Crazy (The Gibson Boys 4)

How did I not think of that before?

But will he ever trust me? He said that he let others believe what they wanted about his feelings toward Molly because it was easier that way. Easier for his heart in some ways. He never feared that Molly would leave him … because he never really gave her his heart.

Shit.

My heart falls to the floor.

I’m an idiot.

I should call him and am about to when I pause.

He doesn’t need me to check in on him and apologize. He needs me to make the choice to stay. To validate us.

Maybe I need to work out things with my mom first. Navie’s right. I have no clue what my mother or my siblings think about me. I’d already decided. I just didn’t realize it until now. Just as I assume I know what Peck thinks and wants and what my mother thinks. And maybe I’m right. But maybe I’m wrong.

I flip my phone over and hit the button to call the last number in my call log. It rings twice before I hear her voice.

“Hello? Dylan?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“I was wondering when you’d call,” she says. “Did you get my texts?”

“About Koty needing money? Yeah.”

She groans. “I told her you’d send it. Have you?”

“No.”

“Well, we need it, Dylan. Can you send a check or wire it or whatever this week?”

My spirits fall. “I’ll do my best.” It’s probably not worth mentioning that I haven’t had a job for the past two weeks.

“These siblings of yours will be the death of me. I told them the next time they need money, they’re calling you themselves and trying to talk you into it. I’m tired of begging you.”

I start to fire back my standard response—a groan and an excuse to get off the phone. But Navie’s words niggle at my brain, and I take a deep breath instead.

Imagining Mom not seeing me as the fixer of her problems, but being grateful to have me as a resource, I try a different approach.

“How are things with you?” I ask. “Do you need anything?”

She doesn’t answer me for a long moment. So long, in fact, that I pull the phone away to see if she’s still there.

“Do you know how long it’s been since anyone’s asked me that?” she asks.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying a new approach to life tonight. Just testing it out.”

“I … I don’t need anything, Dylan. But thanks for asking.”

The sound of her voice—relief, maybe? Appreciation, possibly?—makes me feel warm. I grin.

“You’re welcome. I need to go though, okay?”

“Sure,” she says. “Just don’t forget that money.”

“Okay. I won’t.” I pause. “Love you, Mom.”

“Yeah. I love you, kiddo.”

The line goes dead.

I sit back down and tuck my phone under the blue pillow. I rest my head against it.

Navie’s words float back through my mind as the stillness of the apartment takes hold. Molly isn’t your competition. You are your competition.

I mull that over, tossing it around and around. Even when I close my eyes, I can’t stop her words from bouncing inside my skull.

If she’s right, I’m not only my own competition, but I’m also my own worst enemy.

I sigh. My entire body hurts. I curl up in a ball on the sofa and try to go to sleep.

Thirty

Peck

“Take it easy,” Walker shouts across the bay. “For fuck’s sake, Peck. You’re gonna tear everything we got up if you don’t stop your bullshit.”

It’s funny that he thinks I care.

I was up all night. I didn’t even go to bed. My linens still smell like oranges, and I just couldn’t handle it. Not without Dylan in bed with me.

It took four hours to decide if I wanted to call her or not. I mean, I wanted to call her. Hell, I wanted to go find her and bring her home with me. But she left. She wanted to. I begged her to stay, and she didn’t. But I called her because I’m a fucking idiot, and her phone went straight to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message because I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t want to be a stuttering fool—more of a fool than I already am.

“You’re lucky I’m even here today,” I bark.

I take a hammer and whack the rim in front of me.

“I’m lucky?” Walker yells over my second strike of the hammer.

“Yeah.”

His laugh is more of a rumble than anything. It means one thing—he’s pissed. Well, good, motherfucker, because I’m pissed too.

Walker throws down the cutting torch in his hand and stalks across the shop. I consider that maybe this is the universe’s way of taking care of my problems.

Death by Walker Gibson.

I hit the rim for the third time.

There are worse ways to go. At least that would let me go out with a little dignity.

I miss her. Fucking hell, I miss her. I’m so helpless to fix this, and the knowledge of that binds me up. I feel like I can’t move. I can’t go. I can’t think or process or figure a way out of this maze.