“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 married,” 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 in 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. Th
e 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 purse 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 up, 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.”
We walk through the store, holding up various garments for consideration. I’ve already looked at most of the things in the little shop—the only thing that resembles a department store in Merom. Linton had nothing. Not even a store where everything is a dollar.
Navie slurps the rest of her coffee. The straw sucks air, sending an obnoxious sound through the store that gets her a side-eye from the cashier.
“Can you stop it?” I ask her. “You’re going to get us thrown out of here, and I’m not done shopping yet.”
She tosses it in a trash can. “Are we just looking at clothes for the bank, or we looking for … other things.” She stops in the middle of the walkway and grins.
“Just work,” I say carefully. “I don’t like that look on your face.”
“Ha.” She spins around and grabs a light pink negligee. It hangs from her finger like it’s made of spun gold.
The garment is beautiful. The fabric begs you to touch it while the lace lining the top and bottom teases you to touch what would be underneath.
My eyes flick to hers. “Navie …” I warn.
“What? You’d look awesome in this.”
“Don’t what me. I know what you’re implying.”
And that implication has my body humming. Dim lights, candles flickering, Peck’s eyes filled with unbridled passion …. I shiver.
“Um, I’m not the one who started this,” she says. “You were implying a whole hell of a lot when you were dry humping him on the bar.”
“I was not.” My face burns. “We were dancing.”
“It’s a choice of words.”
“The correct choice,” I say. I take the item away from her and put it back. “Don’t start this.”
When I turn around, Navie is watching me with a hand on her hip.
“Don’t regret that,” she says.
I walk away from her toward the perfume counter because it’s the farthest thing from her at the moment. My mind ponders her request.
Don’t regret that.
Do I?
The back of my brain says I do. It says things are going to get weird between Peck and me. And being that the more I see of him, the more I like him means that I’ll probably be packing myself up and out of there. Maybe even with a broken heart.
But my heart has things to say of its own. It doesn’t take being shattered into consideration. It’s contemplating lazy Sunday afternoons watching football and arguments over who is making dinner—things that I’ve never really wanted before, and things I have no business wanting now. Not with him, anyway.
The push and pull ripped at me all night after Peck left my room. It was present through my shower this morning, all during breakfast, and accompanied me here.
I’m a mess.
“Does that frown mean nothing happened when you got home last night?” Navie asks. “If you say yes, I’m going to be so disappointed.”
I frown deeper.
Her face falls in a dramatic fashion. “No, Dylan.”
“We … talked,” I say. “It was fine.”
I turn my attention to the sample perfume bottles. Suddenly, I’m very interested in the smell of sunflowers.
Navie leans her back against the glass counter. “You talked. After that?”
“Yes. Because we’re adults, and adults talk. I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of it.”
“I’m not. I just expected …” She wiggles her brows. “You know. A little more of what I saw at the bar with a lot fewer clothes.” She waits for me to respond. When I don’t, she sighs. “Talk to me.”
“I thought talking disappointed you.”
I walk over to a settee next to an ad for handbags and take a seat. Navie wastes no time plopping down next to me.
Setting my potential purchases next to me, I ignore my friend for a moment. This conversation is not going where she thinks it is, and a part of me is a little embarrassed by that. She thinks I’m going to tell her that Peck and I talked about dancing together or … anything to do with us.
“We talked about Molly,” I say without looking at her.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope.” I twist my lips together and peer at her. “It’s just as well. I mean, she’s the elephant in the room with him, right?”
Navie rolls
her eyes. “So what did he say? And if you tell me he said he loves her and all that shit, I’ll go kill him right now.”
“Not exactly.”
“Not good enough.” She starts to stand. “He’s dead.”
“Navie, stop,” I say, laughing.
“Why would he talk about Molly McCarter when he’s got you with him? Alone. In his house?” She shakes her head. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s my fault. I brought her up.”
Navie blinks. “Why?”
“She came up to us before I left the bar, and … it was a painful interaction. She’s … a lot.”
“She’s a whore.”
I focus on the lines in the tile on the floor.
She might be right. I don’t know Molly well enough to know if that’s true. But when I open my mouth to say something negative about her, I hear Peck’s voice telling me Molly’s history in the soft sensitivity he used last night. And I can’t do it.
Maybe I can’t do it because it feels like a betrayal to Peck and his opening up to me. And maybe I can’t because I kind of feel bad for her. Either way, I can’t.
“I don’t know what she is,” I say. “But Peck likes her, and that’s that.”
“I’ve never been fully convinced he actually does like her. For the record.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure he does.” I look up at Navie. “At least in certain ways. I don’t know. I just know I don’t need that negligee tonight. Or ever.”
My spirits sink as I speak the truth. Because it’s the truth.
“You don’t know that,” Navie insists. “Maybe seeing you in that would break the Molly spell.”
I lift the shirts I’m going to buy and lay them on my lap.
As Navie said, I was alone with Peck in his house with no other distractions. Except that’s not true. Because even though he clarified why Molly means so much to him, it didn’t mean her presence disappeared.
It’s so much a part of him. She’s so much a part of him. He could’ve kissed me. I wanted that kiss. But it’s not mine and probably never will be. And I can’t fault Peck for that. In fact, that loyalty, that … honor, it makes me like him even more.
Crazy: Gibson Boys Book #4 Page 14