Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

Just as I’m about to ask the guys what they’re seeing, a ripple of goosebumps, a warning from something in my psyche, rolls through my body. It’s so hard, so violent, that I actually shiver.

Then I see her. A woman with inky black hair that’s cut into a bob with high cheekbones heading our way. Her steps are slow and pointed, her pink lips twisted into a “gotcha” formation. An eruption flares from my soul, a fire-breathing dragon shooting towards the woman walking towards us.

My shoulders go back, my face deadening in a self-preservation mode I’ve managed to develop over years of being in public situations with people I dislike. You stand still. Smile pretty, don’t sweat it. Sweating it gives them an advantage.

Never lose the advantage.

“What did you do now, Lance?” I joke, but I’m not sure any of them hear me. I move away from Machlan and head towards Walker when I stop mid-step.

“Hey, honey,” she says, a swagger in her shoulders as she looks at Walker. “I’m home.”

Machlan’s hand steadies me, resting on my forearm as I grab the back of the chair in front of me. Walker doesn’t look at me. Neither does Lance. Nothing happens except Machlan angling himself between her and me, the same way he did the night Tommy grabbed my elbow.

“What are you doing in here?” Machlan roughs.

“It’s nice to see you too,” she grins. “What’s happening, Lance?”

He looks at me, and despite her greeting towards Walker, despite the sickness curling my stomach as she walked this way, it’s in this moment buried in Lance’s eyes that I know this is much worse than I even imagined.

“Is this her?” she asks, tilting her head towards me. She looks at Walker with a familiarity that pierces my heart. He returns her stare with a level of intimacy that goes ahead and hammers my heart into pieces.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Walker steels, bracing as if he’s about to be hit with a tidal wave at the last second. Jaw set, forearms flexed, shoulders broad and wide, I check off all the subtle ticks I know he has when he feels unsure. With each thing, my lip begins to quiver a little more.

“Sienna . . .” His voice wobbles, so unlike him. There’s fear in his eyes as he pleads with me to wait a minute. To not press. To give him the second he’s always asked me for.

“Sienna,” the woman sighs. Sticking out a hand, she gives me the foulest, most saccharine-sweet smile I’ve ever been given. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Tabby Gibson. Walker’s wife.”

“What?” I whirl around, shaking my head like I can shake off her words. Her insinuations. Her . . . truths? “Walker?”

It’s in the bow of his chin, the drop of the corner of his mouth, the falling of his shoulders that gives me all I need. I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

My heart hits so hard, as if the staccato will somehow clear the confusion riddling my brain and allow me to understand what’s happening. My hand shakes as I look up at Machlan. “What’s going on?”

The longer I wait for the answer, the more I bleed right in front of them all. Their eyes are on me, watching me absorb a truth they all knew.

A loneliness I’ve never known, a loneliness I can’t imagine ever matching, takes over and tears begin to streak down my face. Tabby stands next to Walker, her arm resting on his shoulder so a diamond can be seen sitting on her left hand. He knocks it away, panic settling across his features, but I don’t care.

Humiliated, her laugh behind me, I race towards the doors. Wiping away tears, ignoring Peck’s call, refusing to even try to hear what Machlan is yelling behind me, I shove open the door and walk into the night.

I go north only because Walker’s truck is south. My shoes click against the concrete as I half-jog, desperately needing to put distance between myself and whatever the hell that was. I don’t know where to go. Who to call. What just happened.

A small patch of grass sits in front of Dr. Burns’ office and before I can stop myself, I fall onto my knees in the damp blades and cry.

An arm goes around my shoulders. It’s too thin, too narrow, smells too much like cedar. “Go away, Peck.”

“Goddammit, Sienna,” he sighs, pulling me into his arms.

“Is it true?” I ask, sniffling snot as the tears refuse to quit.

“Yeah, but it’s not what you think.”

“If the answer is ‘yeah,’ it has to be what I think.”

Walker’s energy finds me before he does, my body tugging towards his. I don’t look up. I don’t have to. I feel him kneeling towards me and his hand stroking my back. I pull away and into Peck, earning a growl from Walker.