Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(10)

She cringes.

I smile widely.

She cringes harder. “You’re a pistol,” she says.

I’m not sure she means that as a compliment, but I definitely take it as one. “Thanks. I think so too. Why do you always underestimate me?”

“I don’t know, but I really did this time. I mean, Logan isn’t a cupcake, if you know what I’m saying. He doesn’t bend to people’s will very often.”

I imagine him throwing punches and sweating all over the place. Dayum.

“It’s just hard to believe he succumbed to your … tactics,” she says.

“Well, I don’t really like the word threaten because it sounds so harsh. But I guess you could say that I kind of threatened him—in a very ladylike manner, of course.”

She presses her lips together and nods. “Ladylike. I’m sure.”

“It was,” I insist. “I don’t even think I cursed. And I didn’t suggest the removal of any body parts either. Ladylike. Boom.”

She laughs, wiping her hands down her face. “I bet he didn’t know what to do with you.”

“I didn’t know what to do with him,” I admit. “I expected him to be cocky and just completely disgusting, but … he wasn’t.”

I pull my knees to my chest and think of Logan’s smile. He wasn’t any of the things I thought he’d be. He was sort of kind, actually, and not quiet, per se, but polite. He definitely let me say my piece—even if I didn’t give him much leeway to talk.

Still, he wasn’t the manwhore I braced myself to encounter.

Navie screws her face up as though she can’t understand my thought process. “He wasn’t?”

I look at her like I’m missing something. She looks at me like she’s awaiting an explanation.

“No, he wasn’t. And I feel bad for saying that because he ghosted you, and he’s a thief,” I say. “He’s completely the enemy, and I get it. I’m with ya, sister. But he was … nice. Although I’m sure it was an act,” I add.

“Interesting.”

I shrug. “Or not.” I bite the end of a fingernail and contemplate a way to change the subject. Luckily, she does it for me.

“You look comfy,” she says.

“I am. Considering we’re sharing about six hundred square feet of space, I’m rather cozy.” I pick up the yellow pillow and toss it side to side. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

She laughs. “Shut up.”

“I mean it,” I say, laughing too. “I actually took a couple of mental notes about how you use mirrors to make the rooms feel bigger, and the use of plants to make it feel more outdoorsy or something. I don’t know what it is, but I like it.”

“We’ll have fun decorating your house. When does your stuff get here?”

“A couple of days. The moving guy left me a text today that they’re a couple of days behind, which works out perfectly since I don’t have my house yet. And I don’t start work at the bank for a couple of weeks, so it should be enough time to get semi-settled before I start work.”

A bolt of excitement tears through me as I think about my new place. There’s so much hope in a new house—a place free of negative vibes. I’ve needed this for a long time, probably longer than I even realize. Navie has been saying it for years.

“Have you heard from your mom?” she asks.

My spirits sink as I avert my eyes from Navie. My heart is still sore, my feelings tender about leaving my family behind. It was definitely by choice because I made the decision to go, but I wish it didn’t have to be this way.

“Yes,” I say. “She texted me yesterday and asked if I made it. I said I had, and I haven’t heard from her since.”

I attempt to keep my voice void of any emotion, shielding Navie from the hurt I feel at my mom’s antiseptic behavior toward me. But she’s Navie. She hears it. She’s seen it. She’s walked every frustrated moment alongside me and has been angry on my behalf many times.

“I’m sorry, Dylan.” The words come out thick and heavy.

“It’s okay,” I say past a lump in my throat. “She’ll call when she needs something—when there’s an opportunity to earn her love.”

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.”