Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

He doesn’t look at me for the rest of the service. I just stare at the back of his head and feel my anxiety creep up with every tick of the clock. I replay things in my mind that should require some sort of Confession, but all done in the spirit of trying to figure out what happened with Walker.

As the pastor has us stand for a final prayer, I hang my head and say a prayer of my own for guidance. When I open my eyes again, as the entire room says a somber “Amen,” Nana switches gears.

“Dinner is at two at my house,” she says, picking up her pocketbook that looks like it could hold an entire casserole. “The boys usually come on over after church and you’re more than welcome to drive over—”

“Oh, Nana, no,” I say, placing a hand on her arm. “That’s not necessary.”

“Yeah, she’s riding with me.” Peck takes my elbow. “We’ll be over in a second.”

Nana readily accepts this bit of information and engages Patrick in a conversation about the library.

“Say that again?” Walker is facing us completely, his hands wrapped along the back of the pew.

His tone skirts over my skin, like a shot of adrenaline being injected in to my veins. My mouth opens slightly to keep from losing air as I look up at Peck.

“She and I will be at Nana’s,” he says easily, like he’s completely unaware that Walker wants to rip his throat out. “Just letting Nana know.”

The pastor comes up to Walker, Machlan, and Lance, forcing Walker to turn away but not without a final look planted straight on me.

“I’m what?” I ask, following Peck into the aisle. “Are you crazy? I’m not going with you.”

“Shh,” he whispers, looking to see if Walker is listening. “Trust me.”

“I thought we went over this?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Answer one question.”

“Fine.”

“Do you like him?”

“Like who?” I ask like I don’t know.

“Walker,” he scoffs. “Do you like him? If he wasn’t a complete dick, would you like him?”

His tone sends a note straight to my heart, the goofiness of Peck gone and replaced with a sincerity that’s beyond sweet.

“That’s answer enough,” he notes. “Give me this afternoon.”

“Whether I like him or not doesn’t matter, and for the record, I don’t,” I tell him. “Not anymore.”

“Don’t lie in church. We aren’t Catholic. You just can’t head to Confession and be absolved of your sins.”

Blowing out a breath, I change tactics. “I’m not going to your Nana’s and making a scene. It’s Walker’s grandma’s house, Peck. Not mine. I have no business being there.”

“Except she invited ya,” he points out.

“Not knowing her grandson fuc . . .” I clear my throat. “Not being apprised of all the facts.”

“Do you want to go home alone?” he asks.

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“Come to dinner with me,” he almost begs. “Hang out with my cousins. Have some good food. When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”

“Peck . . .” I whine.

He leans in, his eyes searching mine. “Walker is coming this way. Just go with me, Sienna. You can leave if you hate it. I’ll even take you, but . . . trust me.”

As Walker walks by, not stopping to chat or even glancing at me, his fingertips brush my hip. That’s all it takes. That simple contact not lasting more than a microsecond is all it takes to pull the trigger on the flood of emotion ripping through my veins.

To anyone looking, it would seem like an accidental brush, if they noticed at all. To me, I felt what he was saying. I just don’t understand it.

“Fine,” I say, heading towards the door. “But if he’s an ass, I’m leaving and you’re going with me.”

“Fair enough, Slugger. Fair enough.”

“THIS IS THE WORST idea I’ve ever gone along with,” I say, cringing as Peck’s truck goes airborne over a set of railroad tracks and drops back onto the pavement. “Take it easy.”

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, his easy grin painted on his face. “What’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t know. Living?”

“You only live once.”

“And here I didn’t peg you as a YOLO kind of guy,” I tease, grabbing the door handle as we take a curve on two wheels.

“What’s YOLO?”

“Forget it.”

He straightens the truck out, barely controlling the slide onto the gravel road just outside of city limits. Dust barrels behind us, whipping away into the cornfields lining both sides of the road.

With every mile we get away from my car and the church, it seems like we are a little further away from all sense and sensibility.

The cardboard pine tree hanging from the rearview mirror twirls in the afternoon sunlight. I focus on it and not on the way my brain is screaming at me to have Peck turn back. When I open my mouth to comment on how New Car Scent doesn’t smell like a new car at all, something altogether different comes out.