Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

Sienna laughs. “I don’t want to know what that’s about.”

“It’s about me trying to reconcile with my sister,” Mariah says, rolling her eyes at me. “Lance’s idea.”

“Lance’s great idea,” I insist, sitting back in my seat so she can see Sienna again.

“We could leave in the morning and be back by late afternoon, if that works?” Sienna asks.

“I’d love to,” Mariah says. “Maybe Lance can get Walker to come over and help put up our new bed.”

“Break it already?” Cross asks, picking out a chicken thigh. “You work fast, Lance.”

“No comment,” Machlan says, stuffing his mouth full of potatoes as I glare his way.

Peck signals my attention and winks when I look at him. “Hey, Cross. I heard at the gas station Hadley is coming to town.”

All eyes go to Machlan. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of water and does not look at Peck or Cross.

Cross clears his throat. “Well, she called this morning and said she’d be coming to town next weekend for Homecoming. I just, uh, hadn’t had time to tell y’all, really.”

Machlan shoves away from the table.

“Machlan, where are you going?” Nana shouts after him.

“Let him go,” Walker tells her “Better he break shit outside than do it in here.”

“Watch your mouth, Walker,” she chastises him. “Maybe you should go check on him.”

“I’m not.” Cross shakes his head. “I’m always the bad guy when it comes to those two. Sick and tired of it.”

Peck rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet. He searches for the plate of fried chicken only to find it empty. So, he takes a chicken leg off Machlan’s plate. “I’ll go find him.”

“You’re a good boy, Peck,” Nana tells him.

“Sienna, you know who to call if I need medical attention,” Peck sighs before disappearing around the corner.

I settle back in my chair and take in my family. Walker and Cross are explaining the Hadley situation the best they can to Sienna and Mariah while Nana talks about antique china.

This is a situation I never thought I’d be in, one I didn’t really know I wanted to be in. I was always the observer, always the one not quite participating.

My arm lays across the back of Mariah’s chair, her hair brushing against my arm. As I watch her laugh at a lame joke Nana made about banana bread, I think of all the things I’ll tell her tonight when we get home. How I noticed the swell of her breasts as she passed out pamphlets at church. How I heard old man Dave talking about her to the farmers in the parking lot of the gas station. How I read somewhere that you can’t understand the word unconditional if you don’t understand conditions. How you can’t truly fall in love with someone if you don’t love yourself first.

It took me being me—the real me, the flawed version I thought no one would ever want—to be open enough to love.

Maybe there’s something to that.

Mariah turns in her chair, her hand cupping my cock under the tablecloth.

I look at her like it’s hard to believe she’s my girl. Because it is and she will be until the day I die.

I’ll tell her all those things after I fuck her. Because, after all, I’m still me.

THE END