Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

“I’m mad, naturally, but I’m madder at myself,” I say, still working it out in my head. “I let myself get in that position. I let my guard down. My fault.”

  Peck raises his head and looks at me. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no callousness or amusement. Just a sincerity that makes me want to hug him.

  “I can only imagine what happened and if it’s as bad as I think it is, I’m not making excuses for him,” Peck says quietly. “He’s a grown man. But I will apologize on his behalf because you don’t deserve to have any of his issues put on you.”

  “You’re darn right I don’t.” I pick at a slice of lemon I removed earlier from my plate. “I obviously won’t be back at Crank. I don’t want to see him again.”

  “I can understand that.”

  Taking in his handsome features and the sweetness in his eyes, I give in. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I give him a quick, simple hug. “Thanks for being so nice to me.”

  “I’m really sorry about Walker,” he says. “If you need anything, just call. Okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, I know you will, you little badass,” he laughs. “But I mean it. I can move furniture, pick up food, listen to you cry but that’s not my favorite. Only call me for that as a last option.”

  “Okay,” I laugh, watching Delaney come back across the room. “Thanks, Peck.”

  “For what?”

  “For being my friend.”

  He slides out of the seat. “I got a few things to do. Again, you need anything, call me.”

  “Will do.”

  I watch him walk out of the restaurant, stopping to say hello to a few people on the way out, and wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

  Fifteen

  Walker

  The music switches from a hip-hop beat to a country song. Patrons of Crave raise their glasses, inebriated cheers that only come at this point on a Friday night ringing out through the bar. I sit near the phallic ducks in the back and watch everyone celebrate the end of the workweek and what might be the end of my reason to get up in the morning.

  Nora, Machlan’s steady Friday night helper, catches my eye through the dim lights. Casting a glance over her shoulder, ensuring there’s no one waiting for a drink, she sits backwards on the chair next to me.

  “You look like hell,” she says.

  Her short blonde hair is all tousled, sweat lining her forehead from buzzing back and forth across this place a million times over the past few hours. Eye makeup smeared, giving her a rock star look, I could tell her she looks like hell too, but I’d be lying. I could also be wrong because everything is kind of blurred.

  “What’s it to you?” I ask instead, taking the last slug of whiskey from the glass in front of me. The burn of the liquor is gone, dulled by the whiskey before it. And the whiskey before that.

  “It’s not shit to me. I was just pointing it out.”

  “Well, thank ya for that.”

  She rolls her eyes, resting her arms over the back of the chair. “What’s happening with you, anyway?”

  “What does it look like is happening with you? I mean, me?”

  Grimacing, I close one eye in an attempt to steady myself and also to see if it helps me see her clearly. It doesn’t. My hand slaps against the table as I catch myself from falling onto the floor.

  Nora laughs, her red lips spread wide at my state of undoing. “I’ve never seen you this toasted.”

  “Ah, I’m not toasted,” I say, struggling to regain my composure. “I’m just enjoying the Friday night. Isn’t this what people are supposed to do?”

  “Sure.” She watches me closely, narrowing her pretty green eyes. “Is she back—”

  “Nope. I’m not that drunk, Nora.”

  Leaning back, she blows out a breath but is stopped when Lance shows up at her side. This causes her to sit upright and smooth out her shirt. “Hey, Lance. I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.”

  “I thought it was odd you were wearing pants,” he says, testing her reaction.

  “Careful there, Nora,” I say, wagging a finger in her direction. “It’ll be you falling out of the chair now.”

  “Fuck you, Walker,” she says, getting to her feet and storming off as I chuckle at my own joke.

  Lance flips the chair Nora just vacated around. “You look like hell.”

  “Will you stop saying that?”

  “I only said it once, but I take it someone said it before me.” He works his head side-to-side. “What the fuck happened to you?”

  “Who invited you here?”

  He leans in, his eyes glimmering even under the dull light at my state of inebriation. “I’m actually here because I had to get out of town,” he grins wickedly. “There’s this girl—”

  “This story is starting like all of your other ones.”

  “Which means I have the best stories, right?”

  I don’t want to hear his damn stories. I want to sit here and brood over my own mess, replay my own story, and pretend like I didn’t just write “The End” on it with the tip of my cock.

  “Want to hear it?” he asks.

  “Let me guess—you fucked her.”

  “Senseless,” he laughs. “I had her sprawled out on top of my desk, my tie shoved in her mouth, as I fucked the shit out of her.”

  He goes on about his fuckfest, but all I can think about are the hours before now. I’ve come to the conclusion there’s not enough whiskey to block that out.

  Her scent is still nestled in my pores, the taste of her pussy fresh in my mouth. Every now and then, my shirt catches on one of the indentions on my shoulder from her fingernails and I’m reminded, yet again, of Sienna.

  My body, naturally, wants to have her again. I want to get off on seeing her respond to me, want me as badly as I want her—almost desperately. A craving to see her in my t-shirt, on my sheets, digs at me to the point I feel like screaming until I pass out. I almost don’t care if it meant waking up to a reorganized kitchen and that’s the scariest part of all. Is this what happens when you lose your mind?

  If I lose it, I know the exact moment the fall began. It’s not the look in her eye as she moaned my name or the pleasure glossed on her skin as she came. It’s the way she watched me pretend like it was a transaction to me, another night with another woman. That is what’s going to haunt my nightmares if I’m even able to sleep.

  Of all the ways to stop her from feeling, I chose that. I did that. To someone who just might’ve given a fuck.

  “You still here?” Lance asks, waving a hand in front of my face.

  “Get that away from me before I break it.”

  “I’m going to guess that tonight I could actually take you,” he laughs. “What the fuck happened? You don’t drink like this.”

  “I’ll tell ya what happened,” Peck says out of nowhere.

  “Peck—go home,” I say, trying to focus on his face.

  “Nah, Peck, sit. Stay, little cousin,” Lance laughs, pulling a chair out across the table from me. “Tell me what my brother did.”

  “Well, I don’t know for sure,” he says, cringing as the song gets louder. “But I will say I just sat down with Sienna over at Peaches.”

  Both palms splay on the table, trying to root me in place. “You did what?”

  “I don’t know what he did,” Lance says, pointing to Peck, “but you,” he says, dragging his finger through the air until it’s pointing at me, “fucked her, didn’t you?”

  Narrowing my eyes, I lean towards Lance. “Enough.”

  “Was she everything I dreamed she’d be?”

  “Enough, Lance,” I growl.

  “I don’t think he was everything she thought he’d be,” Peck says, eyeing me cautiously, “considering she never wants to see you again.”

  Lance forgotten, my gaze switches to my cousin. His arms are crossed over his blue t-shirt, his hat twisted backwards on his head, as he gives me a look he’s never given me before—like it’s him calling me out on m
y shit.

  Fuck that.

  “She’s not quitting,” I say, although I’m not sure I believe me. “We talked about it.”

  “Before or after you shot your wad?”

  “Damn it, Peck,” I warn, my temples pulsing as I glare at him.

  “This isn’t about her quitting, moron,” Peck fires back. “This is about you doing whatever you did and her never wanting to see you again.”

  Lance places a hand on my shoulder, gently guiding me back into my chair. I don’t know who to be more pissed at—Peck, Lance, Sienna, or myself. All I know for sure is I’m ready to come out of my fucking skin, my blood boiling so hot I’m going to erupt.

  Why am I surprised she’s leaving? Wasn’t it always in the cards? Didn’t she even tell me that originally? Isn’t this what women do?

  “Don’t ‘damn it’ me,” Peck says. “You wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at yourself. Or at the woman who caused all this.”

  “He’s right,” my brother says, motioning to Nora for a beer. “Any of this bullshit you’re aiming at us, or Sienna, is misplaced.”

  “I know where to fucking place it,” I seethe. “I don’t need you two telling me what to do.”

  Peck stands, twisting his hat back around. “Then be my guest. Make a mess of everything and see who loses in the end because, I’ll tell you what, it’ll be you.”

  “I’d rather it be me than Sienna,” I say, snatching the beer Nora brings for Lance. I down half of it before she gets it out of my hand.

  “Machlan said no more for you,” she says, wrestling the bottle away. Holding it up in the air, she smirks. “I love telling you no.”

  “You wouldn’t tell me no if your life depended on it.”

  “Hey, Walker,” she says, bending forward. Her cleavage is on full display, her lips painted and ready to wrap around a cock. None of it does anything for me. “No.”

  “Hey, Nora,” I say, watching her eyes grow wide. “Good.”

  “I hate you tonight,” she says, storming off.

  “I’ll add you to the list,” I mutter, slumping back into my seat. Peck’s gone when I look up. “Where’d he go?”

  “Hell if I know,” Lance sighs. “Spoke too soon.”

  As an eighties hit blares across the speakers, Peck jumps onto a table in the middle of the bar. Everyone cheers, bottles going up in the air, as he hooks his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and starts dancing. The song can barely be heard as the women catcall, the patrons urging him on as they do every time he pulls this non-Machlan-approved stunt. It’s a sideshow act, one that drives my brother insane.

  “Get off the fuckin’ table,” Machlan shouts, his voice swamped by the crowd.

  Lance and I kick back and watch the circus, knowing just how it’ll end.

  Peck turns around, shakes his ass towards Machlan, and starts some pelvic thrust move that he’s known for and perfected over the last few years.

  We watch as Machlan sorts through the crowd and leaps onto the table. Peck abruptly hops off. The crowd boos while Lance and I laugh, Peck making his way to the front. He stops at the front door, bows to his adoring fans, and walks out the door like a soldier, complete with a one-fingered salute to Machlan.

  A girl springs onto the table with Machlan, digging her hands onto the crotch of his pants. He winks, turning his head to the side and kisses the fuck out of her as she grinds into him from behind. The crowd goes insane, beer sloshing as the bottles are raised at the scene in the middle of the room.

  Machlan breaks the kiss, smirks at the crowd, then hops down and heads back to the bar.

  “Do you think Peck does that just to get kicked out?” Lance asks, taking a fresh bottle from Nora, who pointedly ignores me.

  “Sometimes. It’s his calling card or something,” I say, ending the sentence with a yawn. “Like if he doesn’t get kicked out of here at least once a month, people will forget about him.”

  “Is that what you’re trying to do?”

  “What?”

  Lance takes a long drink before answering me. “Make sure Sienna doesn’t forget about you. That’s why you did whatever fucked up shit you did tonight. You figured she’d leave anyway.”

  The pit of my stomach quivers, the tell-tale sign I’ve drunk entirely too much. I focus on his face, his features swirling together in one colorful mess. It’s the moment you wait for when you drink to forget—the moment when you feel all the problems finally give in to the alcohol.

  “Fuck off,” I tell him, struggling to get to my feet. “You can drive me home in Daisy.”

  “Oh, lucky me,” he laughs.

  “Damn right lucky you.”

  We slip through the throngs of people, Lance’s arm around my waist, giving Machlan a wave as we pass. Lance is deep in conversation with me, meaning himself, as I tune out and enjoy the blur I’ve been searching for all night.

  Sixteen

  Sienna

  Windows down, radio up, wind billowing through my hair, I zoom down the country road towards Merom. There’s hardly any traffic as I make my way back to town after having dropped off a bunch of Delaney’s things at her parents’ house. Her mom and dad took us to lunch, her dad going on and on about the dairy industry and almost boring us to death. Still, being bored to death was a nice reprieve from everything else.

  There’s no one to blame this thing with Walker on but myself. I should’ve taken his hints and left well enough be. Maybe I pushed him. Maybe I overstepped my bounds coming in after hours, regardless of my intentions. I was a willing participant and he’s entitled to his behavior afterwards. Just as I am mine.

  “I don’t get it,” I mutter to myself, turning down the volume. The sappy song about true love and second chances is not doing me any favors.

  I pilot the car around a big box lying in the middle of the road, wondering if it is some kind of analogy from the universe. Sometimes you have to go around stuff to keep going.

  “I’ll go around him all right.”

  Cornfields zip by as I step on the accelerator, my mind going just as fast around last night. The terseness of his tone. His initial refusal to look at me. The look in his eye when he did.

  “Shit,” I groan, hearing a loud pop. The car lurches to the side as a thump-thump smacks against the pavement. Slowing the car as quickly as I can, I bring it to the shoulder. It sinks to the right.

  Resting my head against the steering wheel, I try not to cry. “Lord, please help me.”

  Turning off the engine, I get out into the warm afternoon sun. There’s nothing around but tall stalks of corn and high, puffy clouds as far as the eye can see. It takes all of five seconds to confirm a flat tire and to spot the nail sticking out of the rubber. Air gushes around the gouge making it impossible to limp it to the nearest gas station which is, if I remember correctly, miles away.

  Leaning against the trunk, I slip out my phone and call Delaney. It goes immediately to voicemail.

  “This mailbox is full and not accepting messages. Please try again later. Goodbye.”

  “No,” I groan, stomping my foot against the dirt. A rock rolls down the shallow embankment and into a ditch.

  Pulling up the text app, I shoot a message her way and hold my breath. The “delivered” tag doesn’t show and I wonder if she turned it off to take a nap to ward off the migraine she was getting like she said she was going to.

  Another rock meets the toe of my shoe and joins the other at the bottom of the ditch. It’s littered with trash and weeds and another bunch of rocks I kick in too.

  “Damn it,” I say to the corn. “Why can’t I just go freaking home?”

  Looking both ways down the road, there’s no one in sight. I didn’t even pass anyone when I was heading out here.

  “I’m going to die a horror show death.”

  Tossing my phone from one hand to the other, I weigh my options. I can wait for someone to find me and hope they aren’t a serial killer and come before nightfall. I could hold my breath that De
laney wakes up and checks her messages. Nine-one-one is an option, although this isn’t an emergency and I would feel like a dick. Or I could call Walker.

  “Ha,” I sigh, thinking about calling him. “I’d rather feel like a dick.”

  Scrolling through my contacts, I see Peck’s name. Swiping on, I make it to the R’s before I go back. My finger hovers over his name. I gulp before I click on it. My breath holds while I wait for it to connect.

  “Hey, Slugger,” he says after the first ring.

  “Hey, Peck. I, um …” Looking around at the corn, my spirits cave. “I need some help.”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I’m stuck out here on Route 9 somewhere between Merom and Honnerton and just got a flat tire. I don’t know who else to call,” I sigh.

  “Did you call Walker?”

  “Nope. I’d rather walk home.”

  There’s a small chuckle through the phone. “So I shouldn’t tell him you have a flat tire and need me to come get you?”

  “Absolutely not,” I insist. “Look, you said to call you if I needed anything and I—”

  “I’m already in my truck,” he says, cutting me off. “I’ll be there in a few. Just down Route 9?”

  “Go to Merom and take it towards the bluff. I’m like sixty-eight million miles into the corn.”

  “Be there in a bit.”

  Tossing my phone into the car, I cross the ditch and sit on the other side. No cars pass as I sit there and lace little flowers together like we used to do at recess in elementary school. It’s methodical and intricate and takes all my attention which is a godsend.

  The first car I hear comes at me like a bat out of hell. Hopping to my feet, I see Peck’s hand out the driver’s window. Taking a step towards the ditch as he slides in facing me, I stop. His smile does nothing to smooth this over.

  Walker climbs out of the truck. His expression is unreadable, even for him, and I grind my teeth together as I turn to Peck.

  “Hey,” Peck says, his tone way too cheery.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I ask him, marching across the ditch next to the driver’s side door as he gets out.