by Shari Copell
They said nothing as they walked into the cemetery, but Nicks could sense the tension in Stone’s body. Not to mention the conflicting emotions he was throwing off. He hadn’t wanted to bring her here, yet he’d eagerly picked up the pace once they exited the van.
He tugged her off to the left, approaching the stone from the front where the name was engraved. It stood out jet black among all the other light-gray granite stones. The letters came into focus as they got closer. Stone slowed then, seemingly reluctant to move forward.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “You’ll never be able to unsee—”
“Unsee what? I don’t understand what you mean by that!” Nicks didn’t mean to snap, but this little adventure made her nervous as hell. “And why are you shaking? What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m afraid you’ll see what I see. And afraid you won’t.” He shrugged. “That’s as much of an answer as I can give you right now.”
She moved closer to the stone, pulling him along with her. They stopped right in front of it.
“Asher M. Pratt. May 24, 1968–October 28, 1994,” she read aloud. “Guess that would be right, if he died four days before I was born. The guitar on the corner is nice. The stone must’ve cost a fortune. It’s beautiful, but…” she glanced up at him, “…no picture of a dream man that I can see.”
Stone stood silently for a moment then wrapped an arm around her waist and swept her to the back of the grave.
She blinked then whistled. No expense had been spared on this monument. A large, oval ceramic picture was set into the stone on the back. Her gaze fell first on the tobacco sunburst Les Paul the man was playing then moved over the rest of him.
The guitar was clearly the one she owned now. Not surprising, since Asher Pratt had willed his guitars to her. His smile, his stance gave the impression he was having a rockin’ good time wherever he was playing.
And then she bent over for a closer inspection.
Her breath caught as she took note of his eyes. They were unmistakable. Large and dark amber-brown, with long black lashes, they were the same eyes that peered out from the mist in her dreams.
She straightened. “I don’t understand how it’s possible, but that’s him. That’s the man who comes to me in my dreams.”
“Are you sure?”
“Based on the eyes, yes. He usually stands in the shadows, and I can never really see him clearly. But the eyes are the same. And the smile. Yes, this is him.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen Asher Pratt though. How was I able to conjure him up so accurately in a dream?”
“Maybe you saw a picture of him when you were a child?”
“Maybe. If so, I don’t remember.”
“Take a closer look at him,” Stone urged, his voice a strange blend of excitement and dread.
She took another step toward the stone. The picture was clear and sharp. Almost high-definition.
Dropping to her knees at the base of the grave, she ran her fingertips over the photo. Asher was gorgeous, even by today’s standards. Golden-brown hair dropped down an inch or two past the collar of the white shirt he wore. Everything about him seemed golden, right down to his skin tone.
His face was wide, cheeks rounded, narrowing to a slender jaw and pointed chin. Full, sensual lips parted over even white teeth. She took note of his hands, narrow and elegant with long, trim fingers, perfect for playing guitar. Her gaze was suddenly drawn to her own fingers poised beside the photo in front of her.
A feeling of foreboding crushed her as she studied him. Her mouth fell open in shock. It didn’t take a genius to see why he seemed so familiar to her, night-time visits notwithstanding.
“Stone?” His name escaped as a slight whimper as she turned to look at him.
Stone stared back with wide eyes. “I know.”
And then she felt it. Her world shifting ever-so-slightly under her.
What she saw didn’t make sense. His eyes were…were her eyes. She saw that jawline and mouth every day when she looked into the mirror as she dried her hair and applied makeup. She held her breath and moved her hand slightly, letting her fingertips trace over his face.
Her face.
Stone was breathing hard behind her. She didn’t have to look to know he saw the resemblance too.
She inhaled sharply as the truth roared over her like a tornado, sucking her up into a vortex of pain. She had her mother’s nose, but her eyes, the rest of her face, and her coloring belonged to…
They belong to my father.
“What’s happening here? Explain this to me.” God, she didn’t even recognize her own voice. “What does this mean?”
“I don’t...I don’t think I have to explain it to you. I think you understand just fine.” She heard him blow out a breath. “And I don’t have any idea what it means. Not one that makes any sense anyway.”
“I look like this guy.” She swallowed. “What am I supposed to think about that? How am I supposed to feel?”
“I don’t know. How do you feel?”
“Blank. Erased. Nonexistent. How can this be? What happened?”
“I don’t know that either.”
It was unreal. Everything made sense now. She struggled to breathe as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place around her. “Now I know why talking about him upsets my mother so much. Now I know why she didn’t want to say his name. She freaks out when I call attention to how different I am from the rest of the family. Duh! This man...” She swallowed hard, physically incapable of completing the thought.
“Nicks…” Stone’s voice pierced through the horror that was suddenly her life. She held a hand up to shush him.
“Lies. All lies. They lied to me.”
“It might be a bit harsh to accuse them of lying. Withholding the truth might be a more accurate statement.”
“I don’t want it to be true. Tell me it isn’t true.”
The man she’d loved her whole life as a father was a stand-in for the one who’d died. Had her mother passed her off as Tage’s? Or had her father—the one who’d raised her—known all along? He’d acted as executor for Asher’s will, so he presumably knew the man when he was alive. Her mother had been pregnant with her at the time. What did all that mean?
She stared at the picture on the stone. No wonder he was trying to contact her in a dream. He’d been buried and forgotten, not even revealed to his own...God, was she really this man’s daughter?
“He’s trying to communicate with me, Stone. I think he knew about me before he died. He loves my mother. Now that I know who he is, I can see it. I can feel it.”
She heard someone begin to cry, a keening moan so tormented she didn’t even recognize the sound as coming from her.
Stone’s strong arms enveloped her then, pulling her to safe haven against him. She hoped to God he’d be able to live up to his name, because she needed something solid and strong to ground her as she disintegrated into atoms of grief. Turning her face to his shoulder, she gripped his black leather jacket in two strong fists and poured out her anguish. He never let her go, not once.
The words ran in an endless loop through her head: Asher Pratt is my father. Asher Pratt is my father.
She couldn’t stop the flood of tears. She didn’t even try. Stone held her against him and rocked her back and forth.
“Please, Nicks, don’t cry. It kills me. You’re going to barf if you keep crying like this.”
She hoped she could make herself coherent. She needed to bounce all the crazy thoughts she was having off someone she trusted.
Someone she loved.
“Why didn’t they tell me?” She shook him. “My God, the resemblance…Mom must’ve known even if Dad didn’t.”
“I don’t have an answer for you, but you shouldn’t jump to conclusions until you talk to them. If you are planning to talk to them, that is. Your parents love you, Nicks.”
She sat up, gritting her teeth. He handed her his hankie, which she promptly wiped across bo
th cheeks. “Oh, I’m going to talk to them all right. They’re going to tell me what happened… or else.” She gave a hiccupping sob as she thought of all the implications this had for her.
“Who else knows? Marybeth? She worked with Asher Pratt. She must see his face every time she looks at me. And Willow. She worked with Mom and Asher too. They’ve been friends since high school. Neither of them said a word to me. Nothing. Assholes!”
“That’s not fair. They may have suspected, but you can’t hold that against them. What were they supposed to say?” Stone lowered his voice in a pretty good imitation of Marybeth. ”‘By the way, Nicks, you look an awful lot like Asher Pratt. Perhaps Tage Sorenson isn’t your father after all?’” He kissed the side of her head. “You don’t say something like that unless you have proof. We don’t have proof either.”
“A blind man could see it. I‘m sure as hell familiar with my own face. I look nothing like my brothers and sisters, and now I know why. I’m a freak in my own family.”
Stone started to laugh then, so hard he fell over with her in his arms. She pushed herself up on his chest with both hands and glared at him. “Something funny about that?”
“Do you know how cool this is?” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and rolled over on top of her, smiling like he’d won the lottery. “It’s possible you carry what’s left of one of the best guitarists to ever shred an axe in Pittsburgh inside you, in your DNA.” He pressed a gentle finger to the pulse at the base of her throat. “No wonder you play guitar like you invented it. You’re no freak. You’re the Second Coming. I worship at the feet of the guitar goddess of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.” He tickled her.“ Will you have my rock-and-roll babies, Nicks Sorenson?”
She sniffled, but had to laugh. Second Coming, indeed.
When she put a hand to his cheek, time seemed to grind to a halt. His skin was warm, slightly stubbled. The scent of his leather jacket mingled with his aftershave and whatever shampoo he’d used on that flowing mane of his, triggering a flood of emotion. As he stared down at her with those unfathomable eyes, she felt her courage kick in. The spine of steel, forged from a lifetime of adversity, righted itself inside her.
No matter what happened now, she still had the man who cradled her in his arms.
“I love you, Stone Jensen.”
He froze. “What? What did you say?”
She sniffled and tried to calm down, so she could make herself understood. “I said I love you. With all my heart.”
He stared at her for what felt like an eternity. Then he buried his mouth on hers. He kissed her long and hard, right there on the grave of her father. Kissed her like all his tomorrows depended on her, as though their souls had bonded over this shared secret.
He lifted his lips from hers. “I love you too. I’ve known it for some time. I was too afraid to tell you. I was afraid I’d scare you.”
“No chance. You don’t scare me.” She smiled at him. “Don’t we have a gig to play?”
“You still want to play? After all this? Aren’t you upset?”
“I’m devastated. But you told me Asher Pratt meant something to Pittsburgh. I have his guitars and his abilities. I have to do this for him.”
“That’s my girl. God, I really do love you, Nicks.”
“I love you too.” She liked that warm-all-over feeling she got when she said those words. “We have something, don’t we? You and I. It doesn’t feel like a lie to me. Is it?”
“This is no lie, baby. This is forever.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Stone was able to keep his right foot on the gas pedal of the van, but his left foot jittered all over the place. This was the worst case of nerves he’d ever had. Still, he wanted the ride to Point State Park to last forever. He was alone with the woman who loved him.
She loves me!
He grinned like an idiot. It was new and shiny and wonderful, and he couldn’t wait to take a closer look at it.
He cut an oblique glance to Nicks in the passenger’s seat, where she sat silent and stoic. She didn’t seem to be as happy at the turn of events as he was. He didn’t blame her. Seeing that photo must have felt like a knife in the heart.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, trying to catch her eyes.
She crossed her arms in front of her. “I wish I had some thoughts. None of it makes a bit of sense. Why did my mother marry my father if she was pregnant by someone else?”
“Can you ask her?”
“God, no! You should’ve seen her face when I showed her the picks. He...Asher...told me to tell my mother he’d wait for her in that dream.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. And she hit my bed like a boulder dropped off a building. Passed completely the hell out.”
“Jesus.”
“That was before I knew his name. We were both freaked out that morning. It’s not every night someone gives you something in a dream and you wake up with it in your hand.” She turned toward him with a furrowed brow. “Things like that don’t happen to sane people, Stone. What happened literally cannot happen. And yet I have the damned things in my pocket.” A frustrated sigh escaped her. “He’s making choices. A man that’s been dead for nineteen years is choosing to visit me in my dreams. He’s dead, but cognizant. I can’t even wrap my mind around that.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“I don’t know. My rational self says no. He’s not a ghost though. I’ve never seen or heard anything when I was awake.” She shivered and sat forward in the seat. “Except for one time in the stairwell at school. I was on my way down to the library when I heard a man call my name. But it was only once.”
“Was it the same voice in your dream?”
“I don’t remember. It was quick. Not enough to identify, really. I know it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t Marius.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah. Other than that, the contact has all been by dream.” Nicks looked away and sniffled. “He said he loved me. He told me he watched me. That’s why I think he knew about me before he died.”
“So what are you going to say to your parents? Or are you going to keep quiet about this?”
“God. How would I even bring it up? I’d probably approach Mom first, but even so...” She raised her voice an octave or two. “’Hey Mom, are you sure Dad’s my real dad? Uhm... I saw a picture of a guy on a gravestone, and I look a lot like him. It’s that friend of yours who died. The one who gave me the guitars. No big deal. Just wondering if you knew who I belonged to’.”
Stone started to laugh. “I guess when you put it that way...”
“But how can I keep quiet about it? I want to know, but...” Nicks slumped in the seat. “I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt anyone. And what if I’m wrong?” The catch in her voice was back.
“Please don’t start crying again. It really tears me up.” Stone turned to her. “And I don’t think you’re wrong.”
“I’ll give it some thought, but I don’t have to do it today. I should probably quit crying if I’m expected to sing later. Do you want me to sing backup?”
“Only if you want to. I’ll leave a live mic on a stand for you, just in case.”
“Okay.” She settled back into the seat and pulled her knees up to her chest. “I have no idea where this road is going to take me. I just know I’m grateful to be traveling with someone who loves me.”
“With you every step of the way, beautiful.”
Ants on a sugar cube, thought Nicks as she watched people scurrying about the stage at Point State Park in downtown Pittsburgh. One guy was using a golf cart to pull a flatbed loaded with amps, another was unpacking lights and electronics from a panel truck. Seven or eight men with tool belts around their waists were high above the stage on scaffolding, putting the finishing touches on the PAR cans that would shine down on them as they played.
When she heard someone say “check check” into one of the stage mics, her stomach tightened with excitement. This. This was the world
she wanted to live in.
“Where are you going to park?” she asked. They’d sat without moving for ten minutes as several police officers directed traffic in various directions.
“There’s a place up here for band members to park and unload. I’ll tell this guy I’m with Heavy Remedy.”
They inched forward at an agonizing pace, but she finally saw the sign that said “Band Parking Only.”
Stone pulled up beside the police officer standing in front of it and rolled his window down. “I’m Stone Jensen with Heavy Remedy.”
The officer stood back and swept his arms toward the opening in the traffic barriers. “Yes sir, Mr. Jensen. Right through here. Someone farther up will show you where to park so you can unload.”
“Thanks.” Stone rolled his window up. “See? Easy.”
“Sure. If you’re Stone Jensen.”
“We’ve played this gig before. These guys all know me.” He turned to her with a frown. “Listen, I can’t guarantee the other guys in the band won’t give you a hard time today.”
“About what?”
“Anything. Everything. My best advice would be not to take the bait. They can be assholes. Don’t let them shake you.”
She wondered if they’d give her the same kind of shit if she were male. She decided it wasn’t worth arguing about. “Thanks for the head’s up anyway. I’ll try to behave.”
They made their way slowly past orange-striped traffic barricades and long lines of people walking along the side of the road carrying various things: tools, instruments, electronic equipment. This was going to be a big event.
She’d been to the Oktoberfest here as a spectator but had never been onstage. There was that stomach full of butterflies again. She suspected the view from up there was going to be fantastic.
They reached the end of the barricades. A traffic cop directed them off to the left with an orange baton.
They drove on the grass between another long line of barricades then pulled in beside a white box truck. Nicks was impressed. Stone’s band had their own professionally designed logo painted on the side. The words “Heavy Remedy” curved in a black-and-red half-arc around the top of a shapely woman in an evening dress holding a bottle of tequila. Lots of metaphors there.