Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

But now that we’re standing here, none of that matters. I don’t give enough of a fuck to inflict any pain on the woman, to tell her how I feel, to give a shit where she’s been or that she knows my life is better without her in it. All of the things I’ve waited patiently for don’t. Fucking. Matter.

Whipping out my phone, I check the home screen for what does matter. The glow shows no missed calls or texts.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” she asks, her voice drifting through the night.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

She slumps forward, weighed by the history she and I don’t share. “Maybe we were too young to have gotten married.”

I glare at her. “You asked why I didn’t come for you. You sure as hell knew the way back.”

“I’m sorry.”

Checking my phone again, there’s still no new messages. Bouncing my hand off the railing, I turn and lean against it.

“Who is she?” she whispers.

“None of your concern.”

“Being that she’s sleeping with my husband, I think—”

“I’m not your husband any more than you’re my wife,” I warn. “If you think you can trot your sorry ass back in here and act like you have some kind of say in anything I have going on, you have another think coming. And,” I say, my voice rising over her start of an objection, “if you say a word about Sienna . . .”

She blanches, not expecting this reaction, and blows out a breath.

“This conversation would’ve been very different if I could’ve explained things to her before you came in,” I sigh. “But that was probably your plan, huh?”

“She didn’t know you’re married?”

I just glare at her from the corner of my eye.

“Wow.” She twists her earring, looking at anything but me. “I didn’t know she didn’t know.”

“Guess you got a freebie.”

“I . . . Damn it, Walker.”

“No, damn you, Tabby,” I say, spinning around. “Why the fuck did you do this? You don’t give a shit about me. You never did. What is it? Do you need something? Were you bored? Just trying to piss me off for old time’s sake? Because all of that I can handle. You can ride my ass about still being the poor mechanic at Crank—”

“Walker—”

“You can tell me how I can do so much better than this shitty little farmhouse—”

“Walker—”

“You can tell the entire fucking town I lost my shit when my parents died and almost lost us the house because I drowned myself in alcohol and couldn’t get out of bed. You can do all of that and I don’t even give a fuck, Tab. But what you just did tonight to Sienna is something even I didn’t think you’d do,” I growl, stopping to take a much needed breath.

“You think I should give a shit about her?”

I look at the woman I once thought I loved. “Peck warned me. He kept saying I should tell Sienna or go find you and end this sham fucking marriage before she found out, but I didn’t. Despite all of their warnings, I didn’t think you’d stoop this low. I figured I could wait a while. No sense in finding you if I didn’t have to.”

Folding my hands together, I press them into my forehead. My temper is creeping through the numbness and I’m not sure how to handle it.

I want to scream, tell her exactly what I think of her, dress her down in ways she’s never imagined. But all I can see is Sienna’s face and hear her laugh and that takes the fight right out of me. How do you fight with a broken heart?

“You love her, don’t you?” Tabby’s voice is soft, so soft, in fact, I almost don’t hear it despite the peace of the night.

“What does it matter?”

She walks the length of the porch, her arms wrapped around her stomach like it’s not eighty degrees outside. I check my phone once more. When I look up, Tabby is looking at me.

“Is she ignoring you?” she asks.

“Wouldn’t you?” I huff.

“What are you going to do?”

I hate the way she asks, like there’s a simple answer to fix this. Like I can make a quick try to get Sienna back and if that doesn’t work, move on.

Fuck her.

“I’m going to get you to sign the divorce papers and then go find her,” I say through gritted teeth.

Her features wash, becoming neutral, any sense of kindness or sadness wiping away. “You’re going to try to find her?”

“No. I’m not going to try. I’m going to find her,” I shrug, clutching my phone like it will prompt her to call me.

“But you didn’t try to find me.”

“Nope.”

She looks out across the night. “Do you think we could’ve fixed things if one of us had come for the other?”

“If I would’ve found you, it would’ve been to get you to sign the papers,” I tell her. “I just didn’t care enough to even try. Our marriage was over long before you left. We both know that.”