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. “Y
ou 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.”
Gibson Boys Box Set Page 89