Crave: The Gibson Boys, Book #3

by Locke, Adriana

  He looks at me as though he’s considering this for the first time.

  “I remember my mom working two, three jobs when I was growing up,” I say. “She’d go from the bank to a grocery store and sometimes a pizza shop at night. And you know what? We still barely got by.” I close my eyes as thoughts of my mother wash over me.

  He exhales harshly. I know he hates when I bring this up, but I can’t help it. I need to prove this to him once and for all.

  “It seemed so irresponsible to bring a baby into the world when I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to feed myself.”

  I blink back tears as fast as they gather.

  Machlan’s face falls. “You had no faith in me.”

  “I had no faith in me either,” I say as a tear slips down my cheek. Machlan brushes it off with the tip of his finger with a gentleness that makes me want to just fall into his arms and release all the emotions I have brimming inside my soul. “I had no parents. No job. No schooling. Nothing. And I only had you sometimes.”

  I take a piece of the paper towel he retrieved and dab my eyes. My heart is exposed, lying between us as he searches my face.

  Love was never our problem. It’s still present, still rumbling between us even now, even after all the shit we’ve been through. We may not have been able to get on the same page or work out our problems, but there’s a relief that the love, in whatever form, is there.

  “Do you think we would’ve been able to deal with it?” he asks. “Do you think if we would’ve kept her, we would’ve made it?”

  “Do you?”

  He chews his bottom lip while he looks around the room. Finally, he exhales. “No. I hate to say that, but I don’t.”

  Tears flood my eyes again. “I don’t either. I mean, we didn’t make it as it is. Can you imagine us trying to make it with a baby?”

  “No.” He forces a swallow. “Nana would’ve tried to raise it, and she was old then. But, by God, she would’ve tried. I couldn’t saddle her with that, you know?”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  A silence blankets us with stillness we both need. Machlan fiddles with our hands. He laces his fingers lightly through mine, rubbing my ring finger with his thumb.

  “It eats at me every day that I didn’t tell Nana,” he says quietly.

  A lump settles in my throat. “We did what we had to do. If you would’ve told her, like you said, she would’ve talked us into a decision we know wasn’t the right one for us or our baby girl.”

  “I just can’t see the disappointment in her eyes,” he says over a lump of his own.

  “That’s why we went to Ohio, right? To avoid all the outside pressure and judgment and see if we could be parents.”

  There’s a flurry of sadness that settles deeply in the lines of his face. And while I understand it, while I feel it to the bottom of my soul just the same, I don’t want him to be sad.

  I take his hand again and pull up his arm. The tattoos stare back at me. “So that clover is for me?”

  He nods. “The week before I got it, the preacher was saying in church that there’s a Christian legend that says Eve took a four-leaf clover with her out of Eden so she’d have a piece of paradise with her.” He twists his lips in embarrassment. “It’s like having a piece of you with me.”

  I rest a hand on his chest and don’t dare speak. My lips tremble at the sweet genuineness of his words, and if I even try to comment, I’ll cry big, fat, ugly tears.

  “And the pink ribbon is for her,” he says.

  I look at the sweet little mark tied to the clover. Our daughter and I are wrapped together on Machlan’s arm for the rest of his life. All the years since her birth, the years we’ve struggled and fought and couldn’t get on the same page, he was thinking of us.

  Blinking back tears, I smile. “I think it’s perfect.”

  “That’s the hardest thing we’ll ever have to go through, huh?”

  “I can’t imagine anything being harder than giving your baby up for adoption.”

  “But we did that,” he says. “You know why? Because we loved each other, but we loved her more.”

  Tears spill down my cheeks in a soft, quiet stream. I wonder when he came up with that—when this big, burly man who has an incredible heart buried under his tough exterior came up with words that sweet and perfect.

  We loved her more.

  “We did. We loved her more. I like that,” I say.

  He presses a kiss to my forehead before turning away. “I also like steak. You ready to get this thing started?”

  There’s no pause for an answer, no follow-up question. He walks by, clearing his throat, and busies himself with the rest of the meal prep.

  I dry my face and turn back to the tomato.

  Twenty-Eight

  Machlan

  “Here you go.” The chains holding the porch swing jingle as I sit beside Hadley. She smiles as I tuck a quilt around her shoulders. “Is that better?”

  “Totally.”

  She curls up under the fabric and nestles against my side. The air might have a bite to it, but I don’t notice because she’s right. This is totally better.

  Back and forth we go, our stomachs full of a dinner we almost burned because we couldn’t stop telling stories and laughing long enough to remember the grill. I could close my eyes and live in this moment. It’s felt good with Hadley many times in my life, but it’s never once felt like this.

  It’s never just us. It’s me and her and all the baggage we carry. It all piles together until there’s a giant wall that feels impossible to scale.

  How do you scale all that? How do you look at someone you care about and think, Okay, I’ll risk your happiness for my own?

  I don’t know. What I do know is that sitting on the porch with her on this cool, quiet night makes things feel not quite so impossible. Not totally uncomplicated, but not quite complicated either. It’s what I’ve always thought spending time with a woman you care about would feel like, and that’s scary as fuck.

  “Look at the stars,” Hadley says. Her arm stretches across my middle against my stomach. When contact is made, she starts to pull back, but I stop her.

  “They’re beautiful,” I say, my hand resting on her forearm.

  Her profile is the same one I’ve studied countless times. Her nose curls up just a bit at the tip. Her lips form a little bud at the center as if she’s just been kissed. It takes everything I have not to do that. Not yet. As good as that would feel, it wouldn’t be better than just holding her like this … and it might ruin everything.

  She looks up at me through her thick lashes. “You aren’t even looking at the stars.”

  “Oh.”

  She shakes her head, her kissable lips forming a smile against my side. “My favorite nighttime skies are the ones after it rains. I don’t know if it’s because we get so used to the storms and the clear skies are such a relief, or if the rain just washes away all the yuck. But I love nights like this.”

  “Me too.” My arm rests over her back as we swing. “Do you have plans for tomorrow?”

  “I’m supposed to do something with Emily,” she says. “She wants to go to Crave.”

  My initial reaction is to flat-out tell her no. Every worst-case scenario dashes through my head, and all I can envision is some guy grabbing her, or her getting shoved, or some unsuspecting asshole hitting on her in front of me.

  But as she gazes up at me with her honey-colored eyes, she looks different somehow. Stronger. Wiser, even.

  My gut reaction is to protect her from everything I can—to keep her out of harm’s way. That’s why I can’t have her in Crave. Why I threaten every asshole I see talking to her. Why I stay away myself.

  As we rock and I hold her close and think about the things we’ve talked about tonight, how she’s survived so much loss and turmoil and came out on top, maybe she’s okay. Maybe I can ease up a little.

  I summon all my strength and gaze into the darkness. The swinging slows unti
l it stops. “Be careful, okay? I’ve seen your girl Emily on the verge of fistfights, dancing on tables, and I have a suspicion she swindled some bikers out of a hundred bucks at the billiards tables. She’s reckless.”

  Hadley sits up. “That’s it?”

  “That’s what?”

  “Be careful.” She cocks her head to the side. “No warning not to come? No threat to only order water or to sit at the bar next to Peck?”

  I pull her back down against me again. “No.”

  “Well, okay, then.”

  Rifling my hands through the fabric until my hand is on her back, I start swinging again. “I figure you know what you’re doing. Right?”

  “Right,” she says, squeezing me tighter. “Besides, you want to know something funny?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Crave isn’t so bad.”

  I snort. “Well, I agree, but it’s funny to hear you say that.”

  Her fingers strum against my side, sending waves of warmth through my body. “It’s important to you in a way I didn’t understand. I don’t think I completely get it now but watching you in there isn’t like I thought it would be.”

  “So, no strippers?” I laugh.

  She makes a fist and jabs me in the side. “Anyway, Emily wants to come in and see Peck.”

  “I don’t get the Peck thing,” I say, confused. “I think Navie has a thing for him too.”

  “Navie totally has a thing for him.” She laughs. “Peck’s cute, Mach. He’s funny and kind, and he has a good job. He’s a great catch.”

  “He’s a goof.”

  “A lovable goof.” She sits up and looks at me. Her eyes rival the stars with their sparkle. “Does it make you jealous?”

  “What?”

  “That everyone is loving Peck?”

  I grip the blanket on either side of her like the lapels of a jacket. Her eyes go wide, and I tug her toward me.

  My heartbeat kicks in high gear as the heat of her breath gets closer. The playfulness in her eyes hits me somewhere in my gut, and I set my defenses to the side, all the way, and just enjoy this moment in time.

  “Does that ‘everyone’ include you?” I ask.

  She wrinkles her nose. “I like Peck, yes.”

  “I know you like him. Are you loving him?” I tease.

  “Loving him? Well … no.”

  I scoop her legs and lift her, pulling her onto my lap. She laughs, her eyes going wide, as she’s situated across me.

  Her weight on me sends a fire ripping through me. The feel of her body on top of my groin is enough to make everything around me, except for her, completely invisible.

  Fuck it. Fuck every reservation I have and every reason I can come up with not to take this any further.

  I brush a strand of hair out of her face. “What are you loving these days, Had?”

  “Let’s see,” she says, playing along. “I love pistachio ice cream. And this show about an office that’s on re-runs, but I missed it originally, so it’s new to me.” She taps her chin as though she’s in thought. “I also love deep purple nail polish for fall, but I haven’t had time to get a manicure in forever.”

  “Great info.” I roll my eyes.

  “It is, huh?”

  “I was hoping for something more in-depth.”

  She laughs. “There’s nothing shallow about nail polish, bud.”

  “Noted.”

  “Give me something in-depth, then. What are you loving these days, Mach?” she asks with a mega-watt smile.

  “Burnt steak,” I say, earning a giggle. “Brothers who call before they show up. And I’m really into the Illinois Legends but haven’t had time to catch many games so far.”

  “Sha-llow.”

  As I watch, her eyes become flecked with green. Her lips part in an almost pout that sends a shock straight to my cock. Her ass presses down on my lap in a slow, controlled gesture that’s coupled with a hooded gaze.

  I grip her hips. A swallow barely slips down my throat. “What are you feeling right now, Had?”

  She stills. Her pupils dilate as her breathing gets heavy. “It’s a weird thing, actually. I feel … wanted. And I trust you enough to tell you that.”

  That’s it. Her vulnerability, her willingness to trust me at this moment, is my undoing.

  My hands run up the length of her sides, brushing against the mounds of her breasts on their journey to her face. She gasps at the contact of my palms against her beaded nipples. The quilt falls off her shoulders onto the porch floor.

  The breeze rattles around us as if it is cheering us on. I cup her face in my hands and start to kiss her but pull back.

  The clover bounces on her chest, her breath coming out in hurried wisps. She pulls her brows together, wondering why I didn’t kiss her, but too afraid to ask.

  I’m probably going to hate myself tomorrow for this. I’m going to wake up and realize I’ve fought my whole life to avoid giving her too much hope when it comes to me. Yet there’s nothing I want more right now, need more right now, than to make her understand one fundamental thing.

  The words claw at my throat, scraping away my defenses until they’re on the tip of my tongue.

  “You are wanted,” I whisper, looking into her soul as deeply as I can. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, love.”

  Her lips find mine in a kiss I feel in every cell of my damn body. For once, I trust her enough to let her take control.

  I don’t try to protect her from me, keeping her at arm’s length to make it easier to break apart later. I succumb to her demands. When she presses, I open my mouth. When she swipes her tongue past my lips, I let her control the pace. When she wraps her legs around my waist and rests her forehead on mine, I relish the contact.

  She’s so small, wrapped around me. But even so, I can feel the force that is Hadley Jacobs. I wonder if she’s always been like this, or if I’m just now seeing it.

  A shiver ripples through her body, and I reach for the quilt and can’t quite get it. I pull her against me instead.

  This will end too soon if I don’t stop it. And despite my surprise, I don’t want it to end.

  “Hey,” I say, my breathing ragged.

  “Hey, what?” she whispers against my neck.

  “Can I interest you in a hot bath with a fancy fizzling thing Blaire left here at Easter?”

  “Will you get in with me?”

  An arm goes under her ass as I stand. “That was the plan.”

  She leans back and looks at me. There’s something on the tip of her tongue, something just under the sweet little smile she gives, that has my heart skipping a few beats.

  Instead of sharing whatever it was, she rests her head against my shoulder again. “Can you hurry? It’s cold.”

  I smile into her hair and carry her inside.

  Twenty-Nine

  Hadley

  I’m too warm.

  One foot slides out from under the blankets, but the air is too cold, so back in it goes.

  There’s a light coming from an odd direction. My eyes flutter open.

  The ceiling fan above Machlan’s bed whirls quietly, ruffling the edges of a wall tapestry in blues, grays, and black. The blinds have been pulled on the window that looks across the backyard, but the room is still bright from the sun.

  My hand juts out to find an empty spot beside me.

  Sitting up, I stretch. My limbs ache from the activities of last night as I look around the room. There’s no smell of coffee, no sound of anyone moving around. It’s only when I start to climb out of bed do I notice a piece of yellow paper on the bedside table.

  Had,

  I have to meet some people at the property on Ash Street. I didn’t want to wake you. I should be back by eleven. Take that bath we didn’t get to last night if you want. I’ll bring lunch.

  Machlan

  I flop back in bed with a giant smile on my face. I need a cup of coffee, but I don’t want to get up—not because I’m tired. I’m not. But because l
ying here feels so indulgent.

  Scooting over to Machlan’s side, I twist myself up in his blankets. His scent is all over the linens. The mattress dips only slightly where he usually lays, and I wiggle around until I bury myself there.

  My eyes fall closed. If I lie still, I can pretend he’s here with his arms around me. And if I’m quiet enough, I can hear the words he whispered as I was drifting to sleep a few hours ago.

  I’m glad you’re here, he said into the shell of my ear. Thank you for trusting me tonight.

  This is the only place I’ve ever wanted to be. And now that I am, in his home, in his bed, it’s hard to process. I keep thinking there has to be more to it. There has to be something I’m not panicking about or some dark hole to walk around, but there’s not.

  Something was different about him last night. He let me in. He even gave me the reins at times. None of that is like Machlan, and while I can’t explain it, it gives me so much hope.

  I smile into the pillows until my ringing phone snaps me back to reality. I consider letting voicemail pick it up, but by the fourth ring, I reconsider.

  Army crawling to the other side of the bed, I swipe the phone off the table. It’s a Vigo number I don’t recognize.

  My throat clears as I sit up. “Hello?”

  “Is this Hadley?”

  “It is.”

  “Hello, Hadley. This is Jamie from the Human Resources Department at Boseman. You’re supposed to start here next Monday.”

  “Oh, yes,” I say, tossing the covers off my legs in hopes the chilliness will wake me up. “What can I do for you?”

  “A big favor, actually. We’re actually hoping you can start on the nineteenth.”

  I yank back my phone and hit the home key to check the date. “That’s in two days.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry to hit you with this at the last minute, but when Kyle interviewed you for the position, he thought Sandy would be here longer than she is. So, if we want her to train you for a couple of days, we really need you to start on the nineteenth . Do you think that’s possible?”