Cross (The Gibson Boys 2.5)
My heart wrestles in my chest as I look at my friend, trying desperately to get myself in check. “When was the last time I talked to Cross?” I stop walking and glance up at the antique sign over our head that reads CRAVE. “The last time I stood here. That’s the last time I talked to him.”
I wait for Nora to push, but she doesn’t. Instead, she tosses me a slight smile. “I need to run into the bar really quick and see if Machlan has my check ready. I don’t work tonight and don’t want to have to come all the way back to town later.”
“Is it even open?” I ask, looking at the unlit open sign.
“It doesn’t open for another two hours, but Machlan will be here. He practically lives here.” The door swings free with a simple tug, the cool, salty bar air rushing out onto the sidewalk. “Come on. He’ll be happy to see you.”
Following her inside, my eyes adjust to the dim light. Alcohol ads glow from various positions on the walls, and strings of Christmas lights outline the mirror behind the bar and drape along a set of bulletin boards as I walk by.
All of that is hard to focus on with Machlan Gibson sitting at the bar. He leans back in the chair, dropping the remote for the television hanging in the corner onto the countertop with a flourish.
“Kallie Welch,” he says, folding his arms over his chest as a smirk pulls at his lips. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“How are ya, Mach?” I grin.
He gets to his feet, a wide smile splitting his cheeks. “It’s been a long time.” Enveloping me in his arms, he gives me a warm hug. He’s thicker, his back more muscled than the goodbye embrace he gave me before I left town in my little Honda Civic. “You home for long?”
“Yeah, actually,” I say, pulling back. “The attorney I was working for in Indy got into some legal trouble of his own, and Mom’s here alone now that Skylar moved to Wisconsin with her boyfriend.”
“That explains why I haven’t seen her around lately,” he says. “Someone said she met a guy in Chicago, but you never know what to believe.”
“She did. He’s a nice guy. His family is from up there so Skylar moved up to be with him, which left Mom on her own, and I feel guilty about that.”
“Because you’re a good girl.”
Nora clears her throat. “Now that’s over with, you got my check ready?”
There’s something Machlan wants to say as he processes Nora’s question. He watches me carefully, like he’s connecting some invisible dots scattered over my face. “Yeah, I got your check. Be right back.”
He moves easily through the bar with such command that I imagine if people were standing in his way, they’d move. It’s amazing to see him in this light. I knew he’d bought the bar, but seeing him as a legitimate business owner and not the immature party boy I knew before is almost unbelievable.
Turning toward the bulletin boards, I sigh. A warmth I haven’t felt in so long causes the stress in my shoulders to melt away. Maybe it was the friendly hug from Mach, or maybe it’s being back home in Linton.
“Want to get something to eat?” I ask Nora, scanning the boards.
“Sure. We could run to Peaches. They have great fajitas.”
“It’s still weird that a place called Peaches serves Mexican food,” I say with a laugh. Running my finger across a set of papers advertising handymen services, I chuckle at one particular set of ‘services’ offered on a napkin. “This is ridiculous.”
Nora laughs. “We take the really bad ones down—you should see some of them after a rowdy Friday night.”
“I can only imagine.”
“I can imagine a lot of things.” The shock of the deep, husky voice behind me causes me to jump, but as the timbre of the tone settles, the familiarity washes across my heart.
I suck in a breath, capturing a gasp, though I’m not sure if it’s is mine or Nora’s. Inhaling the rich, almost velvety scent from behind me doesn’t help the shakiness in my hands as I bring one to my throat.
One of my unknowns is answered: Cross wears the same cologne he used to.
Three
Cross
If Nora weren’t standing beside her giving me that look, I’d swear to God I was seeing things.
The swallow I force down my throat is hot and heavy, as if it were laced with a shot of whiskey. It burns as it barrels its way to my stomach, but I don’t register the drop into the pit of acid churning in my gut.
I can’t do anything but stare at the back of Kallie Welch.
Her hair is pulled into a ponytail. I used to bury my face in the crook of her neck and kiss the top of her shoulder. She loved it. She loved me.