Chapter 19
Bodie
Gibson Sibling Group Text [Minus Bodie]
Colter:
Y’all. He straight up dropped a “You don’t speak to my wife that way” on Marla she was nine. I wasn’t looking for her—wasn’t looking for anyone, really.
But I’d be out there playing like we all did, building forts and pretending to be explorers, and I’d hear yelling sometimes from her place.
Ugly yelling. The kind that makes your stomach clench even when you’re too young to understand what it means. ”
Blair’s expression shifted, her teasing demeanor melting into something softer, more serious. “I can imagine how well that went over with you.”
I grunted in acknowledgment. I never had been able to abide bullies.
“And then one day, I found her huddled behind some rocks, crying so hard she could barely breathe. I could still hear the shouting from the house—her mom, mostly, but a man, too, sometimes. Just… loud and mean and endless.” The memory hit me fresh, like it always did.
That little girl with tear-streaked cheeks and leaves in her dark hair, trying to make herself invisible against the boulder.
“I was so damn angry. But I didn’t want to scare her off.
So, I did the only thing I could think of.
Gave her half my sandwich and the sweet tea I’d packed in my thermos. And that… kind of became a thing.”
I took a long pull of my beer, the cold liquid doing nothing to ease the tightness in my throat.
“She’d hide out in the woods when things got bad at home.
I’d find her. And we just… became friends.
Best friends, really. She’d tell me about the books she was reading, and I’d teach her how to skip stones in the creek.
We spent hours out there, just talking about everything and nothing. ”
Blair tilted her head, studying me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. “Only ever friends?”
“Only ever friends,” I said firmly, though the words felt heavier than they should have.
“By the time I left for college, her mom was gone—left town in the middle of the night and never came back. Emmaline was working at the bakery with her grandma, and that’s all she ever wanted.
Things seemed better without all the fighting, so I didn’t worry as much about leaving her behind.
Then I came back, joined the force… and her little brother ended up being my first arrest as a rookie. ”
I scrubbed a hand down my face, feeling every day of the years that had passed since then. “Caught him red-handed. I didn’t have a choice. The law is the law, and he’d crossed the line. But that didn’t make it any easier.”
The weight of that memory still sat heavy in my chest, like a stone I carried everywhere. “She’s hated me ever since.”
Blair studied me for a long moment, her fingers drumming against the side of her Coke can. “So she hates you… but she agreed to marry you.”
I shrugged, the gesture feeling inadequate for the complexity of the situation.
I took another long swallow of beer to buy time, trying to find the right words.
“If I can do this one thing to make sure she keeps what’s hers—what her family can’t screw her out of because of some ridiculous will—then I’m glad to.
I’ll give whatever she’ll let me, even if it’s only my name on a piece of paper. ”
Blair’s expression softened into something that looked dangerously close to sympathy. “You’re a good one, Bodie Gibson.”
I snorted, shaking my head. “Don’t spread that rumor around. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
She ignored my deflection entirely, tapping a finger on the counter like she was building to something.
The sound was rhythmic, deliberate—the same way she used to tap her pen during exams when she was working through a particularly complex problem.
“You know, keeping a wife happy isn’t all that complicated. ”
My head jerked up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. “She’s not my wife in that sense.”
“Oh, calm down.” She rolled her eyes with theatrical exaggeration.
“Get your mind out of the gutter. I wasn’t talking about that.
I meant little things—making space for her, letting her breathe, showing her she matters without making a big production out of it.
It applies either way, fake marriage or real one.
Though, given the very definitive ‘my wife’ performance you gave at the Summer Stomp—Uncle Dee has already told that story five times and counting—it sounds like you’ve got a pretty good handle on the public part. ”
“Shut up,” I muttered, but my ears burned anyway, heat creeping up my neck like a guilty confession.
She grinned, clearly satisfied with my reaction. Then her expression softened again, losing that teasing edge. “Alia said you gave Emmaline your mom’s ring.”
My throat tightened, the words sticking like they were covered in thorns. “Yeah.”
“You sure this is just a fake marriage?” Her voice lost all pretense of casual curiosity. “Because you wouldn’t have given her that ring if she didn’t really matter to you. That ring meant everything to your mom, and it means everything to you.”
I didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. The truth was sitting right there between us, impossible to ignore. “I’m not pushing her for anything. This is what she needs, and that’s enough.”
Blair leaned forward across the counter, her gaze steady and knowing. “You don’t have to push. But you can’t live with someone, pretend to be in love every time you walk out the door, and not feel something real. It’s just not how people work, Bodie. Hearts don’t follow scripts.”
Before I could formulate any kind of response—denial, deflection, or otherwise—tires crunched in the gravel outside. Through the kitchen window, headlights swept across the yard, cutting through the gathering dusk. Emmaline’s car.
Rubble scrambled to her feet with impressive speed, nails scrabbling for traction as she bounded toward the door, tail wagging so hard her entire back end wiggled with enthusiasm. Her favorite person was home.
Blair gave me a knowing look, all soft affection and sly humor rolled into one expression that said she saw right through every defense I’d tried to put up.
I didn’t bother pretending anymore. Didn’t see the point. The truth was already there, heavy and undeniable in my chest, spreading through my ribs like roots finding purchase in soil. It was already too late for denials or careful distance.
I’d been harboring feelings for Emmaline Maddox for a long, long time—longer than I’d ever been willing to admit, even to myself.