Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

“I saw the birth announcement in the paper,” Whitney says from behind me. “I know this sucks for you and I hate it. I’m sorry.”

My body sags with the weight of a broken heart. I loved Eric. I looked in his face and thought I saw my future. Then came the night he broke up with me with the generic line, “It’s not you, it’s me.” I knew it was bullshit. I knew there was something more. I just didn’t dream how bad it was.

“What is this?” I glance around my mother’s living room. Nothing appears out of the ordinary except for the two people sitting on the love seat. “Why is Eric here?”

My older sister, the one person in the world I’ve forgiven so many times, prayed for her friendship over and over, even idolized in the early parts of my life, reaches over and takes my ex-boyfriend’s hand in hers.

“We have something to tell you,” Chrissy says sweetly.

I didn’t listen to the rest. It may have been six weeks since Eric and I had broken up, but it still stung like a million beestings that he was with my sister. And my mother, standing by the doorway in a silent approval of this debauchery, knew it.

But that’s not the source of my heartbreak. Not really. The heartbreak lies in the answer to the questions I’ve always asked: will I ever be enough for my family? Will they ever take my side?

The answer is a resounding no.

The backs of my hands are streaked black with mascara as I wipe my eyes dry. “You’re right.” The flame in my chest starts to putter out; the smoke clears from my lungs. “If I sit here all weekend, I’m going to keep thinking about this and I refuse to do that to myself. I’ll go out. Want to be my dinner date?”

Her lips twist in a way that makes my stomach turn.

“What did you do?” I ask.

She grabs her jacket off the back of the chair and walks backwards to the front door. “You have a date with—”

“Whitney. You didn’t.”

“I did,” she winces. “He’s picking you up on Saturday night but he has a rotation earlier in the evening, so if he’s a few minutes late, cut him some slack. Wear something low-cut. He’s a breast man.”

I whirl a magazine in her direction, but it hits the door just as she shuts it behind her. The pages of the magazine shuffle as they hit the floor, my pride falling along with it.

She means well. She always does. But I don’t want to force myself through a conversation with a stranger and pretend to be interested in medical implements when I just want to grab a book and a mug of hot chocolate and not talk to anyone at all.

I wonder if I’d be more of a people person had I felt more self-assured growing up. It would be an interesting experiment. It took me a long time to find myself, to know I’m not everything my mother said I was. To understand that it’s okay I prefer country music over opera and drugstore over luxury brand cosmetics. I’m good with who I am. I just can’t help wishing my family were too.

Closing my eyes, I try to get comfortable with the idea of going on a blind date. The longer I think about it, the more awkward it feels. Having a conversation with a man I already know is hard enough. How do you have one with someone you’ve never met?

Lance’s face pops into my mind, his shit-eating grin tugging up the sides of my lips. He would say this is why you just sleep with them. There’s no talking involved.

Laughing out loud, I wonder who he’s with tonight. If it’s the girl he was speaking to in my office or another one. Maybe both.

He’s such a scoundrel but the difference between Lance and Eric is that Lance doesn’t hide it. Why that’s almost refreshing, I’m not sure. Either way, one thing is for sure: if Eric could inflict this much pain, a guy like Lance would destroy me.

Five

Lance

Me: Fun fact—women overanalyze everything.

Nerdy Nurse: Not all women.

Me: No. All women. Every one I’ve ever met, anyway, and I’ve met a lot of them.

Sitting in my car just outside Crave, the local watering hole owned by my youngest brother, Machlan, I listen to the rain drip against the windshield. The texts are still coming in from my sister as she rails my ass for using a dating app to meet women.

According to Blaire, I should value my own worth as well as the worth of women more by doing it the old-fashioned way. When I explained that the worth we are going for involved lube and cock rings, she lost it. I think she was joking when she said I needed my head examined, but if a doctor calls with an appointment next week, I won’t be shocked.