Peck is beside us. His hands are in front of him, his back foot planted in case all hell breaks loose. “Listen, guys. Let’s calm down just a second.”
“Fuck it, Peck,” Walker yells from the tractor. “Let ’em fight it out. Maybe Cross will knock some sense into Mach.”
“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” I shout back.
A wrench rattles off the tractor as Walker throws it to the ground. He storms our way, reminding me of the few memories I had of our father when he was pissed.
I haven’t seen Walker mad like this more than twice in his life, and neither time was at me. I could take him—that I’m sure. But looking at this bull of a man stalk my way is a lot less appetizing than watching Cross get pissed.
Biting my lip, I watch Walker’s face swirl with an anger I’m not comfortable having directed at me.
“Listen, fuckhead. We’re all sick of this shit,” he says.
“You don’t think I am?” I ask. I look at my family, Cross included. “You think this is fun for me?”
“Guess what? Life’s not fun,” Walker says. “But we all manage.”
“And you don’t think I manage? Fuck you, Walk.” My head is going to explode. I know it. I’m going to blow into a million pieces in the middle of this parking lot. “Aren’t you guys hearing me?”
“Loud and clear,” Peck says.
“Then what’s there not to understand?” I ask. “I lost my shit on Spencer Eubanks yesterday and lost a building because he said some shit about underprivileged kids and some things about Had I won’t even touch.” My fists clench at my sides. “He’s alive because Kip walked in.”
“What did he say?” Cross asks.
I laugh angrily. “And then,” I say, giving Cross a look not to push, “Logan Jerrell bled all over my fucking bar last night.” I look at them all one by one. “I’m a mess, you guys. A fucking disaster. Why aren’t you guys telling her to run?” I look at Cross. “Especially you.”
“You know why?” He slips his hands in his pockets. “You know why I’m not telling my little sister to run away from the biggest asshole I’ve ever met?”
“I’d love to know,” I say, my back flexing with pent-up aggression.
He takes a step toward me. “Because you don’t deserve her. She’s way out of your league, Mach.”
“You don’t think I know this?”
“But here’s the thing,” he says. “She deserves you.”
Peck raises a hand. “Excuse me, but I’m not following.” We all look at him. His arm lowers. “Okay. It’s just me. Got it.”
“As I was saying,” Cross says, “Hadley deserves someone who will fight for her. Who isn’t afraid to step up and do what needs to be done to protect her. To shield her from assholes like Spencer and Logan. To love her so fucking much they’d push her away even when it kills them.”
My shoulders drop. If I was a pussy, I’d cry. That heat at the back of your eyes that comes right before tears well up is there.
“Much to my chagrin, that’s you.” Cross takes his hands out of his pockets. “If you aren’t man enough to go after her, then I’ll have to rethink everything I thought I knew about you. Set your goddamn pride to the side and do it, Mach. And if you don’t do it soon, don’t do it at all. Please. Let her go.”
Walker’s boot shuffles across the gravel. “I don’t even know what’s happening right now, but I want to go take apart a large piece of machinery to convince myself I still have balls.”
“Shut up,” Cross says, jabbing Walker in the side.
Walker and Peck walk off, jabbering away about pistons and oil weights. Before I know it, it’s just Cross and me.
“Thanks,” I say. “I mean, I don’t know what to do about any of this, but thanks for what you said.”
He grabs my shoulder and shakes it a little as he walks by. “I don’t want to have to try to kick your ass, but you’re really asking for it.”
With a laugh, I follow him to his truck. “Want to give me a ride to my house? I kind of blew the tire out of the car today doing doughnuts out at Bluebird.”
“I guess.” He grins. “But I’m going to talk the whole way, and you’re gonna listen.”
For some reason, that doesn’t sound as bad as it usually does.
Thirty-Three
Hadley
“I know it sounds like a lot, but it’s not,” Sandy says. “The biggest thing is not to mess with Tom on Fridays. Spending the weekend with his wife stresses him out, so just stay clear.”
“Noted.” I smile at the woman whose position I’m taking at Boseman. “You’ve been so helpful this morning—not only with tips about the processes but also with who’s who. I appreciate it.”