a potential crisis on their hands, but I realized none of them were going to stop living. Watching Gibson’s family, I saw smiles and laughter. Good-natured shit talking. Kisses and soft touches. These people were spilling love all over the place.
It made me want to tuck them into my pocket and keep them forever. And the notion that I could maybe one day be a part of this—really, truly a part of it—brought the sting of tears to my eyes.
It also sent another fierce jolt of resolve pouring through me. I wasn’t going to let my family ruin these people. No matter what it took.
Gibson reached across the table and took my hand. He straightened my arm and traced his fingers over my tattoos. Across the subtle ridges on my wrist, up to my elbow on the inside of my arm. “This is why you always wore long sleeves, isn’t it? Why you were wearing a cardigan, even though it was summer.”
I nodded. “I always did. I found lightweight ones so I didn’t get too hot. And I suppose I was used to it.”
His brow creased and he kept caressing my arm. “You even had one of those swimming shirts, didn’t you? One with sleeves.”
I glanced at his hand against my tattoos, thinking back. Somehow with him touching me like this, I could draw on the memories without feeling like they’d drown me. “Yeah, a rash guard. The one I had that summer was pink and blue, with bikini bottoms to match. I always left the house with shorts on so my parents wouldn’t object to it. Even though it had sleeves, it was cropped pretty high. Showed a lot of my midsection.”
“Why didn’t we ever notice?” he asked. “Why didn’t any of us wonder why you always wore long sleeves?”
I slid my fingers along the back of his hand. “I was very good at hiding my secrets. I’d started early, so it was second nature. I knew exactly how to behave to make it look like I was a normal girl. How to draw attention away from any little clues that might tip someone off. And people see what they expect to see most of the time. If my face didn’t show my fear or pain, people didn’t know to look for it.”
“I should have known.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I said. “And Gibs, those days we spent in the woods meant more to me than I know how to say. You made me feel good, and safe, at a time when I needed that more than anything.”
His face lifted, his blue eyes meeting mine. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I didn’t even think about it when you said your name. Maya Davis. Davis ain’t your Blue Moon family’s last name, is it?”
I nibbled my bottom lip, feeling that little tug of sheepishness again. “No. Theirs is Holly.”
“Davis is my middle name.”
“Yeah, I kinda borrowed it from you.”
A slow grin spread across his face and he took my hands, bringing them to his lips. “You can keep it. Although maybe someday…”
He trailed off, but I knew what he was thinking. He didn’t need to say it. Maybe someday he’d give me his last name, too.
Right then and there, it happened. There was no stopping it now. I felt light, like I could float off this stool, filled with a heady euphoria. I wasn’t getting tipsy from the moonshine. But I was drunk, all right. Drunk in love with Gibson Bodine.
26
GIBSON
The scars on Callie’s arms weren’t noticeable when you looked at her, not with those beautiful tattoos. But I could feel them beneath my fingertips. Small ridges marring her otherwise smooth skin.
They rekindled my anger at her father, but instead of giving into it—and probably taking it out on someone else—I turned away from the raging heat that burned in my gut. It was still there. That man needed justice—Bootleg or otherwise—before I’d ever truly let it go.
But tonight, I didn’t want to simmer in rage, like a pot threatening to boil over. I wanted to have a good night with my girl. Wanted it more than I wanted to be mad.
And damn, she made it easy.
That smile. Those hazel eyes, so pretty and clear. Her long wavy hair hung around her shoulders—a wild mix of blond, purple, turquoise, and blue. Her flowy dress was a hippie sort of sexy, like she ought to be wearing a crown of flowers on her head. She had a thin gold ring on one index finger, and