Gibson Boys Box Set Page 15

  As the pastor has us stand for a final prayer, I hang my head and say a prayer of my own for guidance. When I open my eyes again, as the entire room says a somber “Amen,” Nana switches gears.

  “Dinner is at two at my house,” she says, picking up her pocketbook that looks like it could hold an entire casserole. “The boys usually come on over after church and you’re more than welcome to drive over—”

  “Oh, Nana, no,” I say, placing a hand on her arm. “That’s not necessary.”

  “Yeah, she’s riding with me.” Peck takes my elbow. “We’ll be over in a second.”

  Nana readily accepts this bit of information and engages Patrick in a conversation about the library.

  “Say that again?” Walker is facing us completely, his hands wrapped along the back of the pew.

  His tone skirts over my skin, like a shot of adrenaline being injected in to my veins. My mouth opens slightly to keep from losing air as I look up at Peck.

  “She and I will be at Nana’s,” he says easily, like he’s completely unaware that Walker wants to rip his throat out. “Just letting Nana know.”

  The pastor comes up to Walker, Machlan, and Lance, forcing Walker to turn away but not without a final look planted straight on me.

  “I’m what?” I ask, following Peck into the aisle. “Are you crazy? I’m not going with you.”

  “Shh,” he whispers, looking to see if Walker is listening. “Trust me.”

  “I thought we went over this?”

  He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Answer one question.”

  “Fine.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “Like who?” I ask like I don’t know.

  “Walker,” he scoffs. “Do you like him? If he wasn’t a complete dick, would you like him?”

  His tone sends a note straight to my heart, the goofiness of Peck gone and replaced with a sincerity that’s beyond sweet.

  “That’s answer enough,” he notes. “Give me this afternoon.”

  “Whether I like him or not doesn’t matter, and for the record, I don’t,” I tell him. “Not anymore.”

  “Don’t lie in church. We aren’t Catholic. You just can’t head to Confession and be absolved of your sins.”

  Blowing out a breath, I change tactics. “I’m not going to your Nana’s and making a scene. It’s Walker’s grandma’s house, Peck. Not mine. I have no business being there.”

  “Except she invited ya,” he points out.

  “Not knowing her grandson fuc …” I clear my throat. “Not being apprised of all the facts.”

  “Do you want to go home alone?” he asks.

  “That has nothing to do with it.”

  “Come to dinner with me,” he almost begs. “Hang out with my cousins. Have some good food. When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”

  “Peck …” I whine.

  He leans in, his eyes searching mine. “Walker is coming this way. Just go with me, Sienna. You can leave if you hate it. I’ll even take you, but … trust me.”

  As Walker walks by, not stopping to chat or even glancing at me, his fingertips brush my hip. That’s all it takes. That simple contact not lasting more than a microsecond is all it takes to pull the trigger on the flood of emotion ripping through my veins.

  To anyone looking, it would seem like an accidental brush, if they noticed at all. To me, I felt what he was saying. I just don’t understand it.

  “Fine,” I say, heading towards the door. “But if he’s an ass, I’m leaving and you’re going with me.”

  “Fair enough, Slugger. Fair enough.”

  Eighteen

  Sienna

  “This is the worst idea I’ve ever gone along with,” I say, cringing as Peck’s truck goes airborne over a set of railroad tracks and drops back onto the pavement. “Take it easy.”

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, his easy grin painted on his face. “What’s the fun in that?”

  “I don’t know. Living?”

  “You only live once.”

  “And here I didn’t peg you as a YOLO kind of guy,” I tease, grabbing the door handle as we take a curve on two wheels.

  “What’s YOLO?”

  “Forget it.”

  He straightens the truck out, barely controlling the slide onto the gravel road just outside of city limits. Dust barrels behind us, whipping away into the cornfields lining both sides of the road.

  With every mile we get away from my car and the church, it seems like we are a little further away from all sense and sensibility.

  The cardboard pine tree hanging from the rearview mirror twirls in the afternoon sunlight. I focus on it and not on the way my brain is screaming at me to have Peck turn back. When I open my mouth to comment on how New Car Scent doesn’t smell like a new car at all, something altogether different comes out.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Absolutely.” He eases up on the accelerator, the truck slowing its roll so I can actually make out stalks of corn and not a yellow blur. “I wasn’t kidding when I said he was a mess this weekend.”

  My skin feeling like it’s too small for my body, I grab at my collar. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure. Just that it has to do with you.”

  If I wasn’t strapped in with a seat belt, I’d sag against the door. Instead, I rest my head on the glass and watch the country out of the windshield. “I really think we should scrap this, Peck.”

  “Hell fucking no,” he laughs.

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “Look,” he says, re-gripping the steering wheel, “I don’t think y’all are gonna get married and have babies. I mean, if you do, great. Fine. I don’t really give a shit. Molly McCarter will have my babies someday. But you seem to like him in a way most women don’t.”

  “I don’t like him at all.”

  “Mm-hmm…” he says, taking us around another corner on two wheels. “I think what’s different is that you came into town not knowing anyone. Like, you don’t know the gossip or the history or who’s fucking who and who’s getting fat, you know?”

  “Oh my God,” I snort. “That’s terrible!”

  “Yeah, small towns. It’s true. Anyway,” he continues on, “you just slugged your way in here and saw things for what they are. Not what they were or what they were supposed to be.”

  “First off, don’t think I didn’t get that jab you webbed in there for me …”

  He grins, lifting his shoulders in a lazy shrug.

  “Second,” I continue, “are you saying Walker is not what he was? Does he have some crazy past?” Squirming now, blood racing, I demand answers. “Tell me, Peck. You wouldn’t bring me around like this if he’s a weirdo, right? Oh my God. I can’t trust you, can I?”

  He finds my near-panic hysterical and laughs like he’s watching a comedy. “No, Slugger. He doesn’t have a crazy past. He does, however, have a past, like we all do,” he adds to stall my objection. “In a small town, that shades what people think of you and how they treat you and interact with you. Like, whatever you were deemed in third grade is what people expect.”

  Letting that marinate, I relax back into the seat. It’s true—people do expect you to be a certain way. It’s partially what I’m fighting in my own life when I look at it.

  As a Landry, I’m expected to toe the family line. I’ve never been able to just spew what I’m thinking, lest it hurt someone’s political career. I have to watch who I’m seen with in case a photographer is around. My parents, although pleasantly accepting of my pseudo-rebellion, would, without a doubt, prefer me in expensive heels and a pretty dress and leading a charity event to end childhood hunger.

  “I get that,” I concede. “But what was Walker ‘supposed’ to be?”

  A small white house with the cutest front porch comes into view. There’s an old-fashioned laundry line stretching behind, parallel to a small garden. A garage sits next to it, the doors open and an SUV and a car parked in front.

&nbs
p; “Walker was supposed to be a college football star, even though I’m not sure he ever really liked the sport. He was just naturally good at it, I guess. He even got a scholarship for it,” he tells me. “He dated a girl all through high school and everyone thought they’d have a shitload of babies to toughen up the Linton football program by now.”

  “What happened?”

  Peck forces a swallow as he pulls into the driveway behind a dark purple Dodge Charger. “Life. Life happened.”

  “That’s not an answer,” I say hurriedly as he grabs for the door handle. “You can’t give me that.”

  “Well, he didn’t take the scholarship for starters.”

  “Why?” I ask, wondering why anyone would pass up free college tuition. I’ve heard people talk about how expensive it is and how families go broke, wrapping themselves up in debt for decades, just to pay for it. “Why wouldn’t he take it?”

  “His dad was sick, something they never really figured out before he died. I think Walker was the only one who knew. Lance and Blaire were gone by then, off doing their thing. Machlan was tearing shit up with Cross, being Machlan, and Walker stumbled into the news, I think.” Peck’s gaze settles into the distance. “He was really close with his dad. Thick as thieves. Walker was devastated. I only know that because he got drunk one night and kind of broke down about it. Otherwise, he would’ve held it in. It’s what he does.”

  My shoulders fall as I think back on the picture Camilla posted of Dad and I imagine what it would be like to find out he was sick. To imagine he only has days, weeks, or months left. To have to watch him suffer and know the end is coming.

  “Is that why he’s so closed off?” I ask quietly.

  “Part of it.”

  Before he can say any more, the door to his truck is jerked open. Peck gasps, grabbing the steering wheel as he almost falls out. Walker doesn’t break stride, just keeps walking, tossing a glare Peck’s way as he rounds the front.

  My breath hitches, holding tight in my lungs, as I wait to see if he’s going to come my way.

  He’s unbuttoned the two top buttons on his shirt, the ends hanging out and hitting him in the middle of his ass.

  He looks up at me just before turning towards the house. Something pools in his eyes, a concentration of emotion that both lures me in and pushes me away. Before I can make sense of it, he’s taking the steps to the back door, the tail of his shirt billowing in the breeze.

  “What’s that all about?” I ask, my voice squeaking a bit against my parched throat.

  Peck climbs out of the truck then stops. Leaning inside, his arms against the top, he gives me his relaxed everything-is-gonna-be-great grin. “Things are gonna be a little awkward for a bit. He’s gonna be pissy and dumb, but you’ve seen him like that before. Just give him a minute, okay?”

  “Fine,” I grumble opening my door.

  “Sienna?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I also think he’s really good for you. This isn’t about just him, you know?”

  Twisting in my seat, I look at him over my shoulder. I don’t know what to say to that.

  “One more thing,” he says, shoving off the door and shutting it. “If he kills me or seriously injures me, have them take me to Linton General and tell them I requested Nurse Shelby.”

  “Oh my God …”

  * * *

  Nana’s house is everything I imagined it would be. Neat as a pin, smelling of roast beef and sugar, with pictures everywhere in adorable frames, it’s as cozy and inviting as only Nana’s house could be.

  A blue apron wrapped around her middle, she pulls open the oven door as Peck and I walk in. “Peck,” she says instantly, “go in the laundry room and grab a towel. I need to set these pies on something and I’m out of potholders.”

  “Sure, Nana.”

  Peck disappears around the corner, leaving me standing in the middle of the kitchen. As inviting as it is and as invited as I was to be here, I still can’t help but feel awkward. Although it’s homey, there’s nothing familiar. No spoons from vacations we took as kids, no memories of my family sitting around eating breakfast in the mornings. Even Nana, as sweet as sugar, isn’t mine. She’s Walker’s. And he’s not mine either.

  Looking around, wondering where he went, I know I need to say something in order to calm down before I all-out panic and make a mess of myself.

  “Um, do you need some help?” I ask, figuring it to be the best way to break the weirdness. “I’m not a great cook, but I can do menial labor in the kitchen with the best of them.”

  Nana laughs, lifting a pie out of the oven. “Grab a spoon and stir the potatoes. I don’t want them sticking to the bottom. That pot isn’t my favorite, but it’s the only one I have big enough to feed all the boys on Sundays.”

  “Where are they?” Peck asks, coming around the corner. He lays a red towel folded in half on the middle of the table.

  “Not sure,” Nana says with a nod to a doorway between the refrigerator and sink. “He came in and muttered hello and took off that way. Machlan and Lance are in the family room watching one of those games y’all watch. I made a cheese ball and Machlan swiped it up and carried it off when I wasn’t looking.”

  “You let him have the whole thing?” Peck whines.

  “No, I didn’t let him have the whole thing. He took it when I was rolling out a pie crust.”

  “Well, go get it.”

  “I’m not going to go get it,” she laughs. “You go get it. You’re a big boy.”

  Peck looks at me and sticks out his bottom lip. “It’s the best cheese ball ever. She puts bacon bits on the outside.”

  A rustle comes from the doorway next to the kitchen and my heart comes to a screeching halt before roaring to life again. “I do love me some bacon,” I mumble, my eyes on the door. “I’ll go get it. Where’s the family room?”

  Nana gives me instructions and I head that way. Down a short hallway with images of what has to be Walker and his brothers hanging side by side, I spy Machlan and Lance at the room on the end. There’s blue carpeting, white walls, and brown leather furniture. The boys are sprawled out, reclined back, and look up as I enter.

  “Hey,” I say, stepping into the room and then off to the side so you can’t see me from the hallway. “What are you watching?”

  Machlan gets a big scoop of cheese ball nestled on a cracker and shoves the whole thing into his mouth. “Baseball,” he says over the snack.

  “It’s the Tennessee Arrows against the Wisconsin Bucks,” Lance chimes in, settling himself sideways to see me. “Wanna watch with us?”

  I watch as the pitcher throws a fastball on the outside, just enough for the Arrows’ first baseman to get a poke at it. He sends it flying into right field, over the fence, and into the stands.

  “Yodeski is an animal,” I note. “Never throw a fastball outside to him on a full count. He’ll jack it every time.”

  “What the hell do you know about baseball?” Machlan says, picking up a glass of tea in the cup holder between him and his brother.

  Leaving out the fact that my brother played for the Arrows for his entire career, I let them think I’m just some kind of baseball fanatic. “I know a little,” I grin. “I know a lot about the Arrows. They were my team for a while.”

  “You like baseball and history?” Lance asks. “Fuck Walker. Wanna blow this joint and go home with me?”

  Machlan and I laugh as Lance shakes his head and takes a cracker off the tray.

  “What else do you know?” Machlan raises a brow. “Pretty eclectic lady, aren’t you?”

  “I have a lot of brothers,” I say, trying to play it off.

  “So, what do you know?” he presses.

  “Well,” I say, trying to not seem disinterested, “I know a little about politics. Some business stuff but that’s pretty dry. I know a few things about the military, being a twin, fashion, California, and Southern culture, and that I hate Illinois winters.” I tap a finger to my chin. “I think that�
�s it.”

  “She knows more than the two of us put together,” Machlan says to Lance.

  I laugh, feeling myself relax. “I was sent in here to collect the cheese ball. Fork it over.”

  “Not a chance,” Machlan laughs. “This is my favorite thing ever.”

  “Well, it’s apparently Peck’s too, and Nana said to come get it.”

  “You tell him to come get it.” His eyes darken and a slow smirk spreads on his face. “But if you’d like to fight for it, I’m open to that.”

  “What’s going on in here?” Walker is standing in the doorway, looking pointedly at Machlan. His hands are digging into the doorframe above his head, his forearms thick and roped and on display. His shirt comes up just a little above the top of his jeans and I have to force myself not to stare at the lines carved from his hips to his cock.

  “Just chatting with Sienna,” Lance grins. “I have her almost ready to go home with me. Right, Sienna?”

  “You are handsome,” I note. “And pretty sweet. And you say nice things to me, which is a plus.” Moving towards Machlan, my heart beating in my throat, I hold out a hand. “Gimme.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Machlan winks.

  Lance chuckles, his gaze shooting over me and towards the door. I don’t follow it. I can’t. I have to stay focused on the task at hand and getting the hell out of here.

  Reaching down, I grab the plate with one hand. “I’m taking this.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “Machlan, you’re not a little boy. Stop acting like one.”

  “Yeah,” Lance chimes in as Machlan lets go of the plate.

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling sweetly. For good measure, I pat him on the head as I walk by, much to Lance’s amusement. Really, it’s for my distraction. I have to get past Walker before I can leave the room.

  Forcing a swallow, the cheese ball topsy-turvy on the plate thanks to Machlan’s digging, I look up to see Walker not there. I hold my breath as I step into the hall, wondering if this is what it felt like for the gladiators to step into the Colosseum. Like their death is imminent, facing the battle for their lives.