Chasing Gunner (Chasing Series Book 2)

by J. M Stoneback

  And the world’s biggest dick award goes to yours truly.

  I need to find Ryan and make this motherfucker wish he was six feet under. I tilt her chin with my thumb. “You’re strong as hell. You’re a warrior. You enslaved your own demons. You were the hero of your own story.” I kiss her lips and she smiles at my words. “Did Ryan go to NYU?”

  She nods her head. “He was the same year as me.”

  I wish I had her courage. Logan was on the wrestling team, so when I get a chance, I’m going to hit him up and ask if he knows Ryan.

  We’re quiet, and I usher her to the flimsy bed. I need to hold her. I kick off my loafers. They each go flying in different directions before I crawl into bed, pulling her tiny frame to my hard chest.

  “Did you go to the police about the rape?” I finally ask.

  “No, I was ashamed, and I felt guilty for what happened to me. But my old therapist told me that those are normal feelings after something like that happens. I used to blame myself a lot for it.”

  I kiss her forehead and my fingers stroke her cheek.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m in a better place now.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, like you’re in pain.”

  “You just told me some deep shit, Gia. I’m going to feel something about it, and trust me, pain isn’t something I’m feeling right now.”

  She arches her eyebrow.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like my world is shattered, and I can’t do shit about it.”

  Gia is my fucking world—no, scratch that, she’s my fucking universe, and back in college my universe was getting destroyed, and I was too fucking oblivious to see it.

  “Sometimes I don’t understand why you care about me,” she says.

  I don’t respond because I don’t know the answer to that myself.

  “Are you coming home?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Yeah, bu—”

  I shut her up with a kiss.

  Gia

  “What’s your dream?” Gunner asks. Both of his palms rest on the back of his head as we lie on a black blanket on the grass in his backyard. We just came back from serving food at a local homeless shelter. We also provided them with hundreds of hygiene products, clean clothes, and shoes. And we handed out toys to the kids. It made me hotter than the sun, watching him being so attentive toward others. How can I not like him even more after seeing him so sweet and nice to people who are less fortunate? I like that about him, that he’s generous.

  Stars pop across the dark sky and the wind howls as the trees sway back and forth as crickets sing a sweet melody. It was Gunner’s idea to have our date night here. He wanted to cook me dinner, but the steak turned out dry and the rice was too mushy. He’s a lousy cook, but I didn’t tell him that because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I ate it.

  After I spilled my guts to him about Ryan, I felt relieved. I didn’t know how he would take it, but I didn’t expect him to be so accepting of it. I was hoping he would run for the hills because, honestly, I want him to prove me right about him. That he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and he has a cold heart.

  “What do you mean? Career or in general?” I ask. The ground is starting to hurt my back, so I sit up and play with the ends of my hair. He draws invisible circles on my lower back.

  “Career,” he answers. I look down at him and his face looks radiant and flawless. He’s wearing a button-down black shirt and gray slacks.

  “Baking. I love to make people happy with my sweet treats.” I smile. “When I bake, I bake from the heart, it’s the only thing that makes me feel like I have a purpose.” I blush at my words. “I feel at ease and stress-free. Something about mixing stuff together is like a breath of fresh air. I don’t have to think about my troubles or the stress in my life. Do you understand?”

  He nods his head. “Since you’re having trouble looking for a job, you should work at a bakery.”

  For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been putting in applications, but no one has called me back. I try not to get discouraged about it because I have a backup plan. If I don’t get another job, I’ll ask Gunner to transfer me to another department.

  “The corporate world isn’t your cup of tea, Rainbow. You suck at your job.”

  There’s no denying that. It’s true.

  “I probably won’t make the money I need,” I say, bringing my legs to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, resting my chin on my knees. The wind causes a few strands of my hair to tickle my cheeks.

  “Don’t pick a job based on money. Pick one you love, otherwise you’ll end up hating it.”

  “Do you hate your job?” I arch an eyebrow.

  “Yes and no.” He gets up, then pulls me between his legs, wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on top of my head.

  “Explain?”

  “I hate it because the hours are demanding and sometimes it can be very stressful, but I love it because I can give out so many jobs to people across the world. I can help single moms who can’t afford childcare—it’s why I have an in-house daycare. I opened up programs for people who are mentally ill or physically disabled, so if they can’t make it to work, they still will be able to pay their bills.”

  I turn my head sideways, glancing up at him. I’ve never seen Gunner’s face light up like now when he talks about helping people.

  “You’re a giver. You enjoy helping others.”

  That explains why he was adamant about helping me. I smile as he strokes my belly.

  “Yeah, especially women and kids.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “But you don’t respect women.”

  “Correction, I do respect women. I respect my momma, my sister, and you. It’s the women who try to milk every dime out of me I don’t respect.” He tucks some of my hair behind my ear and kisses the tip of my nose.

  We’re quiet for a few moments, listening to his next-door neighbor yelling at his kids to come inside.

  “Well . . . I’m using you for your penis,” I joke, trying to make light of the conversation.

  “That’s it, huh?”

  “Yep. Money is overrated.” I shrug. “Big penises are where it’s at.”

  “You cut me real deep, Gia. Real deep.” He presses his hand to his chest and fake-pouts.

  “Might as well enjoy the ride until this experiment is over,” I tease.

  Suddenly, his demeanor morphs from a smile to a frown. “You want to head back inside?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  He helps me off the ground.

  Loud banging and glass shattering make me jerk out of my sleep. I slip out of bed and head down the hallway, following the sound. I climb a set of stairs to the third floor. It takes me a few minutes to find the noise because Wolf’s mansion is so big. We spend Fridays and Saturdays here. On Sundays he drops me off at the condo in New York City, and I usually spend it by myself, listening to music or taking a stroll at a park, snapping pictures of the diverse New York City landscape.

  When I make it to the third floor, I follow the noise to a room down the hall. I slowly twist the metal knob and push the door open.

  Gunner smashes different mirrors and vases with a metal bat. His eyes are red-rimmed and droopy. He looks like he’s been through hell and back. He sets the bat down on the wooden floor and grabs a bottle of whiskey, downing it like he’s dying of thirst. Figures. Gunner has been drinking every single day since the night I told him about Ryan. Right before he goes to work, he drinks his whiskey and moves through the day like everything is okay.

  Coworkers, shareholders, and other people don’t know he’s in his office drinking. And when we go on dates, no one suspects anything. He’s living a double life as a functioning alcoholic. Even though he hides behind his booze, I can tell when he’s drunk and when he’s sober. Right now, he’s drunker than Billy Bob Thornton in Bad S
anta.

  I see right through you, Gunner Joshua Underwood. You’re dying on the inside, like wilting flowers.

  I want to yell at him, but I don’t want to kick him while he’s down. And right now, he looks like he’s in so much pain I can feel it radiating through my bones.

  Once he drains the remainder of the amber liquor, he tosses it against the wall, bangs his hand on his head, and tears trickle down his cheeks.

  The tears begin to run down my cheeks because I don’t like to see him so broken. I place my hand over my mouth, and Wolf looks up at me as if he knew I was in the room. His eyes widen and he mumbles, “Fuck,” under his breath as he rubs the back of his neck.

  I slide into the pair of black loafers I see sitting near the door; they are a few sizes bigger than my small feet. I shuffle my feet trying to take long strides toward him. I drink in the sight of the broken glasses. What kind of room is this?

  “It’s my relief room,” he answers my thoughts. “I come here to break shit when I want to let off steam. My psychiatrist is the one who suggested it.”

  Once I stop in front of him, I tilt my chin up, wiping his tears with the pad of my thumb. He flinches at first before he finally accepts my touch. It’s my turn to touch his soul like he did mine. We stare into each other’s eyes for several seconds, but it feels like an eternity. The world stops on its axis, and we’re frozen in time.

  His eyes are those of a man who’s torn and destroyed. I can also see rage swimming in the depths of them. “Go back to bed. You don’t need to see me like this.”

  His words sting. I don’t want him to shut me out. He needs to open up and tell me what’s wrong. Slowly, he grabs my elbow, ushers me toward the doorway, gently pushes me out into the hall, and shuts the door in my face.

  Him shutting me out hurts as much as him slicing my heart into a million pieces. I need him to know that he isn’t alone, and whatever he’s going through we can face together. I go to the kitchen, grab his glass plates and bowls and head back upstairs, waltzing inside the room.

  When I throw plates at the wall, Gunner stops swinging and rests the base of the bat on his shoulder, staring me up and down like I’m crazy. “What the fuck did I say? Rainbow. Go. To. Bed.”

  “No,” I say, tossing another plate against the wall. “You’re not alone in this, Wolf, and whatever you’re going through you don’t have to face by yourself. You don’t have to tell me the details, but I want you to know that I’m here.”

  “I have PTSD,” he says, like it’s acid burning his tongue. “I can’t look at blood or smell it or watch certain shows, it’s a goddamn trigger. I’ll start having flashbacks. I feel like I’m living in a box.”

  I swallow hard. My broken wolf saves everyone else but doesn’t know how to save himself. I want to ask him what happened. But he’ll tell me when he’s ready. “Okay, we’ll deal with it.”

  Surprise flickers across his face, and he opens his mouth, then closes it, then stares at me like I’ve grown three heads.

  I want Gunner to know it doesn’t bother me he comes with baggage or that he’s broken. Last time I checked crayons break but they still color.

  He walks up to me, tilting my chin to look at him. “You want me like this?”

  “I’ll accept the good and bad about you, even the version that drinks like a sailor.” I exhale. “Do you have another bat?”

  He assesses me for a long time, then he answers, “Yeah.” He goes to the closet and hands me a black one. After we smash all the mirrors and plates, Gunner wobbles over to me, drapes his arm around my shoulder, and we head to his bedroom.

  The second we get into bed, Gunner yanks my shirt over my head, and I pull off his shirt while we kiss. Before I know it, he has my hands pinned above my head and is thrusting into me so hard I feel it in my stomach. This sex is different than any other time—it’s intense and filled with despair and loneliness. I don’t care if he uses me tonight. If he wants my soul, he can have it. When he kisses down my throat, I feel his hot ropes of cum spurt inside me, and after the last stroke, I come all over his erection.

  “I need you to tell me how much your heart weeps, so I can make it stop,” I say as he rolls off me. I slide myself on top of his semi-hard erection and kiss his drunken lips.

  “There are some things you can’t help me with, Rainbow.” His words sting, but he’s right. I want to crawl into the hole in his heart and sleep there.

  When he comes inside me again, I collapse on his chest and fall asleep.

  Gunner

  Today I have a big fish to fry. That fish is Cora, so I’m swinging by their house to pick her up. I don’t want to keep my promise to Cora about meeting Alana, but I can’t keep feeding her lies. I should have told my family and Gia that I am bringing Cora to meet them, but I figure if they are caught off guard and I explain everything to them they will be accepting of her.

  I decide to skip my morning run and throw on a gray sweater with black denim jeans. September is not my favorite month because the weather becomes fucking confused. It gets cold in the morning and by afternoon, I’m suffering from heatstroke. I head downstairs to the kitchen. Gia’s wearing a pale yellow sweater with white jeans and her wavy hair is damp. She stuffs a green bean casserole into the oven. Plates of mac and cheese, steak, sweet peas, mashed potatoes, and lemon pie litter the counters. She got up at the ass-crack of dawn and slaved over a hot stove for my family. And they better eat every fucking drop of her food, or I’ll shove it down their throats. Normally, my ma does all the cooking at the family events, but a few days ago, Gia had me call her and tell her she’d be doing all the cooking. Ma gushed about Gia like they are best friends.

  I clasp my arms around her waist, and she smiles at me like I hung the entire solar system for her. And if I could, I would. Her apple-scented perfume invades my nostrils to the point where I have to fight not to grow hard. She spins around, stands on her toes, kisses my lips, and slings her arms around my shoulders. As she pulls away, she studies my face and tilts her head sideways.

  “What’s wrong, Wolf? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “I need my coffee,” I lie. In reality, I need Jack Daniel’s to take the edge off. I’m pretty sure I’m the reason why liquor companies are successful. But coffee will do, for now. I need to be sober for this.

  She moves to the coffee machine and grabs a white mug from the top shelf that says, “I didn’t fart, I blew a kiss from my ass” and pours the dark liquid, shoving it in my hand.

  I take slow slips as it burns my tongue; she watches me like a hawk as she twirls the end of her damp hair.

  “What?” I say, setting the mug down.

  “Nothing. There is something I want to tell you.” Her voice is soft as silk.

  I was worried she would run for the hills after I told her about my PTSD. Normal women would leave my ass in the dust. Normal women would use that information to blackmail me and get money out of me.

  Gia isn’t normal.

  After I finish the coffee, I set the mug in the sink. She swallows hard and embarrassment colors her face.

  “Are you waiting for pigs to fly? Spit it out.”

  She twist a strain of hair that’s floating in front of her forehead. Before I can milk the answer out of her, the doorbell rings. It’s showtime at The Apollo.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” she says, opening the fridge, grabbing a carton of milk and pouring it in a pink bowl. She started adding colorful plates and bowls to this kitchen. I rush to the door and open it.

  My ma and Herold stroll in, and Ma pulls me into a tight hug as if she hasn’t seen me in years. Herold slaps me on my back.

  “You got any beer, son?” He rubs his bald head and scrunches up his pointy nose. He’s wearing a leather jacket over his plaid black shirt with his potbelly hanging over his denim jeans.

  “Yeah, check the fridge and stay away from the mac and cheese. The last time you ate that shit, your farts stank so bad it smelled like something crawled up yo
ur ass and died.”

  His belly moves as he laughs. I was dead-ass serious.

  “Where’s Gia?” Ma asks, excitement glinting in her eyes. Ma wants to form a mother-daughter bond with her. Gia does too, but she’s too shy to approach my ma. I tell her all the time that my ma doesn’t mind her calling, but Gia says she’ll wait until she approaches her.

  “She’s in the kitchen cooking,” I answer, grabbing the car keys from the hook by the door.

  “Where are you going?” Ma asks.

  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” I say, dropping a kiss to her forehead before heading out the door.

  Inside the car, Cora talks my ear off about how she’s excited to meet Alana and Cydney. Rylee wants to move into the house I purchased for them after dinner. It’s a small townhome, and it’s a few miles from my mansion. The only reason why I did this is because I want Cora to be close to me. She starts school in the next two weeks and I want her to get settled in her new home. Even though Rylee is a half-ass mom, I still have to look after her because she’s Cora’s mom. Besides, it’s my job as a man to take care of them.

  Rylee decided to invite herself to my family cookout. I don’t mind her tagging along, but I don’t want to add more problems to the shit show that’s about to happen. The last few Sundays she’s been acting weird and distant. Not like I give a fuck, but I asked Cora last week if Rylee has a boyfriend. Cora told me she doesn’t know. If she does, I need to know who he is so I can know whether or not he’s a good guy.

  Two hours and some change later, I pull up next to Alana’s black Range Rover and kill the engine. I close my eyes and open them, resting my head on the back of the seat. My heart hammers in my fucking chest.

  Cora grabs her book bag, and I pop the trunk, pull out her pink suitcase decorated with Dragon Ball Z stickers, and roll it to the stairway.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Slowly, I open the door and hear Alana giggling.

  “Is that her?” Cora’s hazel eyes flicker as she loops her arms around mine and clings to me like glue.