Sticks and Stones (Vista Falls #5)

by Cheryl Douglas

  “You want them to like you,” she said gently, touching his thigh.

  He hated being so vulnerable, and in the weeks since he’d first banged on Gianna’s door, he felt like he’d cut an artery and bled his soul for her. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “I think that’s sweet.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Babe, newsflash. No guys wants to be called sweet. Puppies are sweet. Ice cream is sweet. Grown men are—”

  “Sexy?” she asked, pulling her black cotton sundress up to reveal her toned legs. “Tough?” Her voice grew breathier as she whispered, “Strong?”

  He groaned, tipping his head back when they pulled up to a stop sign. “The cottage may not have much, but I did mention there’s a bed, right?”

  She giggled. “You’re not really going to sleep on some old mattress with musty sheets, are you?” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s gross.”

  “What other choice do I have?” he asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

  “Well, there’s always the inn.” She bit her lip. “Or my guest room.”

  “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to move too fast.”

  She gave him a naughty smile that made his jeans uncomfortable. “Moving too fast would be asking you to share my bed while the girls are home. Sleeping in the guest room is no big deal, right? You did it before.”

  “I don’t know if it’s such a good idea, Gi. We don’t want to send mixed messages to Ramsey and Keegan.”

  “It’s just for one night,” she said, biting into her cone. “I have the day off tomorrow. I could go furniture shopping with you and help you clean the cottage so it’s at least liveable.”

  “I’m not going to put you to work,” he said, frowning. “This is my project and I’ll—”

  “What happened to that speech you gave earlier about us being a team?”

  “Okay, fine. But I hate cleaning almost as much as you do. You think we could find a cleaning service that would go in while we’re shopping for that furniture?”

  She laughed. “I’m sure we could figure something out.” Her eyes widened as they pulled into the gravel drive. “Oh my god, this is so cute!”

  “Cute?” Not what he’d been going for. “Uh, like sweet, not a good choice of words.”

  The dark gray, clapboard, single-story structure could use a fresh coat of paint and the pale yellow door would have to be painted a more masculine color. Maybe black. No, Gianna would hate that. White. He could live with white. It was a good, gender-neutral color.

  She rolled up her napkin and tossed it in the empty cup holder before jumping out of the truck and running up the flagstone path before he could reach her. The sun was setting, but it was still light enough for her to inspect the overgrown flowerbeds.

  “Oh, you’ve got a great assortment of perennials here,” she said, looking pleased. “You’ll have colors all season, I think.” She bit her lip in deep concentration as she studied the foliage. “It looks like bleeding heart and peonies.” She moved a little farther down the path. “Mmm, goldenrod and day lilies. Oh, and evening primrose,” she said, inhaling deeply. “I love that!”

  He knelt down beside her, watching her. Her features were stunning as the sun dipped lower, casting a shadow over her. “I love seeing you like this.”

  “Like what?” she asked, looking self-conscious. “On my knees?”

  He chuckled as he hauled her to her feet. “Well, that too. But I was talking about being passionate about something.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh, I’m usually feeling pretty passionate when I’m on my knees.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “You’re one of the only people who can make me laugh like that.” It felt so good, so liberating, after so many months of stress and indecision.

  “And I love making you laugh,” she said, her voice soft. “I want to make you happy, Gunnar. I’ve always wanted that.”

  Her sombre expression stunned him. She went from playful one minute to reflective the next, which told him he wasn’t the only one having a hard time letting go of the past.

  “Honey, I wasn’t capable of being happy before, and that had nothing to do with you. The reason I couldn’t be happy was because I was holding on to the past. The hurt and the pain and the fear.”

  “That’s understandable,” she said, swallowing. “We all get caught up in our past from time to time… find it difficult to move on.”

  “But that’s what this is about for me,” he said, setting his finger beneath her chin to raise her head. “Being here with you and our kids. Buying this little place. Taking time off to just figure things out. It’s about letting go of the past and figuring out what makes me happy.”

  “Um, Gunnar…” Her voice trailed off and he could tell she was facing an internal battle. “I’m not sure I have any right to say this. Lord knows I have no idea what you went through or how it affected you…”

  “Go on.” He wanted her to feel comfortable enough to say anything to him, anytime, without fear of reprisal. “I want to hear what you have to say, Gi.”

  “I think maybe…” She sucked in a breath and blurted, “You should think about forgiving your mother.”

  He stared at her until the silence started to feel heavy and oppressive. As soon as he turned away, needing a moment to collect himself, she touched his back and whispered, “I’m sorry. I had no right to—”

  “You have every right.” He curled his hand around hers, holding it against his shoulder. “Did I ever tell you that I got a call from someone claiming to be my mother once?”

  “What? When?”

  “It was about eight years ago. I was on tour, and when I got to the venue in Hartford to perform, a young woman ran up to me and pressed this pink slip of paper into my hand. It had my mother’s name and phone number on it. I guess she called when she heard I was going to be performing there.”

  “Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me? What did you do?”

  “I tried to forget about it.” He released her hand and she stepped in front of him, giving him nowhere to run. “I guess that’s why I didn’t tell you. I was afraid you’d tell me I had to call. I thought you’d ride me about it until I did.” Her hurt expression made him wish he could take the words back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just wasn’t sure I was ready. Honestly, I’m not even sure it was her. It could have been a hoax. The fact I grew up in foster care isn’t exactly a secret. For all I know, it could’ve been some crazed fan who would have tried to lure me to some secret meeting place so she could ambush me.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem worth the risk.”

  “You travel with security,” she reminded him gently. “It wouldn’t have been that big a risk.”

  It wasn’t the risk to his safety he was worried about. It was the risk to his heart and he knew she could see that in his eyes. “Okay, fine. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear anything she had to say.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve hated her my whole life.” His fists clenched, but she trailed her hands down his arms and he threaded his hands through hers. “I can’t imagine not hating her. What could she possibly say to justify what she did? She abandoned her own kid!”

  “I know, sweetheart.” She rolled forward on her toes, linking her arms around his neck. “It’s difficult, if not impossible, to justify that. But you know if you continue carrying all this hatred and resentment with you, it’s only going to keep hurting you.”

  She was right. It was eating away at him, but he didn’t know how to let it go.

  “Did you keep the number?”

  He nodded dumbly, thinking of the worn slip of paper burning a hole in his wallet.

  “Did you ever try calling it?”

  He shook his head, recalling all the times he’d picked up the phone, intent on dialing the number, only to set it down again. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

  “Would you consider letting me call?”

  He closed his eyes a
nd tipped his head back. Darkness began to surround them, but he still felt too exposed, as though she could read every emotion in his heart on his face. “Eight years is a long time. She’s probably not there anymore. Hell, for all I know, she could be dead by now. Maybe that’s why she was calling, she wanted to try and absolve herself of any guilt—”

  “You’re torturing yourself with all these possible scenarios,” Gianna said, tugging on the front of his cotton shirt. “Don’t do that. Just let me call her. Please.”

  He battled with himself for a few seconds before he walked to his truck and grabbed his wallet off the dashboard.

  Gianna followed him, holding her hand out when he produced the slip of paper. “Shall we go inside?”

  “You go inside,” he said, heaving a deep sigh. “I’m not ready to know.”

  ***

  Gianna’s heart broke as she watched Gunnar walk toward the lake. Instead of going inside, she climbed into the truck and studied the faded numbers by the light of her cell phone. She knew this one call could change Gunnar’s life. For better or worse. Did she really have the courage to be the catalyst?

  She had to, she realized. She had to be strong for him, to do this for him, because he wasn’t ready to do it for himself. Her hand shook as she dialed the number and waited for someone to answer.

  “Hello.” The voice on the other end was raspy, as though she’d spent her life smoking a pack a day or just woke up from a deep sleep.

  “Hello, I’m looking for a Ms. Williams.” Gianna knew Gunnar’s father had never been in his life, so he’d taken his mother’s last name.

  “Who the hell are you?” the woman croaked. “Well? What do you want? Speak, dammit. Or I’m hanging up.”

  “I’m calling about your son.” The silence stretched on so long Gianna was sure she’d lost the call. “Are you—?”

  “Gunnar? You’re calling about Gunnar?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “He’s not? I mean, is he hurt or…?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Now that Gianna had this woman on the phone, this enigma from Gunnar’s past, she wasn’t even sure what to say to her. “Gunnar gave me your number.”

  “Where’d he get it?”

  “He said you left a message for him a long time ago, when he was performing in Connecticut.”

  She sucked in a breath. “He kept it all this time?”

  “Apparently he did.”

  “Then why didn’t he call me himself?”

  “Honestly? He wasn’t ready to talk to you all those years ago and he’s still not sure he’s ready.”

  “Then why the hell are you callin’? You’re not some reporter, are you? ’Cause I’m not talkin’ to no reporters about my son.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not a reporter.” How could she describe her relationship with Gunnar? She wasn’t his ex-wife, yet ex-girlfriend didn’t begin to describe their connection. The mother of his children? “I’m, well, I’m the mother of your grandchildren.”

  “Grandchildren,” she whispered. “I knew Gunnar had two daughters, but I never thought I had the right to call those beautiful girls my grandchildren.”

  Tears filled Gianna’s eyes. Her children had a grandmother they’d never met, and the man she loved had a mother he could barely remember. “You’ve seen pictures of them, then?”

  She cleared her throat. “I asked my boss at the diner to teach me how to use the computer just so I could keep track of y’all. Not in a creepy way,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to see pictures from time to time, that’s all.”

  “I understand.” As a mother, she couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to be separated from her children, but she had to remind herself this woman had made that choice. She didn’t deserve any sympathy.

  “You’re Gianna?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure are pretty.”

  “Thank you.” Gianna tried to imagine what she would look like. She’d been young when Gunnar was born, only nineteen he thought, so she wouldn’t even be sixty yet.

  “Where is he?” she whispered. “Where is my boy?”

  “Ms. Williams—”

  “Call me May.”

  “Okay, May. I didn’t call you because Gunnar’s ready to talk to you. I called, well, to see if this number is valid. To see whether you’re okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” she asked, her voice harsher than it had been.

  “Gunnar thought maybe you had reached out to him because you were sick.”

  “And he still didn’t call, huh? Wow, he must really hate me.”

  Gianna didn’t want to pour salt on her wounds, but how would she expect Gunnar to feel? “He’s working through his feelings, but it isn’t easy. I suspect it’s going to take him some time.”

  “If he hadn’t kept his own name, I never would have known it was him. I thought all them big singers usually take fake names. Stage names. Why didn’t he do that? I wouldn’t think he’d want any part of me as a reminder of his crappy childhood.”

  Gianna was dying to ask what could have possessed her to just leave her son behind, but she knew it wasn’t her place to pick at that sore. It was Gunnar’s. If he chose to. “I guess I just wanted to know how to find you. If Gunnar decides to reach out to you—”

  “I wish he would.” She sighed heavily. “I have so much to say to that boy.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Gianna said, curling the paper in her hand. “I’ll tell him you want to talk to him.”

  “Sounds like you two are still pretty close. Couldn’t you talk him into it?”

  “Honestly? I’m trying to help him heal, not hurt him more, so whatever he decides to do, I’ll support him completely.”

  “Must be nice,” she muttered. “To have that kind of support.”

  “You don’t have anyone?” Gianna asked, trying to ignore the twinge of sympathy she felt. “You never married or had more children?”

  “Ha! After the mess I made the first time? You really think I’d do that to some other poor kid? No! No way, honey. No more kids for me.”

  “Well, I should go, May. I’ll tell Gunnar we talked. If he wants to call, he has your number.” It suddenly occurred to Gianna she had her number now too, assuming she had call display. “Um, but if he doesn’t want to talk to you, I hope you’ll respect that?”

  “I have all along, haven’t I? If I wanted to make things tough for him, I would have. I don’t. I want him to find peace. He deserves that. So if he don’t want to bother with me, I can live with that. Don’t worry, you won’t hear from me again.” She paused. “But, um, can you tell me something for him?”

  Gianna wasn’t sure she would, but heard herself say, “Sure.”

  “Can you tell him I’m sorry… and that I love him?”

  A tear slid down Gianna’s cheek as she promised, “I’ll tell him.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gunnar watched Gianna walking down the rickety old dock toward him, and like a coward, he wanted to run the other way. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say. If his mother was dead, he didn’t want to know. If she was still alive, but didn’t want to see him, he didn’t want to know. If the number was a fake, he sure as hell didn’t want to know. He’d carried that number around with him for so long—his last remaining tie to her. He wasn’t sure he was ready for Gianna to cut it.

  “Well?” he finally asked when Gianna slipped her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “I talked to her.” She slipped something in his pocket and he knew it was the number. His link to the past.

  He processed that bit of news. Gianna had talked to her. His mother was alive. And he knew how to reach her. It was as easy as dialing a few numbers. “And?”

  “The ball is in your court. She wants to talk to you, but understands if you don’t want to talk to her.”

  She was giving him a choice now? He’d needed one when he was four. “How did she sound?”

  “Like she�
�s had a rough life, I guess.”

  They stared out at the water and Gunnar could barely hear her breathing. “But she’s not sick or anything?”

  “No.”

  “What else did you find out about her?”

  “She never married or had any more kids.” She paused to let that sink in. “And I think she said she works in a diner.” She kissed his bicep through his T-shirt. “She said her boss taught her to use a computer just so she could keep track of you… and your family.”

  “She knows about Ramsey and Keegan?” he asked, feeling his chest tighten.

  “Yes. I referred to them as her grandchildren and she said she didn’t think she had the right to call them that.”

  “She doesn’t,” he said fiercely, clenching his teeth. “Your mother is their grandmother. The only one they’ll ever have.”

  “Babe, there’s one more thing she asked me to tell you.”

  “What?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but it was too late now.

  “She said she’s sorry… and that she loves you.”

  He swore softly as he broke free from Gianna’s grip. “Goddamn her! She doesn’t know the meaning of the word love. She was the one who was supposed to teach me how to love!” He didn’t realize he was crying until Gianna was standing in front of him, brushing away the tears on his cheeks. “Instead, she taught me how to hate… and be guarded… and scared.”

  “I know,” she whispered, kissing him until their tears mingled on their lips. “But you don’t have to let that define your life anymore, Gunnar. You can let it go.” She threaded her hands through his hair, kissing him passionately before murmuring against his lips, “Just let go.”

  He needed her, but he refused to make love to her when he was looking for an escape. She’d been his escape far too long. From now on, when he was with her, it would be because he wanted to show her how much he loved her, not because he was craving someone to love him.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered, guiding her cropped jacket over her shoulders.

  “No, it’s not okay.” He wanted her more than anything, but not with memories of his past distracting him. “You deserve all me, Gi. And that’s what I intend to give you from now on. But right now I’m just reeling.” He grabbed his head. “I can’t even think straight.”