The Fiction of Forever (A Stand By Me Novel Book 2) (9 page)

“That's nuts. Is the soulmate the person who makes you happy or sets your world on fire?”

She sits straighter and I miss the feel of her hair as it slides out of my grasp. “Both. You think that's impossible?”

“If you believe two people could be struck by one bolt of lightning.”

“What's happened to you to make you so cynical?”

“Life. You of all people should know that it's damned near impossible for a person to find that one who is perfect for them. I'm sorry to be blunt, but you almost married a guy you admit couldn't make you happy. You aren't exactly the one to be handing out fictional promises of one man for one woman.”

She hangs her head, looking at her bare ring finger and I'm immediately sorry for what I've said. It's not her problem that I'm so jaded. Not her fault that I've loved people who left me.

“I shouldn't have said that.” I reach out and tilt her chin up with a finger so she can see I'm earnest.

“It's OK. But it's the reason I broke up with Mason. You see, I know he isn't the right one for me. Even before I discovered I couldn’t trust him. I think when you find the right girl, you'll know. Your world won't be right until she's part of it.”

I pull my hand back. “I can tell you really believe what you're saying. It's…I don't know. It's tough to give over your happiness. Because that's what happens. You put yourself out there, put your sanity and well-being in the hands of someone else.”

“You know, you're right. That's what so flipping wonderful about it. You said it right earlier. Like being struck by lightning—it's magical.”

Dammit. Her eyes practically sparkle as she says the words.

My breath catches at the way she radiates, making me want to move near her. She's a warm fire on a chilly night, drawing me closer.

I reach out a hand and grasp the back of her head in a light hold, drawing her to meet my lips. The light scent of her perfume, a fresh citrus smell reminding me of sunshine, assaults my senses. I breathe her in during that brief second between knowing I'm going to kiss her and then my lips touching hers.

There's not a bit of hesitation from her. I drag my hand through her hair, a sensation I've dreamed of all week.

A groan.

I'm not sure if it's me or it's her, but the sound sends desire slamming into me. Common sense escapes and my heart pumps blood in anticipation of more.

Her hand lands on my chest, gripping the fabric of my T-shirt like she'll never let go.

I feel her opposite hand suddenly high on my thigh, inches away from my dick that pulses to attention.

The taste of her mouth and the oh-so-right feel of her body pressing against mine is that elusive magic she's mentioned. My tongue strokes the softness of her mouth. I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, amazed at the powerful rightness of a kiss.

It's as if I've waited all my life to experience this kiss and I've kissed hundreds of girls. Girls who didn't send my system into shock and scare the shit out of me.

I’m so tempted to carry her to the bedroom.

But neither one of us is ready for that tonight. First, she needs to understand that I can give her everything in the bedroom, but I can't give her my heart. I'm not a forever-after kind of guy. Some guys are like a wolf mating for life. Not me.

I touch my lips gently to the corner of her mouth and sit back a little. We're both breathing hard. Her hand releases the tight grip on my shirt and I drag both my hands from her hair.

My body aches for her and the physical connection that's damned near electric.

She pulls back. “I think I'd better head home.”

Crazy warring thoughts fill my head. I have to think of a way to get her to stay.

She checks the time on her cell phone. “It’s late. Thanks for the talk. I don’t want to be accused of trying to seduce you onto the show. It’s actually for the best that you aren’t interested.”

Is she trying to pull some reverse psychology on me?

I stand, straightening up and aware that the wood I'm sporting certainly tells her how much I want to keep her with me. “I'm sorry I don't want to be on TV. But there are millions of guys out there who'll jump at the chance. How soon do you have to find someone?”

Her crestfallen expression is enough to make me want to change my mind, if only to please her. Crazy talk. But I know one thing. Her body was made for mine. That kind of lightning strike I understand.

She gets to her feet and doesn't meet my gaze. “The show isn't your problem. Hope I didn't keep you up too late.”

“Kiley—”

“No, don't say anything. It's OK. I should really go. I have a big day tomorrow. I'll see you around,” she says as she strides to the door without looking back at me. “Take care, Gunner. You're a special kind of guy and any girl would be lucky to have you.”

With those words, she leaves my cabin. Five minutes later, I'm still looking at the door.

“A guy would be lucky to have you, too,” I mutter to the empty room. I need more time with her. The time I was cheated back in high school. I picture her dancing in my arms, laughing at my lame jokes, responding to my every touch.

I slide back onto the sofa and kick my feet up on the coffee table. The cabin practically echoes with the ticking of a clock on my kitchen wall.

She’s only been gone a few minutes and I already want her back.

I open the drawer underneath my coffee table and remove the DVD of
The Princess Bride
. The cellophane still covers the new disc and I carefully tear it off. I flip the package over and read the description on the back.

So, Kiley named her dog after the character in this movie.

Maybe she wants to live in a fairy tale, thinking that some guy will rescue her. I could be that guy…if real life were different. If people didn’t disappear as soon as you cared too much.

I’m an idiot. Worse than an idiot. A dreamer. She’s not asking me to ride in like a white knight and rescue her. She only wants to keep her role on the TV show. That’s it.

And what will it hurt? Doing the show would be easy—a little like the school play from junior high. If I don’t do the show, I might not see her again.

Worse, some other guy will be on the show spending time with her. I rise from the sofa and stride across the room and insert the DVD in the player.

The movie begins and I return to the sofa. My cell phone buzzes with an incoming call. I check the number.

It’s like a strange emotional telepathy that I thought about my stepsister earlier and now she calls me.

“Hey Nicky-girl,” I say.

“Hi. Am I calling too late?” She sounds relaxed, her voice a low hum.

“Everything OK?”

“Everything is great. Quit sounding so worried all the time.”

“Good.” I grimace at her scolding. I do expect bad things to happen. Some habits are harder to break than others.

“Thanks for sending the money. I told you the wedding is small, and I don’t need it.” She pauses. “But thanks anyway.”

She’s always turning down help, so independent. “I didn’t know how much weddings cost. You have to tell me if I should send more.”

“Stop. Gun. You’ve done enough. Too much. Collin—”

“This is my present to you.”

“Show up with a suit on and give me away. That’s all I want.”

I groan. Loudly.

She giggles, as I knew she would.

“I already said I’d be there.”

“Gun?”

“Yes, Veronica?” I say teacher-like, as if responding to a question about the lecture. I rarely use her full name. It’s always been Nicky-girl to me.

“You remember when you came to the hospital and saw me?”

My stomach bottoms out.

An ex-boyfriend had almost killed her. I flashback to how small and defenseless she looked.

It was a cruel lesson. Life can be over in a flash. Everything taken away the moment you aren’t looking.

“Gun? You still there?” she asks.

“Uh yeah. Just got distracted.”

“Are you happy? Please, please tell me you are. You promised me in that hospital room that you’d be happy. Remember?”

“Yeah,” I say, rubbing one hand over my eyes. “Sure.”

“That’s why I called. To make sure you keep good on the promise.”

There’s a smile in her voice. A distinct note of relief.

“Thanks for calling. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

“Bye for now.”

“Bye.” I toss my phone to the cushion and lean my head back.

And that's when I decide I'll do the show, tempt Kiley Vanderbilt into my bed, and take the cash.

I'm living for today.

S
ix Years Ago
, Shelby City, Arkansas

Gunner

T
he small apartment
that I’m supposed to call home reeks of cigarette smoke and wet dog. Dirty ashtrays litter the end tables and empty pizza boxes fill the space behind the kitchen trashcan.

There’s no dog, and I can’t figure out the source of the smell.

How could Dad fall in love with a person like Jodie after having a life with Mom? Mom was a clean freak and our house smelled of clean linens and evergreen.

I’ve gone from a house filled with hope and life to one a step removed from hell.

I think about this disparity often, a mystery I’m determined to solve, but never do.

I’m prepared to hate both Jodie—my dad’s new wife—and her daughter, Veronica. Within a month, I waver in my plan.

It’s easy to dislike Jodie. Although she doesn’t do anything to me to directly, she treats the girl with a disregard that pisses me off. It’s as if Veronica is an afterthought. I can take care of myself, but Veronica? I’d guess that she’s been self-sufficient all her life.

I sleep on the sofa because the apartment only has two bedrooms. When Dad and I moved in, he said we’d find a bigger place for all of us. Soon. The sleeping arrangement would be temporary.

Soon doesn’t happen.

I never go into the bedrooms. Sometimes, Dad and Jodie sleep all day and night. Or maybe they’re doing other things in there.

I really don’t want to know. I’ve mentally checked out, sitting on my sofa bed and playing video games in marathon sessions. No more football practice or games. Nashville seems like a distant dream.

Veronica hovers in the background, watching me all the time but never saying much. I don’t talk to her, either.

It’s Christmas break, but we don’t have a tree. Not one twinkling light or piece of decoration. Dad and Jodie left days ago and haven’t returned. I’m playing Silent Hill and Veronica rises from an ugly orange recliner and goes to stand in front of the refrigerator.

She’s so damned skinny, her T-shirt swallows her. The light of the fridge reflects off the sharp angles of all her bones. I know she’s thirteen and still growing. But shouldn’t she have hips and boobs? Maybe not. I try to remember if the girls back home did.

Veronica closes the door and turns to me. “What will we do if they don’t come home?”

I glance from the TV to her and back so I won’t get killed in my game. “They’ll come back.”

“What if they don’t?” She walks to a stop in front of the TV.

“Move,” I say, waving at her.

She doesn’t listen. “No. We need groceries. I’m going to get a job or something.”

I roll my eyes. “Who’s going to hire a thirteen-year-old kid?”

“Don’t call me a kid. I can babysit in the building. We need something to eat. I don’t mind. I’ll buy enough for you, too.”

I shake the video game controller and lean my head so I can see around her. “Look. You killed me.”

She gets a hurt expression on her face, her eyebrows knitting together in the middle. “Don’t you care if we starve?”

“No,” I lie.

“Why do you hate me?”

I’m shocked. “I don’t. Why do you think that?”

“You never look at me or talk to me.”

I exhale and my shoulders drop in defeat. “I don’t hate you. It’s…you’re a kid. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“You never ask me to play with you.” She signals at the television. “I’m not a kid. I’m almost the same age as you.”

“There’s a huge difference between sixteen and thirteen.”

She sits beside me on the sofa, something she hasn’t done since I made it my bed. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Hm,” I say. My throat closes up instantly. Why’d she have to say it? I forgot the bulk of my misery until she had to say it aloud.

“You can talk to me,” she says. “Or not.”

I ignore her and begin a new game, pressing the controller buttons harder than necessary. “If you want me to like you, don’t block my game again.”

“OK,” she says, but doesn’t leave her seat beside me.

“And forget about getting a job. You’re not going anywhere. I’ll call my grandpa. He’ll get us some groceries.”

She tucks her feet underneath her body and nods. I try not to notice that she’s crying. Fucking shit. Why is she crying?

“What?” I put the game controller down. “What now?”

Her tears need to stop because I can’t deal with it. My chest contracts and I can’t breathe seeing them drip down her cheeks.

“Nothing,” she whispers. “I don’t hate you either.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I get up and hunt for my other controller.

When I hand it to her, she takes it and places it in her lap. “I’ll watch for now,” she says softly.

“Sounds good.” I continue to play until she falls asleep in her seated position. Her head droops to the side and I push her gently onto my pillow. It’s not so bad having company while I play video games.

Later, I call Grandpa Joe. I don’t really know him, but Dad gave me his number in case of emergency. I decide this is it. Who knows if Dad and Jodie will return. I sure don’t.

Grandpa doesn’t ask tons of questions when I call. I ask if he’ll bring me some groceries, and he says he’ll be right over. Instead, he shows up empty-handed.

“You and Veronica can come home with me. Get your things. Write your dad a note,” he says with a curl to his lip. “Tell him that you and the girl are with me.”

Grandpa Joe has a small three-bedroom house. There’s an anorexic, artificial tree in one corner with silver tinsel strewn over the branches. My dad’s mom died before I was born, but I’d bet he’s had the tree since Grandma died.

Veronica doesn’t speak during the drive to Grandpa’s. It’s as if she’s afraid to mess up a good thing. I give her an encouraging smile so she’ll stop looking so worried. We follow him inside the house.

“Where does Veronica sleep?” I ask Grandpa.

“You take the good bedroom,” he says to her. He points to the hallway. “First door. There’s a bed and a dresser. Check the closet for blankets.”

“Go on,” I say in a gentle tone, when she doesn’t move. I feel like the adult coaxing a child forward.

She rubs her fingers over her mouth, scrubbing hard enough to hurt. I’ve noticed her doing it when she’s anxious. I’m confused. Isn’t she glad to be here? I sure am. This beats the hell out of the smelly apartment.

I put one hand on her shoulder. “Are you afraid your mom will be mad?”

She shakes her head.

“Come on,” I say. It’s evident that she’s not going anywhere without me, as if she’s afraid of Grandpa.

We walk down the narrow hallway together, side-by-side. She hugs her overnight bag to her chest. “I can sleep on the sofa,” she whispers to me.

“He doesn’t want you to sleep there. You have a room.”

She’s like a shadow behind me as I walk into the bedroom. It’s plain, a patchwork quilt on the bed and a white shade over the window. I pick up a photo from the top of a cherry dresser sitting against the far wall.

I recognize my dad as a kid. He’s on one knee beside a shaggy dog.

“That’s Jerry,” Grandpa says from the doorway.

“Yeah.” I slide the photo back in place. “How long can we stay?”

“Son, I’m not taking you back to that place. You’re staying here now.”

Veronica wipes her hand over her mouth, her blue eyes huge in her pale face.

I look away from her to Grandpa. “She stays if I do. Please, sir.”

He’s quiet for several minutes. I’m sweating at the thought he’ll think I’m too much trouble or that she is.

He lifts the John Deere tractor hat from his head. “She can if her mother will let her. I’m not her family.”

“She stays with us,” I repeat. I don’t know why, but I need to know that the whole world hasn’t gone to shit. She’s not really my family either. I barely know her. But she has no one. Jodie is a sad excuse for a mother. At least I have the memory of my mom.

Veronica needs me.