Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

  I no more than get both feet on the hardwood floor of the hallway before my back is pressed against the wall. Walker is in front of me, his eyes blazing. Yet just beneath the ferocity lies something that makes me want to reach out and pull myself into his chest. But I don’t. Because fuck that.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice just loud enough for me to hear.

  “I was invited.”

  Looking him right in the eye, my words much steadier than I anticipated, I try not to focus on his lips and how close they are as he leans over me, his breath hot and cinnamon-y against my face.

  “No. Why are you really here?”

  “Why do you think I’m here?” I volley, giving him an opening to make this conversation easier.

  “It sure as hell ain’t for Peck.”

  His assuredness irritates me, but it’s his insinuation that I’m so pathetic I’d chase him to his Nana’s house that incenses me. I can feel my face get hot, my exhales vibrating as they roll out of my body.

  “What do you want me to say?” I hiss, gripping the plate. “That I’m here for you? That I wanted to give you a chance to say whatever you were going to say yesterday?”

  He does that thing where I think he’s going to smile, but he doesn’t. Instead, he plants a cocky smirk on those kissable lips that I now want to bite and storm away.

  “For the record, I am here with Peck. You want to know why? Because he asked me,” I say, the cheese ball sliding to the side. “Because your grandmother asked me.” I search his eyes for something to quell my rising anger, but there’s nothing to grab onto. “Because they aren’t complete assholes.”

  I start to step around him, but he steps in my path. “So you don’t want to hear me out?”

  “Yes. No,” I contradict myself. “I don’t know. That’s the problem, Walker. I don’t know what to do with you. I’ve tried to be nice. I’ve liked you enough to have sex with you, because believe it or not, I don’t do that with everyone,” I say, tilting the platter so the cheese ball centers again, never taking my eyes off him. “But the deeper I get with you, the farther you pull away. So, fine. Retreat back into your little world. But I’ll tell you one thing, I may regret hitting your truck with that bat, but I don’t regret being with you because I honestly liked you. I’m sorry you feel I was such a mistake. I promise I won’t get in your way again.”

  Hitting him in the arm with my shoulder as I step out from between him and the wall, I walk towards the kitchen. He doesn’t call out for me. He doesn’t even say my name.

  Nineteen

  Sienna

  “Here you go,” I say, setting the platter down. It clatters against the table, causing both Nana and Peck to look up from the sink. “Cheese ball.”

  “You got it away from Machlan?” Nana asks, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m impressed.”

  “Peck. Outside,” Walker barks, storming behind me and making a beeline for the door.

  “Now it’s time to eat,” Nana says. “Peck and I have everything in the dining room.”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Pecks flashes me a look. “Remember. Nurse Shelby,” he whispers as he follows Walker out the door.

  Instinctively, my heart in my throat, I follow him and stop at the glass. They stand at the edge of the house, the vein in Walker’s temple throbbing, his finger in Peck’s chest. Peck’s hands are up in the air in a “don’t shoot” stance, his back to the house. The rumble of Walker’s voice trickles through the door and I can hear the emphatics in his tone, but Peck’s climbs louder, over the shouts of his cousin.

  “What’s going on out there?” Lance asks, coming up behind me. “Oh, fuck.”

  “It’s not Peck’s fault,” I whisper. “Do something.”

  Lance claps a hand on my shoulder, the feeling strangely comforting. “Don’t worry about it. Walker knows this has nothing to do with Peck too. Peck’s just the one he can … vent to.”

  “That’s venting?”

  “In Walker’s way, yeah. It’s therapy.”

  “I can assure you he doesn’t pay Peck enough for that.”

  Lance laughs, squeezing my shoulder. “Peck can handle himself, Slugger.”

  Glancing up and behind me, I take in his hazel eyes. “Not you too.”

  He winks before flicking his gaze back outside. “They’ll be fine. Let’s go eat.”

  “I don’t know …” I mutter, watching Walker get right into Peck’s face. “He said to take him to Linton General and ask for Shelby.”

  “Oh, I bet he did,” he chuckles. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Spinning around, I look at him in disbelief. “We can’t leave them out there like that.”

  “I thought you had brothers? You should know how this works.”

  “My mom would’ve killed them had they acted like this,” I say, jabbing a finger towards the door. “My brothers just exchange barbs until Ford gets them down and makes them submit.”

  “Ford sounds like my kinda guy,” Machlan teases as he walks by with a pitcher of tea. “Now come on. The sideshow is wrapping up and Nana’s gonna have a fit if we don’t get to the table.”

  Lance follows Machlan, their conversation making a one-eighty shifting to baseball as the door behind me opens. Startled, I turn around to see Peck. He’s not grinning his usual goofy smile, but he’s not bleeding either.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “I’m fine,” he says, blowing me off.

  “Where is he?”

  “Peck? Sienna? Get in here. Time to eat!” Nana calls from the dining room.

  “You heard her,” Peck says, motioning towards the doorway.

  Not knowing what else to do but knowing one hundred percent that this conversation is over, I put one foot in front of the other and make my way to the table. Continuously looking behind me and out the window, I don’t see Walker. I want to ask, but there’s no way to do that without everyone hearing me.

  The table is lined with a dozen platters of meat, potatoes, salads, and sides. It reminds me of Savannah. If I closed my eyes, I could open them to see my family at the table, waiting to dig in. Instead, I rest my sights on the Gibson boys and their Nana, all waiting for me to take the seat Peck has pulled out for me.

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling flushed. “This looks great, Nana.”

  “Thank you,” she says, fanning her face with a napkin. “Where’s Walker?”

  The boys glance around the table. It’s a scene I know well from having a large family. They’re silently conspiring, covering for one of their own. As terrible as I feel for being the cause of this situation, my heart also warms at their camaraderie for Walker despite his being an ass.

  “He had to chop wood,” Peck rushes, his eyes bulging when he realizes the stupidity of his words in the middle of summer. “I mean …”

  “He had to take a call. Something about the shop.” Machlan rearranges his silverware and pointedly doesn’t meet Nana’s gaze. “He’ll be back. He just needs a few minutes.”

  “That boy,” she huffs, instructing Lance to lead the family in prayer.

  We bow our heads, Lance giving thanks for the meal in front of us and family around us, before closing it out with an “Amen.” When I look up, Machlan is grinning at me.

  “What?” I ask, taking the bowl of mashed potatoes he offers.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t be rude,” I say in the same tone I’d use with my brothers. “Say what you want to say or stop insinuating you want to say it.”

  “Exactly,” Nana cuts in. “I like the way you put that, Sienna. You handle these boys well.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I say, thinking of Walker and how I haven’t handled him at all. “You have any tips for me?”

  “For these rascals?” she sighs. “Well …”

  “I could give you some tips,” Lance jokes.

  “You will not. Not with that tone.” Nana looks at him over the rim of her glass of tea.
>
  “You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Lance says.

  “I can imagine.” She sets her glass down and looks at me. “I always think intention is more important than action. Take, for example, the time Peck wrecked my town car.”

  Peck drops his fork. “I didn’t wreck it. I hit the gear shift with the hose while I was cleaning it out.”

  “You took out an entire shed,” Machlan cackles. “You wrecked it.”

  “The important thing,” Nana says, giving Machlan a stern look, “is that he was trying to do good. Or, since you are so ready to jump into this conversation, Machlan, take the time you shorted out half the house with a bobby pin.”

  Lance bursts out laughing, much to Machlan’s dismay. “I’ll never forget that as long as I live.”

  “Fuck you,” Machlan mutters.

  “Excuse me?” Nana looks at him. “At my table, sir?”

  “Sorry.”

  She turns her attention to me. “Actions have emotions incorporated in them. Other people and things can factor in too. I’ve always been an advocate of looking into someone’s intentions as opposed to how those actually turn out. I think it tells you a lot more about the person than their results. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes,” I gulp, the squeak of the back door flooding my ears. I sense him walking into the room, smell his cologne way before I see him. His energy hits me like a seismic wave, rolling over me and demanding me to pay attention.

  Looking up, I’m not a bit surprised he’s looking at me, but I am surprised at how. The fury is gone, the tightness in his jaw eased. Instead, there are lines furrowed in his forehead and his hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

  “Sit down and make a plate,” Nana says, motioning towards the seat at the other end of the table.

  He studies me intently before rocking back on his heels and moving his gaze to Nana. “I know I promised you I’d be here today. But, um, would it be okay if I miss dinner?”

  She rests her fork against her plate and folds her hands on her lap. “Go ahead. I can tell it’s important.”

  Walker looks down. Taking a deep breath, one that we all watch him take, he finally blows it out as his head turns to me. “Would you mind going with me?”

  I forget to answer. The words just dangle in the back of my throat, mixed up in the emotion that’s drifting from Walker’s face to mine. Finally, Peck elbows me in the side.

  “Um, sure,” I croak. “Would that offend you, Nana? If I went with him?”

  “It would me,” Lance offers, getting a chuckle from Machlan.

  “It’s the intent,” Nana smiles softly. “Go. I’ll pack a meal for you to take home with you when you get back.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Gibson.”

  She starts to correct me, but thinks better of it. “See you soon. Boys, get back to your dinner before it gets cold.”

  Scooting my chair back, I give Peck a squeeze on the shoulder.

  “Go get him, Slugger,” he whispers loud enough for only me to hear.

  Heading to the doorway, Walker steps to the side to let me through. Not sure what to do or what to say, I keep walking until I’m out the door.

  Twenty

  Sienna

  “Where are we going?” I ask as he passes me. The gravel crunches beneath his feet as he passes the front of Peck’s truck. “Walker?”

  He draws a line across the top of the Charger with the tip of his finger as he all but storms past, my legs struggling to keep up in the low heels I stupidly decided to wear for church. Stopping and leaning against the car, I take them off and carry them as I feel the gravel turn to soft earth beneath my bare feet.

  He’s halfway to a tree line, still not looking back.

  “Damn it, Walker,” I yell after him. “Answer me.”

  I want to take a shoe and throw it at his head, both as a way to get his attention and to ease some of the frustration that’s causing my teeth to grind together.

  There’s nothing worse than being ignored, except when that person asks for your attention and then flips it back around like you’re begging them.

  To hell with that.

  “Screw it. I’m going back.”

  His feet plant just inches from the trees. The shirt, the first time I think I’ve ever seen him in anything but black, stretches across his wide shoulders, the pockets of his jeans hugging his ass. Strands of hair hit the top of his collar and I want to run my fingers through them and ask him why he’s hell-bent on driving me nuts, but I don’t because he’s still not looking at me.

  Flying him the bird, an un-ladylike gesture that feels like a huge moment of rebellion, I take a step back towards the house when I hear him speak.

  “I didn’t say I regretted anything.”

  Our positions now flip-flopped—him looking at my back, me refusing to look his way—I focus on the back of the old barn bearing a few streaks of paint leftover from an old tobacco ad.

  “Sometimes you don’t have to say things to have them understood.” My voice is clear over the bright green grass, floating across the bunny that’s standing on its hind legs watching us, and through the band of evergreens. “I think you’re the master at not having to say what you mean to get your point across.”

  The sun hits my face and I feel all the mixed emotions of the last few days just kind of lump together and fall, sinking in the warm afternoon. I’m almost numb, not really feeling any certain way. I stand at the back of the yard, my face to the sky, and wonder what I should do. Then again, I wonder if it’s even worth my energy.

  I have a phone full of numbers, social media accounts brimming with contacts, of men I could call up and go out with. Handsome men, charming ones, guys who would wine and dine me senseless. Some of them have names every household in America would recognize, some have faces every female in the country could name.

  Yet, none of them have the appeal of Walker Gibson. That’s something I don’t understand.

  I’ve always known I wasn’t cut out to be arm candy for some trust fund baby. I’ve dated my fair share and being expected to not have an opinion, to look the other way, to have my hair, nails, and eyebrows ready to go at all times is not my idea of a good time. It actually makes me want to punch people in the face. But that doesn’t mean I have to go polar opposite with work boots and grease, does it?

  His shadow creeps up beside me, stretching much longer than mine. Even it keeps a distance.

  “I mean it.” His voice rushes across my skin, the genuineness in his tone a balm to some of my aches. “I don’t regret it. I never said I did. That was you putting words in my mouth.”

  “That was me drawing lines between what you were saying and doing.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Surprised that he’s giving in that easily, I ease up on the clench of my fingers around the straps of my heels. Blood rushes back into my digits, divots dug into my palms.

  “I’m glad you came today,” he says. “I mean, I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, but …”

  “It doesn’t seem like it,” I say, my voice struggling against the tightness in my throat. “It seems like you think I’m out to make your life miserable. I assure you I’m not.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” he mumbles under his breath.

  Not sure I was supposed to have heard that, I did, and I’m not about to let him get away with it. I practice the art of the fake smile as I rein in my annoyance. “Fooling anyone isn’t in my plans. A big ‘screw you’ for even insinuating that.”

  “Sienna.” The way he says my name, like he’s wrapped everything he has around the three syllables, makes my knees weak despite my anger. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Then how did you mean it, Walker? Because I’ll be honest—I’m exhausted from trying to figure you out. I’m sick of doing this with you.”

  A storm crosses his face, a steeliness settling on the hard lines of his jaw.

  “That. Right there,” I say, pointing a finger a
t him. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “What?” There’s a sharpness to his tone, a bite that seems to warn me off of prodding. Most days this would work. I’d stop and just let him go on about his day. Today is not most days. Today I’m tired of it.

  I’m not sure it even matters and I’d put my money on the fact that it doesn’t. Even so, there’s an exhaustion in my shoulders from carrying around all of the guesses I put together about why he acts the way he does and an acute sense of curiosity as to what’s real—his verbal spars or the zing of his touch that says otherwise.

  “One minute, you and I are having a conversation and teasing each other and laughing—well, I’m laughing. I’m not sure you’d do such a thing,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And the next minute you’re dismissing me like some woman you can’t shake. Like a bad habit. Like a quick fuck,” I eke out. “Yet you give me just enough rope to hang myself.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” I give his words back to him, a little salt dashed on top as I throw them back his way. “I’ve never met a man who twists me up like you do. Like you get some thrill out of keeping me flailing around, unsure if you like me or hate me.”

  “Stop it,” he growls.

  “I’m not going to stop it,” I shoot back. “I’m done with this shit. If you want to string some woman along, fine. Go ahead. But it won’t be me.”

  “I don’t want it to be you. I mean,” he roughs a hand against his head, looking anywhere but at me with a scowl. “Damn it. What I mean is, that’s not true.”

  “Oh, it’s true and you know it.”

  Refusing to back down, I meet him glare for glare. He stands taller; so do I. He angles his head and I do the exact same thing. I won’t budge an inch.

  “You wanna know what’s fucking true?” He takes a step towards me, his hands coming out of his pockets in a quick rush. “Here’s what’s true—you’re making my life so goddamn miserable I can’t see straight. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I say shit I don’t mean on purpose because pushing you away feels like saving you from myself. I can’t work on an engine without smashing my knuckles off the side like some rookie.”