Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

“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 f
eel 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.