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 marri
ed,” 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 pur
se 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.”
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