Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(73)

That’s just not Peck. I feel it in my stomach.

But I also feel that this is something I’m going to have to figure out how to deal with because she’s not leaving. And I can’t ask him not to be friends with her. I’m not that insecure girl, and I refuse to be.

My spirit feels deflated as I pull out onto the road. And head right. Toward Peck’s.

He’s serious about me. I believe that. But I also believe that this thing with Molly is going to have to be navigated, and I don’t know how to do that. I didn’t give myself a whole lot of time to think about it. I did what I do—I jumped in and didn’t consider all the consequences.

Damn it.

I squeeze my temples as I pull into Peck’s driveway.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” I ask Navie.

“I didn’t know if you remembered I was here or not,” she says. “But, yes, of course.”

“Thanks.” I turn off the car. “The guy who owns the house is supposed to get ahold of me today, so I’ll know more then. But even if I can have the keys right away, I don’t think I can sleep there tonight. I won’t have a bed or anything.”

Tears flicker in my eyes. They’re hot, almost scalding, as they topple onto my face.

“Don’t cry,” she whispers. “This will all be fine.”

“I know. It will.” I swallow hard. “I’m just, um, I’m going to get my personal things in a box and figure out what to tell Peck. I’m too emotional to really put things in a great way right now.”

“Want me to tell him?”

I laugh, wiping my face. “No. Thanks. I’d rather not have him hate both of us forever and ever.”

She laughs too. It’s a sad sound, one that’s filled with pity. And I hate that, but I am pretty pitiful at the moment.

“Come by anytime. I work at four, but I’ll be here until then,” she says.

“Okay.” I climb out of the car and face Peck’s house. “I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

“Bye.”

I shove my phone in my pocket and take in the cute little house with the rose bushes.

“Fuck.”

I head inside to pack up my life.

Again.





Twenty-Eight





Peck



“What a fucking day.”

I park my truck next to Dylan’s. It’s a simple thing, an action that becomes routine. A habit. But every time I pull in my driveway and see her car setting there, something happens inside me. The thought alone makes things feel different. And good. And that the possibilities of life going forward might be endless.

I hop out of the truck and jog to the front door. It occurred to me today that she hasn’t eaten at Peaches yet, and while I would like to spend a lazy evening with her in the kitchen, I know I won’t be able to keep my hands off her. Plus, I’d like to take her out and make her feel special.

The door swings open. With a furrowed brow, I step inside. A banging sound followed by a thud comes from Dylan’s room.

“What the hell?”

I walk down the hallway with my senses on high alert. Peeking in her bedroom, I spot a large box from the barn on her bed … and her standing at the foot.

She looks up. Her eyes are vulnerable yet guarded. It’s not the Dylan I know.

“Hey,” I say.

She smiles. Sort of.

“What are you doing?” I nod toward the box. “Did you carry that inside all by yourself? You could’ve waited on me to help you, you know?”

“No. I, um, well, I did. But it was empty.”

“Empty?”

I pause and look around. The suitcase in the corner is zipped up instead of propped against the wall with its contents spilling everywhere. The cup of water that’s sat by the bed since the first night she was here is gone. Her deodorant and girlie stuff have disappeared from the dresser, and the books and papers that she’s been sorting through off and on are gone.

Oh, fuck.

My throat feels too tight to pass a swallow.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

She fiddles with the lid. Her eyes avert from mine. She switches her weight from one foot to the other as she tries to avoid my question.

“Dylan?”

“Oh, well, do you remember the house I was telling you about? The one that Joanie, my new boss, told me about. I think I mentioned it to you.”

What the hell is she talking about? A house? For what? What’s it matter?

And then it hits me. Like Walker slugging me in the stomach for a joke I made at his expense, I feel like the wind is knocked out of me.

“What does that have to do with you?” I ask carefully.

She forces a swallow. “Well, Joanie messaged me today about it because I hadn’t responded to her earlier text. And she said I basically had to jump on the rental or lose it because someone else was interested.”

“What did you say?”

She looks into the box. Her face is flushed, her lips swollen, and I wonder if she’s been biting them.

Why?

“I told her I’d take it,” she says.

I grab the doorframe to keep myself steady.

She’ll take it? What the actual fuck?

My first instinct is to grab her and hold her against me and not let her go. Not let her ruin this thing between us because it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever had. But she looks at me, and a fire burns through my veins like wildfire, and I can’t move.