Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

The door slams behind me.

Thirty

Hadley

The clock on the stove moves past another hour.

My hair is almost dry from the bath I took around eleven in hopes he’d return and join me. The dishes from the leftovers I heated up around noon have been washed, dried, and put away. The bed has been made, a reality episode consumed, and now I sit at the kitchen table unsure what to do. Phone in hand, I unlock it.

His name is at the top of my text messenger. Running late is the only thing I’ve heard from him, and that was around the time I climbed out of the bath.

I wish I hadn’t eaten. The steak and potatoes are too heavy on my stomach, and every time I move, my stomach churns. I jump at every sound I hear, thinking it’s him.

As comfortable as I was earlier, I’m not now. Whether it’s the stark difference in the note and text or that he hasn’t come back, I don’t know. There’s an uneasy knot in my stomach I can’t shake.

“He probably just got busy,” I tell myself. Brushing a bit of salt off the table, I get to my feet and head to the hallway.

My steps echo through the house. A loneliness burrows in my gut, and I try to kick it out and find the happiness I had when I woke up, but it’s hard. I really thought today would be different and he wouldn’t leave like he used to do. And as much as I tell myself he might not have, that there’s a perfectly logical explanation for this, I worry.

I gather my things. I try not to look around, to overthink anything, to see the spot on the couch where he spread me last night and buried his face between my legs.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles as I slip on my shoes. Leaning against the wall, I pull out my phone again.

Me:I’m just going to go back to the apartment. I hope everything is okay.

I watch as the chat bubbles start. Then stop. Then start again. Then stop. Finally, as I start to type again, they come back on and remain.

Machlan: Probably a good idea. I’m sorry.

Me:No worries. I’ll see you tonight. Em is coming around six.

I wait, sure this will get a reaction. There’s not even a start of a chat bubble this time.

My mouth dry, my stomach twisting, I exit the house and climb into my car. My phone pairs to the Bluetooth when the engine turns over, and a loud ring blares through the car as soon as I put it in drive.

“Hey,” I say.

“How’s my little sister doing today?” Cross asks.

“You know what? I’m not sure.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

Trees line the streets leading back to town. They’re tinged with burgundies and oranges and, if I wasn’t so perplexed by Machlan, I’d drive slower and appreciate them.

“Have you talked to Mach today?” I ask.

“No. I think he had to go to the building he’s buying at some point.”

“Yeah.” I bite the inside of my cheek as I take a left. The farther I get from the cocoon of his house, the more turbulent my nerves get. “I stayed all night with him. He left this morning to go do that but didn’t come back.”

“What?” Cross asks. “What do you mean he didn’t come back?”

“I think that’s self-explanatory, isn’t it? He left, and I haven’t seen him since.”

My chest tightens, smooshing together my insides until I’m squirming in my seat. Talking about it out loud makes me wish I’d never answered the damn phone.

“Maybe he got busy with something else,” Cross offers. “You know how he gets.”

“I do. I know how he is better than anyone. But I just feel like something’s … off. I can’t explain it. It’s like intuition or something.”

Beecher Street approaches much faster than I anticipated. I suck in a deep breath as I pull next to the stairs leading to the apartment. I do a quick scan of the area and don’t see his truck.

My lungs expel the breath I’ve been holding as I place the car in park. Navie is outside the back door of Crave. A broom is propped up next to the wall next to a large garbage bag.

“I got a call today from my new job. They want me to start in two days,” I say.

“Are you going back tomorrow then?”

Machlan’s cologne is still on my shirt. My body’s still tense from being wrapped around him all night. My heart is still tender from his sweet whispers.

Maybe that’s all it is. I’m too tender. I’m too on edge from everything and just making a mountain out of a molehill.

I swallow hard. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do. If he wanted me to stay, I’d stay. But this morning makes me think maybe I should go.”