begged her to stay, and she didn’t. But I called her because I’m a fucking idiot, and her phone went straight to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message because I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t want to be a stuttering fool—more of a fool than I already am.

“You’re lucky I’m even here today,” I bark.

I take a hammer and whack the rim in front of me.

“I’m lucky?” Walker yells over my second strike of the hammer.

“Yeah.”

His laugh is more of a rumble than anything. It means one thing—he’s pissed. Well, good, motherfucker, because I’m pissed too.

Walker throws down the cutting torch in his hand and stalks across the shop. I consider that maybe this is the universe’s way of taking care of my problems.

Death by Walker Gibson.

I hit the rim for the third time.

There are worse ways to go. At least that would let me go out with a little dignity.

I miss her. Fucking hell, I miss her. I’m so helpless to fix this, and the knowledge of that binds me up. I feel like I can’t move. I can’t go. I can’t think or process or figure a way out of this maze.

“Seriously, Peck. What the fuck?”

“What the fuck, what?”

He snatches the hammer right out of my hand. “I watched you do this all morning, and I’ve had it. Either talk or walk.”

“Oh, look. You’re trying to be funny,” I say.

He scowls. “I’m not trying to be funny. I’m trying to save your life.”

“You should be sure someone wants saving before you go playing hero.”

His eyes narrow and his jaw tenses as he tries to bend me to his will. Usually, I’d cut a joke right here and end up annoying him, and he’d go back to whatever he was doing and leave me alone. Today, though, I’m not in the mood for cutting jokes.

I just lost my girl.

Sure, she said we were just getting space. But this space feels like a fucking universe. I don’t like it. I hate it. And I can feel the depths of the divide between us, and I know it’s not going to close.

The door to the office opens and in walks Vincent and Sienna. They exchange a grin as they see Walker and me ready to square off.

“Take it easy, boys,” she says. “What’s happening in here?”

“I’d love to know,” Walker says, staring me down.

I don’t answer either of them.

Vincent leans against a work table and slides his sunglasses off his face. He hooks them in the front of his shirt.

“If I were a betting man, and I do love me some gambling,” Vincent says, “I’d bet my brother here is having girl problems.”

I consider testing my brother’s mettle these days and throwing a solid right hand. But if I do, Walker will get involved, and we’ll all die.

Sienna puts a hand on Walker’s bicep. Instantly, he relaxes.

“Peck, what’s going on?” she asks. “Can I help with anything?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, cut the shit. What did lover girl do?” Vincent shrugs when I send him a death glare. “What? I didn’t fuck her. I don’t care what you heard.”

My right hand isn’t fast enough. Walker’s hand clasps around my forearm, and he jerks me around in a circle to face him.

“Wanna fight?” Walker asks. “Let’s fight.”

“Walker …” Sienna sighs.

“I don’t want to fight you, Walk. I wanna fight him.”

“You sure about that?” Vincent raises a brow. “You wouldn’t stand a chance. And I was kidding about fucking her. You know that. Chill out.”

I give him my most befuddled look. “Really? Pretty sure I can take a guy who wears a button-up shirt with fucking flamingos on it.”

“This shirt is cool.” He lifts a piece of the fabric and lets it billow back to his body.

Sienna waves her hands in the air. “Okay. Enough of the pissing match. What is happening? Are you having lady problems, Peck?”

“Yeah. He’s on his period,” Vincent jokes.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

He just laughs.

“Okay,” I say, turning to Sienna. “I need advice. Wanna give me some?”

“Sure. What’s going on?”

I walk around the shop bay, circling wide so as not to get into Walker's or Vincent’s spheres. While I don’t think either one would try to shoot a double-leg on me, I’m not that sure—not sure enough to get in their line of fire.

“So I have this girl. Dylan. She moved in with me as friends, and I don’t know. She just … stole my fucking heart, Sienna. Yes, we slept together, but it was more than just fucking. And you know … I like her a lot.”

More than a lot. I love her.

“That’s great,” Sienna says.

“Yeah, except she thinks … I don’t even know what she thinks. She moved out yesterday and said she thinks we need some space and that she couldn’t compete with Molly, which is stupid …” I sigh. “What the fuck do I do, Sienna?”

Walker steps between us. His hands are out to the sides. “Let me take this one.”

“I don’t have time for your bullshit,” I say.

He faces me, and the annoyance at my antics from moments ago is completely gone. All I see is a sincere desire to offer advice—advice that’ll likely suck ass, but at least he cares enough to offer it.

“Okay, Walker,” Sienna says. “Go for it.”

“This I gotta hear,” Vincent chimes in.

Walker smiles. “First of all, tell me in the quick notes version how Molly is involved.”

“She’s not. I mean, she came by the house, and I told her not to. That she needed to stand on her own two feet.” I look over my shoulder at my brother.

He grins. “Great advice, bro. Sounds like a genius gave you that.”

I laugh.

“Okay. Got it,” Walker says. “Listen to this, Slugger,” he says to Sienna, then returns his focus to me. “So Molly knows that you like Dylan. You told her basically that you chose Dylan over her. Right?”

I nod.

“But Dylan doesn’t know that.”

“No, she does. I told her that. I told her she was my number one.”

Walker chuckles. “Man, you gotta make shit crystal clear. Like crystal fucking clear.” He doesn’t flinch when Sienna sticks her elbow in his side. “You have to spell this out for Dylan. Tell her you’re an open book. That you want her—be explicit about it—that you want her to live with ya, if that’s what you want. That you love her. Just like that. I love you. Three words. Look her in the eye.”

“Aw,” Sienna says. “That’s great advice, baby.”

“I know.” He grabs my shoulder and shakes it. “You probably think, ‘Man, Walker. I did that shit.’ But I guarantee you that if you had done it just like I said, she’d be back. If, you know, she likes you.”

“So I haven't been clear enough?” I ask.

Vincent shoves off the table and walks our way. “Nah, I think he’s right. I’m not really one for females who need a lot of coddling. I don’t coddle. But I do see what he’s saying because women do need that confirmation that they’re wanted. I mean, I don’t get it, but it’s true.”

Sienna wraps an arm around Walker’s waist and leans her head on his side.

“Women need to feel like they have a purpose in the relationship,” Sienna says. “We need to be needed. We also want to be seen, and last but not least, we want to feel safe in the confines of that situation.” She looks at me and smiles. “I bet if you think about it long enough, you’ll figure out what you need to do.”

I scuff my shoes against the floor. “I just panicked. Flat-out panicked. I saw she was leaving, and I just felt like …”

Vincent looks at me. “Like everyone ends up leaving.”

I nod.

“Well, I get it. But I still think you need to do something. Don’t let this one go,” Vincent says. “If not, I’ll go find her—umph.”

I tackle him low and hard, smashing his back against the wall. If I were really trying to wrestle him, I would've gotten him a few inches lower and planted his head into the asphalt. But because I’m just fucking around, I grabbed him high.

“Stop it, you fuckheads,” Walker bellows.

Vincent reaches around and grabs my hand. I tap his back, and we call a truce.

Breaking apart, we’re panting and laughing.

“Damn, you’re quick,” he says.

“And you’re stronger than I remember.”

“Okay, enough fucking off. Back to work, Peck.” Walker kisses Sienna’s cheek. She follows him back to the spot where he dropped the cutoff saw earlier.

Vincent joins me by the truck that I’ve been working on all morning.

“You really like this chick, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“So how are you gonna get her back?”

I shrug because I don’t know. I’m not sure if she’s still mine or not. She’s not mine like she used to be—the way I want her. And I want to fix it. I just can’t figure out what to do.

Vincent rifles through a coffee can of screws. “You need a grand gesture. That’s what you need.”

“How do you know?”

“The last girl I was fucking was big into those female-centric networks.” He shrugs. “I’ll learn if someone wants to teach.”

I work on the lug nuts on the tire as Vincent fucks around.

A grand gesture. What the hell is that?

Walker whistles through the bay. He holds open the door to the office, and Sienna goes inside. He motions for Vincent to come too.

“See ya later,” he says.

“Yeah.”

The garage quiets down and allows me to think. A grand gesture. Would that work? Is that something I can do to drive home my point to Dylan? Because I need one good solid try to win her back. If it doesn’t work, then I’ll have to let her go.

But it’ll work. It has to.

Thirty-One

Dylan

Last night sucked.

Come to think of it, so did yesterday and this morning and this afternoon too.

I’ve always been one of those people who doesn’t mind being alone, and I can entertain myself like nobody’s business. But Navie worked all last night and slept all day today until an hour ago when she got up and is prepping to go back to work. I’ve been alone too much. It’s taught me that Navie was kind of right: I am my own worst enemy.

The dialogue running through my head isn’t exactly kind. It’s not cheerful or positive. But … it’s real. It’s the truth.

And the truth is that I’m not a whole lot different than Molly. That’s a hard, jagged little pill to swallow.

It hit me around three a.m., the witching hour. The hour in which songs have been written about its loneliness. The hour that’s not quite today and not quite yesterday, an hour of time that exists to haunt you.

And haunt me, it did.

I might not sleep around, as I’ve heard Molly might do. I don’t stop at men’s houses that might have had a thing for me when someone else has moved in and try to play a card to get them back in my graces, as I’m pretty sure she did. I haven’t ever gone up to a woman at a bar and picked a fight or tried to intimidate someone to stay away from a guy I didn’t even like so he’d just like me.

That being said, I'm desperate for love. I have acted foolishly because I’m scared that someone isn’t going to love me back. And my behaviors probably stem from the way people have treated me growing up, and I haven’t been able to break that mental connection. Just like Molly.

I laugh out loud. It’s not a sound full of levity or humor. It’s a motion packed with disbelief and sadness and a little disgust.

I’m not better, no different, than Molly McCarter.

I take the blue pillow and press it against my eyes.

Neither one of us deserve Peck. When I think about the things Nana told me, and how his mother left him and how awful it must have been for him growing up, I realize how strong he is. None of that bullshit has stopped him from opening his heart. But when she implored me to love him …

“You can’t start or stop love, honey. It’s just there or it’s not, and it’s present between you and Peck.”

The look in her eyes. It was clear how much she adores her beautiful grandson.

“Just … love him. Like you, he’s never really had someone love him unconditionally … He’ll be kind. He’ll drive you crazy with his incessant need to make sure you’re all right. Please just be the same to him. For me.”

I’ve already let Nana down. I didn’t trust him to keep my heart safe. I didn’t love him unconditionally.

Is that what this is? It’s that I love Peck?

“Hey,” Navie says.

She runs a brush through her hair. She’s irritated with me, and I know it. But I’m irritated with myself, so there’s that.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. My voice is muffled under the pillow, but she gets the gist of the sentiment.

“Yeah, well, apologize to yourself.” She puts the brush on the table and works to pull her hair on top of her head. “Are you coming to Crave tonight?”

“Nah.”

She rolls her eyes. “Look, you can stay here all you want. My house is … not yours, but you’re welcome here. But, and this is a big but, if you think you’re going to stay here and mope around because you are, in fact, a fucking idiot, then you aren’t so welcome.”

Her words are harsh, but the look on her face is not. A smile touches her lips.

“Gee, thanks,” I kid.

“It’s for your own good. I can’t let you sit around here and add to that HAS Line.”

“Um, what?”

“Oh, nothing. I just woke up to six shipping notifications expected to arrive at my house in the next three days.”

I cringe. “Yeah. But two of those are ice cream. There’s a new Banana’s Foster flavor that really screamed my name.”

“Oh, so it screamed Hey Fool? Awesome name for an ice cream flavor.”

I throw the pillow at her. She laughs when it lands a few feet from her, not even getting remotely close to its target.

She sits in the chair. I sit up too so I don’t feel like a therapy patient getting help for my issues. That would only embolden her to give me a lecture, and that’s not what I need. Not that I particularly know what I need right now, but that’s not the point.

“Look, it’s the middle of the day,” she says. “You’ve literally not gotten off the couch today.”

“I’m sulking.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m avoiding my problems.”

She smirks. “Seems like that would be hard to do when you are your problem.”

“Navie …”

“Have you even called about your rental?” she asks. “Or are you just pretending life off my couch isn’t happening today?”

“Yes, smartass.” I take out my phone and look at the screen. It’s blank. “No one has called or texted.”

She quirks a brow. “Not even Peck?”

“Once last night.” I half-groan, half-whine as I sit back against the cushions. “It was when you forced me to get into the shower and said I looked like the bride of Frankenstein.”

“Did you call him back?”

“No.”

“Dylan, you … Ugh.”

I throw my hands in the air. “What should I say? I don’t know whether to be mad at him or at me or at Molly or at the world or just … fucking … I don’t know. I. Don’t. Know. It’s all confusing. I don’t even know anymore.”

Navie shakes her head. “Honesty coming in five seconds.”

I make a point to grab on to the edge of the couch, making her laugh.

“When things get all confused in your head, it’s fear,” she says. “You are the most logical person I know. Except the HAS Line. But anyway, other than that, you’re great at breaking stuff down. At sorting your problems. At making decisions. But when that all gets muddy, it means there’s fear packed in there. That’s why it’s all jumbled.”

It actually makes a lot of sense logically. It also makes sense knowing how I feel inside.

I am scared. Scared shitless. I’m scared of falling in love with Peck. I’m terrified not to love him too. I’m scared of spending my whole life and never feeling the way I do when I’m with him.

What if I screw it up? What if I become a jealous monster because surely every person who lays eyes on him wants him? What if I end up disappointing him the way people always disappoint me?

I probably already have.

I rub the corners of my eyes. My heart aches when I think about him. I try to think about things from his perspective, and I think I might puke.

My breathing shallows as what has to be adrenaline shoots through my veins. My hands pat the seats next to me in a steady rhythm as my brain begins to rapid-fire a series of feelings and ideas.

Even though I told him we just needed some space, it doesn’t feel like that. I know it can’t feel like that to him either. He must feel like I walked out on him and left him.

Because that’s what I did. But it’s not what I really meant.

I was scared, and like Navie just said, fear makes a mockery out of you.

Maybe that’s what happened to Jessica too. Maybe she was scared. I don’t know what of, but maybe that’s why she could leave her two sweet boys behind.

He deserves better than that for once. He deserves better than that … from me.

The idea of doing that, of being there for Peck makes me happy. Being the strong one, the forgiving one, the one he knows he can come home to and be safe—that concept makes tears well in my eyes. Maybe, just maybe, he’s like my mom too. Maybe no one has asked him if he needs anything. He’s always given. Been kind. Forgiving. Maybe no one’s asked him what he wants. Who he wants. And maybe, just maybe, that could be me.

It feels absolutely, positively right. Because not only does he deserve that, but so do I.

I ignore Navie’s curious look as I stand. Thoughts are coming so quickly that moving seems to help make them easier to process.

I think of Charlie and the few men who came before him. Of my mother and Koty and Reese and even my relationship with Navie. In all those, without knowing it, I waited on someone to save me. I gave them the power to either make me happy and fulfilled and accepted … or to pass.

Maybe I’m the hero of my story.

Or at least, maybe I’m the co-writer of a tale as old as time, of a woman and a man who have all kinds of fears and bruises but come together to work them out.

I know. Suddenly, I know. This is what love feels like.

It wasn’t the lust and desperation I felt toward Charlie. It wasn’t the intense crushes I had on men before him. And it wasn’t the way I felt when I met Peck under that stupid truck or the way I felt when we burned the steaks.

This is love. It’s the moment when I realize just how bumpy this ride might be. It’s when I accept that I’m all kinds of bruised up, and he has scars deeper than I can see … and I still want to take his hand and navigate the waters with him. Even though his scars and my bruises together might make for some waves. And storms. And asteroid collisions. It’s still worth it. It’s still preferable even with the fear rolling around my stomach.

“I’m in love,” I whisper.

Navie grins. “I know.”

“No,” I say with a nervous laugh. “This isn’t an infatuation or a crush or just not wanting to be alone. Or even just not wanting to sleep on that couch again.”

She laughs.

“I love him, Navie. Like I love him like Nana loves Pops.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

My heart fills with a contentment that I’ve never experienced. It assuages some of the sharp edges of being scared and lets me know this is the right answer.

“This is what they mean when they say, ‘When you know, you know.’”

“Good. Now I wanna know what you’re talking about.”

I grin.

Navie stands and adjusts an elastic in her hair. “So what do we do with this revelation?”

“I’m not sure …”

I wonder where he is and what he’s doing. I could call him, for sure, and I want to. I need to hear his voice.

But he deserves more than that. And that’s what I’m going to give him.

“Can you do me a favor?” I ask carefully.

“Sure.”

I grin. “I have an idea …”

Thirty-Two

Dylan

“Change of plans,” Navie says through the phone.

“What do you mean, ‘Change of plans’? We can’t change the plan now.”

My voice is borderline frantic. Change the plan? No. We can’t. Not now.

Oh, shit.

I look ahead at the couple nearing the door to Crave.

She wasn’t kidding.

The bar.

Machlan’s bar.

At nine o’clock at night.

“Navie, this idea just got seriously out of hand,” I groan. “Um, is Machlan there?”

“Yes. That’s not the problem. The problem is … well, I can’t tell you the problem. But—”

“Okay, I’m cutting you off because this is way more important than whatever you were about to say.” I gulp. “Nana is walking into the bar.”

“What?” she squeaks.

“Yeah.”

“What bar? You mean, like, the prescription counter at the pharmacy, right?”

“Nope.” I wince. “I mean like you have Nana and a date—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Sorry.”

She gasps. “Oh, my gosh, Dylan. The boys are all here. Machlan will burn this motherfucker down.”

I want to cry. I’m not sure if it’s because Nana is actually beaming at the little old man who has her by the hand as they amble toward the door or because I know she’s right and her grandsons are going to kill her.

Or that they’re going to kill me because, unfortunately, this entire thing is kind of my fault.

“Well, go take the matches away while you can and prepare,” I say.

“Shit. Okay. I gotta go … do …. What, I don’t know. Maybe take cover.”

“Gotta go.”

“Hey, wait. About that change of plans—”

I end the call. I don’t have time for her shenanigans.

Nana is dressed in a bluish-purple dress that hits her mid-calf with giant white and red flowers on it. She also has on pearls. She looks absolutely lovely. And like she’s going to church. Not her grandson’s bar.

I want to cry.

“Hi,” I say as I reach them.

“Hi, honey,” Nana says. She pulls me to her and kisses my cheek. “I’m so excited for this.” She pats my hand.

She’s beaming. The woman is absolutely beaming. And as much as I want to redirect this little date or whatever it is, I can’t. I can’t take that happy away from her.

I’m here to bring happy. Not kill it.

“Um, so, you know that this place gets a little, you know, wild at night?” I say with a nervous laugh.

“We’ve been to bars before.” The man looks down at her and locks his hand with hers while he beams. “Not together, of course. This is our first time together, right, Michelle?”

She looks up at him and smiles like a high school girl going to prom.

They’re going to kill me. Peck is going to kill. Me.

“Let me get the door for you,” the man says.

“Dave, you’re such a gentleman.”

The door pulls open. Sounds of Crave billow out onto the sidewalk and past our ears. I’m pretty sure I hear someone shout something about dick popsicles, but if Nana hears it, she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Nana says. She places her hand on my forearm as she steps inside.

I laugh, my face screwed up like I might cry.

Because I might.

My nerves are so high I need a drink. My plan was to get a couple of shots of tequila before Peck gets here, and I put this harebrained plan into motion.

Nana’s eyes go wide as she takes in the fruits of Machlan’s labor. And the couple grinding so hard in the middle of the dance floor that they may as well be screwing.

“Ooh,” she says.

“Yeah. We can turn around and go back home,” I say, trying to steer her to turn around.

Dave laughs. “We’re old but not dead, Dylan. We’ve seen these things before.”

“In your grandson’s bar?” I ask Nana.

“Well, dear, no,” she says, clutching the string of pearls around her neck. “But Machlan can’t help if these people …” She gulps as the woman starts twerking. “Do whatever … that is.” She looks up at me. “Times sure have changed.”

I bet.

My eyes find Navie’s behind the bar. She looks as nervous as I feel. I hold out my hands to say, “I’m sorry,” but she fake cries, and I know we’re dead.

Or I’m dead.

The plan to win Peck’s heart is going to end with my heart and possibly other organs, depending on how mad they are, being nailed to the bulletin board and having darts thrown at them.

At me.

Like a witch in Salem.

I start to scan the bar for Peck. It’s not necessary, though. Because I have four of the hottest, most handsome, and shocked men barreling toward me.

This time, I clutch Nana’s hand. Even though she’s kind of the enemy right now. But they won’t kill her. They love her.

Which is why they’ll kill me.

I drop her hand and give her a small grin before stepping to the side and a few inches closer to the door.

My plans are halted, probably indefinitely, as I focus on preserving my life.

“What in the ever-loving fuck is this?” Machlan asks.

He and Peck stand shoulder to shoulder. Lance and Walker are behind them, whispering. I’m not sure which set of men I’m more worried about at the moment. The two in the front, ready to throw tantrums, or the two in the back who are whispering back and forth.

“Machlan, I don’t care that we’re in your bar,” Nana says. “I still won’t listen to that mouth.”

“You’re about to hear a lot worse than that,” he says. “What on earth are you doing here? Please, someone tell me.”

Nana’s face breaks into a smile. And I know she’s going to do it. She’s going to out me. She’s going to throw me under the bus.

“Well, I can’t really say because I think it’s a surprise. But when Dylan invited me tonight, I had to come.”

And dead.

All four of their heads, six if you count Nana and Dave, whip around to face me. Machlan is seething. Walker isn’t amused, but Lance is. I think. And Peck …

I can’t tell if he’s happy to see me or not. He starts to smile and then realizes his grandmother is two feet from him in a place where we dirty-danced not that long ago.

I wave. “Um, hi.” I smile. I shrug. I pray for my soul.

“I have so many questions right now,” Peck says.

“Me too,” Machlan adds with a glare.

Walker motions for me to follow him. So I do. Because there’s really no other choice.

My heart pounds harder than it’s ever pounded before, and I think I might pass out. Peck doesn’t say anything to me, just kind of watches me in shock as I follow his cousin a few feet away.

I want to attach myself to him, to kiss his face and ask for forgiveness. To tell him I’m here for him, and that I love him, and that … I didn’t invite Nana here. But I’m not sure what he would do, and there’s a burly man who apparently expects to have a conversation with me.

Now.

Walker spins around. “Gonna need you to explain.”

“Um …”

“That’s not an explanation.”

I blow out a breath. “Yeah. I know. So, um, you see, I kind of acted like an idiot to Peck and—”

“I know. Should I bill you for the day’s work Peck didn’t get done yesterday? Because he was worthless as fuck, and I’m still gonna have to pay him.”

I gulp. I’m not sure what to say. Just as I’m about to volunteer to do just that, Walker tips his hand. The corner of his mouth starts to lift before he twists his lips into a grin.

“I’m kidding,” he says. “I mean, I’m not. He was worthless. But it was kind of nice to see him all pissed off over a woman for once.”

“That’s happened before, I’m sure.”

“Never.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s never really given a fuck about anyone. Molly, but not like yesterday. Not for real.”

“Oh.”

I glance at Peck over my shoulder. He’s positioned himself so he can watch me and listen to Lance and Machlan interrogate Nana and Dave too. I smile. He does too. Kind of. He also kind of looks … worried.

There’s nothing I can do about that right now. Maybe ever. So I focus on Walker because maybe I can have one Gibson not hate me.

“So,” Walker says. “Why is there a nana? In a bar?”

“Okay, let me explain.”

My brain spirals from one topic to the next too fast for me to grab on to one of them and go. Do I start with why I ended up at Nana’s this afternoon? Or why I think Nana is here? Or that I forgot Peck’s drill battery over there the other day and told myself I needed to retrieve it before he realized it was missing, but really I just wanted the comfort Nana provides?

I don’t know. I. Don’t. Know.

“Please.” He waits. “Anytime now.”

“Okay.” I hold my hands up, gathering myself. “So I was at Nana’s today, and I could tell you why, but I bet you don’t care.”

“Nope.”

“So when I was there, she sort of … plucked my emotions right out of me.”

He nods with a level of sympathy only someone can have if they’ve encountered a lesson-wielding Nana.

I’ve now experienced it. Twice, really. But both times were about the same situation, so maybe that only counts as one.

“She was telling me …” I stop. The boys don’t know about her test results, and I’m not about to add that to the mix tonight. It’s not mine to tell anyway. “She was just telling me that you only live once, and that you have to just … go for it. Live the life you want. Forget whether it might be scary or appropriate or if you’ll … piss your grandsons off.”

He folds his arms across his chest and looks over my shoulder. “Is that why she’s here with Old Man Dave?”

“I think your grandmother might be in love.”

A series of emotions pass through his eyes. “Well,” he says finally, “she’s entitled to a little love of her own. Pops has been gone a long damn time now.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.”

“But she still doesn’t belong in a fucking bar.” He looks at me all serious again.

“Well …”

Before I can try to explain that, Machlan comes up beside us. He’s bemused.

He points at me. “Talk.”

“I … um …”

“Yeah. If she has a heart attack tonight, it’s your fault.”

“That’s not fair, Machlan,” I say.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s fair or not.” He glances at Walker. He must find something in him to settle him a bit. “But … it is kind of funny.”

My shoulders sag as I watch these two men try not to find amusement in this situation. But the longer they try to hold it in, the harder it is. When Lance walks up, they all start to laugh.

He leans forward, his head dipping into the odd-shaped circle we’ve formed, and whispers, “I think Nana’s getting lucky tonight.”

Walker shoves his brother, knocking him off balance.

“So,” Machlan says, running his hands through his hair, “I still don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to invite her here. I’m never gonna be able to look at this place the same way again.”

“No shit.” Lance nods toward the actual bar. “Our grandmother just ordered a drink. With her date.”

“In pearls,” Walker adds.

“I think it’s kind of cute,” I say.

“No one asked you.” Walker grins. “Okay, so I’ve had enough of this fucking gossip bullshit tonight. I’m going to go find some whiskey and watch this play out. You,” he says pointing at me. He pauses as if he was going to say something else. Instead, he shakes his head with a little smirk and walks away.

I scan the bar but don’t see Peck. I wonder if he left. Panic begins to set in as I turn a complete circle and come up with nothing.

“Hey,” Machlan says.

I turn back around. “Yeah?”

“All joking aside. What’s happening?”

“Okay. I needed to do something to show Peck that I love him. I just, um … Well, I want him to trust me. That I won’t leave him. That … just …”

I don’t know how to explain it. Not really. I don’t know how to put into words that I want him to know I love him, and I don’t want to say those words until I say them to him. Because I’m not sure anyone’s ever really said that to him and meant it like I do.

Lance nods. “We get it. We may act all tough on the outside, but we’re really pussies when it comes to our women.”

“Fuck you. I’m not,” Machlan says.

Lance rolls his eyes.

“I was telling Nana today that I wanted to do something really special for him. To show him that I love him, but I didn’t know what to do or how or when.” I blow out a nervous breath. “So we decided I’d do it here. In front of his friends. Just put it all out there. And the next thing I know, she’s decided she’s coming.”

Machlan’s head cocks to the side.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” I say. “Like I want to profess my love for your cousin in front of your grandmother. In a bar. Come on now.”

Lance puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I believe you. I think Nana just wanted a night on the town. Look at her.”

We turn to see Nana and Old Man Dave dancing some 1930s jig. I’m sure the tempo would’ve been faster and probably not to today’s hip-hop, but it works. Strangely. And it's one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen.

“That’s what I want out of life,” I say.

“It’s what everyone wants,” Lance agrees. “I mean, mostly. I don’t think Mariah is the type to order a Manhattan, and I’m definitely not wearing a tie with … are those koalas?”

“Maybe,” I say, unsure.

Machlan sighs. “Well, I’m not thrilled she’s in here. But I am happy she’s … I guess she’s happy.”

We watch as Nana throws her head back and laughs a full-bellied laugh.

“I think that’s a safe bet,” Lance says.

“Yeah.”

My heart warms as I watch her. If Nana can find the balls to show her love in a bar, then so can I.

“Machlan, would it be okay if I borrowed your bar?” I ask.

“I think you already have.”

“No,” I say. “Like, for real. Can I jump on the bar and—”

“Can I have your attention, please?”

My stomach bottoms out as I turn and see Peck standing in front of Navie.

On the bar.

The music has been stopped.

A few shouts come from the back for Peck to dance, but he runs his hand through the air. “No dancing tonight. Sorry. I know you really just come for that.”

Machlan scoffs beside me, making me laugh.

“Tonight, I want to make a little announcement.” He looks around until he finds me. His face softens, and a smile that I only see when it’s the two of us graces his lips. “I want to say something to the woman I love—”

“No!” I don’t mean to shout it through the bar, but I do. “Stop!”

Peck’s face falls.

My stomach twists as I dash toward him. I climb on top of a barstool, wobbling as I get my balance, and step onto the bar.

The eyes of everyone inside the establishment are on us, on this little show we’re putting on that should really be done in private. But this is not how it was supposed to go down.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Don’t steal my thunder.”

I face him, my chest rising and falling. His cologne hits me and almost knocks me on my ass.

I've missed him so much.

He watches me, unsure as to what I’m doing and what I mean.

“Let me finish. Please,” he says.

“No. My turn.”

“It’s not your turn,” he says. “I haven’t had mine yet.”

“Because I’m going first.”

“Will one of you just fucking go?” Machlan shouts.

The people in the bar laugh. I vaguely hear their voices.

I turn toward the bar. “I want you all to know something,” I say.

No one says a word. It’s absolute silence as I scan the crowd.

Machlan and Walker stand side by side with amused grins on their faces. Lance stands next to Nana. She clutches his arm and watches us … proudly, I think.

Old Man Dave nods slowly, his golf-style hat propped poshly on his head. And then there’s my best friend, Navie. She stands at the end, her elbows resting on the counter.

“Get him,” she mouths, making me laugh.

“If anyone is curious, even if you’re not …” I look at the man beside me. “I’m sorry.”

“You wanted to tell us that?” Lance yells. “Come on. Give us something good.”

“Lance, you be quiet,” Nana says.

The bar laughs, teasing Lance, as Peck reaches for my hand. We step closer as I put my palm in his. Just like that, the world shifts. The ball of pain in my stomach and the crack in my heart begin to heal.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I got scared.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, repeating my words. “I should’ve come to get you, but I just … panicked.”

“You shouldn’t have had to come. I should’ve stayed.”

We exchange a soft smile.

“I have this … fear,” I say, “that I won’t be able to handle things as good as you do.”

He laughs. “It’s cute that you think I know what I’m doing.”

“We’re a pair, huh?”

“Let’s just … agree that neither of us leave. That we talk things out,” I say.

“Oh, like I wanted to do yesterday?”

I take our hands and shove him. He uses the motion to tug me even closer.

I look up in his eyes, the pools of blue that have captured my attention from the first time I saw them. When I thought he was Logan and a pots and pans thief.

“The past few hours have been a revelation to me,” I say.

Something catches my eye. I glance down and see Molly standing there. She stares at me, and I’m not certain that she’s not going to grab my leg and jerk me on my ass.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she gives me a smile that’s kind of sad but maybe resolved. I smile back. She tucks her chin with a little nod and disappears into the crowd.

I turn back to Peck. “You were right about a lot of things.”

“I’m always right.” He winks. “Especially this.” He removes his hand from mine.

Sucking in a lungful of air, I watch as he brings his hands to my face. Cupping my cheeks, he plants a kiss against my lips.

The crowd cheers, and I think someone tries to spray us with beer, but I’m not sure. I’m too absorbed by this man and this kiss.

His forehead rests on mine as a shy smile touches his lips. “I love you,” he says.

My chest swells as tears prickle my eyes. Because he means it. It’s the one thing in life I’m absolutely sure of.

I pull away so I can look into his eyes again. “I love you,” I whisper.

The grin he gives me could fix the world.

“That’s enough,” Machlan shouts. “Get off the bar. Drinks half price for the next ten minutes!”

The crowd goes wild. We don’t move. We just stand on the bar as chaos ensues around us. The music starts, and it's the same song that has nothing to do with a pony that we danced to before.

Peck laughs. I think he’s going to start dirty dancing with me again, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes one of my hands in his and puts the other on the small of my back. And we dance, just differently this time.

Because this time, it is different.

But it’s us. And it’ll always be a little crazy.

Epilogue

Peck

“Why are you all so loud?” I ask.

I wince as Dylan and I step into Nana’s. It’s loud as hell, my family going balls to the wall for some weird reason.

And then I see that weird reason.

Old Man Dave is here.

Nana has a date to Sunday dinner.

“Your reaction looks about the same as mine,” Vincent says as he walks past me.

Dylan elbows me in the side. “Breathe.” Then she snickers. “How’s it feel to have your words delivered to you?”

“Baby, as long as it’s you bringing it, I’ll take it.”

She smacks my stomach.

Mariah and Sienna come over and whisk Dylan away. She’s never met them before, but you wouldn’t know it. They just envelop her like she’s family.

Because she is.

I don’t care that I haven’t really known her that long or that we’ve already kind of broken up once. Or that I still don’t know her mom’s name or what she wanted to be when she was a kid. I know what matters.

I know the sound of her feet when she’s coming to bed and how off-key she is when she’s making dinner. I can tell you how fast it will take her to reach out when she thinks I’m having a shit day and the tenderness in her eyes when she’s helping me sort Nana’s medications on Monday evenings.

It’s been a great couple of weeks since our little performance at Crave. The me before would’ve thought I was jinxing it. I would’ve been waiting for her to get sick of things and pack up and go. But she’s already done that. She won’t do it again.

I won’t let her.

“Look who I found out front,” Vincent says, coming through the back door. Behind him is Blaire.

“We saw her last night,” Walker says. “Not impressed.”

She points a manicured finger her way. “You. Shut it.”

Everyone laughs.

“How are you all?” she asks, slipping off her jacket. “Hey, Peck.”

“Hey, Blaire.”

I watch her move through the room with an air of sophistication. It’s easy to see how she’s so successful. She commands a room. You can look at her and see how intelligent she is. And beautiful. She reminds me a lot of her mom.

She tosses her jacket on the back of a chair and slides up next to me.

“You forget how boisterous they are.” She laughs. “Wait. I’m talking to you. You’re usually the loudest one of them all.”

My gaze finds Dylan. She’s taking a pie out of the oven and chatting away with Sienna. As I watch them, I wonder if I could ever be happier than I am right now.

“Yeah, well, I’m settling down, I think,” I admit. “I’m good with being a wallflower.”

I watch as Lance comes up behind Dylan and whispers something in her ear. She turns and looks at me and starts laughing.

“Stay away from her,” I shout across the room.

Blaire laughs. “Yeah. You’re a wallflower, all right.”

“I’m working on it.” I take a sip of sweet tea. “So what are you up to these days? We haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“My job has been killing me. I had a trial that went on forever. But I won,” she says, smiling proudly.

“So you’re taking a little time off for once? Good for you.”

She does a very un-Blaire-like thing. She blushes. “I’m actually heading down to Savannah for a few days.”

“Oh.”

“I …”

“She’s fucking some guy down there,” Machlan says.

Blaire casts him a stern look.

“Are you making love? I’m sorry,” Machlan teases.

She sets her sights on her brother. “No. We are certainly fucking,” she says, enunciating the word.

Machlan curls his nose. “Well, that wasn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be.”

“You’ve said that many times over the years,” I joke.

“Change the topic,” Blaire says sweetly. “Hi, Nana.”

She walks up to our group. Grabbing Machlan’s arm, she grins so wide I think her face might split in two.

“Can someone please go rescue Dave from Walker?” she asks.

We all glance over at the couch. Walker and Dave sit on each end. Neither are talking. And when Dave starts to stand, Walker fires him a look, and he sits back down.

“I think Walker has it under control,” I say.

Nana sighs.

“You know what? I don’t want to hear it,” Machlan says. “You always want to give us advice, which we take and that probably saves our lives. But this is Walker’s way of giving Old Man Dave some advice.”

I snort. “His style is very …”

“Formidable,” Blaire chimes in. “But honestly, Nana. He looks like a nice man. Just be sure that you’re—”

“We’re using protection, thank you,” she says. “This isn’t our first rodeo.”

Blaire’s face drops, and Machlan and I … die.

“Nana. Nana. No,” I say, not sure whether to laugh or gag.

“I’m out.” Machlan shakes his head and goes out the back door.

I pat Nana on the arm as I walk away. “We’ll talk later, Blaire.”

Dylan walks toward me. Her hair was down when we got here, but it’s on the top of her head now. I spread my arms, and she falls into my chest.

I hold her, kissing the top of her head, and consider just standing like this through dinner. We don’t need to eat. Or talk to people. Or do anything but this.

“I love you,” I tell her.

“I love you.”

Sawyer stops beside us. “Hey, Uncle P.”

“Yeah?”

“So Nana has a boyfriend.”

“It looks like it.”

“Does that mean …” He gives me a look like only a son of Vincent could. Raised brows. Shit-eating smile. Naughty look in his eyes.

I laugh. “Ask your dad.”

He pouts. “He won’t give me accurate information. He tells me we’ll talk later. When I have hair on my balls.”

“Oh, my gosh,” I hear Dylan say against my chest.

I try not to laugh and encourage his behavior, but I can’t help it. “Tell you what. We’ll go fishing next week, and I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“Cool.” He bumps my knuckle with his. “Thanks.”

He struts away like he’s the king of the world. I know the feeling. I used to think that too. But now I see the fallacy in it all.

I don’t want to be king of the world. I don’t even care if I’m king of the county—a title I’m fairly certain I kept in some circles for a while. Now, I just want to be the king of Dylan’s heart.

“Dinner is ready,” Mariah shouts.

Everyone files into the dining room and takes their seat at the big, fold-out tables Nana gets out for these things when we are all here. Nana sits at the head, per usual. I sit to her left across from Old Dave. Dylan sits on the other side of me.

I look around the table at my family. This wild, crazy bunch of characters who round out my life. I love them all. Even Walker.

He sits at the foot, opposite Nana. He listens intently as Sienna tells Mariah about her trip to California. Lance and Machlan argue about something that shouldn’t be discussed at Nana’s table, even if they’re using substitute terms for the dirty ones.

Hadley and Dylan chat about making homemade noodles and how to make them not stick to the bottom of Nana’s kettle. Apparently, there’s a mess in the kitchen to be cleaned up after dinner.

Vincent and Sawyer whisper at the other end. I think it’s about me and my offer to go fishing because I get a glare shot my way from my brother.

Blaire and Dave listen as Nana tells a story about their night in the bar, a night that Machlan has made her promise never to repeat. I think she told Machlan that every time he misses church, she’s coming in for a drink. His ass will be in a pew for the rest of his life.

Dylan takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve been thinking,” she says.

“Me too.”

She smiles. “How do you feel about starting a family?”

I think my cock just got hard.

“Are you serious?”

She nods. “I mean, we are doing things in the wrong order—”

“Attention, please,” I say, scooting my chair back.

Everyone stops talking and looks at me. It’s only now that I realize I’ve done it again: talked without thinking it through. Only, this time, I don’t give one fuck.

I look at Sienna. She grins. We discussed this loosely a couple of days ago, and she told me to follow my heart. Well, I’m following that or my cock. Not sure. Except I think they’re sort of one and the same at this point. They both belong to Dylan.

“What are you doing?” Dylan mutters.

I move my seat away from me. And, with a gulp, hope, and a prayer, I drop to one knee.

There are gasps. Someone uses profanity to express their shock. Nana yelps.

And Dylan? She covers her mouth with her hand.

Tears fall down her face as her eyes go wide. “Peck …”

“You make me so happy. And I know I want to marry you one day,” I tell her, taking her hands in mine.

Her lips tremble as she watches me. In awe, I think.

My heart overflows as she squeezes my hands in hers.

“You were right about something,” I say. “You can’t compete with first love. And you are mine. The first woman I’ve ever loved, and you’ll be the last.”

“You’re damn right I will be,” she says.

“I don’t have a ring because I’m unprepared, which I know shocks you. But Sienna told me to follow my heart and that I’d know when the time is right. It’s right.” I clear my throat and ignore the way my heart feels like it’s going to explode. “Dylan Snow, will you marry me?”

“Of course. Yes.”

She launches herself at me, knocking me onto my back. She takes my face in her hands and kisses me.

My cousins go crazy. The girls squeal. The guys chide me and some clap, and Lance yells something lewd that gets him reprimanded by Nana.

It all dissipates into the background as I look in my fiancée’s eyes.

“Wanna skip dinner?” I ask her.

She grins. “That would be rude.”

“It was rude of you to mention having my children when I couldn’t do anything about it.”

She laughs, the sound making me smile.

“I’m not kidding,” I say. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

“Okay.”

I kiss her again before we stand.

“Nana, we’re gonna have to miss this dinner.”

“But Blaire is here,” she says. “And Dave.”

I give Dave a little salute. “Come by and see me at the shop tomorrow, Dave.”

“Will do. Good luck to you, boy. And you,” he says, nodding at Dylan.

I take my girl’s hand and walk around the table. Blaire stands and gives me a hug.

“Be safe,” I tell her.

“I will. It was nice to meet you, Dylan.” She pulls her into a hug too. “If Peck ever gets into trouble, call me. I don’t know if anyone has given you the Gibson Boy protocol yet.”

We all laugh.

With a wave over my shoulder, I head to the back door. Dylan is at my heels when I step outside.

The afternoon is warm, and a breeze ripples through the yard. I stop and stand at the rail.

“I knew then,” I say.

“What? You knew what when?”

I turn and look at her. “The day we were at Nana’s. The day I brought you here for dinner. I knew that day that I loved you.”

She grins.

“Promise me something,” I say.

“Okay.”

“Promise me that you’ll always talk to me. If you feel any sort of way, like you’re overwhelmed or if you’re—”

“Shh.” She touches my lips with her finger. “I’ll follow through right now. I’m feeling a certain way right now.” She taps my lips before pulling her finger back. She leans forward and hovers her lips over mine. “Like I’d really like you to put a baby—ah!”

I pick her up and put her over my shoulder and head to my truck.

“Peck! You’re crazy!”

Damn right, I am. Crazy for you.

The End

Where to go next?

Read on …

More from Adriana Locke

Remember Sienna Landry in Crank? You can meet her family, the Landry Family Series.

Read on for Chapter One in SWAY, available now.

Chapter One

Allison

“This is a single girl’s paradise.”

“No,” I grimace, blotting the spilled cheese sauce from my shirt. “Paradise would be a tropical island with a hot cabana boy at my beck and call ... and an endless supply of mojitos.”

Lola laughs, the sound barely heard over the chaos of the kitchen. Chefs shouting instructions, event planners panicking, plates being dropped—the world of catering is a noisy endeavor.

I step to the side to allow Isaac, a fellow server and Lola’s gorgeous friend with benefits, to scamper to the ballroom a few feet away. He’s tall with a head full of dark curls and a laugh that makes you involuntarily smile. Lola is crazy for keeping him at arm’s length, but that’s how she operates. He has little money; she has limited interest.

“Cabana boys may have hot bodies and virility, Alison, but they lack two very important qualities: fame and fortune.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you’d take a limp dick over a hard one? Interesting,” I say, rolling my eyes and tossing the sauce-soaked rag into the linen bin.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, smart ass. I’m saying I’d take a solid bank account over a solid cock. Think about it—with all that money, he could never fuck me at all and I wouldn’t care.”

“If that’s the case,” I retort, grabbing another tray of drinks, “there are tons of opportunities out there to not get fucked.”

I laugh at the dreamy look on her face, partly because it’s hilarious and partly because I know she’s not kidding.

Lola and I are a lot alike. We both come from meager backgrounds and Luxor Foods is our second job. There’s no doubt we both would rather not be here because serving rich bitches can be a very humbling experience. But they are also the best parties to work because they tip. Very well. Of course it’s so they can feel above us most times, but we’ll take it. It’s money in our pockets, and if they get off on it in the process, good for them.

That being said, Lo took this job to afford her manicures, pedicures, and eyelash extensions. I do it to take care of my son, Huxley. Lola’s first job is working at a salon and her career goals include marrying up in the world. I, on the other hand, work at Hillary’s House restaurant during the day and go to school for journalism in hopes to one day write pieces that might inspire someone.

“Speaking of fucking,” she says, her eyes aglow, “did you see Mayor Landry?”

“I love how you segued into that,” I laugh.

“It’s a linear comparison. Tell me that fucking isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when you think of him, and I’ll call you a liar.”

Of course it’s the truth. It’s the first thing that comes to mind … and maybe the second and third too.

Thoughts of the recently crowned Most Eligible Bachelor make me a swoony mess. Barrett Landry’s thick, sandy brown hair that always looks perfectly coiffed, his broad, friendly smile that makes you feel like you could tell him your darkest secrets without judgment, his tanned skin, tight body, wide shoulders—the list goes on. But it all leads, as Lo so candidly pointed out, to thoughts of him stripped down and wearing only his charismatic grin.

I shiver at the thought.

“See?” she grins, waggling her finger in my face. “Linear comparison.”

“I’ll give you that. He’s so seriously fine.”

“Have you had a chance to get close to him? To breathe him in?”

“Breathe him in?” My laughter catches the attention of our boss, Mr. Pickner. He twists his burly body our way, letting us know we’d better get to work.

“I haven’t,” I say, turning back to Lola. “Even though I’ve been around men like Landry before—well, not quite like him, but as close as a mortal can be—I don’t think I could handle it, Lo. He scrambles my brain. I’d probably fall face first into him and dump the drinks in his lap. Then we’d both be wet.”

She swipes a tray off the table and shoots a wink at Isaac as he walks back in. “It would so be worth it if you played your cards right. You could probably get away with running your hands through his hair and maybe even licking his stubbled jaw. A kiss would probably be over the top, but his Southern roots would keep him from causing a scene and asking for security.”

“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?” I ask in mock horror.

“Of course I have and every other woman in here has too. Hell, half the men probably have,” she giggles. “In my fantasy, he gazes at me with those emerald green eyes and leans in and—”

“Ladies! Back to work!”

We sigh as Mr. Pickner barrels by. He’s an overweight, balding, temperamental asshole of a man, but he owns the premiere catering company in all of Georgia. So we deal. Barely.

Lola bumps me with her hip. “Seriously. Stop being so goody-two-shoes and go out there and snag you a man and a retirement plan.”

I bite my tongue. We’ve had this conversation a number of times before and she just doesn’t get it. I don’t fault her though. Most people don’t. They see the glitz and glamour, the designer labels and fine wine and get drawn in like a Siren’s call. That life looks too good to resist, too good to be true.

The thing is—they’re exactly right. It is.

She reads the look on my face and we start towards the door. “I know, I know. You lived like that once. It’s a fantasy, smoke and mirrors ...”

“Yup.”

“Well, I say I’ll play in the smoke as long as the mirrors make me pretty.”

I snort, pushing open the door to the ballroom. “You go right ahead and dig that gold all the way down the aisle.”

“I’ve got my shovel right here.” She shimmies her backside in my direction. “See that one over there?”

Following her gaze across the room, I see a man I know is one of the Landry brothers. There are four of them and two sisters, twins, if I’m not mistaken. I don’t really follow that kind of thing much, but they’re basically Georgia royalty, and even avoiding current events as I do, you can’t help but pick up on some of their lives. Every newscast, it seems, has something Landry-related even when it’s not election season.

“I’m going to check him out,” Lola says and takes off, leaving me standing with my tray of ridiculously overpriced champagne.

I roam the outer edges of the elegant ballroom, giving a practiced smile to each person that plucks a drink off the tray. Some smile widely, some try to chit-chat, some completely ignore me like they probably do the paid staff at home. It’s fine by me.

A few years ago, I attended events like this. Married to my college sweetheart, a newly minted judge in Albuquerque, we went to balls and galas and swearing-in ceremonies often. It was a magical time in my life, before the magic wore off and everything exploded right in my face.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

I spin to my right to see an older gentleman grinning at me like a snake ready to strike.

“Would you like a drink?” I offer, knowing good and well by the color in his cheeks that he’s already had more than enough.

“No, no, that’s fine. I was actually just admiring you.”

Pasting on a smile and tossing my shoulders back, I try to keep my voice even. “Thank you, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“I was thinking,” he says, cutting me off, “how about you and I take a little stroll? Do you get my drift?”

“With all due respect,” I say through clenched teeth, glancing at the wedding ring sparkling on his finger, “how about you take a stroll with your wife?”

I swivel on my heels and head off as calmly as possible, blood roaring in my ears. I can hear his cackle behind me and I really want to turn around and slam my fist into his beefy face. It’s behavior that’s typical of people like this, thinking they can get away with whatever they want with the bourgeoisie. I just so happen to have an overdeveloped sensitivity to it, being that my husband did the same thing to me as soon as he got a little power.

Lola catches my attention as I pause to settle down. She points discreetly to the other end of the room and mouths, “Over there.” The gleam in her eye tells me she's spotted the mayor, but I can't see him.

I shuffle through the crowd and finally spy the man of the hour walking out, his arm around the waist of a woman that's been acting crazy all night. Her head is leaned on his shoulder, her hand resting on his backside. Laughing, I catch Lola's eye and nod to the exit.

"Bitch," she mouths as she approaches the same man that approached me earlier. I want to warn her, but don’t. For one, I know it won’t do any good, and for two, I can’t take my eyes off Landry.

People literally part for him to walk through. It's like he's Moses. They're more than willing to be led through the Red Sea, divided by his power and influence, and into the Promised Land.

I’m off in space about what precisely that land might entail, when my shoulder is bumped, rustling me out of my Landry-induced haze.

"Excuse me," I say. When I realize who I've just ignored, my cheeks heat in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry," I stutter, handing Camilla Landry, one of the Landry sisters, a glass of champagne.

She’s even more beautiful in person, a textbook example of poise and sophistication. In the media a lot for charity work with her mother, her face is easily identifiable with her high cheekbones and sparkling smile.

"Don't worry about it," she breathes, waving me off. "I can't take my brothers anywhere without women getting all mesmerized. Especially that one," she laughs, nodding to the doorway Barrett just went through. "Although, between me and you, I don't get it."

Her grin is infectious, and I can't help but return it.

"I'm Camilla," she says, extending her long, well-manicured hand like I don’t already know.

I balance the tray on one side and take her hand in mine. "I'm Alison. Alison Baker."

"You helped clean up a sauce spill earlier. You put the lady that had the accident at ease when you took the blame and kept the attention off her. I wanted you to know I saw and respected that."

"It really was no big deal.”

"In this world, everything can be a big deal. Trust me. You probably just saved my brother a couple of votes."

"Just doing my part," I laugh.

She smiles again, her chic sky-blue dress matching her eyes and heels. "Well, on behalf of the mayor, thank you. He seems ... occupied, at the moment."

I wink. "I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn't see a thing."

She nods, looking a touch relieved, and thanks me again before turning away and greeting the older lady from earlier, the one that spilled her dinner all over me. Camilla takes her hand and helps her into a chair.

Her elegance is breathtaking and she has a charm about her, an easiness even though she’s clearly blue-blood, that I’ve never seen before. It’s exactly what the kitchen is buzzing about with Barrett—a charisma you can’t quite put your finger on.

Check out SWAY here now.

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other authors, Adriana created her own.

She resides in the Midwest with her husband, sons, two dogs, two cats, and a bird. She spends a large amount of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. You can find her outside if the weather's nice and there's always a piece of candy in her pocket.

Besides cinnamon gummy bears, boxing, and random quotes, her next favorite thing is chatting with readers. She’d love to hear from you!

www.adrianalocke.com

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