Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(74)

“Why did you tell her that?” I ask. “Do you not like it here?”

She smiles, but it’s not for me. “It was never the plan for me to stay here long term.”

“Well, it was never in the plan to have you sleeping in my bed either, but I’m not arguing that.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have been doing that either. Thank you for pointing that out.”

I raise a brow. “What happened today? I feel like I went to work with one life and came home to another.”

“I don’t know, Peck. What did happen today?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

She nods. “Well, I think it’s best that we have some space for a while. As you mentioned, I ended up in your bed awfully fast, and I think it makes a lot of sense to let things simmer for a while and see how we feel.”

“I know how I feel.” I take a step toward her. “Don’t you?”

“I do. That’s why I’m doing this.”

She makes no sense. She’s lost her damn mind. Leaving me because she wants to be with me … She never said that.

“Dylan, do you want to be with me?”

The pause is too long. The silence too deafening. The hesitation lingers in the air until I release a frustrated chuckle.

“I do,” she says. “I do. You’re … great, Peck. But I have some things I need to sort out before we go any further.”

“Like what?”

Her eyes fill with an uneasiness.

My brain trolls through every minute we’ve spent together. From the day she stormed up to the truck at Old Man Dave’s house to last night when she fell asleep in my arms, I go over it. Nothing is there that would be a straight line to this.

Except Molly.

My shoulders tighten.

“Is this about Molly?” I ask.

“Not really.”

“Molly McCarter has no bearing on us, Dylan. None.”

She stands up, her gaze fiery. “You’re right. It shouldn’t. It absolutely shouldn’t, but it does, Peck. It does. She does.” Her jaw sets. “I saw you with her today and watched you follow her out of town, and I hate the way I feel about that. It’s not me. I don’t want it to be me.”

She storms past me. Her jaw is set as she grabs one of her T-shirts off the back of a chair.

“So what? Yeah, I saw her today,” I say. “I helped her sister, Megan. Her battery died.”

“And they couldn’t have called a tow service?”

“Yeah. They could’ve. But I happened to be getting a coffee at the gas station and offered to go down there and help them. Because that’s my job. I did my job, and I came home. To you.”

She spins on her heel. “You’re right. It is your job. And they’re your friends, and you would have been a dick if you didn’t help them.”

“Yeah. I would. But if it drives you this fucking crazy, I won’t anymore. Ever again.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows. She wads the shirt up and tosses it in the box.

She sits down again. It’s as if all her energy has vanished. I want to sit beside her or pick her up and put her on my lap. I want to help her, to make her better, but I’m the one she’s mad at.

I think.

A tear threatens to spill over her eyes. I reach for her, but she pulls away.

“I don’t want to be this person,” she says.

“What person?”

“This one. The girl who feels so insecure when a girl shows up that I know you don’t love. I just … it makes me feel all kinds of ways, and I hate that, Peck. It’s not good for me or you or even Molly although I can’t say she’s high on my list of priorities.” She looks up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I want to be good enough to be the love of someone’s life. The kind of love you have with the first person you fall for—that unconditional, inexplicable kind of love.”

“Dylan …”

My head spins at her admission. I don’t know what she’s saying. Does she not like the person she is when she’s with me? Does she think she’s worse for wear now that we’ve been together? Does she not believe I’m capable of love?

Am I capable of love?

“This isn’t about you,” she says softly. “Or Molly.”

“Then what’s happening right now?”

I kneel in front of her. She turns her head and looks at the wall. The sight of her so sad, so upset breaks my heart.

“Relationships are hard for me,” she says.

“I think they’re hard for me too … because you’re making it that way.”

She almost smiles. “I’ve always felt second or third or, hell, even fourth sometimes in every relationship I’ve been in. From the one with my mother to the one with my Nonna to the one with Charlie.”

“You’re first with me. You’re the only one in the game, sweetheart.”

I look at her with every bit of sincerity I can. I love her. I know it. There’s not a doubt about it. But if I tell her now, maybe she’ll just feel sorry for me. Maybe she’ll stay for the wrong reasons. Even though I’m desperate to stop this madness, I know you can’t make someone stay if they don’t want to.

I stand. This feels horribly familiar.