Crazy: Gibson Boys Book #4

by Locke, Adriana

  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?

  Koty’s electricity is going to get turned off. I’m sorry it’ll cost you all your play money again this month, but you need to do this for your sister. She’s going to look for a job next week. She’d do it for you.

  I spent the last of my savings to take Koty for a spa day. Poor girl was so upset about the divorce and all that I just needed to perk her up. Now I can’t pay my cable bill. There’s nothing to do here but watch television. I can see depression right around the corner. Unless, of course, you’re going to help me out.

  I sigh.

  It was one thing after another. If I said no to any of it, despite the fact that Reed will just get thrown back in jail again in a couple of weeks and Koty wouldn’t bother giving me a drink of water if I were dying of thirst, then I get the silent treatment. It’s the same treatment I get if I need help. But, on the contrary, if I jump when they need me, I get invited to family cookouts. I have to fight for my place in that family. And I’m tired of it.

  “I just hate feeling like this—like me doing something for me, setting some actual boundaries, isn’t okay. Like, I know it makes sense. I do. I need to be able to live and grow and not exist for them. But last night when I laid here and closed my eyes, I felt this twist in my gut, and I started second-guessing everything again.”

  “Don’t.”

  She gets off the chair and takes the three steps to me. She nudges me with her hip until I scoot over and she can drop beside me.

  A lump grows in my throat as she looks at me with the kindest eyes.

  “Listen, Dylan. You weren’t put onto this planet to be Reed’s clean-up crew. Your brother is a grown ass man, and he chooses over and over again to screw up his life. It’s not your problem anymore. Heck, it never was.”

  “I know.”

  My admission must lack enough gusto for Navie to believe it because she continues.

  “And Koty is a decent person,” she says about my sister. “And I hate that her husband left her and the kids behind, but you can’t be expected to foot the damn bill for their lives. At some point, she has to grow up and take care of things herself. And even if you say no, they should still love you. It’s bullshit how they treat you. I don’t know how you took it this long.”

  I settle my gaze on a mirror facing me on the opposite wall. It’s an odd picture—me sitting with Navie on her couch when I was in my own home just a few days ago. It’s almost hard to believe the reflection is true.

  But it is.

  I don’t want to think too much about it. If I do, the tightness in my chest will be back. And the headaches. And … No. Stop, Snow. New place. New start. New me.

  “Okay,” I say, getting up and finding my computer. “Honey and jam ice cream, or should we try the whiskey and pecan?”

  Navie shakes her head.

  “Right,” I say. “Both.”

  Click!

  Five

  Peck

  “I think it’s a great idea.”

  Machlan looks at me from the other side of the bar. The look on his face is fairly unreadable. It could be that he’s pretending my suggestion is terrible. But there’s a remote chance he’s contemplating my proposal for a new weekend activity at Crave with the seriousness it deserves. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless.

  “Peck,” he begins. “Shut up.”

  “Think about it,” I say, not shocked he reverted to dismissing my moment of brilliance. “Move the pool tables to the side and add a giant bull right in the center and let people ride it. I saw this thing once where—”

  “Pretty sure that’s a violation of my insurance policy.”

  “Then your policy is a pussy.” I tear at the label on my beer. “What about a wet T-shirt contest?”

  “I think Hadley would find the idea of women dancing on top of bars with their T-shirts soaked so everyone can see their nipples kind of in bad taste.”

  “Karaoke?”

  Machlan tips his head back and looks at the ceiling.

  “Fine,” I say. “Belly shots. It’s a tried-and-true way to increase revenue. I mean, I don’t have facts to back that up, but I just don’t know how you can go wrong with it.”

  “Peck …”

  I shrug. “I didn’t want to have to go there, but you’re shooting down everything I fire your way.” Leaning against the bar, the edge digging into my ribs, I level my eyes with his. “If you want to do it and take all the credit, I’m fine with that. I know you like everyone to think you’re the genius.”

  “Who’s a genius?” Navie comes out of nowhere. Her purse flies under the bar with a thud. She looks at me, then at Machlan, and then back to me. “Cleary, it’s neither of you two.”

  “Hey,” I say, leaning back and clutching at my heart. “That wounds me.”

  Machlan rolls his eyes at my antics. “I mentioned how I’d like to shake things up on the weekends, and Boy Genius here came up with some ideas that would do one of three things: get my insurance cancelled, have Hadley leave me, or turn the place into a porn club.”

  Navie twists her lips. “Tell me more about the last one.”

  “See?” I yelp as I sit up. “Belly shots are the answer, Mach. Fuck it. I’m taking the credit for this.”

  Navie laughs as she swipes a piece of hair off her forehead. “You know, I could’ve guessed where that idea came from without anyone telling me.”

  “Because it’s genius, and you equate me with genius things, right?” I ask.

  “Something like that.” She and Machlan exchange a grin. “So let’s keep thinking of ideas—in case there’s a gelatin shortage or something,” she adds, looking my way, “and see what happens. In the meantime, does anyone know how to treat a burn?”

  She grabs her wrist and winces. There’s a red welt across her skin that looks like it hurts like hell.

/>   “What did you do?” Machlan asks.

  “Burned it frying a hamburger. I mean, I don’t cook for a couple of weeks and then try to fry a hamburger, which I do here all the time, and apparently forget how.”

  A glimmer of happiness shines in her eyes, and it hits me right in the chest. There’s a weight off her shoulders. I doubt it’s the pots and pans specifically, but probably more like she thinks things are put to bed with Logan. That makes me happy—even if I had to pretend to be him and get guilted into buying him out of trouble.

  How did that even happen?

  “You’re welcome,” I say before tipping the rest of my beer back.

  “For what?” Navie asks.

  “For being me, I guess.”

  Ignoring the confused looks of my friends, I send the bottle careening down the bar. It flies into the trashcan at the end.

  “Butter,” I say.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Machlan asks.

  “Butter on burns.” I shrug. “I read that once. Or heard it. Or something. You put butter on burns to make them better.”

  Machlan chuckles. “That’s not true.”

  “It is.”

  “It isn’t. What’s the science behind that?” He crosses his arms over his chest, enjoying a situation where he thinks he has the answer. “Butter is a fat. Fat would keep the heat inside the burn. It’s counter-intuitive.”

  He has a point. Damn it.

  “While you take that up with the interwebs,” I say, “I’m going to figure out how to make you money.”

  I have no clue what I’m going to do, but what I’m not going to do is sit here and have Machlan prove me wrong. It’s not that I was guaranteeing butter would work. I was just suggesting it, and I’m not giving him the opportunity to flaunt his minor victory over my head.

  I look around Crave. There are a few people in the back. Pool balls are being racked up as they chat over the table.

  “Hey,” I call back there. “Question—what would you guys like to see in here on weekends?”

  “What are you doing?” Machlan asks.

  I look over my shoulder. “I’m taking a survey of your five patrons—myself not included.”

  “People don’t know what they want. You just have to give it to them,” Machlan says.

  I smirk. “Pretty sure that’s illegal in all fifty states.”

  Navie laughs, jabbing Machlan in the ribs, as I turn back to the pool players.

  “So?” I ask.

  “Cheaper drinks,” one of them suggests.

  Machlan snorts behind me.

  “What else?” I ask.

  The blonde puts a pool stick between her boobs and grins. “How about you strip teasing on top of the bar?”

  “That I can do,” I say.

  I turn to face Machlan. His eyes are narrowed.

  “Don’t,” he says.

  “The people want it. A good businessman delivers what the people want.” I glance over my shoulder. Again. “You want it, right?”

  “Do I ever,” Blondie says.

  I shrug. “See?”

  “I think we give him a shot,” Navie offers. “I mean, it could really—”

  “Peck,” Machlan shouts as I leap onto the bar.

  Staying a few feet away from him so he can’t reach out and swipe my legs out from under me—been there, done that—I plant my boot-clad feet shoulder width apart. I’m not expecting the country song that pulses out of the speakers.

  “Get it,” Navie shouts over the beat.

  Laughing, I start with a roll of my body. I don’t have a damn clue how you’re actually supposed to do this. I just get up here from time to time to get a rise out of Machlan because it pisses him off … and hopefully to get a little attention from Molly if she’s around.

  A whistle screams through the air from Blondie as I lift the edge of my diesel truck logo shirt. I spin my hat around backward, the music just starting to feed into my blood when it shuts off.

  “Down, Peck,” Machlan barks.

  “Don’t blame me if you go broke,” I shout back to him.

  The bar is flooded with light. The front door open, and Dylan steps inside.

  My stomach flip flops at the sight of her.

  She has on the same cutoffs that she had on the day she ripped my ass at Dave’s. A T-shirt falls easily off one shoulder. It has a rainbow across the front.

  Her eyes scan the bar, lighting up when she sees Navie. I stand still—both unable and afraid to move.

  “Hey, Navie,” she chirps. The door closes behind her. She makes her way across the room toward the bar. “Thought I’d check this place out tonight …” Her voice falls as her gaze lands on me. “What are you doing here?”

  I gulp.

  I’m not sure how to play this off … and in front of Navie, no less. I look at my friend and spy a quirked brow.

  “I’m volunteering to host a strip tease event on Saturday nights,” I say. “Want a preview?”

  “Get. Down,” Machlan says. Again.

  Dylan presses her lips together. Still, there’s a hint of a smile that makes me grin. I don’t know what it is about her refusal to be nice to me that’s so amusing, but it is.

  “I can’t believe they let you in here,” she says.

  “Why wouldn’t we?” Navie asks.

  I bow my head as I hop to the floor. The soles of my boots squeak against the concrete. If I look up, I’ll see the equivalent of a rainbow-shirt wearing iceberg get plowed by a few Titantic-esque truths that are probably going to hurt.

  Me.

  That’s who it’s going to hurt. Because she’s going to blame me for not telling her, and her fingernail poking my chest hurts like a motherfucker.

  Dylan pops her hip, a hand finding the bend right above it. Her eyes are glued to me as she sighs. “Well, at least he returned what he stole.”

  “Good thing we don’t kick him out over not paying for shit,” Machlan says, heading toward the storeroom. “Fucker always has a tab.”

  “I pay it off every month,” I yell at him.

  I turn slowly back around to see Navie and Dylan looking at me. Dylan looks defiant, as usual, but Navie’s something else. Curious, maybe.

  “I didn’t know you guys knew each other,” Navie says.

  Dylan raises a brow. “I told you I met him yesterday.”

  “Huh. I must’ve missed that.”

  My heart starts to pick up its pace as I feel the impending bomb drop hovering overhead. “I’m going to head out.”

  “You want me to add your beer to your tab?” Navie asks.

  Dylan’s jaw drops. “How can you be so nice to him? I mean, I know he brought everything back and all that, but seriously, Navie. Be mad. Be angry.” She balls her fists up and shakes them in front of her. “Stand up for yourself, girlfriend. Don’t let him ghost you and then just pop back up with that stupid charm and cute smile.”

  Navie cocks her head to the side. I smile sheepishly.

  “Tab. Yup,” I say, walking backward toward the door.

  “See ya later, Peck,” Navie says.

  My foot halts midstep as the realization I’ve been waiting to hit Dylan flushes over her face. Her eyes widen before they narrow. The apples of her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink as she starts putting pieces of things together.

  I retreat again, quicker this time—

  “Stop,” Dylan demands.

  Navie comes around the bar, a white bar towel fisted in her hand. “What’s happening here?”

  “Who is that?” Dylan asks, pointing at me.

  “I really gotta go,” I say.

  “What’s his name?” Dylan looks at me. “What’s your name?”

  “Little late to be asking that now, isn’t it?” I rotate my hat around again, pulling it snugly down as far as I can.

  “You’re Logan. Right?” Dylan watches me intently. “Tell me your Logan, or I’m going to flip tables.”

  “What are you talking about?
” Navie asks, laughing at her friend. “That’s not Logan. That’s Peck.”

  Dylan lets out a little shriek as she flies in a half-circle to face Navie. “What are you talking about? That’s not your cute best friend here … until I moved here. Now I’m your cute best friend here. Anyway, that’s Logan. The jerkface that ghosted you!”

  Navie’s laugh fills with confusion. “No, it’s not. That’s Peck. Why on Earth would you think …” Her voice trails off. A lightbulb goes off as all the pieces in a puzzle are snapped together in her brain.

  “Yeah ….” I mumble.

  “Peck,” Navie warns.

  “Don’t Peck me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “The hell you didn’t,” Dylan interjects. “You let me think you were Logan. You brought Logan’s pots and pans … or Navie’s pots and pans that you—I mean, Logan—stole … Ugh. This is giving me a headache.”

  Both of them watch me for a reaction. Navie is mildly entertained, but Dylan looks mostly shocked. If I had the balls to laugh at her pretty little face scrunched up in horror, I would. Buuuut I don’t. Not even close.

  I shuffle my feet, unsure if I should get another beer or run before I get poked in the chest again.

  “That skillet was a good one, right?” I ask.

  It’s a stupid thing to say, but this is a stupid situation. Maybe the stupidest situation I’ve ever been in, and with Walker, Lance, and Machlan Gibson as cousins, I’ve been in a whole lot of them. So that says something.

  Navie’s features soften. “You bought those? For real?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Both of you hush,” Dylan says. She moves her weight from one foot to the other. “You aren’t Logan. You’re Peck.”

  “Yup,” I say. “I’m pretty sure we’ve made that clear—ouch!”

  She slaps my bicep. The sound echoes through the bar, catching the attention of Machlan as he reappears. I plead silently for him to help me. He laughs instead and disappears once again into the storeroom.

  Fucker.

  “What’s that for?” I ask, rubbing my arm.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You never asked,” I say. “And you didn’t give me a chance.”