Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

“No,” I say, blowing out a breath. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”

“When I get back, you’re gonna tell me all about your day. Right?”

“I’ve already told you everything,” I lie.

“Sure you have. Be back soon and then you can for real.”

Her steps soften as she heads to the doorway and end when the front door snaps shut.

Sagging against the counter, I really just want to go to bed. My body aches from all the mopping and wiping and sweeping. I did more cleaning today than I’ve ever done, despite the distraction Walker and Peck delivered through the window.

Peck, on his own, would be hard to not watch. He has this boy-next-door sweetheart thing going on and a personality like a magnet. But next to Walker, he doesn’t exist.

I open the door, letting the warm, wet air trickle into the rest of the house. Everything is quiet as I make my way to the living room and plop down on the chair. The blue and red plaid material is rough against my legs. I’ve hated this chair since Delaney had me help her carry it in from a swap meet when I first moved here.

A few boxes sit half-packed against the wall and reality bowls me over. In a few days, Delaney will be gone. I’ll be here. Alone.

Tears well up in my eyes as I take out my phone and pull up social media. My friends from back home smile from Tybee Island. My girlfriends are posting loop videos of themselves at dinner at one of our favorite restaurants there. Right before I click off, I see a picture my sister posted of her holding my father’s hand. It’s innocent with a text saying, “I love my daddy,” but there’s nothing in the picture that I recognize besides the scar running from his index finger down the top that happened one Christmas morning a long time ago. But there is the edge of what I suspect is a hospital bracelet and a blue and white checked fabric faded into the background that looks eerily like a hospital gown.

The longer I look at the picture, the more I can’t shake the fact that something isn’t right: Camilla posting something so intimate on social media. The odd location, the way the photo blurs and shows really nothing to the naked eye.

A chill tearing through me, I call Camilla. It rings twice, my heartbeat soaring with each tone, before she answers.

“What’s going on?” I ask immediately.

“Did Graham call you?”

“No. Why would G call me?” I spring to my feet, my heart in my throat. “What’s happening, Cam?”

“Calm down. It’s nothing or I would’ve called you already. You know that.”

“It’s something or we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.”

My tone almost reaches the level of panic, a ball of tension taking root at the back of my neck. Every possible situation that could be wrong screeches through my mind.

“Dad didn’t feel well today,” Cam says gently. “Mom took him to the emergency room to be safe. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” I ask, aghast that she would downplay something as serious as a trip to the ER. The fact that he allowed Mom to take him has vomit threatening to spew from my mouth. “What did they say? Is he okay?”

“They said it was angina and he should make some dietary and exercise changes. He has to see a cardiologist sometime soon.”

Red-hot tears dot the corners of my eyes, a ball lodged in my throat making it impossible to talk.

“He’s going to be okay, Sienna.”

“Do I need to come home?” I say, my voice sounding all gulpy.

“No. We’d love to see you, but don’t race home because of this. He’s irritated tonight. Graham showed up and tried to tell Dad what he was going to do, so that went over well.”

“I bet,” I chuckle. “Who won?”

“Mom,” she laughs. “She told them both to settle down in that voice she keeps for the two times a year she actually gets mad.”

Imagining my sweet mother’s face angry, I’m able to catch my breath. When she goes into that mode, she gets shit done. She fixes the problem. It’s where my siblings and I get our need to step in and take care of things.

“So Dad’s okay?” I ask, taking a long, calming breath.

“He’s fine right now. If anything comes of it, you know you’ll be my first call.”

Slumping back down in the scratchy chair, the adrenaline from thinking there was a crisis starts to wane. “You had me scared with your vaguebook.”

“I didn’t vaguebook. Dominic took the picture and I thought it was nice so I posted it. I didn’t expect anyone to read that much into it,” she laughs. “I should’ve known you would.”

“Of course I would. So Dom was there?”

She chatters on about her new-to-the-family boyfriend, one who I knew about for almost a year before she told everyone. He’s a good guy—he treats Cam like gold and he and I get along great. I know I should be thrilled that he was there for her, for my mother, tonight, but I can’t help but acknowledge the jealousy that stems from him getting to be there and me not.