Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

The only thing I’ve ever really wanted out of life was Hadley. No matter how much I tell myself I’m wrong for her even though she’s perfect for me, or that I could fill her spot in with another face, I can’t. It was laughable when I tried.

Living in my skin has been a complicated adventure. The only thing I’ve learned so far in my life is this: my best usually isn’t good enough. I don’t know what all that says about me, but it’s true. I’m a guy without a real career, without a real care to have one. I’ve botched every important moment in my life, and I can’t ask for any favors, and I shouldn’t be trusted with any either.

My wipers switch on as it begins to sprinkle again. Crank is on my right. Walker and Peck are in the side lot, inspecting a piece of farm equipment. I throw the transmission in neutral and rev the engine. My brother flips me off.

With a chuckle, I hit the button on my steering wheel to pick up an incoming call.

“Hey, Blaire,” I say.

“Am I on speaker?”

“Why? You have something juicy to tell me?”

“No, asshole. I just like to understand the audience before I speak.”

I roll to a stop sign and wave a truck hauling logs through. “You’re such a lawyer, you know that?”

“Are you avoiding my question for a reason?”

Hitting the gas, I laugh. “I’m alone. Just heading home for a few before I go to work.”

“Where have you been?”

“Why?”

I get situated in my seat, resting my elbow on the door. Swiping at my bottom lip with my thumb, I find myself doing something I don’t do a lot—grin for no reason.

“I was just curious,” she says. “Don’t answer if you don’t want, especially if you were doing something with Cross that’s going to result in a call later asking how to deal with a situation.”

“Oh, come on. When’s the last time that actually happened?”

She laughs. “Let’s think. I believe it was when Peck ‘borrowed’ the tractor from an unsuspecting farmer.”

“But that had nothing to do with me.” I laugh, shaking my head, as I pull into my driveway. “That’s all Peck.”

“Um, if I remember correctly—”

“You’re a lawyer. You remember whatever version of events best fits your argument.” I flip the engine off. “What are you doing today?”

“Working. Although I’m considering leaving for lunch today.”

“Wow. Living on the wild side.”

“Shut it,” she says. “It’s hard to get out once you’re here.”

“And to think you spent all that money on a degree to do that.”

“Hang on a sec.”

She sticks me on hold. I grab my phone and get out of the truck. The mist is thick. You can see the water droplets falling lazily to the ground.

These are my favorite days. They remind me of when I was young and Mom would open all the windows and cook something amazing. Dad would come get me and make me go to the garage to work on something. I’d bitch and moan at first, but by the time Mom called us in for dinner, I wouldn’t mind the day so much.

I kick a rock off the driveway as Blaire comes back to the line.

“Sorry,” she says. “Promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“Never be the guy who gets married and becomes useless.” She sighs. “A partner in the firm got married a few months ago, and it’s starting to ruin my life.”

“Bruce? Isn’t he like sixty?”

“Fifty-two, but that’s not the point. The point is he’s had this amazing career, he’s one of the smartest men I know, and he gets married, and then all of a sudden, he’s worthless. I just had to remind him that he doesn’t pay my bills or sleep in my bed. He needs to direct his inquiries elsewhere.”

Bursting out laughing, I lean against the truck. “It’s amazing you have any friends at all.”

“Who said I have friends?” She laughs. “I am calling my baby brother, after all.”

“I’m the last resort, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that. You’re just the only one I call for reasons other than to make sure they’re alive.”

“Reasons like …?” I prod.

The line goes quiet. Then she sighs. Then she clicks on her keyboard.

“Hey, Blaire.”

“Yeah?”

“I actually have shit to do today.”

“Sorry,” she groans. “I just … You know the guy I was telling you about?”

I start to answer her seriously. I should answer her seriously. Blaire doesn’t talk about men—not to me, not to my brothers, not to anyone. If she dates at all, it’s news to me. But hearing her all tripped up over this guy she met while on a vacation my brothers and I made her take in Savannah a few weeks ago has been nothing short of hysterical.

“I’m having a hard time remembering which guy you’d be talking about,” I joke.

“Holt. The guy from Savannah.”