Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

“Quite the opposite, actually.”

“How do you figure?” I take his hand and give it a shake.

“Well, you know her as Nana, a very important title. That tells me you met her through a memorable experience that left an impression on both of you.”

“I don’t know about that.”

He pats the top of my hand before steering me inside. “We’re glad to have you today. Please, make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.”

Stepping inside the sanctuary, most of the patrons are sitting in wooden pews. They form two rows with a walkway in the center that leads to an altar and an elevated platform behind it with a plain podium. A vintage piano sits in the corner and a lady with silver hair sits at the keys, playing an old hymn I remember as one of my grandfather’s favorites.

Tucking my clutch under my arm, I scan the pews. My mouth is dry and I sidestep people, feeling like I’m just in the way of their normal weekly routine. Like I don’t belong. Like I should just go home.

Left to right, I glaze over old folks, babies, toddlers, and middle-aged men and women all chatting softly until I get close to the front on the right.

Walker sits between Machlan and another guy, the one I saw with them the night of the bat-to-truck fiasco. A navy and brown plaid shirt stretches across Walker’s wide shoulders, his dark hair combed to the side and shining in the bright morning sunlight streaming in through the windows. Machlan and the other guy chat around him, leaning behind so that Peck, who’s sitting in the pew behind them next to Nana, can join in.

My feet want to march their way to Walker, to stand in front of him and try to gauge how he’s feeling. Not that I should care. I shouldn’t even give a crap but there’s something about the man that I want to break open, to hold, to fix whatever it is that’s so tarnished in him that he can’t even smile a true smile without feeling guilty. That has to always keep everyone at arm’s length. That he has to be so miserable.

Sucking in a breath, I head towards them, pausing every now and then to thank different parishioners as they welcome me to the service. With each step, I second guess why I’m here and wonder if I could just slip the money to Peck and bolt.

The journey to their position in the church takes exorbitantly longer than it should. Everyone wants to introduce themselves, say hello, ask me if I want a coffee or donut from the lobby. As considerate as they all are, as grateful as I am for the warm reception, each second that goes by is another opportunity for my nerves to warp into a tighter, more confounding knot.

“Good morning,” I say, gripping the edge of the pew to keep from falling over as Walker’s cologne whips me in the face. It’s not that it’s strong or that he’s the only one fresh out of the shower. It’s that his is the only one that I pick up out of all the body washes and aftershaves on this Sunday morning.

At the sound of my voice, all heads in the Gibson clan turn to me. Walker’s eyes are wide and a little bloodshot and I wrangle mine away before he can see inside them. Plus, I’m not sure now I’m here that I want to see inside his.

Machlan smirks, exchanging a glance with the man on the other side of Walker. He’s a lighter, thinner version of Walker but with a self-assuredness I can recognize as something I usually see in myself. Not today.

Peck stands from his seat behind them, effectively blocking me from Walker’s line of sight. “Good morning,” he says. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“I probably shouldn’t have,” I say, feeling a little relief in his simple smile.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at me—head cocked to the side, playful grin painted on his lips—that has me curious. As if to drive the point home, whatever point he’s trying to make, he lobs me a wink before turning to Nana. “Look what we have here.”

“Well, good morning, Sienna,” she says, nudging the man next to her to move down a bit. “Here. Grab a seat by me.”

“Peck’s sitting there,” I say, the collar of my dress feeling tight, as I avoid Walker’s stare. “I can just sit in the back. It’s not a problem.”

“Nonsense. There’s room for all of us. Patrick will move down, won’t you, hon?” She glances beside her as the old man wearing a ruby-colored tie makes room. “Here. Sit right here.”

Peck moves so I can pass him and take the spot between him and Nana. Walker is turned in his seat, his cuffs rolled to his elbows, and watches me like he might blink and I’ll be gone.