I throw the pillow at her. She laughs when it lands a few feet from her, not even getting remotely close to its target.
She sits in the chair. I sit up too so I don’t feel like a therapy patient getting help for my issues. That would only embolden her to give me a lecture, and that’s not what I need. Not that I particularly know what I need right now, but that’s not the point.
“Look, it’s the middle of the day,” she says. “You’ve literally not gotten off the couch today.”
“I’m sulking.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’m avoiding my problems.”
She smirks. “Seems like that would be hard to do when you are your problem.”
“Navie …”
“Have you even called about your rental?” she asks. “Or are you just pretending life off my couch isn’t happening today?”
“Yes, smartass.” I take out my phone and look at the screen. It’s blank. “No one has called or texted.”
She quirks a brow. “Not even Peck?”
“Once last night.” I half-groan, half-whine as I sit back against the cushions. “It was when you forced me to get into the shower and said I looked like the bride of Frankenstein.”
“Did you call him back?”
“No.”
“Dylan, you … Ugh.”
I throw my hands in the air. “What should I say? I don’t know whether to be mad at him or at me or at Molly or at the world or just … fucking … I don’t know. I. Don’t. Know. It’s all confusing. I don’t even know anymore.”
Navie shakes her head. “Honesty coming in five seconds.”
I make a point to grab on to the edge of the couch, making her laugh.
“When things get all confused in your head, it’s fear,” she says. “You are the most logical person I know. Except the HAS Line. But anyway, other than that, you’re great at breaking stuff down. At sorting your problems. At making decisions. But when that all gets muddy, it means there’s fear packed in there. That’s why it’s all jumbled.”
It actually makes a lot of sense logically. It also makes sense knowing how I feel inside.
I am scared. Scared shitless. I’m scared of falling in love with Peck. I’m terrified not to love him too. I’m scared of spending my whole life and never feeling the way I do when I’m with him.
What if I screw it up? What if I become a jealous monster because surely every person who lays eyes on him wants him? What if I end up disappointing him the way people always disappoint me?
I probably already have.
I rub the corners of my eyes. My heart aches when I think about him. I try to think about things from his perspective, and I think I might puke.
My breathing shallows as what has to be adrenaline shoots through my veins. My hands pat the seats next to me in a steady rhythm as my brain begins to rapid-fire a series of feelings and ideas.
Even though I told him we just needed some space, it doesn’t feel like that. I know it can’t feel like that to him either. He must feel like I walked out on him and left him.
Because that’s what I did. But it’s not what I really meant.
I was scared, and like Navie just said, fear makes a mockery out of you.
Maybe that’s what happened to Jessica too. Maybe she was scared. I don’t know what of, but maybe that’s why she could leave her two sweet boys behind.
He deserves better than that for once. He deserves better than that … from me.
The idea of doing that, of being there for Peck makes me happy. Being the strong one, the forgiving one, the one he knows he can come home to and be safe—that concept makes tears well in my eyes. Maybe, just maybe, he’s like my mom too. Maybe no one has asked him if he needs anything. He’s always given. Been kind. Forgiving. Maybe no one’s asked him what he wants. Who he wants. And maybe, just maybe, that could be me.
It feels absolutely, positively right. Because not only does he deserve that, but so do I.
I ignore Navie’s curious look as I stand. Thoughts are coming so quickly that moving seems to help make them easier to process.
I think of Charlie and the few men who came before him. Of my mother and Koty and Reese and even my relationship with Navie. In all those, without knowing it, I waited on someone to save me. I gave them the power to either make me happy and fulfilled and accepted … or to pass.
Maybe I’m the hero of my story.
Or at least, maybe I’m the co-writer of a tale as old as time, of a woman and a man who have all kinds of fears and bruises but come together to work them out.
I know. Suddenly, I know. This is what love feels like.
It wasn’t the lust and desperation I felt toward Charlie. It wasn’t the intense crushes I had on men before him. And it wasn’t the way I felt when I met Peck under that stupid truck or the way I felt when we burned the steaks.
This is love. It’s the moment when I realize just how bumpy this ride might be. It’s when I accept that I’m all kinds of bruised up, and he has scars deeper than I can see … and I still want to take his hand and navigate the waters with him. Even though his scars and my bruises together might make for some waves. And storms. And asteroid collisions. It’s still worth it. It’s still preferable even with the fear rolling around my stomach.
“I’m in love,” I whisper.
Navie grins. “I know.”
“No,” I say with a nervous laugh. “This isn’t an infatuation or a crush or just not wanting to be alone. Or even just not wanting to sleep on that couch again.”
She laughs.
“I love him, Navie. Like I love him like Nana loves Pops.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
My heart fills with a contentment that I’ve never experienced. It assuages some of the sharp edges of being scared and lets me know this is the right answer.
“This is what they mean when they say, ‘When you know, you know.’”
“Good. Now I wanna know what you’re talking about.”
I grin.
Navie stands and adjusts an elastic in her hair. “So what do we do with this revelation?”
“I’m not sure …”
I wonder where he is and what he’s doing. I could call him, for sure, and I want to. I need to hear his voice.
But he deserves more than that. And that’s what I’m going to give him.
“Can you do me a favor?” I ask carefully.
“Sure.”
I grin. “I have an idea …”
Thirty-Two
Dylan
“Change of plans,” Navie says through the phone.
“What do you mean, ‘Change of plans’? We can’t change the plan now.”
My voice is borderline frantic. Change the plan? No. We can’t. Not now.
Oh, shit.
I look ahead at the couple nearing the door to Crave.
She wasn’t kidding.
The bar.
Machlan’s bar.
At nine o’clock at night.
“Navie, this idea just got seriously out of hand,” I groan. “Um, is Machlan there?”
“Yes. That’s not the problem. The problem is … well, I can’t tell you the problem. But—”
“Okay, I’m cutting you off because this is way more important than whatever you were about to say.” I gulp. “Nana is walking into the bar.”
“What?” she squeaks.
“Yeah.”
“What bar? You mean, like, the prescription counter at the pharmacy, right?”
“Nope.” I wince. “I mean like you have Nana and a date—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Sorry.”
She gasps. “Oh, my gosh, Dylan. The boys are all here. Machlan will burn this motherfucker down.”
I want to cry. I’m not sure if it’s because Nana is actually beaming at the little old man who has her by the hand as they amble toward the door or because I know she’s right and her grandsons are going to kill her.
“Well, go take the matches away while you can and prepare,” I say.
“Shit. Okay. I gotta go … do …. What, I don’t know. Maybe take cover.”
“Gotta go.”
“Hey, wait. About that change of plans—”
I end the call. I don’t have time for her shenanigans.
Nana is dressed in a bluish-purple dress that hits her mid-calf with giant white and red flowers on it. She also has on pearls. She looks absolutely lovely. And like she’s going to church. Not her grandson’s bar.
I want to cry.
“Hi,” I say as I reach them.
“Hi, honey,” Nana says. She pulls me to her and kisses my cheek. “I’m so excited for this.” She pats my hand.
She’s beaming. The woman is absolutely beaming. And as much as I want to redirect this little date or whatever it is, I can’t. I can’t take that happy away from her.
I’m here to bring happy. Not kill it.
“Um, so, you know that this place gets a little, you know, wild at night?” I say with a nervous laugh.
“We’ve been to bars before.” The man looks down at her and locks his hand with hers while he beams. “Not together, of course. This is our first time together, right, Michelle?”
She looks up at him and smiles like a high school girl going to prom.
They’re going to kill me. Peck is going to kill. Me.
“Let me get the door for you,” the man says.
“Dave, you’re such a gentleman.”
The door pulls open. Sounds of Crave billow out onto the sidewalk and past our ears. I’m pretty sure I hear someone shout something about dick popsicles, but if Nana hears it, she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Nana says. She places her hand on my forearm as she steps inside.
I laugh, my face screwed up like I might cry.
Because I might.
My nerves are so high I need a drink. My plan was to get a couple of shots of tequila before Peck gets here, and I put this harebrained plan into motion.
Nana’s eyes go wide as she takes in the fruits of Machlan’s labor. And the couple grinding so hard in the middle of the dance floor that they may as well be screwing.
“Ooh,” she says.
“Yeah. We can turn around and go back home,” I say, trying to steer her to turn around.
Dave laughs. “We’re old but not dead, Dylan. We’ve seen these things before.”
“In your grandson’s bar?” I ask Nana.
“Well, dear, no,” she says, clutching the string of pearls around her neck. “But Machlan can’t help if these people …” She gulps as the woman starts twerking. “Do whatever … that is.” She looks up at me. “Times sure have changed.”
I bet.
My eyes find Navie’s behind the bar. She looks as nervous as I feel. I hold out my hands to say, “I’m sorry,” but she fake cries, and I know we’re dead.
Or I’m dead.
The plan to win Peck’s heart is going to end with my heart and possibly other organs, depending on how mad they are, being nailed to the bulletin board and having darts thrown at them.
At me.
Like a witch in Salem.
I start to scan the bar for Peck. It’s not necessary, though. Because I have four of the hottest, most handsome, and shocked men barreling toward me.
This time, I clutch Nana’s hand. Even though she’s kind of the enemy right now. But they won’t kill her. They love her.
Which is why they’ll kill me.
I drop her hand and give her a small grin before stepping to the side and a few inches closer to the door.
My plans are halted, probably indefinitely, as I focus on preserving my life.
“What in the ever-loving fuck is this?” Machlan asks.
He and Peck stand shoulder to shoulder. Lance and Walker are behind them, whispering. I’m not sure which set of men I’m more worried about at the moment. The two in the front, ready to throw tantrums, or the two in the back who are whispering back and forth.
“Machlan, I don’t care that we’re in your bar,” Nana says. “I still won’t listen to that mouth.”
“You’re about to hear a lot worse than that,” he says. “What on earth are you doing here? Please, someone tell me.”
Nana’s face breaks into a smile. And I know she’s going to do it. She’s going to out me. She’s going to throw me under the bus.
“Well, I can’t really say because I think it’s a surprise. But when Dylan invited me tonight, I had to come.”
And dead.
All four of their heads, six if you count Nana and Dave, whip around to face me. Machlan is seething. Walker isn’t amused, but Lance is. I think. And Peck …
I can’t tell if he’s happy to see me or not. He starts to smile and then realizes his grandmother is two feet from him in a place where we dirty-danced not that long ago.
I wave. “Um, hi.” I smile. I shrug. I pray for my soul.
“I have so many questions right now,” Peck says.
“Me too,” Machlan adds with a glare.
Walker motions for me to follow him. So I do. Because there’s really no other choice.
My heart pounds harder than it’s ever pounded before, and I think I might pass out. Peck doesn’t say anything to me, just kind of watches me in shock as I follow his cousin a few feet away.
I want to attach myself to him, to kiss his face and ask for forgiveness. To tell him I’m here for him, and that I love him, and that … I didn’t invite Nana here. But I’m not sure what he would do, and there’s a burly man who apparently expects to have a conversation with me.
Now.
Walker spins around. “Gonna need you to explain.”
“Um …”
“That’s not an explanation.”
I blow out a breath. “Yeah. I know. So, um, you see, I kind of acted like an idiot to Peck and—”
“I know. Should I bill you for the day’s work Peck didn’t get done yesterday? Because he was worthless as fuck, and I’m still gonna have to pay him.”
I gulp. I’m not sure what to say. Just as I’m about to volunteer to do just that, Walker tips his hand. The corner of his mouth starts to lift before he twists his lips into a grin.
“I’m kidding,” he says. “I mean, I’m not. He was worthless. But it was kind of nice to see him all pissed off over a woman for once.”
“That’s happened before, I’m sure.”
“Never.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He’s never really given a fuck about anyone. Molly, but not like yesterday. Not for real.”
“Oh.”
I glance at Peck over my shoulder. He’s positioned himself so he can watch me and listen to Lance and Machlan interrogate Nana and Dave too. I smile. He does too. Kind of. He also kind of looks … worried.
There’s nothing I can do about that right now. Maybe ever. So I focus on Walker because maybe I can have one Gibson not hate me.
“So,” Walker says. “Why is there a nana? In a bar?”
“Okay, let me explain.”
My brain spirals from one topic to the next too fast for me to grab on to one of them and go. Do I start with why I ended up at Nana’s this afternoon? Or why I think Nana is here? Or that I forgot Peck’s drill battery over there the other day and told myself I needed to retrieve it before he realized it was missing, but really I just wanted the comfort Nana provides?
I don’t know. I. Don’t. Know.
“Please.” He waits. “Anytime now.”
“Okay.” I hold my hands up, gathering myself. “So I was at Nana’s today, and I could tell you why, but I bet you don’t care.”
“Nope.”
“So when I was there, she sort of … plucked my emotions right out of me.”
He nods with a level of sympathy only someone can have if they’ve e
ncountered a lesson-wielding Nana.
I’ve now experienced it. Twice, really. But both times were about the same situation, so maybe that only counts as one.
“She was telling me …” I stop. The boys don’t know about her test results, and I’m not about to add that to the mix tonight. It’s not mine to tell anyway. “She was just telling me that you only live once, and that you have to just … go for it. Live the life you want. Forget whether it might be scary or appropriate or if you’ll … piss your grandsons off.”
He folds his arms across his chest and looks over my shoulder. “Is that why she’s here with Old Man Dave?”
“I think your grandmother might be in love.”
A series of emotions pass through his eyes. “Well,” he says finally, “she’s entitled to a little love of her own. Pops has been gone a long damn time now.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
“But she still doesn’t belong in a fucking bar.” He looks at me all serious again.
“Well …”
Before I can try to explain that, Machlan comes up beside us. He’s bemused.
He points at me. “Talk.”
“I … um …”
“Yeah. If she has a heart attack tonight, it’s your fault.”
“That’s not fair, Machlan,” I say.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s fair or not.” He glances at Walker. He must find something in him to settle him a bit. “But … it is kind of funny.”
My shoulders sag as I watch these two men try not to find amusement in this situation. But the longer they try to hold it in, the harder it is. When Lance walks up, they all start to laugh.
He leans forward, his head dipping into the odd-shaped circle we’ve formed, and whispers, “I think Nana’s getting lucky tonight.”
Walker shoves his brother, knocking him off balance.
“So,” Machlan says, running his hands through his hair, “I still don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to invite her here. I’m never gonna be able to look at this place the same way again.”
“No shit.” Lance nods toward the actual bar. “Our grandmother just ordered a drink. With her date.”
“In pearls,” Walker adds.
“I think it’s kind of cute,” I say.
“No one asked you.” Walker grins. “Okay, so I’ve had enough of this fucking gossip bullshit tonight. I’m going to go find some whiskey and watch this play out. You,” he says pointing at me. He pauses as if he was going to say something else. Instead, he shakes his head with a little smirk and walks away.
Crazy: Gibson Boys Book #4 Page 24
