Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

His palm cups the edge of my shoulder. His long, muscled fingers wrap around my arm.

Closing my eyes, I remind myself this is exactly why I’m here, and that maybe, just maybe, the universe is helping me for once. My eyes open as his hand slips from my shoulder and I turn to look at him.

“I knew that,” I say, the lump in my throat obvious. “That was sort of a rhetorical question.”

His forehead mars, the lines forming above his eyes deep and many. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“There’s kind of only one way you can take it when someone says they don’t want to be your friend,” I say, forcing a laugh. Turning to the truck, I continue. “Besides, this makes that whole box thing easier—”

“Stop.” His hand touches my shoulder again but pulls away immediately this time.

I stop. I stop and listen for his voice, wait for the explanation that I think is going to come. What kind of an explanation it is, I don’t know. I don’t even want to guess at it. But something is coming. I can feel it.

“The truth is,” he says, giving my words back to me, “you aren’t just any girl to me, and you never will be.”

There isn’t even a warning. My eyes fill with tears—red-hot, guppy-sized dollops of water cloud my vision of the truck.

“Fuck, Hadley.” He steps in front of me. On his face is a scowl he wears so well. It’s usually aimed at me, but this time, I get the feeling it’s not. That maybe it’s aimed at himself.

“What are you doing?” I ask. I fight so hard to keep the tears from streaming down my face. If the dam breaks and one passes, it’ll be a cascade of emotions I can’t control. I have it under wraps until I look him in the eye.

My knees wobble as I see something in those orbs I’ve only seen a couple of times in my life. On the other occasions, I thought it was love. I believed this look to mean he felt something for me in line with what I felt so deeply for him.

Now, I’m not sure what to think.

Or maybe, I’m afraid of what to think.

“I’m really out of my wheelhouse here,” he says.

I give him a half-smile. “So this has nothing to do with alcohol, cars, poker, or sex?”

He grins sheepishly. “It has a little to do with sex.”

Blowing out a breath, the tears absorbing into my body, I find a kernel of steadiness inside myself and hold onto it for dear life.

“You kind of fucked me up a little with that whole ‘I want to love Samuel’ bullshit,” he says.

“It’s not bullshit.”

“No, I know it’s not. I know you want to fall in love with some respectable guy and have the whole house and kids and dogs thing you didn’t have growing up. I get it.”

It takes everything I have to force the weight in my chest away. “I do want that. I’m ready for it now. And …” The weight comes back with full force, barreling its way through my defenses and filling my abdomen. I can’t blink the tears back this time. I can’t fight the lump in my throat either. My nose burns as my gaze settles on Machlan.

He stiffens, his eyes going wide before filling with a mix of fear and confusion. A half-step is taken back as he runs a hand along his stubbled jaw. The breeze whips around us, rustling a clump of wet leaves stuck to our shoes.

His mouth opens as if he’s about to speak, but nothing comes out. As if he’s afraid to bring up the topic he’s pretty certain I was about to broach—one we’ve only discussed a handful of times.

A sadness creeps across his handsome face and settles deep in my heart.

Energy drains from my body. If I could drop to the cold, wet ground and curl in a ball, I would. The edges of the rocks and the sticky mud would be preferred over the hell of looking into Machlan’s face and seeing my own feelings reflected.

My gaze hits the gravel because I can’t look at him. I consider heading to the truck and ending this conversation when he speaks.

“And what, Hadley?” His voice is low, careful. Almost like he was forced to ask it and definitely like he already knows the answer.

My heart races, my palms sweat despite the cool temperatures. Maybe it’s my imagination, but the air around us picks up too, and the world around us seems to go faster.

I close my eyes and see her sweet little face all bundled up in a pink blanket Machlan bought at a discount store the day before I went into labor.

“And I hope someday I’ll make her proud.”

The last few words come out in a hiccup. I’m not sure they even make it into the air before Machlan pulls me to his chest. His arms envelop me in the warmth of his body as my own torso shakes with a force it only does when I cry about this.