Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

Machlan:Please.

I climb off the bed. My phone still tucked in my hand, my legs wobbling beneath me, I walk through the house.

An eerie silence settles over me. I don’t check my ponytail or look in the mirror for any sleep in my eyes. I just flip on the light in the foyer.

Everything stills inside my body. My hand completely level as I reach for the handle.

“Who is it?” I say, just in case.

“Machlan.”

His voice hits me right in the heart. I look at the ceiling as I open the door and will myself to stay strong. When I look down at him, I almost break.

Dark circles make his brown eyes look hollow. His bottom lip is cracked, and a slight bruise sits on top of his cheekbone on the right side. His hair sticks out everywhere, a hat not to be found.

He tries to smile, but it’s like he doesn’t have the energy for it. “You have other guys coming by this time of night?”

It’s an ode to a few days ago when he would come to the apartment above Crave and give me hell. It seems like ages ago.

“What do you want, Mach?”

“Can I come in?”

I lean against the door. It’s not a quick drive here, and it’s almost three in the morning. It would be rude not to invite him in, but if I do, I’m just screwing myself.

“Why are you here?” I ask. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I needed to see you.”

My heart skips a beat. “You could’ve called.”

“I did.” His smile fades. “You told me not to call you back.”

“And that made you think it was okay to show up?”

My hands itch to reach for him, my arms begging to hold him. He looks so tired, so sad, that all I want to do is make him feel better. But if I do that, who is going to put me back together?

I’ll just be sucked into a never-ending cycle, and I’m too tired for it. I can’t anymore.

“I’ve had a long day,” he says, his voice gruff. He runs his hands down his face, blowing out a breath. When he looks at me again, he’s resolved. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I ask.

“Where do I start?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one that showed up here.” The longer I look at him, the quicker my determination to keep him away melts.

His stomach growls. He frowns. “As I said, it’s been a long night.”

The neighbor’s dog starts barking again, and a light comes on in the house beside me. As much as I know I shouldn’t I give in, I can’t screw up everyone’s night because of this.

“Fine. Come in.” I pull open the door and step to the side. Before he can reach for me, which I’m fairly certain he’s about to do, I head to the kitchen and flip on a light.

He sits at the table without being asked. His clothes are wrinkled, his shoulders sagging. He looks like hell.

I grab a couple of pieces of pizza from the fridge, pop them on a paper plate, and shove them in the microwave. “What’s going on? I have to work in the morning,” I say.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “There’s something I’ve never said to you that I need to say.”

The microwave buzzes. I take out the plate and hand it to him. He sits it on the table without even looking at it.

“I don’t want to be nice to you,” I say. “I just can’t take people being hungry.”

He searches my eyes. A small smile touches his slightly swollen lips. “I love you, Hadley.”

My insides shake as I stare at him. “No, Mach. Don’t do this,” I say, backing away. “Please, don’t do this.”

Tears fill my eyes—years’ worth of emotions springing forward. He’s a blur in front of me. An unmoving, quiet mess of a vision that I can’t deal with right now.

“I’m going to bed,” I say. “Let yourself out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

I look at the ceiling as the tears drip down my face. “Why do you do this to me? Why can’t you just let me be?”

“You want to know why? I’ll tell you why.” He walks across the room until he’s in front of me. “I might’ve thought I fought for you our whole life. Hell, I got into two fights a couple of days ago over you. Both of them,” he says, his voice rushed. “But I was wrong, Had.”

I look into his face—his handsome, grief-stricken face. My distrust of him is at odds with the earnestness of his voice. I want to believe him. It would be so easy to. And really, he probably means it. But will he mean it tomorrow? Or the day after that? And the day after that?

It takes everything I have to tell him to go. “I need you to leave.”