Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

I chuckle. “Of course, I remember. He’s the only guy I think you’ve ever mentioned. I was starting to think you were batting for the other team.”

“You know what? You’re a jerk.”

“Anyway …”

“Anyway,” she goes on. “He wants me to come down for a long weekend again.”

“And …?”

She groans. “Do I go?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“I mean, if I go, does that mean something?”

“Yeah,” I deadpan. “It means you want to be fucked.”

“Machlan!”

“What? You asked.”

She groans again, but there’s a little chuckle laced in there that makes me smile. Blaire doesn’t lighten up much. Everything is cut and dry with her. Right or wrong. Clean or dirty. She doesn’t have fun like Walker. She doesn’t do relationships like Lance. And she doesn’t blow smoke up people’s asses like I do. So to hear her all fucked up over a guy is pretty fantastic.

“Well,” she says, “I kind of do.”

“Blaire!”

“What?” If Blaire was capable of giggling like a normal girl, this would be a giggle. “It’s been a while.”

I shove off the truck. “I don’t want to hear about your sex life.”

“Good because it would be a boring story. I’m not like you guys.”

“I love how you think I’m some kind of whore.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No. That was Lance before Mariah came around. I’ve always been more of a discriminate fuck.”

“Speaking of, I heard Hadley was around.”

“Yeah …” I sigh, reaching for my back pocket.

The chew can nestles in my palm. My thumb beats a rhythmic tap on the lid that takes the edge off my exposed nerves.

“How’s that going?” Blaire’s tone is softer now, knowing this is dangerous territory. “I know it’s hard for you when she’s around.”

I slide the can in my pocket again. “It’s okay this time, I think.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? We talked a little today, and there was no bloodshed. That’s a step in the right direction, right?”

“What do you think changed?”

Good question.

Walking to the planters that line both sides of the porch, I look at Mom’s rose bushes. She used to keep them pruned perfectly, but I don’t. I leave them there because I can’t rip them out, but I don’t take care of them. They take care of themselves. They stretch opposite ways for sunlight and dig deeper when they need more nutrients, I guess.

“Maybe,” I say, wondering how insane this is going to sound, “we realized we’re gonna have to figure out how to breathe the same air. I mean, our roots are so tangled that we can only dig deeper, you know?”

“No.” She laughs. “I don’t. Are you on drugs?”

“No, just looking at Mom’s rose bushes and making analogies.” Swiping my finger over the wet petals, I head to the front door. “I think you should go to Savannah.”

“Yeah,” she says with a pointed sigh. “I think I should too.”

“Long-distance relationships usually don’t work, but knowing you and your anti-social ways, it might be perfect.”

“I totally hate people.”

“I know.” I unlock the door and step inside. “I need to get ready for work. Hired a new bartender and she’s there alone right now.”

“Go. I need to get back to work anyway.”

“Be good. And let me know if you go to Savannah just so I know you make it home.” The hardwood floors creak under my weight as I amble toward my room. “I mean, I’m sure this guy is a real winner, but you never know.”

She gasps. “I’m being irrational, aren’t I?”

Laughing, I flip on the light in my room. “No. Don’t overthink it. Just use that brain of yours and you’ll be fine.”

“Mach, maybe not. Maybe I should—”

“Go, Blaire. Both back to work and to Savannah. Love ya. Goodbye.”

“Love you. Bye,” she says.

My phone goes flying through the air and lands in the middle of my bed. I want to flop down beside it and rest for a few minutes—get my head together before I throw myself into a weekend night at Crave.

Instead, I turn toward my closet but stop.

My heart pounds in my chest as I step to my dresser. My hand goes around the corner of the television and finds the edge of the four-by-six frame. I pull it out.

Holding it with both hands, I bring the picture closer. Hadley wasn’t looking at the camera while I snapped the only photo I have of her and our baby. She’s looking at the chubby faced little girl with a shock of dark hair and the prettiest complexion I’ve ever seen.

“Daddy loves you, baby girl,” I say, my thumb stroking the image.

A lump springs to my throat as a wetness coats my eyes, and I put the picture back and get ready for work.

Eighteen

Hadley

“That was so good,” I say, rubbing my stomach.

Cross hands the waitress his credit card. “That was, quite possibly, the best taco salad I’ve ever eaten.”

“I’d have to agree, considering it was the second one I’ve eaten today.”