Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(63)

What sort of a man does that?

This one. The one with a massive heart and a beguiling soul. And it’s at this moment that I know, without a doubt, there aren’t walls big enough to save me from him. If he wants to break my heart, I can’t do anything to stop him.





Twenty-Four





Dylan



I knock on the front door.

As soon as my knuckles touch the wood, I second-guess this decision. All of it. Not just the knocking on the front door as opposed to the back—the one that Peck and I used when we were here together, but also the fact that I’m even standing on Nana’s porch in the first place.

The materials I found at the hardware store in Merom today are piled at my feet. There are trays, rails, screws, and a battery-operated drill that I found in Peck’s garage. I also found some prepackaged hooks for kitchen cabinets to hang small saucepans or towels or bottles of cleaning liquids.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I singsong through clenched teeth. I bend to scoop up the stuff and scramble out of here when the door swings open.

Nana’s face lights up when she sees me. “Dylan! Oh, honey. I’m so glad to see you.” She scoots back so I can walk by. She spies the boxes at my feet. “What’s all that?”

“Well, I realize now that this might’ve been presumptuous of me, but I was bored today. I don’t start my job for a few more days. So I ventured over to Merom and spotted the hardware store, and before I knew it, I was leaving with the stuff to fix your cabinets.” I shrug meekly. “I hope that’s okay. If not, I can come back or even leave the stuff—”

“Stop,” she gushes. “This is the nicest thing. Please, come in.”

I hold the boxes in my arms and carry them inside. Nana shuts the door behind me.

She leads me through a formal living room that’s really not formal. Pictures dot the walls—tons of them. Baby pictures, others that I recognize as Peck and Machlan. The one closest to the doorway has to be a young Nana and Pops.

I pause, taking in the image. They’re standing in front of this house. Her arm is wrapped around his waist. She has the biggest smile on her face as she looks up at Pops. He’s tall, way taller than Peck, with shoulders that span a mile. He has a head of dark hair and a smirk that makes it impossible for him to deny Peck. It’s exact.

“What I wouldn’t give for those days,” Nana says. She’s standing beside me, looking longingly at the picture. “We had just had Eddie and Jessica.”

I furrow my brow.

“Eddie is Walker and the boys’ dad. Jessica is Vincent and Peck’s mom.” She smiles sadly. “He probably hasn’t told you much about her, has he?”

I shake my head. “Just that he isn’t really that close to her.” I leave out the bit that he doesn’t even know where she is to spare Nana any pain. I’m not sure what the deal is or what she knows, but I don’t want to make waves. It’s not my place.

Nana nods. “Well, my daughter hasn’t been that kind to her children. It breaks my heart.” Her voice quivers. She places a hand on her throat as she looks at the picture of her and her husband. “Jessie was a good girl. Absolutely beautiful. Smart as a whip. I just knew she was going to be a veterinarian as much as she loved animals. She’d spend every waking hour at the farm down the road if I let her.”

She looks lost in a memory I’m not privy to. I just stay quiet and let her work through whatever is going through her mind.

“Something happened to her. Drugs, I think,” she says. “She got with Mel—that’s Peck’s dad—and she was never the same. Still funny and could tell a story like nobody’s business.” She grins. “But she just … disconnected. It’s like she was afraid to get too close to anyone.”

“That must’ve been hard for you,” I say, balancing the boxes in my arms.

Nana’s hand drops to her side. “Listen to me jabber while you just stand there holding those boxes. Just tell me to hush next time.” She scoots down the hallway toward the kitchen.

I place the boxes on the island.

“Can I ask you a question?” I force a swallow as Nana nods. “How long has Jessica been gone?”

“She left for good when Peck was fifteen. Vincent was a senior. That was a hard year. Poor Vinnie acted out, causing mayhem, and Peck sort of internalized it. It was rough.”

I press my hands against the island and think of the weight Peck must’ve been carrying around. The loss of his parents. Taking responsibility for Molly and her problems. The poor kid must’ve been ready to break.

“He seems to have turned out all right,” I say.

She grins. “That he did. He’s a very good boy. If I need something, he’s there. He’s there before I need things.” She laughs. “I guess, in some ways, I’m all he has. It’s why family is so important to him, I think. He’s already lost so much of it.”

My throat tightens as I take in her words.

“All my boys are good, family-centric kids,” she says. “But Peck … it’s different with him. I don’t care what Machlan does to him or how many of my cheeseballs Lance takes or how much he and Walker bicker at work, Peck doesn’t hold grudges. He lives and loves and lets go. The other boys can be mad for a while.”