Crazy (The Gibson Boys 4)

“No, he wasn’t. And I feel bad for saying that because he ghosted you, and he’s a thief,” I say. “He’s completely the enemy, and I get it. I’m with ya, sister. But he was … nice. Although I’m sure it was an act,” I add.

“Interesting.”

I shrug. “Or not.” I bite the end of a fingernail and contemplate a way to change the subject. Luckily, she does it for me.

“You look comfy,” she says.

“I am. Considering we’re sharing about six hundred square feet of space, I’m rather cozy.” I pick up the yellow pillow and toss it side to side. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

She laughs. “Shut up.”

“I mean it,” I say, laughing too. “I actually took a couple of mental notes about how you use mirrors to make the rooms feel bigger, and the use of plants to make it feel more outdoorsy or something. I don’t know what it is, but I like it.”

“We’ll have fun decorating your house. When does your stuff get here?”

“A couple of days. The moving guy left me a text today that they’re a couple of days behind, which works out perfectly since I don’t have my house yet. And I don’t start work at the bank for a couple of weeks, so it should be enough time to get semi-settled before I start work.”

A bolt of excitement tears through me as I think about my new place. There’s so much hope in a new house—a place free of negative vibes. I’ve needed this for a long time, probably longer than I even realize. Navie has been saying it for years.

“Have you heard from your mom?” she asks.

My spirits sink as I avert my eyes from Navie. My heart is still sore, my feelings tender about leaving my family behind. It was definitely by choice because I made the decision to go, but I wish it didn’t have to be this way.

“Yes,” I say. “She texted me yesterday and asked if I made it. I said I had, and I haven’t heard from her since.”

I attempt to keep my voice void of any emotion, shielding Navie from the hurt I feel at my mom’s antiseptic behavior toward me. But she’s Navie. She hears it. She’s seen it. She’s walked every frustrated moment alongside me and has been angry on my behalf many times.

“I’m sorry, Dylan.” The words come out thick and heavy.

“It’s okay,” I say past a lump in my throat. “She’ll call when she needs something—when there’s an opportunity to earn her love.”

Navie reaches out and places her hand on my thigh. She gives it a gentle squeeze. “I wish I could say something to make this easier, but I know I can’t.”

“Yeah, you can’t. It’s just one of those things we can’t do anything about. People choose where they spend their energy, and my brother and sister are that place for my mom. They get her love even though they’re massive fuckups. I have to prove my worth. It’s okay. It’s just how it is.”

Navie’s palm lifts from my leg, and suddenly, I feel very alone again.

She’s been the only person in my life that I’ve been able to talk freely with about my relationship with my family. Everyone else assumes there’s something wrong with you if things with your parents and siblings aren’t perfect. They don’t stop to consider that maybe you’re the one wanting and trying to have a great situation while the others don’t. And maybe it has nothing to do with you.

I force a swallow.

“You deserve a great life, Dylan,” Navie says. “You should have people around who make you laugh and help you when you’re sick and are present in your life every day, not just when it benefits them.”

“That’s what I want. I mean, it’s not asking for too much to want to see me as a human being and not just as some … tool to helping them get what they want, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why does that feel selfish sometimes?”

I frown. The vulnerability of talking about this feels as if I’m bleeding right in front of Navie, and I loathe it. The back of my neck tightens as I war with myself whether to shut this conversation down while I can or to open up to the one person who gets me.

“It feels selfish because that’s what society tells us to think, and it’s bullshit,” she says. “You don’t have to take the gas out of your tank to fill everyone else up. You’re allowed to keep some of your energy and spirit for yourself.”

She’s right—or I hope she’s right, anyway. My tank is so empty I can hear it rattle, and it’s because it can’t run on empty promises.

I need help bailing Reed out of jail. I know you just got your bonus at work. You don’t mind helping your family, do you?