Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

The table is lined with a dozen platters of meat, potatoes, salads, and sides. It reminds me of Savannah. If I closed my eyes, I could open them to see my family at the table, waiting to dig in. Instead, I rest my sights on the Gibson boys and their Nana, all waiting for me to take the seat Peck has pulled out for me.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling flushed. “This looks great, Nana.”

“Thank you,” she says, fanning her face with a napkin. “Where’s Walker?”

The boys glance around the table. It’s a scene I know well from having a large family. They’re silently conspiring, covering for one of their own. As terrible as I feel for being the cause of this situation, my heart also warms at their camaraderie for Walker despite his being as ass.

“He had to chop wood,” Peck rushes, his eyes bulging when he realizes the stupidity of his words in the middle of summer. “I mean . . .”

“He had to take a call. Something about the shop.” Machlan rearranges his silverware and pointedly doesn’t meet Nana’s gaze. “He’ll be back. He just needs a few minutes.”

“That boy,” she huffs, instructing Lance to lead the family in prayer.

We bow our heads, Lance giving thanks for the meal in front of us and family around us, before closing it out with an “Amen.” When I look up, Machlan is grinning at me.

“What?” I ask, taking the bowl of mashed potatoes he offers.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t be rude,” I say in the same tone I’d use with my brothers. “Say what you want to say or stop insinuating you want to say it.”

“Exactly,” Nana cuts in. “I like the way you put that, Sienna. You handle these boys well.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say, thinking of Walker and how I haven’t handled him at all. “You have any tips for me?”

“For these rascals?” she sighs. “Well . . .”

“I could give you some tips,” Lance jokes.

“You will not. Not with that tone.” Nana looks at him over the rim of her glass of tea.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Lance says.

“I can imagine.” She sets her glass down and looks at me. “I always think intention is more important than action. Take, for example, the time Peck wrecked my town car.”

Peck drops his fork. “I didn’t wreck it. I hit the gear shift with the hose while I was cleaning it out.”

“You took out an entire shed,” Machlan cackles. “You wrecked it.”

“The important thing,” Nana says, giving Machlan a stern look, “is that he was trying to do good. Or, since you are so ready to jump into this conversation, Machlan, take the time you shorted out half the house with a bobby pin.”

Lance bursts out laughing, much to Machlan’s dismay. “I’ll never forget that as long as I live.”

“Fuck you,” Machlan mutters.

“Excuse me?” Nana looks at him. “At my table, sir?”

“Sorry.”

She turns her attention to me. “Actions have emotions incorporated in them. Other people and things can factor in too. I’ve always been an advocate of looking into someone’s intentions as opposed to how those actually turn out. I think it tells you a lot more about the person than their results. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” I gulp, the squeak of the back door flooding my ears. I sense him walking into the room, smell his cologne way before I see him. His energy hits me like a seismic wave, rolling over me and demanding me to pay attention.

Looking up, I’m not a bit surprised he’s looking at me, but I am surprised at how. The fury is gone, the tightness in his jaw eased. Instead, there are lines furrowed in his forehead and his hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

“Sit down and make a plate,” Nana says, motioning towards the seat at the other end of the table.

He studies me intently before rocking back on his heels and moving his gaze to Nana. “I know I promised you I’d be here today. But, um, would it be okay if I miss dinner?”

She rests her fork against her plate and folds her hands on her lap. “Go ahead. I can tell it’s important.”

Walker looks down. Taking a deep breath, one that we all watch him take, he finally blows it out as his head turns to me. “Would you mind going with me?”

I forget to answer. The words just dangle in the back of my throat, mixed up in the emotion that’s drifting from Walker’s face to mine. Finally, Peck elbows me in the side.

“Um, sure,” I croak. “Would that offend you, Nana? If I went with him?”

“It would me,” Lance offers, getting a chuckle from Machlan.

“It’s the intent,” Nana smiles softly. “Go. I’ll pack a meal for you to take home with you when you get back.”