“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 knowi
ng 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.
Gibson Boys Box Set Page 92