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

by Brinda Berry

  One person in the audience begins applauding and the studio fills with the sound. It dies, but I still stand, wanting to get off the stage and find her.

  “Where is she, Ed?” I take a step away from my chair.

  Veronica nods as if encouraging me. “Finally.”

  “Patience, Gunner. I also want to point out an unscrupulous contender who unwisely blackmailed my staff.” He stands and points at Addison. “Criminal charges will be filed for theft of property. You took computer files of this footage from the home of our director. Those files belong to Rolling Hills Productions. Lady, I want it on national television that you’re scum.”

  Addison’s face turns bright red and she attempts to stand. Melanie grabs her arm. “You should stay,” she says. Melanie nods toward two officers waiting off stage.

  Bob nods as if this is all part of the show.

  “Gunner,” Melanie says to me. “It’s been a good run, Buddy. I think you and I don’t have to pretend. We’ve both known all along what you really want. I’m disappointed that Bob didn’t bring Gunner’s real match on the show today.”

  The studio audience cheers deafen me.

  I step closer to Ed. “I need to go talk to her.”

  Ed smiles and looks to me. “Kiley went back to the house for some boxes. If you hurry, you might be able to stop her from moving to Dallas.”

  He winks at me and I run off stage to prevent the thing that scares me the most in my life.

  Losing a chance with Kiley Vanderbilt again.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Amour

  Current Day

  Kiley

  I sit with an empty bag of miniature candy bars in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Westley romps around the obstacle course of boxes in my bedroom.

  A torrential rain outside matches my mood. Lightning flashes, illuminating the dark room.

  Dark except for the glow of the television.

  Melanie looks so pretty. She dressed up today in a blue short skirt with spiked heels. It’s a good look for her. She should do it more often. I’ve never seen her dress like this during the entire season.

  Bitch.

  I sigh, knowing it’s not true. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve met this year.

  Does she really think Gunner’s going to propose or say they have a future together? Probably.

  I barely hear Veronica’s questions as I stare hard at Gunner. He’s wearing black slacks with a gray dress shirt. Fresh haircut. Purposeful stubble along his jaw makes him look even more masculine.

  The camera zooms in on his face, caressing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and his square jaw. “So many questions,” he says. “I’m not sure where to begin. Melanie’s easy to be with. I care about her.”

  I suck in a breath. He might propose. He might do it after I’d assumed he wouldn’t this entire time.

  Black panic bleeds over my vision. I’m dizzy with fear.

  Lightning streaks across the sky and a loud boom immediately follows. I jump at Westley’s barking. He hates any loud noises, but especially thunder.

  Pop. The television blinks and goes black.

  I frown at the blank television screen. “No, no, no.” I scramble around for the remote at my feet. I press the ON button.

  Nothing.

  Looking up, I realize all the lights are out. Power outage. How much bad luck can one person possess?

  I sit on the floor, thinking about Gunner’s last words. He cares about her.

  A storm of grief threatens like dark clouds.

  He must be in love with her. He said he wouldn’t, couldn’t, didn’t believe.

  Self-pity sneaks up on me. I roll the cool wineglass along my flushed forehead. Another glass of wine will help me feel less. Hurt less.

  I’m another half glass in when I realize the wine won’t numb the pain of knowing he didn’t want me.

  Putting my unfinished drink on a dresser, I curl up on the carpet. Westley licks my face.

  “Yes, I know. I know you love me.” I stroke his body until he relaxes.

  My eyes drift closed and my breathing steadies. Hot tears slide down my face, and I wipe them away. Rain lashes against my window and thunder vibrates through the house.

  Bam. Bambambambam.

  Someone pounds on the door downstairs. Disoriented in the dark, I get to my knees and then stand. It’s probably Josie, feeling sorry for me and coming in like the cavalry to save me from my pity party.

  Taking a quick step, I stub my toe on a twenty-pound free weight, a reminder of my good intentions about doing squats.

  Someday. Someday, I’ll do those squats and quit eating chocolate bars with my wine, and I’ll find a guy who thinks I look beautiful without mascara. The tears come harder.

  I’ll find someone, but he won’t be Gunner.

  “Just a minute,” I yell and walk down the stairs. “Coming!”

  I peer through the front door glass. Lightning streaks across the sky, illuminating the outline of the man outside. Gunner stands in soaking wet clothes with his back to me, but I’d know those broad shoulders and that compact butt anywhere.

  “Shit-shit-shit-shit!” What is he doing here?

  I back away from the closed door. Maybe he didn’t hear me. I can’t talk to him now.

  Darkness envelopes the house and I stumble along the corridor, using my hand to guide me toward the back. The pounding on the front door continues.

  My head feels stuffed with cotton due to the excess wine and crying.

  I love Gunner Parrish and I hate him.

  Hate him for not falling in love with me.

  And I love him for being a man who said he wouldn’t fall, but does.

  Westley runs around my feet while barking. I stride to the back of the house, as far from Gunner as possible.

  “Shush,” I scold and hug my arms around my chest.

  Westley runs and jumps along the back door. Gunner appears, his clothing drenched by the rain. He tries turning the back handle, but it’s locked. He spots me. “Open the door!”

  I shake my head at him. “Go away.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me.”

  We stare at each other. He’s come to thank me for putting him with Melanie and there’s no way I can keep my chin up when he does.

  I unlock the door anyway. Might as well get it over with. He immediately opens it, stepping inside. Water drips from his hair into his eyes. He uses his forearm to draw it from his face. Westley steps back, out of the growing puddle, but doesn’t attack.

  Gunner takes a step forward. “Why weren’t you at the finale? I needed to tell you something.”

  “Leave me alone. If you even care about me a little bit, you’ll leave me alone.”

  Gunner grabs me and pushes his body against mine. Then he places both hands on the sides of my face. “Are you drunk, woman? I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I need you. I’m here to lay it all out in plain English. No more hiding from what I really want.”

  “Not Melanie? I saw you on the finale telling her…”

  “I don’t know what you thought you saw. Are you sure you’re not drunk?” He leans in and sniffs.

  I shake my head, tears clouding my vision. “No. A little wine to get me through the show. OK. A lot of wine. But not drunk.”

  He sweeps a finger along my cheek, catching a tear. “I can’t promise you that I’ll be easy. I need to take this slow. People in relationships need to spend more than four weeks to get to know each other. But I’m not letting you get away. I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve spent my whole life waiting for you. I’m begging you to take a chance on me. I’m sorry I don’t know how to say all the romantic things, you’ll have to teach me. I’m trying to figure it all out. I even watched The Princess Bride to see what this Westley guy is all about.”

  I blink away more tears. I think this is the most he’s ever said without taking a breath. “Gun…” My lips tremble and I smash them together. Hot tears drip down my chi
n. “You big jerk. You are romantic.”

  He takes his thumbs and wipes them away. “Nope. I was an idiot. You were my dream girl at sixteen and nothing’s changed. I’m just saying whatever’s necessary to make sure you never get into the backseat of a car with anyone but me.”

  I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him hard. “I’m parked by the garage,” I say against his mouth.

  Gunner lifts me to him and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me all the way there.

  Epilogue

  Five years later

  Gunner

  “Darlin’, we don’t eat brother’s crayons.” I take Kami’s chubby fist and pry her fingers open. She bats long eyelashes at me and two deep dimples appear in her cheeks. “I wub you, Daddy. I wub bwother. I wub cwayons.”

  Lord, she’s like her mother. Obstinate and charming. A little on the devious side. Someday, a man will be in as much trouble as I’ve been these last five years.

  “Yeah. Well, crayons are yucky. No more. Got it?”

  She nods with wide eyes and pulls a crayon from the pants of the stuffed koala bear in her arms. Presenting it to me, she flashes a smile of two glowing white teeth. “Cwayon.”

  “Thanks, darlin’.” I eye her diaper. I’ll be doing a crayon check for sure.

  “Dad? You said you would help me.” My boy Cameron pokes a sharp object into my back. I can’t fault him. He’s been more than patient in his wait for my attention. “How long does a tea party last?”

  I glance over my shoulder to see a building block spaceship in his hand. “I’ll be there in a few minutes after I put Kami down for her nap.”

  “She’s supposed to take a nap at two,” he says with a stern expression. “Mommy said.”

  “Yeah. A few more minutes.” I turn back around as Kami holds a tea pitcher and dumps pretend tea into my boot I left behind her when I took them off to play. “Time for a nap.”

  “No nap,” Kami says with a pout. “Dwink, Daddy.” She throws the tea pitcher on the plastic table and grabs my abandoned boot with both hands. “No nap,” she repeats, her delicate blonde eyebrows knitting together in the middle.

  Although she looks like me, her attitude is definitely her mother’s.

  Cameron places his hand on my back. “Do you need my help?”

  I look over my shoulder again and nod my head. “Let’s read sister a story, OK?”

  He scampers away to his bedroom, his bare feet flying across the carpet, deftly avoiding the landmine of toys.

  “Don’t run!” I yell after him.

  When he returns with an oversize book, I carry both kids across the hall to the master bedroom. We pile onto the bed, Kami in the middle. She snuggles in and puts her head underneath the little blanket she carries around the house.

  “I weady to weed,” she demands from underneath her shroud.

  Cameron shakes his head at me and grins. “She’s crazy.”

  “No, Camwin.” Kami flings the blanket off. “You cwazy.”

  “Hush. We’re all crazy.” I open to the first page of the book. Kami covers her head again, and I read to them in soft tones. After three pages, I uncover Kami’s head and tuck the blanket around her. I glance over at Cameron, ready to tell him we can play now.

  It’s too late. He’s asleep too, his small hand placed on his sister’s shoulder. I glance up at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

  Kiley leans against the doorway, her hands behind her back. She smiles and mouths, “I love you.”

  I nod. It’s a given. No doubt in my mind that my piece of heaven sits within these walls. “Did you get the test?” I whisper the question.

  She brings one hand around and holds the stick in front of her. A blue dot clearly marks the end of the pregnancy test.

  Kiley beams, a damned light shining from the joy on her face. She tucks a dark strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ve got to figure out what’s causing this.” She smirks.

  I exhale, a fear letting loose in my chest. I’m grateful she’s not upset. We didn’t plan this baby. Heck, we didn’t plan the first one. Not that she ever complains about the two little monkeys sleeping soundly beside me, but it’s a lot in a few short years.

  Years I wouldn’t trade for a billion dollars.

  Between the growing landscaping business and our store, our lives get busier every day.

  I insist Kiley fulfill her dreams. A person needs to work with something that makes them grow and bloom. I get a high from seeing the beauty I shape from outdoor spaces.

  Kiley needs something different.

  Audiences love her new television show, Magical Beginnings. She films one couple from the time a guy gets down on one knee, through all the drama of wedding preparations, and all the way to the altar.

  And she loves every minute of it.

  Still, she gives most of her attention to our family. We’re not stupid. We know what we have.

  Sometimes, I’m so lucky it scares me. I’ll begin to fuss over things like life insurance policies and health insurance. I insist we make every moment count. Kiley kisses away my paranoia and promises me that no matter what life throws at us, we have each other.

  Now, she pads over to the edge of the bed and sets the pregnancy test on the nightstand. Slipping in beside Cameron, she kisses the top of his head and rests her arm over both kids.

  I lay my hand on top of hers and caress it, tracing my finger over the ring on her left hand. She closes her eyes, a grin tipping the corners of her mouth with some secret thought I hope she’ll share later.

  Maybe she’s wondering if she’ll need a bigger vehicle, like a minivan. At the rate we’re going, we’ll need a bus. But she’s way past due for a new vehicle. Still, I hate to get rid of her SUV, since I’m pretty sure it’s where we conceived Cameron.

  In private, I’ve often called him our backseat baby. In private, I tease that she knew I was husband material in the second grade. In private, I tell her how she saved me from a lonely life.

  In public, I tell all my friends that I’m lucky to have found my forever.

  THE END

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  Preview of The Beauty of Lies

  (A Stand By Me Novel #1)

  Secrets are exposed, trust is betrayed and two people face the beauty of lies.

  Leo Jensen has a secret—he is Mr. Expose, a blogger that reveals the truth about liars and frauds. It's a way to make a living, and he's had a motherlode of experience with liars. Cheaters. Women who live for drama and carry more hidden baggage than a Boeing 747. Even his twin sister can't seem to admit the truth about her relationships, so finding an honest woman is about as likely as finding a unicorn in the middle of Nashville.

  Harper Wade wishes life had a do-over button. She'd press that sucker and reset the last four years. Now, she has the chance to start fresh and make things right, but first she has to retrieve the damning evidence of her past from an annoying blogger. She's doing all the things she knows she shouldn't--breaking and entering, lying by omission, falling for the hot guy next door. Too bad he holds the key to her clean slate.

  Turn the page to read the beginning of The Beauty of Lies.

  The Beauty of Lies

  Toe the line

  Leo Jensen

  I scroll down the list of unopened emails and wonder why bat-shit crazy seems to follow me.

  “SUBJECT: You must like getting your toes sucked.” The subject line alone forces me to grimace. I can guess what’s coming next. I’ll open the email and find some misguided blog follower who wants to rant at me for my latest post. Or maybe the sender is making an offer.

  At least my toes would be getting some action.

  Yesterday, I wrote a blog post abou
t a teacher who was fired for inappropriate behavior. Why did she lose her job? She’d chronicled about toe affection on her personal, yet public, blog. A fetish post for certain, but pretty tame by internet standards.

  I wrote that her romantic preferences were her business, and certainly didn’t merit getting canned. It’s not like she fondled a student’s little piggies. Teachers certainly don’t deserve scarlet letters for admitting they have a love life.

  Love and romance.

  These are topics I have no business talking about, since I’m officially on strike when it comes to women. My A Torrid Toe Affair post garnered over two hundred comments, some more snarky than others. Blog traffic spikes with sex-related topics.

  Last week, I exposed a restaurant owner taking advantage of underage employees. The week before, I featured a postcard submission from a woman who’d been fired by her employer for not letting him give her dictation. Naked. Him, not her.

  I seem to be a regular employee advocate this month. The month before, my posts were all about politics.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a masked marauder for justice. No cape in my closet. My talent for revealing truth seems to be accidental. It’s not what I really want out of life. I want to write books that entertain and thrill and keep you awake at night, turning pages.

  I spend all my daytime hours working on my paying gig using my pseudonym, Mr. Expose. In the middle of the night, I hammer out my latest manuscript called The Incident, a political thriller on its third rewrite.

  I click the boxes of at least twenty emails. Delete, delete, delete. I have more pressing things to do than read this shit.

  The postcards on my desk pull at my attention. I pick up the top one. It’s a plain, white postcard with a picture of a crow on the front. I flip the card over to study the back. The sender’s handwriting tells me that he or she was in a hurry. The connective strokes between each letter are broken and thready. Barely there. The breaks between the letters indicate the person is impatient.