Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

  “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.”