The Fiction of Forever (A Stand By Me Novel Book 2) (4 page)

I shake myself out of the trance, hoping only a second has passed instead of the eternity it feels like. “I think I’ll head home for dinner. At least I got this done.” I nod at the nearly finished koi pond.

“Do you want a sandwich?” she asks. Her velvet voice is seductive and at odds with the practical question.

“What?” I’m positive I didn’t hear her correctly.

“A sandwich.”

“Nah. I’m good.” I remove the gloves I put on this afternoon to use the shovel.

“You have something against me making you a sandwich? I know you stayed late to do this.” She waves at the koi pond.

I smirk. The truth might be that I hoped to get a glimpse of her again. “No. It’s best that I leave.”

“I guess you need to get home to your wife. She probably cooked for you.”

There’s a weird tension in the air. “No.”

“No, she doesn’t cook?”

“No, I’m not married.”

“Oh. Why not?”

I shrug. This conversation is getting weirder by the second. “I…um…don’t know. I’m not the marrying type.”

“Hmm…” She absently strokes the top of Westley’s head. “Everyone’s the marrying type. You simply have to find the right one to marry.”

Her tone suggests this is a little known fact from Wikipedia and she’s educating me. I laugh and shove my leather gloves into my back pocket.

“I’m serious.” She tilts her head to one side as if trying to make sense of me. “I insist you have a sandwich. Come.”

I should tell her I need to wash my Jeep. Or organize my laundry. Or pick up a hooker. Anything but spend more time getting hypnotized by the poisonous rattler wearing a rock on her finger.

She pivots on the balls of her feet. I notice that she’s barefoot as she strolls past the pool and to the back patio.

I wipe my hands down the front of my work jeans and walk toward the French doors. My footsteps slow as I near. I haven’t been inside the house before. Now, I stand at the threshold of the open door, uneasy as a vampire waiting to be asked inside.

“Hello?” I yell. She’s nowhere in sight. I knew this was a mistake.

“In here,” she yells back.

I follow the direction of her voice, walking through the back sunroom and reaching a hallway. “I don’t know where you are.”

“Kitchen.”

That tells me absolutely nothing. I make a guess and take a left since there’s more light coming from that end of the hall. When I get to the end, Kiley stands with her head stuck fully inside the refrigerator.

“You don’t need to make me anything. Really.”

“Are you saying I don’t know how to make a sandwich? What do you think I am? An idiot?”

I press my lips together and glance around the kitchen area. I take a seat at the long wood table. It’s one of those distressed things that’s supposed to look old. I wonder if anyone ever eats at it.

Her head pops above the refrigerator door. “Prosciutto?”

“Mmm…I don’t know what that is. Do you have turkey?

“No,” she says. “We have prosciutto. I’ve never made a sandwich with it, but I’m sure it will work.” She pulls the package from the fridge. “Mason—that’s my fiancé—he expects me to host a dinner party here with no notice. Tomorrow night for three couples. He says it will be my job to whip up catering or whatever at a moment’s notice, because that’s what his future wife should do. Can you believe that?”

I don’t answer. So that’s why she’s throwing a fit over the landscaping in front. It’s clear to me now why I’m sitting in the kitchen. She needed to vent and I’ll do for a sounding board. Rich people problems. She’d better get used to her fiancé treating her this way if he’s doing it before they’re even married.

I hold back from stating my last thought. Surely, there’s a more neutral topic that won’t lead to a fight. I glance around the kitchen. “Where’s Westley?”

“I put him in the laundry room while you’re inside. I don’t want him to bite you.” She pulls a plate from the cupboard.

“Don’t want him sneaking up on me.” I peer to the left and right, then back up to watch her making the sandwich and cutting it diagonally. “You don’t need to do anything special with it. Bread and meat is fine.”

She ignores me, pulling some fancy pickles and shit from the fridge. “You can tidy up in the mudroom.”

Tidy up. Why is she pretending we’re good friends and she’s casually making me a bite to eat? Clients don’t make sandwiches for me. “Listen, Kiley. I really should go.”

She freezes, her back straightening and shoulders tensing. Then, she turns and leans back against the counter. “Are you sure we don’t know each other from somewhere? What did you say your name is?”

“Gunner. Gunner Parrish.”

“Gunner,” she repeats. “I knew that was you!”

Sure, she did.

“Why were you pretending we didn’t know each other? I couldn’t place you. You should’ve told me earlier.”

She has got to be joking. As if I want to acknowledge that she ignored me after the night of the bonfire. I’d have cut my heart out and offered it on a platter to her. But all that was before my life went south.

Literally. I went southwest to Arkansas in a move that changed my life.

I inhale. “I don’t think you really want to reminiscence about old times, do you? I think you’ve got some little party to worry about now and you want to make sure I stay on board to make it happen without a hitch.”

Her expression says I’ve hit a raw chord. “You’re kidding, right?”

“It’s OK. I still get paid, but let’s not pretend that we run in the same circles.”

She abandons the sandwich prep and stalks across the kitchen, still holding the knife. “You haven’t changed one bit. You were a broody, sulky teenage boy who stopped speaking to me all of a sudden. I’m seeing that same sulky boy all grown up.”

But after that night at the bonfire, I called you and texted you over and over,
I want to say.
You never answered when you could’ve made my world better than the hell it was.

Silence.

The slam, slam, slam of my heart as it speeds up.

The sounds of both our breathing in the otherwise silent kitchen.

“So what’s your excuse for being a sorry SOB when I kept trying to talk to you?” She crosses the room to stand too close.

I’m not going to tell her how much I wanted her to make my world better that year. It was a long time ago.

I get to my feet. “Yeah. I was rude. Sorry about that. Mom had cancer that year, and your hurt feelings didn’t rate very high compared to that.”

Surprise, embarrassment, and regret take turns flickering across her face in succession.

“I’ll finish the koi pond early tomorrow so I won’t be around when your guests get here.”

I can’t leave her house fast enough. For a split second, I’d returned to my youth, wondering if my life would ever get better. Kiley, the girl I had a crush on for years, took my heart and tossed it aside when I needed someone the most.

Now, she needs to know how unimportant she is to me.

C
urrent Day

Kiley

A
man
like Gunner Parrish has to know the effect he has on women. His broad shoulders and massive chest taper down to a trim waist. The white T-shirt hugs him like a second skin, perspiration from hard work shows in the center of his back when he turns around. His back muscles flex against the damp fabric.

My maid-of-honor, Josie, and I stand at the window of my bedroom on the second floor of the house. I started out showing her my wedding trousseau. Since noticing Gunner outside, we’ve reverted to our teen years and can’t tear ourselves from the view.

A faded red ball cap hides Gunner’s face. I hope he hasn’t noticed us, because we’re gawking. There’s no other word for it. I tear my gaze from the manly form working hard to finish the koi pond in the back lawn. “We should really get busy,” I say to her.

“Five more minutes…” she murmurs. “My brother said Gunner was back in town. I don’t think I would’ve recognized him. He was tall and lanky back then. That man filled out.”

Perfect. She’s as captivated by him as much as I am. “We’re going to get caught watching.”

Josie doesn’t even turn her head away from the window. “We need a break from this wedding talk. Gunner Parrish. Huh. I don’t think I’ve drooled over a man like this since my freshman year of college.”

“Who was it?”

“Brad Delamark. Football player. Tight end. Real tight end.” She mutters this with perfect timing as Gunner bends over to pick up something.

I furrow my brow, attempting to remember this Brad guy. “Is he the one you followed around campus for weeks?”

“Yes. Good memory. Hey. I think I need a koi pond. It’s a beautiful sight. How much do these things cost?”

Although I know she’s ogling Gunner purely for fun, the thought of her ogling him without me sends a nasty jolt through my veins.

“Mmm…” I give in and look down at the lawn. “I made out with Gunner one night in tenth grade. He moved soon after that.”

“I’d have to ask him for a trip down memory lane.” She grins. “I need details. Is ‘made out’ code for sex?”

“No. It’s not,” I answer with a hint of regret.

“At least tell me there was heavy petting involved.”

“What exactly qualifies as ‘heavy’?” I smirk at her. “No, you don’t have to be jealous. I barely remember it,” I lie. “Besides, he was a jerk then and sort of a jerk now.”

“I remember liking him in school.”

I lift one shoulder as if it’s no big deal. “Yeah, I did, too.”

“Where does the jerk part come in?”

“I don’t know. I thought he’d ask me out and he never did. That doesn’t really make him a jerk, huh?”

“No, not really. Unless you had sex and you’re withholding information. Then he’s certainly a jerk.” Her head thumps against the window. “His muscles have muscles. I do not remember him looking like that. I’ll have to ask Leo for an update on what Gunner’s been doing.” She grins at me. “OK. Backing away from the window and the beautiful man now. Slowly, so I won’t have withdrawals.”

I glance at her. “About the bachelorette party. I don’t care where we have it. You choose.”

“New Orleans is my first pick. Or Vegas.” She strolls across the room and sits on my purple velvet chaise.

“Why can’t we have it here?”

“You are kidding, right? Nashville is boring. Let’s go somewhere wild and crazy.”

I sigh. The pressure of the past few days makes me want to fly away somewhere. Maybe I can find a remote island where I can hide from the world. If I fly to Vegas, I may never come back.

I force myself to leave the window and walk to the chaise. “I think you’re more excited about this bachelorette party than I am.”

“Heck yeah! All I ever do is work at the bookstore.” Josie scoots over and pats the space beside her. “Sit. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lie, and take a seat. As my best friend and first cousin, she knows too much about me to be satisfied with my previous answer and I know it.

She points at me. “Liar.”

“Everything.” I drop my head down and place both hands over my face.

“You’re scared. It happens. I always hear people talk about pre-wedding jitters. They’re normal.”

“I hate him. Is that normal?”

“What?” Her eyebrows draw together.

“I hate the way he talks to me—like I’m supposed to take notes so I do everything he says. He’s so anal about certain things. He takes better care of his cuticles than I do, for God’s sake. Ugh.”

“Oh, sweetie. It’s nerves, that’s all.”

“He thinks my career plans are a joke. He wants me to break my contract to be on
Forever
this season. He said I’ll be too busy after the wedding. That if I love him, I’ll understand that he needs me.”

My throat threatens to close shut. I attempt to swallow past the lump in the middle of my esophagus. I don’t want to cry, but it’s too late. My tear ducts have gone renegade. A small tear escapes to roll down my face. “I’m afraid it’s not nerves. What if it’s the beginning of a hate that grows until the day I’m standing in the back lawn with a shovel in my hand trying to figure out a way to bury him next to the koi pond?”

“You’ll call me and I’ll help you figure it out. The koi pond is a bad location. We’ll take the body out to the lake and sink him. If the body’s too heavy, Leo can come help. A twin brother should be good for something. He’s my accomplice for life.”

“Can we do it now and get it over with so I don’t have to live with him?” I begin to laugh, a hysterical sound even to my own ears. I gasp for air in-between giggles. “Because I swear, if he tells me one more time what he wants me to wear at this dinner tonight, I’m gonna kill him.”

“You’re kidding.” Her eyes widen and she grins. “What does he want you to wear?”

I get to my feet and stride quickly to the closet. Tossing a look over my shoulder as I enter the walk-in, I say, “A dress that will make me look sexy, but not whorish—his words. He gave me a dress to wear so I wouldn’t choose one of my own. Shoes that make my legs look long but won’t make me taller than he is. My hair should be in an updo, but nothing too fancy.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you what jewelry to wear.” She follows me into the closet.

“But he did. No costume jewelry. Let me quote. ‘I forbid you to wear any of that fake stuff you made.’”

“He can’t be talking about the beaded jewelry you make.” She picks up one Louboutin platform shoe from my rack and tries it on her bare foot.

I nod. “He is. He gave me a necklace and insists I wear it, since it matches the non-whorish dress.” I stand on tiptoe and retrieve a jewelry case. Opening the lid, I stare at the large sapphire pendant on a choker. The necklace box feels leaden as I hand it across to her.

She puts the shoe back in its spot and takes the box. “I had no idea he was so…domineering. But I haven’t really been around him.” She places a hand on my arm. “I said it was jitters. I was wrong. Forgive me for what I’m going to say.”

“Forgiven. I’m sure I’ve thought it already.

“If you’re not sure, call the wedding off or tell him you need more time. But don’t marry him because some invitations have been ordered or some other whack reason. I couldn’t marry a guy trying to make me into a perfect robot wife. I’d tell him where he could shove this necklace along with the diamond.” She signals with one finger to my left hand.

I stare at the engagement solitaire on my shaking hand. I was so sure the day I said yes to his proposal. We’d gone on a midnight riverboat cruise and everyone on the boat had witnessed Mason going down on one knee. I felt loved that day.

Things are changing and I see how my life might be with Mason. He’s planning our life the way he prepares a legal brief—detailed and unemotional.

I give myself a mental shake. He says he loves me. He says I’m the most important thing for his happiness.

People don’t call off weddings four weeks out. I have a dress and wedding presents. Caterers and a string quartet. Dad’s approval that I’m marrying a solid guy.

“Mason isn’t horrible. He has some good qualities. I swear he does. Every person has annoying personality traits and I’m letting his get to me.”

“Tell me about it. I haven’t dated a guy I can stand after the third date. That’s about when I notice all the things that drive me crazy.”

I attempt a smile. “Yeah, I know. Right? Mason makes these sucking sounds when he eats. Every guy is going to have something like that. How petty am I for pointing it out?”

She puts the necklace box down on a shoe rack and grabs me by the shoulders. “That’s why I’m not getting married. Mason sucks his food, huh? You are talking about a lot of meals in a lifetime. Do you really want to be the one to fly across the table someday and fork him?”

My heart pounds faster as I imagine the sucking between bites of breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My stomach churns.

She continues. “I hate to say it, but that’s not the worst thing you’ve listed about him. That alone is grounds for divorce in my book. But the controlling thing. I know you. You’ll be miserable. Oh my God. I’ve realized something.”

I lift a questioning eyebrow.

“I was trying to figure out why you are marrying this douchebag. I know.” She leaves the closet with me tagging along behind her to hear the rest.

“I’ve made him sound worse than he is. It’s pre-wedding jitters. You were right when you said it. Everyone gets them.”

“He’s sort of like your dad.”

We’re both silent for a full minute.

“Shut up,” I finally say. I laugh, the sound of it forced. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about Uncle Ed.” She gives me a sad smile, her look filled with pity.

In a flash, I’m taken back to a single moment when I was five. Sitting on the top step of the staircase, I hid so I could listen to Mom and Dad arguing about whether she could open her art gallery.

Usually, Mom did what he said, quietly and without any argument. Not that day.

I glance at the clock. “Look at the time. Wow. I should get ready for the caterers to bring the food. They’ll be here any minute. And then I have to shower and change. Can I call you next week?” I walk toward my bedroom door, hoping that Josie will follow me.

“Sure.” She pauses and whirls around to hug me. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

“I’ve missed you,” I say into her mass of red hair. “This bachelorette thing will be fun.”

Josie pulls back and looks into my face at arm’s length. “We can do a party no matter what happens. Don’t be mad about what I said. I want you to do what’s best for you.”

The sound of the doorbell saves me from responding. “I wonder who that can be.” We smile at each other, some of our earlier camaraderie missing. I walk downstairs faster than necessary.

I open the front door, only to find Gunner. “Oh, it’s you.” You. Tall, tanned, and toned. The one I dreamed about last night instead of my fiancé.

“Hi.” Josie beams at him. “I was just leaving. I’m Josie. You were friends with my brother Leo when we were in school. And I used to follow you guys around everywhere.”

Gunner looks her over as if he’s not sure.

“Yeah. Sure, I remember. I’ve known Leo for a long time. Nice guy. But you look different.” A corner of his mouth lifts.

“No braces or glasses. Figured out the bad hair issue.” She winks. “I didn’t even get boobs until my senior year.”

Gunner stays silent as if he’s not sure how to respond.

Josie stops ogling him. “You guys have details to work out. Come on in,” she says and steps aside. “I’ll let myself out.”

He shifts his gaze to me with a relieved expression. “I wanted to find out what time the shindig starts. I’ll stop work at least an hour before people arrive.”

Last night, Gunner left as if he had a fire to put out. He hates me. He thinks I’m insensitive and cruel. I wish I’d known about his mother back in high school and last night.

But when I get as nervous as I was last night, my mouth gets me into trouble. Words fall out of their own accord.

Now I step back and watch Josie leave. She hops into her white Mercedes and waves at me. Then she gives me a thumbs-up sign. Unfortunately, her thumbs-up occurs at the same moment Gunner turns to look at Josie.

He turns back to me with a confused look on his face.

There’s no explanation for Josie’s signal to me. Not that I need to make one. “What can I do for you?” I tap my fingers against my bare legs. As if he can hear my fingertips hitting skin, his gaze travels down the length of my body.

“I asked you when the party starts.”

Whenever you want, my body says. “Um…it’s at…” My mind is like a squeaky-clean marker board—white and blank as the day it came off an assembly line.

He nods slowly. “You did tell me it’s tonight. But maybe I got that wrong. You don’t look dressed for a party.” His gaze travels once more over me, trailing down my legs in a slow burn.

“Oh for heaven’s sake. You too? I’ve had it up to here with men trying to dress me.”

Gunner gives me a bewildered look as I glare at him. Then the most unexpected thing happens. He gives me a sly grin. And it’s like a freight train knocks into my body.

“I’d be more likely to undress a woman than dress her,” he says. His soft voice travels across the space between us and my knees knock together.

If only.

My mouth morphs into a dry piece of sandstone and my heart vibrates with hummingbird wings against my breastbone. I’m going to begin talking. I have no doubt my mouth will open and there’s no way to stop it. It’s either babble or jump him. One or the other, because there’s no in-between.

I swallow past the sand in my mouth. He’s freaking me out with the flirting. “That would be something. You and me. Really?”

I know my comment came out wrong. All wrong. When I get nervous, I pretend I’m overly confident.

That sly grin disappears and the hard, flinty look in his eyes returns. “No. You’re right. I like my women a little less frigid.”

And I like my men a little less…hot. Apparently true, if I compare Mason to the man before me.