Page 64 of Sticks and Stones
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.”
“Then don’t think,” she said, inching her hands below his shirt. “Just feel.”
“I can’t do this to you again. I won’t.”
Her hands stilled and a flash of fear crossed her face. “What are you doing to me?”
“Using you to escape this…” He pulled his T-shirt away from his body. “This dull ache in my chest. This pain. This…” He dropped his head, sucking in a breath. “Agony.”
“Gunnar,” she said, holding his head between her hands. “When you love someone, you’d do anything to ease their pain. But I can’t even pretend I’m being selfless right now because I want you. So. Much.”
It would have been easy to turn away from any other woman in that moment, to lose himself in a bottle or even a song, but nothing compared to the solace Gianna could provide. “I just don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage,” he said, letting his internal struggle seep out in the fierce grip he had on her.
“You’re not.” She looked up at the dilapidated cottage. “Come on, let’s go.”
