I think about waddling into that little store and watching Machlan choose a blanket as though it was the most important purchase he’d ever make. How he woke up that morning in the dingy little motel and this was the only thing he wanted to do—buy the baby a blanket.
His cheek lays on the top of my head, and I’m not sure if he’s holding me or I’m holding him. My own trembling makes it hard to tell if it’s all me or if some of it is coming from him too. Either way, as deeply as it hurts, it feels better to know I’m not hurting alone.
It’s only when I’ve thoroughly soaked his shirt and my chest stops vibrating and my tears turn into whimpers does he loosen his grip. He plants a kiss to the top of my head that I think I’m not supposed to feel before he lets me go.
“Sorry,” I mumble, stepping back. I dab my eyes with the corner of my damp shirt. “I didn’t mean to break down on you like that.”
He brushes a lock of hair that’s matted to my cheek off my face. His thumb glides over my skin, his palm cupping my cheek before he withdraws it. “Do you think about her a lot?”
“I think about her every day,” I whisper. “I wonder if she still has your dark hair and my eyes.”
“I wonder if she still has my mom’s widow’s peak.” He runs a hand over his face, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “She had two crowns at the top of her little head. Remember that? And the lines on her left hand ran together instead of splitting into two.”
I purse my lips so I don’t cry. “Yeah.”
“Damn it, Had. I’m sorry.” He looks away, gulping. “I’m so damn sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” My heart breaks in two. The pain of watching him replay that day hurts as much as replaying it myself.
He walks in a circle, shaking his head. His hands go to his hair, and he yanks on the tresses, pulling the locks in a display of utter frustration.
“Machlan. Stop it,” I beg.
Much to my surprise, he does. He stops.
“You know what I do first thing every morning?” he asks. “Before I get out of bed or take a leak or make coffee? I think about her. Every fucking morning. Then I think about you. And I think about how everything could’ve been different if I’d had my shit together.”
“Machlan—”
“Then I say a prayer,” he says, ignoring me. “I ask God to watch over her and keep her safe and to let her always feel how much we love her, you know?” He turns to me completely, and the look in his eye—completely and utterly raw—almost breaks me. “Then I pray for you. That you have a life you deserve and that, somehow, by the grace of God, everyone can forgive me for being such a massive fuckup.”
“Machlan—”
“Don’t even,” he warns, shaking his head.
“Don’t even what?” I cry. My eyes are wet with tears as I watch the man who did the best he could in that situation blame himself. Doesn’t he understand how I would’ve fallen apart without him? How him never leaving my side from the moment I told him I was pregnant until we laid our precious girl in another set of arms meant everything to me? How he held me when I broke down and gave me the courage to go on? Doesn’t he understand any of that?
“Don’t even try to act like you can forgive me,” he warns.
“We made that decision together,” I remind him. “I was eighteen. You were almost twenty. Neither of us had parents. Neither of us had a plan on what to do. We didn’t have any money. Your inheritance didn’t get released for a couple of more years. Don’t you remember that?”
“I’ll tell you what I remember. I remember loading up my truck and lying to everyone, telling them I got a job in Ohio and we’d be gone a few months. And then getting there and trying to find a place to stay and trying to see how we felt about everything and me getting two jobs in the first six, seven weeks and getting fired because I couldn’t manage my fucking temper.”
“You were a kid,” I say. “I was too. Which is why we weren’t ready to have one of our own.”
He bites his lip, unable to stay still. He paces around the hilltop, jamming his hands in his pockets and then pulling them back out. His eyes darting at everything but me.
I wish I could help him understand this from my point of view. But I know if I get too close right now, he’ll push me away.
Finally, he stops moving. “I’m sorry for doing that to you. I’ll never forgive myself for putting you in a position to have to give up the baby.”
“I didn’t have to do anything. But it was the right choice at the time, and I don’t regret it,” I say. Guilt rears its ugly head because, despite knowing it was absolutely the right choice, a part of me will always feel like I failed her. “It’s not easy to say that, but I don’t. I’ll never forgot the look in those people’s eyes when they came into that room to get her …”
My head bows as the tears come again. They don’t roll down and hit my shirt. They roll down and hit Machlan’s.
I’m pressed to him again, my cheek against his chest. My arms around his waist and his around mine. I don’t sob this time. It’s a quiet cry that comes from a different place inside my heart.
“Do you think she’ll find us one day?” I ask.
“Do you hope she does?” He rests his chin on the top of my head as I burrow into him deeper. “Sometimes I do. I want to see her face and hear her voice and see if she laughs like you or me.”
“Sometimes you don’t?” My brow pulls together.
“That’s a trick question.”
“How do you figure?”
He adjusts his arms around me. “That was the hardest day of my life.” His voice cracks, but he forces on. “As a man, as a father,” he says, tripping over the word, “I failed. I had this little version of the two of us in my arms and the best way I could protect her was to put her in another man’s …”
The tremble doesn’t come from me this time. He sniffles, clutching me for dear life.
Making it a point not to look at him, to give him space, I just hold him. “That’s how she’ll know we loved her,” I tell him quietly. “We loved her so much we made the hardest choice anyone can ever make.”
Tears run down my face. Machlan lets go with one hand to wipe his eyes.
“You didn’t walk away from me when I told you I was having a baby,” I say softly. “You didn’t pressure me to do one thing or the other.” I pull him tighter to me. “You held me when I needed held and pushed me when I needed pushed. You did the best you could, and that’s all anyone can do, Mach.”
“Sometimes I think about saying fuck it,” he says, sniffling again. “I think about saying to hell with it all and just selling everything and being done.”
“Why?” Leaning back, my fists still wrapped in his flannel, I take in his puffy eyes. “Why would you do that?”
He smiles sadly. “Because my chance is over.”
“It’s not. How can you say that?”
“What am I supposed to do, Had? Live some great life and have our daughter come back someday and be like, ‘Oh, glad you missed me’?”
“You think she expects us to have shitty lives because we couldn’t take care of her? She might be half you and as hardheaded as an ox, but she’s half me too, so she’s logical.”
The flicker at the sides of his lips raises my spirits some.
“I write her letters sometimes,” I tell him. “I tell her about how much we love her and how we’ve tried to build our lives, and we think about her all the time.”
“You tell her about me?”
“Of course.” I grin against his chest as he pulls me back into him again. “I pretend she’s an adult, and I’m giving her a peek into our life as the years go by. Maybe it’ll help her understand if she ever does come find us.”
“How do you explain us?”
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat of the emotion rising again. “I tell her the truth, without adding in how much of an asshole you can be.”
He laughs. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.�
�� I want to pull away, to see his face, but there’s no way I can remove myself from his arms. “I tell her what I know—that you’re running a business. That you’re the silent force behind your family.”
“I’m the what?” He chuckles. “Silent force?”
“You are. You check on Nana. You keep Walker and Lance straight. You send Blaire flowers on every holiday because you know your father would’ve and you don’t want her to miss out.” My voice breaks. “As much as you hate to admit it, you’re there for Peck. You always have my brother’s back.”
I look up. All I can see is his profile as he gazes into the tree line. A soft smile he doesn’t know I can see plays on his lips.
“It’s true,” I say softly. “I know you think you’re a mess, and you are a lot of times, but there’s a lot of good in you, Machlan.”
He looks down and catches me watching. Rolling his eyes, he playfully shrugs me off him.
I laugh with a shrug of my own. “Anyway, that’s what I tell her in the letters.”
“Thank you for that,” he says, the easiness of the moment lost to a somberness only he and I could understand. “That’s really nice of you.”
“Well, you never know what could go in a future note,” I say, turning toward the truck.
I don’t get far. He spins me around. When I stop, I’m facing a Machlan I’ve never seen before.
There’s a levity in his features, a lightness in his eyes that seems to expand from somewhere inside him. The lines around his eyes that sort of disappear in the hazy afternoon. A dimple settles in his cheek as he narrows his eyes.
“I still don’t want to be your friend,” he says. “But I want to be something.”
“Like what?” I ask even though I’m almost too afraid to. My hopes go higher than they should, high enough that I can’t bring them back down.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just don’t want you to write me off or force yourself to pretend you’re in love with some joke of a guy just so you can cram me in some category and move on.”
I like this. I like it a lot.
A thousand pounds lighter, I smile the purest, realest smile his way. “Let’s just take the pressure off and figure out how to co-exist in whatever way that organically means. Deal?”
“Deal,” he says.
I extend a hand to shake. Instead of taking it, he slaps me on the ass, making me yelp, as he walks around me toward the truck.
“Hey, now,” I say, shaking a finger his way. “There won’t be any of that.”
“Just testing the waters, seeing what feels right.”
I climb in the truck and the engine roars to life. “That did not feel right.”
He pops it into drive but keeps his foot on the brake. “I beg to differ.” He revs the engine again. “Everything about that felt absolutely right.”
Before I can respond, before I can stop my heart from leaping out of my chest, he slams on the gas and throws me back in my seat.
Seventeen
Machlan
“Here you go,” I say, sliding the truck up against the sidewalk.
Hadley lifts the bag from Peaches onto her lap. She grabs the door handle but doesn’t pull the lever. Instead, she looks at me over her shoulder.
There’s usually a spark of fire there, either from being extremely annoyed or from an anger that’s burned hot for years. I’ll take what I see now over that.
A level of apprehension is evident. She doesn’t quite trust that I’m not going to say something ridiculous and piss her off. She’s right not to. But over top of that unease is a comfort that I would give my life to keep there.
The first time I saw this girl, sitting on the floor in Cross’s living room folding laundry, I knew I had just encountered someone my life would be twisted with forever. I was fifteen and couldn’t explain it. She was so pretty, so sweet, and her laughter was the last thing I heard going to sleep almost every night after that. But it was her strength, her refusal to put up with her brother’s shit or my smartass remarks, that really got me.
She never lost those things—she’s as beautiful, witty, and kind as ever. But she was missing that air about her that I love, that I stole. Seeing it now, even vaguely, I feel like I can breathe again.
The bag ruffles in her fingers. “I just wanna say one more thing.”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
The look in her eyes tells me it’s not for picking her up or buying her lunch.
“You’re welcome.”
She nods, biting her lip, and pulls on the handle.
“Hey, Had?”
“Yeah?” she asks. One leg dangles from the truck as she stills.
“Thank you too.”
She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look my way, but she doesn’t have to. I get everything I need from how she rebounds when her feet hit the ground.
I watch her walk to the stairs and make it to the top. She sticks a key in the lock but stops short of going inside. Instead, she pivots slowly and looks at the truck. After a little wave, she disappears into the apartment.
It takes a lot of energy to put the truck in drive and pull away.
I take the corner around Crave and coast down Beecher Street, my thoughts still on Bluebird Hill. Normally when I let my brain wander and it unsurprisingly lands on Hadley, I end up breaking something or wanting to. Today, not so much. I almost feel … at peace.
The only thing I’ve ever really wanted out of life was Hadley. No matter how much I tell myself I’m wrong for her even though she’s perfect for me, or that I could fill her spot in with another face, I can’t. It was laughable when I tried.
Living in my skin has been a complicated adventure. The only thing I’ve learned so far in my life is this: my best usually isn’t good enough. I don’t know what all that says about me, but it’s true. I’m a guy without a real career, without a real care to have one. I’ve botched every important moment in my life, and I can’t ask for any favors, and I shouldn’t be trusted with any either.
My wipers switch on as it begins to sprinkle again. Crank is on my right. Walker and Peck are in the side lot, inspecting a piece of farm equipment. I throw the transmission in neutral and rev the engine. My brother flips me off.
With a chuckle, I hit the button on my steering wheel to pick up an incoming call.
“Hey, Blaire,” I say.
“Am I on speaker?”
“Why? You have something juicy to tell me?”
“No, asshole. I just like to understand the audience before I speak.”
I roll to a stop sign and wave a truck hauling logs through. “You’re such a lawyer, you know that?”
“Are you avoiding my question for a reason?”
Hitting the gas, I laugh. “I’m alone. Just heading home for a few before I go to work.”
“Where have you been?”
“Why?”
I get situated in my seat, resting my elbow on the door. Swiping at my bottom lip with my thumb, I find myself doing something I don’t do a lot—grin for no reason.
“I was just curious,” she says. “Don’t answer if you don’t want, especially if you were doing something with Cross that’s going to result in a call later asking how to deal with a situation.”
“Oh, come on. When’s the last time that actually happened?”
She laughs. “Let’s think. I believe it was when Peck ‘borrowed’ the tractor from an unsuspecting farmer.”
“But that had nothing to do with me.” I laugh, shaking my head, as I pull into my driveway. “That’s all Peck.”
“Um, if I remember correctly—”
“You’re a lawyer. You remember whatever version of events best fits your argument.” I flip the engine off. “What are you doing today?”
“Working. Although I’m considering leaving for lunch today.”
“Wow. Living on the wild side.”
“Shut it,” she says. “It’s hard to get out once you’re here.”
; “And to think you spent all that money on a degree to do that.”
“Hang on a sec.”
She sticks me on hold. I grab my phone and get out of the truck. The mist is thick. You can see the water droplets falling lazily to the ground.
These are my favorite days. They remind me of when I was young and Mom would open all the windows and cook something amazing. Dad would come get me and make me go to the garage to work on something. I’d bitch and moan at first, but by the time Mom called us in for dinner, I wouldn’t mind the day so much.
I kick a rock off the driveway as Blaire comes back to the line.
“Sorry,” she says. “Promise me something.”
“What’s that?”
“Never be the guy who gets married and becomes useless.” She sighs. “A partner in the firm got married a few months ago, and it’s starting to ruin my life.”
“Bruce? Isn’t he like sixty?”
“Fifty-two, but that’s not the point. The point is he’s had this amazing career, he’s one of the smartest men I know, and he gets married, and then all of a sudden, he’s worthless. I just had to remind him that he doesn’t pay my bills or sleep in my bed. He needs to direct his inquiries elsewhere.”
Bursting out laughing, I lean against the truck. “It’s amazing you have any friends at all.”
“Who said I have friends?” She laughs. “I am calling my baby brother, after all.”
“I’m the last resort, huh?”
“I wouldn’t say that. You’re just the only one I call for reasons other than to make sure they’re alive.”
“Reasons like …?” I prod.
The line goes quiet. Then she sighs. Then she clicks on her keyboard.
“Hey, Blaire.”
“Yeah?”
“I actually have shit to do today.”
“Sorry,” she groans. “I just … You know the guy I was telling you about?”
I start to answer her seriously. I should answer her seriously. Blaire doesn’t talk about men—not to me, not to my brothers, not to anyone. If she dates at all, it’s news to me. But hearing her all tripped up over this guy she met while on a vacation my brothers and I made her take in Savannah a few weeks ago has been nothing short of hysterical.
Crave: The Gibson Boys, Book #3 Page 13