Chasing Gunner (Chasing Series Book 2)

by J. M Stoneback

  “I have to say one more thing before you leave.” She pauses. “Do you know why I call you Tuxedo Mask?”

  “Because I wear suits.”

  She shakes her head no. “Tuxedo Mask is Chibiusa’s dad. Sometimes, I wish you were my dad. Yes, by blood you’re my half-brother, but you treat me like I’m your daughter. Daddy didn’t treat me like I was his.” Sadness colors her face. “He never really interacted with me when he was alive. We would have dinner at the table, and the only thing he would say to me is ‘pass me the salt,’ or ‘sit up straight,’ or if I was done watching a show when we’re in the living room, or ‘how was school?’” She pauses for several beats, and I glance at Alana. Her face is pale as she hugs Cydney to her chest. I turn my view back to Cora, and she traces her index finger on the shell of my ear.

  “I remember when I was little, like five, he bought three bikes for Christmas. Two were pink with white ribbons floating from the end of the handles and the other one was blue. I asked why he bought two extra bikes. He looked so sad and said, ‘These two are for my son and other daughter.’ I told him that he doesn’t have any other kids. And he put a helmet over my head and said, ‘I do, and I let them down because I’m a horrible man.’ Then he cried. I think that was the only time Dad was sober. Momma told me the reason why Dad drank so much was because he watched Granddad drown Grandma in the bathtub.”

  I look at my ma for confirmation, and she nods her head. Ma never talked about Dad’s side of the family. I knew our grandparents died when my dad was ten because Ma tried to convince him to visit their graves when she wanted to visit her mother’s grave right after she died.

  Then the tears form in my eyes. Cydney wails for her bottle, and Alana leaves the living room.

  “Daddy loved you. I think he just didn’t know how to show it. Like Mommy loves me, but she doesn’t know how to love.” She shrugs, and then I kiss her forehead.

  For a twelve-year-old, Cora is very insightful and loveable.

  “I’m proud of you, Gunner.” She wraps her tiny arms around my neck and squeezes.

  “Thank you.”

  When I stand, Ma, Herold, and Darien engulf me in a hug and they offer words of encouragement.

  When I grab my duffle bag sitting by the oak door, I swing it open to see Logan and Matt standing by a black SUV.

  “I heard you’re going to rehab for three months, yeah?” Matt says, taking his toothpick from his mouth and tossing it to the wet asphalt.

  I shoot Darien a look.

  “I sent out a group text. I figured you need all the support you can get.” Darien pats my back. “Get your ass in the car.”

  After I toss my bag in the trunk, I hop in the passenger seat.

  “Did Nova file a police report on Ryan?” I ask Logan as he drives down the street.

  “The DA charged him with rape and domestic violence in his state. He’s facing twenty years since he has a history of it,” Logan answers. “I wrote her a check for forty grand because she wanted to go to Hollywood. She told me to tell you thank you.”

  “Motherfucker, always saving everyone else while he should have been saving his own ass,” Darien says, leaning forward in the back seat.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I say.

  “Have you talked to Rainbow?” Matt asks.

  We pull up to the highway next to a Publix eighteen-wheeler, and a taxi driver gives us the middle finger for cutting him off.

  “No. She won’t pick up any of my phone calls.” I didn’t go to the condo, and I don’t know where she’s living now. Where did she move to? Did she move to a nice neighborhood? Does she feel like someone’s stabbing her heart as well? Or am I the only one sulking?

  “She moved to Brooklyn,” Darien answers my unspoken thoughts. “Alana went to go check out her apartment a few days ago. She’s rooming with Izzy. Gia agreed to babysit Cora on Tuesday and Thursday because those days are date nights for me and Alana.” The black leather squeaks as I twist my body to look at him while he glances at his phone. “Alana just texted me that Gia is picking up Cora.”

  “You talked to Gia?” I cock my eyebrow.

  “Yeah. I offered her a drink when she came by yesterday. Instead, she told me to stop making Cora eat all that healthy food. I’m ruining sweet treats Saturdays for them.” He chuckles, rubbing his beard. “I told her this isn’t Burger King; she can’t have everything her way.”

  Matt glances at Darien in the rearview mirror. “No way Rainbow spoke to you. When I speak to her she looks at me like I’m crazy and doesn’t respond.”

  “She doesn’t speak to people she doesn’t know or like. And you scare the shit out of her. She told me a few times,” I say. I miss my Rainbow. I feel like I died a million deaths.

  We ride for another hour, and the car fills with laughter and how we all met. Logan and Matt were friends before I met them. They laugh at how I met Matt our freshman year. How I was fucking one of his girlfriends, Sue, and at the time she lied and told me that she was single. He dumped her ass, and I invited him to one of my parties. Later that year, he introduced me to Logan. Logan and Matt want me to go to a strip club after I get out of rehab, but I don’t have any desire to dabble in new pussy. I just want my Rainbow back.

  We pull up to a red brick building that resembles a house with red roofing, hiding behind black metal gates. This is going to be my home for the next three months. Matt kills the engine. Their gazes cling to me as I glance at the building. I’m about to do what I should have done all those months ago when I started to see Hannah. Get the help I needed for my PTSD and lay off the booze that almost destroyed my life. Rainbow once told me that you have to break to be whole again, and she was right. I’ve broken myself time and time again. It isn’t my fault I had traumatic events happen to me, but it’s my fault if I don’t take responsibility for my healing.

  They all wish me well as I get out of the car and grab my duffle bag and head up the brick stairway. This is my first step to recovery.

  Gia

  Three months later . . .

  The heart suffers from different sicknesses when it breaks.

  When I was treated like garbage, being passed around in foster care, it was sick with abandonment.

  When I gave my heart to Ryan, and he shattered it into a million pieces, it was sick with betrayal and loneliness.

  When I had to let Gunner go after he made my heart sing like a canary, it was sick with disloyalty.

  People never talk about the condition of your heart after it gets broken or ways to fix it.

  The last three months have been painful, hollow, and empty. When Alana told me that Gunner was in rehab, a part of me smiled because he took my advice and realized he has a problem.

  On some level I’m even grateful he beat the crap out of Ryan because, let’s face it, Ryan deserved it. According to Darien, he’s in prison for beating up another woman, which serves him right.

  Some days, it’s hard not to be reminded of Wolf because when I look at Cora all I see is him.

  Ever since I moved in with Izzy, she’s been trying to cheer me up by taking me out every weekend. Last Thursday, we went to the Rockefeller rink ice-skating. I fell a few times on the ice, but it was the first time since I’ve been apart from him I laughed so hard my belly ached.

  At this time of year, New York City is breathtaking. Holiday lights line some of the streets, the department store windows are decorated, and the Rockefeller Center has their famous Christmas tree up. Joy, happiness, and passion—the total opposite of what I’m feeling on the inside.

  My phone dances with excitement on the counter, I turn it over and hit the text message icon. It’s a message from Alana.

  Alana: Gunner is here.

  I stare at the message as my heart beats wild and freely. It hasn’t beat like that since I last saw him. Then I get a message from Cora.

  lil’Chibi: OMG Tuxedo Mask is here, you need to come see him, Sailor Moon.

  I can’t believe I let Cora call me Sai
lor Moon. Then I get a message from Darien.

  Darien: Your boyfriend is here.

  Every day Darien checks on me to see how I’m doing. We’ll chat about television shows, music, and whatever else comes to mind.

  Last week, he told me that he’s been working on some music and wants me to listen to it, because every time he asks Alana or Cora for constructive criticism, they tell him that every song he writes is great. I heard him play the piano one time when I went over there for dinner and he’s gifted—Mozart gifted.

  When he speaks about Gunner my little ears perk up. I’m hungry for any information about him. Even though I try to hide it, Darien calls me out on it. He keeps telling me to just put myself out of my misery and go back to him. He would say, “Gunner is right about you, you wear your emotions on your sleeves.”

  He didn’t hit me up, and my heart breaks a little because I was hoping he would reach out to me after he returned from rehab. But then again, I can’t expect him to when I’m the one who broke things off. What I said to him about our relationship being an experiment—I didn’t mean it. He kept calling me every day before he went to rehab; I listened to every single one of his voicemails and especially about the part about me being his one and only. Maybe I should have answered his phone calls. I missed him these past three months. If he doesn’t reach out to me then I understand, he probably lost interest in me since he stopped calling. A lump forms in the back of my throat as I set my phone down on the counter. I watch as snow falls slowly from the sky and people walk back and forth in front of the shop. A couple strolls in, orders cookies shaped like snowflakes. Paris hits the register as she takes their money.

  Once the couple leaves, she asks, “You’re waiting for that boy to come through the door, ain’t cha?”

  I nod my head and finally admit what I’ve been thinking for so long. “Maybe I should have reached out to him while he was in rehab.”

  “No. You needed to do what you did. Trust me.”

  Over the last three months, I’ve been getting close to London and Paris. Our relationship is more personal than professional. They both are mother hens, trying to give me advice on life and men. But Paris is a lot easier to talk to than London. London is a little mean, but I don’t think she realizes that she is.

  “Then why doesn’t it feel that way?” I want to bawl my eyes out.

  “Because love is hard, Gia.” She exhales. “So hard. My Phillip was an alcoholic. But back then alcoholism was viewed as the norm, especially in the early sixties and seventies.” She pauses. “He died from cirrhosis of the liver at thirty-five. Had I let him go and made him realize he was destroying himself, he probably would be alive today. It isn’t easy to let someone go. It’s one of the most selfless acts a person can do. And if Gunner doesn’t come back to you, then you move on. You will find someone who deserves you.”

  I try to let her words sink in, but I just feel so heartbroken. I spent the last three months in limbo, wondering if I did the right thing. Beating myself up about the decision I’ve made. London comes from the back with a clipboard in her hands.

  “We have some news to discuss with you.” She pulls up a barstool blocking the doorway connected to the kitchen.

  “We would like to sell you this place,” London says. My eyes grow wide in shock, and I stare at her like she told me I hit the lottery. “Paris and I always wanted to buy an RV and travel the country together.”

  “But we never got the chance to because we both ended up having a family and now that our kids are grown and have their own families the time is perfect,” Paris says, squealing like a teenager.

  “How much is it? I don’t have any money.” I’m still paying my student loans. Gunner wanted to pay it off before we broke up, but I told him it was my debt, and I can’t depend on him to bail me out of stuff.

  “We have an investor, and he already paid.”

  “What’s his name?” Surprise flickers through me as I cock an eyebrow.

  “I can’t tell you. He wants to be anonymous and won’t have any power. It’s in the contract we drew up,” London says.

  “No, I can’t take it.”

  “Darling, don’t be stupid.”

  “London, be nice.” Paris turns toward me. “I understand this is surreal to you, but the main reason why we hired you was because we wanted you to take this shop off our hands. We want to leave it to someone who has a heart for baking. When you bake, your eyes shine brighter than the stars, sweetie. So please, just take it.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll take it,” London shoots back without hesitation.

  “Yes.” I clap my hands in excitement.

  “Congratulations. You’re a business owner. Come to the office so we can sign some paperwork,” Paris commands.

  I hang my pink hat and jacket on the coat rack in the living room next to the wide window. The apartment I moved into is not as fancy as the apartment I once shared with Gunner. It’s a small two-bedroom with a spacious kitchen and a fireplace. But I love it; it’s as cozy as a warm blanket. Izzy sits on the purple sofa, flipping through a fashion magazine. Her wet, straight black hair falls down her shoulders and she smells of vanilla as I perch next to her. She isn’t picking up any modeling gigs until February, claiming she needs a break.

  “How was work?” she asks. The flat screen television is showing America’s Next Top Model. This woman eats, sleeps, and breathes modeling.

  “You’re looking at a business owner,” I say as a smile spreads across my face, causing her to look up from her magazine.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, Paris and London want me to take over, so they can leave the city to travel. I’m so nervous and scared.”

  She hugs me and kisses my cheeks, getting sticky lip gloss on my skin.

  “We should celebrate,” she says.

  “Maybe tomorrow. I don’t want to go back out in that cold. How was your day? Are you hooking up with Matt again tonight?”

  They’ve been doing random hookups at his place. He gets off at the wee hours in the morning. I asked her if their relationship is serious and she said no, her parents wouldn’t approve of someone like him, but she doesn’t like him in that way. She’s got her eyes set on another supermodel she met when she was in London and wants to ask her out for a date. Izzy dates more women than men. During our friendship, I’ve only known her to date three men but she’s had a dozen girlfriends.

  “Not tonight. He’s in Seattle with his family looking at a location for a new club.” She disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a brown, square box wrapped in duct tape in her hand. “Darien dropped this off. He said it’s from Gunner.”

  And my heart drops to the white carpet and bounces up and down. I snatch it out of her hand and stare at her for several moments. Slowly, I tear it open. Inside there are stacks of letters, so I grab one and unfold it and I rub my hand on the letters in his sloppy handwriting. Tears leak from the corner of my eyes as I inhale the scent of the paper—it smells like him, cinnamon and heaven.

  Izzy strokes my back to comfort me. When she got back from a photoshoot in London, she witnessed me falling apart, crying about my breakup with Gunner.

  What if these are goodbye letters and he wants to be friends? Or telling me we were a big mistake?

  “I can’t read these,” I blurt out.

  “I’ll read them for you,” Izzy says. She snatches the letter from my hand, then reads it, and her cheeks turn redder than a red apple. “Ah, Gigi. You should read them. This one was not for my eyes to see.”

  I snatch it back and read it.

  Rainbow,

  I’m not a romance type of guy, so I’m going to write it, but I miss being balls deep in your pussy.

  Okay, I’m done being romantic.

  While I’m stuck here, my sponsor told me to write to the people I care about. I’m not a writer, but if I’m going to write to someone it will be you.

  The first day was awful
as fuck. I suffered from major withdrawal; I was sweating really bad, had fucking headaches out of this goddamn world, tremors, and chills. I wanted to tear my skin off my body and rip my hair out of my skull. It was so bad I forgot where I was, and then I’d start hating you for breaking up with me, for making me realize what I was doing.

  But when I remembered why you broke up with me I’d start loving you again.

  The food is horrible here, so horrible I’d rather eat drywall. I miss your cooking and your cookies and cupcakes. Do you know what else I miss? I miss you, the scent of your pussy, the scent of your hair. You smell like hope, life, and passion.

  Love, Gunner.

  P.S. This is the first and the most shitty love letter I ever wrote. Read the next one, I promise it will get better.

  So I do. I read all ninety of them. He filled me in on his days, how he made some friends, and how much he can’t wait to leave. He tried to write me a poem. It was crappy, but it was the best one I ever read. If that makes sense. Every time I read a new letter my heart beats rapidly and butterflies swim in my stomach as tears trickle down my cheeks. Then I get to the last letter.

  Gia,

  It’s the last day of my stay in rehab. I feel like a better man; I feel good. And I have you to thank for that. Losing you was the nail in the coffin for me to do the right thing. If I was a shitty boyfriend, I apologize. If I made you deal with a lot of shit, I apologize. If I made you cry, I apologize. Even though it is part of my recovery to apologize to all the people I hurt, I fucking mean it.

  I used to be so scared to love, but I want to love you, Rainbow. Right before the shit show went down with Ryan, you told me you love me. I didn’t say it back because I didn’t know how so I’m saying it now.

  I fucking love you, Gia.

  That’s why I beat the shit out of Ryan and made sure he paid for what he did to you. And you were right; I did it because I felt guilty for not protecting you. It was my job to protect you as the man who loves you, and I let you down. You were mine before I realized you were.