Crave: The Gibson Boys, Book #3

by Locke, Adriana

  “I’m not a parent,” I tell her. “I couldn’t do it.”

  “You don’t love that baby? Right now, your heart isn’t full of love for that child?”

  I look at the ground, fighting the bubble of emotion from spilling in the room. “Of course,” I say, sounding hoarse. “Of course I love her.”

  “That’s what makes you a parent, Machlan. Your love for that child. A girl?”

  I nod.

  “I bet she was beautiful,” she says, wistfully. “I want you to know something. You didn’t think of yourself. You didn’t take the easy road out. You put that child and what was best for her over everything else and that’s commendable.”

  “It feels like the easy way out sometimes,” I admit.

  “Easy? I beg to differ, sweetheart. Most people couldn’t do what you and Hadley did. You two loved that baby more than you loved yourselves. A lot of people would’ve kept the child out of pride or some sense of obligation. You made a very grown-up decision at a time when you weren’t one.”

  Something stirs deep inside my gut, maybe even my soul, as I sit on that plastic hospital chair.

  “Where’s Hadley now?” Nana asks.

  I shake my head.

  “I see. You need to fix that,” she says.

  “What if I can’t?”

  “You have to. You want to know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ll never look at another woman like you do her. You look at her like your granddad looked at me. Like Walker looks at Sienna. Like Peck looks at a cheeseball.”

  I laugh softly, before feeling the heaviness of this again. I look at my grandmother. “She told me not to call her.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure she did because she’s stopped expecting anything different out of you. When’s the last time you went after her?”

  I shrug, avoiding her gaze.

  “She won’t come back this time, honey, unless you go get her. She’s not a little girl anymore. She’s smart as a whip. Strong. A beautiful woman and if you don’t give her something to believe in, she’ll stop trying to believe in anything at all.”

  I pull my hand away. “I don’t think she’ll talk to me.”

  “On the phone, probably not. And if you let her leave, she shouldn’t answer it.” She tries to point her finger at me, but the cords stop it. “Go to her. Now. What time is it?”

  “It’s late,” I say. Even as I say it, I’m math-ing how much time it would take to get to Vigo and what my odds are that she’ll call the police. “What if she makes me leave?”

  “Play it by ear. But if you don’t go, it’ll be the first time in your life you’ve disappointed me.”

  There are so many more things I want to say. Things I want to ask. Things I want to get to the bottom of. But as I look at her and see the sparkle in her eye, I realize she needs this with Hadley as much as I do.

  Or close.

  “Nana,” I say, leaning over the bedside rail. “I gotta go.”

  I kiss her cheek. She cups the side of my face and pats it gently.

  “Tell her how much you love her,” Nana advises. “Give it all you’ve got. This is your chance. You might not get another one.”

  “I love you,” I tell her. “I love you so goddamn much.”

  She looks at the ceiling as a machine starts beeping. “Get out of here before you give me another heart attack with that mouth.”

  I walk backward toward the door. “Not cool, Nana. Not cool.”

  “Go.” She chuckles, shooing me out.

  Peck is at the doorway when I turn around. “Go. I got this under control.”

  “I owe you one.”

  “Just wipe my tab.” He laughs. “Now get to Hadley before Logan does.” He holds his hands up. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.”

  I’m not.

  With a spark in my step, I jog down the hall and through the double doors.

  Thirty-Six

  Hadley

  The paragraph starts to blur. Instead of putting the reading device down and turning off the light to try to sleep, I yawn.

  Sleep is unattainable. My body refuses to rest, and my brain certainly won’t shut off.

  I try to re-read the chapter I’ve been on for over an hour, but it still doesn’t make sense. I don’t know what’s not to understand about a couple having dinner and falling in love, but it’s not landing.

  Laying the device against my chest, the screen warm against my T-shirt, I close my eyes.

  Machlan’s smiling face is what I see, the default go-to of my tired brain. There were so many new experiences today at work that I should be focusing on. That I should want to focus on. This is what I’ve wanted—to start fresh.

  But I’m not. I still see him.

  I wonder how long it’ll take to stop thinking of him every ten seconds. How long does it take to stop a habit you’ve had for most of your life? Probably longer than two days. Maybe even two years. But at least there’s an end in sight.

  When I open my eyes, only a minute has passed.

  Ripping off the blankets, I swing over the side, and my feet hit the carpeted floor. I pad through the bedroom into the darkened living room. I pause at a window and peer into the starless night sky.

  Somewhere out there is Machlan. And with him is a piece of my heart I’ll never get back. I don’t even want it back. I gave it to him willingly. It belongs with him. I just have to figure out how to live without a whole heart.

  “Stop it,” I chastise myself.

  I step into the kitchen and flip on the light. I’m reminded of the night making grilled cheese with Mach and how he cut them into four little squares like a madman instead of in half diagonally. I can’t fight the grin that comes with the memory or the way my heart feels like it bleeds a little.

  As I turn to open the fridge, a thud rumbles through the air. It’s a low-frequency sound. I almost feel it more than I hear it. My hand freezes midair as I listen.

  A neighbor’s dog barks, and I’m suddenly hyper-alert. Something jingles. Shoes scrape against the concrete porch. What has to be a flower pot falling from its perch on the little stand by the front door rings out like a bell.

  “Oh, my God,” I mutter.

  I look through the dark living room to my bedroom. My phone is on my bedside table. My heart pounds in my chest, my breathing so quick I’m afraid whoever is lurking around can hear it.

  I tiptoe to the doorway. The darkness of the living room sets off a shot of panic as I suddenly feel exposed. It’s common knowledge if you stand in the light and someone else is standing in the dark, they can see you, but you can’t see them.

  I flick the light off.

  The only light now comes from the little piece of glass at the top of the front door to my right. It’s an orange glow from the streetlight outside. The trees move, casting shadows through the foyer, and I tell myself not to panic. Panicked women die. I also remember vaguely to scream fire and not help because no one will help unless it’s a fire. I read that somewhere once.

  As soon as my foot hits the floor of the living room, a soft knock raps against the front door. I dash into my bedroom and leap from the doorway onto the bed as if it’s a safe zone of some kind.

  My heart pounds, white noise rushing by my ears. My body trembles as if I’m cold as I grab my phone off the nightstand. My finger goes to the emergency call when I look at the locked screen.

  Machlan:Hey. If you’re awake, will you let me in?

  Another knock rolls through the house.

  My stomach flips.

  I can’t breathe.

  Maybe I read that wrong.

  Machlan:It’s me. I’m at your front door.

  Tears well despite my best efforts tonight to rein them in.

  I want to run to the door and rip it open because he came. But, then again, I want to tell him to fuck off and stop this madness.

  I can’t do that. Even I know that.

  Machlan:Please let me in, Had.

  Ther
e’s no way this is real.

  I pinch a piece of flesh on the inside of my thigh. “Shit!” I hiss, shaking my leg.

  Machlan:Please.

  I climb off the bed. My phone still tucked in my hand, my legs wobbling beneath me, I walk through the house.

  An eerie silence settles over me. I don’t check my ponytail or look in the mirror for any sleep in my eyes. I just flip on the light in the foyer.

  Everything stills inside my body. My hand completely level as I reach for the handle.

  “Who is it?” I say, just in case.

  “Machlan.”

  His voice hits me right in the heart. I look at the ceiling as I open the door and will myself to stay strong. When I look down at him, I almost break.

  Dark circles make his brown eyes look hollow. His bottom lip is cracked, and a slight bruise sits on top of his cheekbone on the right side. His hair sticks out everywhere, a hat not to be found.

  He tries to smile, but it’s like he doesn’t have the energy for it. “You have other guys coming by this time of night?”

  It’s an ode to a few days ago when he would come to the apartment above Crave and give me hell. It seems like ages ago.

  “What do you want, Mach?”

  “Can I come in?”

  I lean against the door. It’s not a quick drive here, and it’s almost three in the morning. It would be rude not to invite him in, but if I do, I’m just screwing myself.

  “Why are you here?” I ask. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “I needed to see you.”

  My heart skips a beat. “You could’ve called.”

  “I did.” His smile fades. “You told me not to call you back.”

  “And that made you think it was okay to show up?”

  My hands itch to reach for him, my arms begging to hold him. He looks so tired, so sad, that all I want to do is make him feel better. But if I do that, who is going to put me back together?

  I’ll just be sucked into a never-ending cycle, and I’m too tired for it. I can’t anymore.

  “I’ve had a long day,” he says, his voice gruff. He runs his hands down his face, blowing out a breath. When he looks at me again, he’s resolved. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I ask.

  “Where do I start?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the one that showed up here.” The longer I look at him, the quicker my determination to keep him away melts.

  His stomach growls. He frowns. “As I said, it’s been a long night.”

  The neighbor’s dog starts barking again, and a light comes on in the house beside me. As much as I know I shouldn’t I give in, I can’t screw up everyone’s night because of this.

  “Fine. Come in.” I pull open the door and step to the side. Before he can reach for me, which I’m fairly certain he’s about to do, I head to the kitchen and flip on a light.

  He sits at the table without being asked. His clothes are wrinkled, his shoulders sagging. He looks like hell.

  I grab a couple of pieces of pizza from the fridge, pop them on a paper plate, and shove them in the microwave. “What’s going on? I have to work in the morning,” I say.

  He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “There’s something I’ve never said to you that I need to say.”

  The microwave buzzes. I take out the plate and hand it to him. He sits it on the table without even looking at it.

  “I don’t want to be nice to you,” I say. “I just can’t take people being hungry.”

  He searches my eyes. A small smile touches his slightly swollen lips. “I love you, Hadley.”

  My insides shake as I stare at him. “No, Mach. Don’t do this,” I say, backing away. “Please, don’t do this.”

  Tears fill my eyes—years’ worth of emotions springing forward. He’s a blur in front of me. An unmoving, quiet mess of a vision that I can’t deal with right now.

  “I’m going to bed,” I say. “Let yourself out.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  I look at the ceiling as the tears drip down my face. “Why do you do this to me? Why can’t you just let me be?”

  “You want to know why? I’ll tell you why.” He walks across the room until he’s in front of me. “I might’ve thought I fought for you our whole life. Hell, I got into two fights a couple of days ago over you. Both of them,” he says, his voice rushed. “But I was wrong, Had.”

  I look into his face—his handsome, grief-stricken face. My distrust of him is at odds with the earnestness of his voice. I want to believe him. It would be so easy to. And really, he probably means it. But will he mean it tomorrow? Or the day after that? And the day after that?

  It takes everything I have to tell him to go. “I need you to leave.”

  “No. I’m fighting for us now,” he says, resting his hand on my arm.

  “I’ve fought for you over and over, and you push me away every time.”

  He nods. “I know. I’m a fucking idiot.”

  “Mach …” My voice is full of tears, both shed and unshed. I don’t even try to stop them because it would be futile.

  “When I look at you, I don’t just see the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I see the next sixty years of my life.”

  My breathing hiccups as I try to keep my emotions contained. They spill over my walls like a tropical storm that hits out of nowhere.

  My heart breaks from the pain in his face and the loneliness in mine. But if I fix one, it’ll only exacerbate the other. If I hold him, it’ll hurt that much more tomorrow when he leaves. And if I make him leave, it’ll add more pain to him tonight.

  For the first time in my life, since the day he walked in while I was sorting clothes, I pick me.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come to this realization, but it’s too late,” I say, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

  “It’s never too late.”

  “Why is this supposed to matter to me now?” I ask, feeling engulfed in a situation I couldn’t manage before. “What caused this change of heart?”

  A sadness drifts across his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, it does. Because all of a sudden I’m going to be okay and here you are.” I shake my head. “I’m out. I’ve tried. I’ve fought for you until I can’t fight anymore. I don’t want to.”

  “Give me one more chance,” he says.

  “Why? What will be so different this time?” I throw up my hands. “You’re only here because I stopped chasing you. You knew I was serious, so you had to run me down and keep me in the loop.”

  “You seriously think that?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, my anger getting the best of me. “What will stop you from not telling me about things you tell Navie about? Because you told her about Spencer before you told me, didn’t you?”

  His face falls.

  I laugh at how betrayed I feel. “Just go.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  I’m too tired to fight. Too broken to argue. I have to work in a few hours, and I’ll be damned if he’s going to ruin that too.

  I turn around and head to my bedroom. “If you need to sleep, do it on the sofa. But be gone before I get up.”

  There’s no way I can look at him. So I don’t.

  Leaving him standing in the middle of the living room, I take my tear-stricken face into my room, close the door, and lock it. I climb into bed, pull the covers up, and cry myself to sleep.

  Thirty-Seven

  Machlan

  I haven’t moved.

  The sun started to come up a half hour ago, filling the little living room with a subdued light. It’s a cloudy day from the looks of it, and that’s fitting.

  Her things are scattered around, many of them things I can place. I know where she got the little picture frame that holds a picture of her and Cross on the mantle, and the vase sitting on the little shelf was a Water Festival purchase the year we had our daughter.

  I’ve mostly stared at her bedroom door
all night and told myself I can’t go in there. I can’t bust it down even though I could with probably nothing more than a hard hit of my shoulder. I don’t even get up to find the bathroom in case she comes out. I want her to see I’m still here when she does.

  I’ll be here forever.

  Peck has sent me a few texts, letting me know Nana will have more tests today. She fell asleep right after I left, and he sent a few pictures of himself in the waiting room in various precarious positions. It helped what was left of the night pass.

  Blowing out a breath, I fight to stay awake. I’m drained. Utterly and completely drained. It would be easy to rest my head against the sequined pillow that spells Hello when you run your hand over it and fall asleep.

  But I don’t.

  A soft rummaging comes from the other side of the six-paneled door. My phone chirps and my attention is pulled between it and Hadley’s room.

  Taking it out of my pocket, I see a text from Peck.

  Peck:All good here. Lance got here first thing with Blaire. You sure she isn’t a doctor?

  Me:Tell her not to piss anyone off until I get there.

  Peck:Too late. LOL

  I laugh, shaking my head.

  Me:I’ll be there as soon as I can. Keep me posted.

  “What’s so funny?” Hadley asks.

  My head snaps up. I get to my feet like a stumbling idiot.

  She looks beautiful with her sleepy eyes and messy hair, despite the glare she’s shooting my way. It’s a good thing I see through it.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  “Why are you still here?”

  “I told you I wasn’t leaving.” I shrug.

  She breezes by me. “I have to work today. Please don’t fuck up my head and cost me my job.”

  I stifle my usual reaction of saying something asshole-ish. She’s going to do what she wants. I might as well get used to this since I’m in it for the long haul.

  “Go to work,” I say, following her. “I’ll be here when you get back.”