Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
gunner
A fter five years of quietly squirreling away money, my father bought a horse ranch outside Austin. It’s the first piece of property he’s owned in years, since losing everything to gambling debts.
The old ranch house needs a new roof and paint job, the stables need cleaning and the fences need repairs. It’s a major fixer-upper, but Dad couldn’t be prouder or more excited to tackle the renovations.
Near the end of October, he hires a work crew to help whip the place into shape. On Saturday morning, Maverick and I show up at the crack of dawn, roll up our sleeves and pitch in.
I’ve always enjoyed physical labor. Today, more than ever, I welcome the opportunity to channel my restless energy into raking out stalls, stacking bales of hay and pounding fence posts under the burning sun. As sweat drips into my eyes and soaks my back, I rip my shirt off and dive right back into work. The physical exertion invigorates me, helps quiet the painful thoughts churning in my head.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my father and brother trading concerned glances. But I don’t slow down. I work faster, harder, determined to purge my mind of memories.
Memories of the woman who stole my heart and changed me forever.
Jaw brutally tight, I slam a sledgehammer against a wall, feeling the satisfying impact in my chest and arms. I pull the hammer back and swing it again and again, knocking a deeper hole in the wall as concrete crumbles beneath my blows. With my muscles burning and adrenaline pumping through my veins, I can almost pretend that my heart isn’t broken beyond repair.
after a hard morning’s work, we stop for lunch.
As we clomp into the house covered in dirt and sweat, Mrs. Calder clucks her tongue and orders us to wash up before stepping foot in the kitchen. When we’re sufficiently clean, we pile our plates with food and hunker under a shade tree to wolf down the delicious barbecue she made. It’s the most substantial thing I’ve eaten in weeks, so it tastes even better.
As Mrs. Calder circles the picnic table refilling everyone’s drinks, she squeezes my shoulder in approval. I don’t have the heart to tell her that my rediscovered appetite is probably only temporary.
After the workers leave for the day, my father and I sit drinking lemonade on the wraparound veranda overlooking the horse stables and paddock. Giant oaks dot the landscape, the leaves just beginning to turn orange and yellow.
Dad drains his lemonade and smacks his lips. “Sunshine in a glass. Just like old times, ain’t it, son?”
I smile faintly and nod.
He pats his flat stomach with a grin. “Gemma Louise is trying to fatten me up. Says I’ve lost too much weight.”
“You have.” I look at him sideways, lips twitching. “So what’s the deal with you two? Is she moving in with you?”
“I’m working on it,” he says with a sly wink.
“I bet you are.”
He laughs. “You can’t keep her to yourself, Gunny boy. She was mine first.”
I snort and roll my eyes, but we both know he’s right.
Grinning broadly, he gets up and saunters to the railing, spreading his arms along the wooden handrail. “Gemma Louise and I used to lay by the creek every summer, catching fireflies and talking about our hopes and dreams. One time I told her I was gonna buy a horse ranch someday and name a horse after her. Instead of being flattered like most girls would’ve been, she thought I was making a wisecrack about her teeth. She wore braces to fix an overbite and was mighty sensitive about it. So she gave me a good whack upside the head, and we ended up tussling in the grass. Dang near rolled ourselves right into the creek.”
A low laugh escapes me, such a rarity these days that it feels foreign.
Dad grins at me before turning away to survey his new land with pride and satisfaction. “I’m going to make this place a home, Gunn. A real home that my sons will enjoy visiting with their wives and children. We’ll have cookouts and picnics and birthday parties with pi?atas. We’ll ride horses, play football and freeze tag, watch fireworks on the Fourth of July.”
“Sounds good, Dad,” I murmur, rocking listlessly back and forth on the creaky porch swing.
He lifts his face to the sky and inhales deeply. “It’s not every man who gets a second chance to do right by his family.”
“Just focus on staying sober, Dad. That’s all we ask.”
“I know, son.” His eyes close, and he seems to be simply enjoying the warm breeze against his face until he says, “Marlowe would make a wonderful daughter-in-law.”
My mellow mood instantly evaporates.
Heedless of my glare, he doggedly continues, “ She’s the woman I picture by your side when you and your family come to visit. She wouldn’t care if she gained a few pounds after birthing your babies?—”
“Dad—”
“She’d chase the kids around the yard without worrying about ruining her pedicure. She wouldn’t turn up her nose at helping out in the kitchen. She wouldn’t complain about mosquitos while sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows. She’d be a joy to have around. A breath of fresh air. Unlike Laurene ‘Miss Hotel Heiress’ Vandenberg. Or that ditzy little artist you’ve been seeing?—”
“Enough,” I snap.
“I’m just saying.” He glances over his shoulder at me. “You know I’m right.”
I clench my jaw hard enough to break bone. “First of all, I’m not seeing Gianna. It was one lousy date.”
A week after Marlowe moved out, Gianna called me up and invited me to dinner. Her treat, she insisted, to repay me for everything I’d done to launch her art career. She badgered me for days, calling and texting until I finally capitulated.
Eager to impress, she picked me up in her Porsche and drove to a high-end restaurant with a tasting menu. I barely made it through the first course. After just two minutes of her insipid babbling, I wanted to gouge my ears out with a shrimp fork.
The longer the meal dragged on, the more I yearned for Marlowe’s sparkling intellect. Her sharp wit. Her bewitching laughter. Her infectious charm.
She was only a year older than Gianna, but it might as well have been ten. The difference in their maturity levels was off the charts.
When Gianna accidentally knocked a plate of tuna carpaccio out of our waiter’s hand, she turned several shades of red before bursting into hysterical giggles that drew disapproving stares.
“Oh, my God!” she squealed after the waiter cleaned up the mess and hurried away. “You must think I’m a total klutz!”
“Not at all,” I murmured. I’d take clumsiness over brainlessness any day, though Gianna was veering perilously close to embodying both.
“You’ve got me so nervous,” she admitted breathlessly. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’ve had a crush on you since I was eighteen. Your first GQ cover was my Insta profile pic for the longest time. You’re so damn smart and sophisticated, not to mention freaking hot. It’s totally nerve-racking!”
I smiled kindly. “You don’t have to be nervous, Gianna. I don’t bite.”
“Not even if I want you to?” In the blink of an eye, she went from flustered to flirty.
She was a beautiful woman, no doubt about it. It would have been so easy to take her home and fuck her silly little brains out. God knew I needed to blow off some steam and forget my troubles for a few hours.
But I had no interest in sharing my bed with her or any other woman. I’d only recently allowed the new cleaning service to change my sheets, because I was pathetically clinging to the last traces of Marlowe’s fading scent.
After dinner Gianna drove me home and boldly propositioned me, sliding her hand up my thigh until I caught her wrist to stop her.
When she shot me a surprised look, I said quietly but firmly, “Thank you for dinner. But I’m afraid our date ends here.”
She looked genuinely astounded. “If you’re worried about my dad, he doesn’t have to know. And honestly, he wouldn’t even mind if we hooked up. He thinks the world of you and would love to have you as a son-in-law.”
Jesus! Jumping the gun much?
I gave her a long look, watching her falter and blush under my gaze. “I’m grateful for all the support your father has given me over the years. For that reason, I could never disrespect him by using his daughter’s body for stress relief. Which is all you would ever mean to me, Gianna. Do you understand what I’m saying? This”—I motioned between us—“is never going to happen.”
She looked crushed. Then angry. “You’re still hung up on your ex. But I saw a picture of her on some music blog. Her best friend’s dating the lead guitarist of some indie band. She and Marlowe were backstage after their concert, and the drummer had his arm around Marlowe’s shoulders. If they’re not already hooking up, they probably will be soon.”
Everything in me went ballistic at this news, but I kept my tone remarkably even. “If you ever need my help, you’ll have it. But that’s all I can give you, Gianna. Nothing more.” Before she could say anything else, I got out of the car and closed the door, literally and metaphorically.
“Was that the reason?” My father’s voice breaks into my thoughts.
I frown at him. “What?”
He’s watching me, his eyes speculative and assessing. “Is that why you ended things with Marlowe? To see other people? To finish sowing your wild oats?”
I grit my teeth and fight the urge to yell. “For the last time, it wasn’t working out between us. We’re too different?—”
Dad huffs a laugh. “Who you think you foolin’? That pretty little lady is smart as a whip and stubborn as hell. You met your match and then some.”
Pain sears through my chest. But I say nothing, calmly crossing one boot-clad foot over the other.
“Maverick could tell you were in love with Marlowe the night she played the piano at your dinner party. He says he took one look at your face and knew you were already a goner.”
I swallow hard and glance away from my father, afraid he’ll see the fear and vulnerability in my eyes.
Letting Marlowe go was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. When I walked out on her that day, I had to stop outside the library and lean back against the wall just to catch my breath. My chest felt so tight I thought I was having a fucking heart attack.
I knew getting over her would be brutal, but I vastly underestimated the aching emptiness and bottomless pain that would engulf me in the days and weeks ahead.
Since she’s been gone, I wake up heartbroken every morning. Every breath without her feels like a hot knife ripping through my lungs. I miss her so much I’ve lost whole days at a time just thinking about her. Wanting her. Needing her.
I am so fucking doomed.
My father gives me a remorseful look. “It’s my fault that you and Maverick have commitment issues. Mine and, to a lesser extent, your mother’s fault.”
That makes me scowl. “I don’t have commitment issues. Let’s not forget I was engaged for six damn months.”
“Ah, son,” Dad says with a sad shake of his head. “You proposed to Laurene because you thought it was the right thing to do. Not because you loved her or believed she could make you happy.”
He’s right, much as it galls me to admit it.
When I found myself staring down the barrel of my thirtieth birthday, I’d decided it was time to find a suitable woman to settle down and start a family with. Despite my dysfunctional upbringing, I’d always wanted children of my own to love and nurture, to teach right from wrong, to pass my legacy to.
I approached the idea of marriage as just another business transaction, one where I identify solid prospects and negotiate the best deal. I ultimately chose Laurene for her pedigree. As an heiress, she understood the world I came from and the pressures I faced to remain at the top of my industry.
My reasoning was shrewd, practical and largely devoid of sentiment. I’d watched my parents’ marriage fall apart and vowed not to repeat the same mistakes with Laurene. I thought I would grow to love her in time.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Restless and agitated, I shove to my feet and pace from one end of the veranda to the other. I eventually end up standing next to my father, gripping the wooden handrail as I wrestle with my anger, bitterness and regret. So much fucking regret.
Dad looks out across the pasture with a faraway look in his eyes. “I married the wrong blonde,” he says, almost to himself.
I frown at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I should’ve held out for the only woman I’ve ever loved. It means I should have married Gemma Louise.” He meets my eyes. “Lost chances can rob a man of his soul and his reason for being. I learned that lesson the hard way, and maybe too late. But it’s not too late for you, son.”
I stare at him, the visceral truth of his words hitting me square in the chest.
Before I can respond, my mother comes strolling onto the veranda sipping a Bloody Mary. About an hour ago, she arrived in her helicopter to inspect the ranch, citing her expertise as the granddaughter of a legendary horse breeder. After touring the property with Dad and giving her input, she stayed to have cocktails with Mrs. Calder.
I watch now as she dubiously eyes the rickety porch swing, then crosses the veranda to sit on the new rattan sofa. She sips her drink and lets out a languid sigh. “Such a lovely day, isn’t it?”
Dad and I exchange wry glances.
Mom has been preening with satisfaction since learning that I broke up with Marlowe. My apparent misery has her in such good spirits that she’s even willing to tolerate Dad’s presence for a few hours.
“You’ll never guess who I just spoke to on the phone.”
Neither Dad nor I venture a guess. We know she won’t keep us in suspense.
“It was Laurene, of course.” Mom looks borderline giddy. “We had the most pleasant conversation, catching each other up on our lives. She was particularly pleased to hear about your recent availability, Gunner.”
“I bet she was,” Dad mutters under his breath.
Mom shoots him a narrow look.
He merely chuckles, long past fearing her evil eye.
She dismisses him with an elegant wave of her hand before returning her attention to me. “Getting back to the topic?—”
“I’d rather not,” I bite out.
She purses her lips, contemplating me as she swirls the liquid in her glass. “Laurene would really love to see you. Now that you’re . . . unattached, perhaps the two of you might?—”
“No.” I tighten my jaw, striving for patience. “We’re not getting back together.”
“But, darling?—”
“Give it a fucking rest.”
Everyone turns to see Maverick standing at the screen door, a dark scowl on his face under the dusty brim of his Stetson.
Mom sniffs. “I was just saying?—”
“I heard what you were saying.” He steps onto the veranda, his boots hitting the floorboard with a menacing thud. “How selfish can you be, Mom?”
Dad straightens from the railing. “Now, son, let’s not ruin this nice day?—”
“Look at Gunner’s face. Does he look like he’s having a nice day?” It’s a rhetorical question, and Maverick doesn’t wait for an answer as he prowls over to Mom. “How can you sit there trying to pressure him into taking Laurene back? Have you been living under a rock since July? Do you not realize he’s in love with someone else? Or are you pretending otherwise because you don’t approve?”
Mom’s face takes on a look of haughty condescension. “Marlowe clearly wasn’t right for your brother. He and Laurene are more compatible?—”
“Says who?”
Mom narrows her eyes, resenting the challenge. “I’m his mother. I know what’s best for him.”
A sneer twists Maverick’s mouth. “The only reason you love Laurene is because she reminds you of yourself—a spoiled, shallow, stuck-up blonde who thinks the whole world revolves around her.”
Mom gasps, affronted.
“Maverick,” I warn.
“No. I’m tired of biting my tongue. She needs to hear the truth.” He glares at our scandalized mother. “Do you have any idea what it’s like growing up with a mom who hates you? Who regrets your very existence? Who blames you for every sin your father ever committed? Do you know how sadistic you have to be to tell a nine-year-old boy that a trust fund and a pretty face are all he’ll ever be good for?”
Mom stares at him in horrified denial. “I . . . I . . .”
“Oh yes, Mommy Dearest. That was one of the kinder gems you bestowed upon me and Gunner. Unshockingly, your toxicity did a real number on us. While I avoided any serious entanglements, Gunner forced himself to stay in soul-sucking relationships long after they ran their course. He needed to prove you wrong, and on some subconscious level, he wanted to please you. Why else would he even consider marrying a woman who shares your worst flaws?”
Mom glances at me to gauge my reaction, her delicate jaw trembling.
“He’ll never admit it, not even to himself. But it’s true.” A streak of dark ruthlessness burns in Maverick’s ice-blue eyes. “Do you know why you’re still able to hold your head up in high society?”
“That’s enough, Mav,” I growl.
He ignores me, laser-focused on our mother’s increasingly pale face. “How scandalized would those Highland Park blue bloods be if they found out you fucked Harlan Pierce when he was barely legal?”
She lets out a strangled cry.
Dad loudly interjects, “Now, son?—”
“Stay out of this,” Maverick snarls without taking his eyes off Mom. “It’s bad enough that you hooked up with our worst enemy—the bullying asshole who slandered our names every fucking chance he got. You betrayed your own sons. And then in an ironic twist of karmic payback, you got betrayed. See, Mother, your little boy toy secretly recorded your hotel tryst and threatened to leak the tape. He wanted to humiliate you. Ruin you. And he would have if Gunner hadn’t stopped him.”
Whatever blood remains in Mom’s face drains out. Even Dad looks shocked.
“Gunner never told you because he wanted to spare your feelings and preserve your dignity.” Maverick smirks. “You’re lucky. I wouldn’t have been as merciful.”
Mom looks at me wildly, her chin quivering. “I never knew . . .”
I can only stare at her, rigid with frustration. I didn’t want her to find out, and definitely not like this. But my brother has obviously reached his breaking point, and like a runaway freight train rushing at full throttle, he can’t be stopped.
“You owe him, Mother. You owe him your undying gratitude for burying your scandalous secret and protecting your precious virtue. You owe him for safeguarding your status as the apple of your parents’ eye.” Maverick pins her with a look sharp enough to flay the skin off her body. “Instead of rejecting the woman he loves, you should be using every manipulative trick in your arsenal to convince him to go after Marlowe. Because if you can’t see that he’s completely lost without her, then you’re an even worse mother than you’ve already proved yourself to be.”
In the stunned silence that follows, I exchange grim looks with my father.
Half a second later, Mom bursts into tears.
Hardening his jaw, Maverick pushes the brim of his Stetson low over his eyes and then stalks back into the house, slamming the screen door behind him.
Dad tucks a handkerchief into Mom’s hand and awkwardly pats her shoulder. When she sobs louder, he sends me a sympathetic look before beating a hasty retreat.
Leaning back against the railing, I watch silently as Mom sits there sobbing uncontrollably. Though I make no attempt to offer comfort, I can’t help feeling sorry for her. Few mothers could withstand the ruthless evisceration Maverick just served up cold on a platter.
When her sobs subside to an occasional hiccup, I ask quietly, “Are you okay?”
She sniffles pathetically and dabs at her streaming eyes with the sodden handkerchief. When I move to sit beside her, she reaches for my hand, grasping it like a lifeline.
“I’m sorry,” she says in a cracked voice, uttering those words for the first time in my life. “I am so sorry, Gunner. For everything.”
I say nothing, pulling my hand from her grip and turning away. Her face crumples.
“I don’t hate you or your brother,” she tearfully insists. “I could never hate my own flesh and blood. I was miserable with your father, but I never meant to take out my frustrations on you and Maverick. I never meant to hurt you?—”
“But you did.” My voice is hard. Cold. “I may not agree with Maverick’s timing, but every word he said was true. I’m tired of pretending you weren’t a shitty mother. You were manipulative and self-absorbed and cruel. There were many days we both wished to God we’d been born to someone else. Anyone but you.”
She sucks in a breath, fresh tears spilling from her eyes.
I don’t want to pile on, but I need to get some things off my chest. Now that Maverick got the ball rolling, I might as well say my peace.
Mom twists the sodden handkerchief in her lap. “I don’t want to make excuses?—”
“Then don’t.”
She stares at me with red-rimmed baby blues. “Your father put me through hell. I was wildly in love with him, and he turned that love into pure hatred. I know it’s not fair, but every time I looked at you and your brother, all I saw was Dale. It didn’t help that you both look so much like him,” she mumbles resentfully. “It was hard not to feel like God was punishing me for not heeding my parents’ warnings.”
“So you punished us in retaliation,” I say bitterly.
She doesn’t deny it.
I just shake my head, leaning forward with my elbows resting on my knees and my hands clasped.
“Thank you for not telling anyone about my fling with Harlan.” Her fingers tighten around the handkerchief. “If I had known what a vindictive little shit he was?—”
“But that’s the thing, Mom,” I growl impatiently. “You should have known. Harlan went out of his way to make trouble for me and Mav. If you’d paid the slightest fucking bit of attention to us, you would’ve steered clear of that lowlife bastard.”
“You’re right. I was foolish. Willfully foolish. And it backfired spectacularly.” She pauses, twisting the handkerchief into a tight knot. “Thank you for . . . handling the situation.”
“I don’t want your thanks,” I grumble. “You weren’t supposed to find out.”
“I’m glad Maverick told me. It was humiliating to hear, but I needed to know what you did for me.” She reaches over to touch my arm. “I don’t want you or your brother to hate me. What can I do to earn your forgiveness?”
I don’t respond. I have no answers for her, not right now.
“I’ll go to therapy,” she promises. “I probably should’ve started seeing someone a long time ago, but I was too proud and stubborn, too embarrassed to admit my life wasn’t perfect.”
I’m quiet, staring down at my work-roughened hands.
“I’ll make an appointment first thing Monday.” She hesitates before adding quietly, “Maybe you and Maverick could join me sometime. Working through our issues together, as a family, might help the healing process.”
I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment. Then I swallow hard and nod. “I can’t speak for Maverick. But . . . I’ll keep an open mind.”
“Thank you, baby,” she whispers gratefully.
I nod tightly. She’s never called me baby before. I’m struggling to absorb it.
“I should have been kinder to Marlowe. You’ve been miserable since the breakup, I see that now.” She squeezes my hand, all guilty empathy. “If there’s anything I can do?—”
“There isn’t.” I get up and walk to the railing, keeping my back to her. “It’s been a long day, and we both have a lot to digest. If it’s all the same to you . . .” I trail off pointedly.
She catches my meaning. “Of course. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” She rises to her feet and takes a step toward me, then thinks better of it.
I wait for her to speak, every nerve tense.
“You may find this hard to believe,” she says softly, “but I want you and Maverick to be happy. Truly happy. A fairytale ending was never in the cards for your father and me. But Marlowe is clearly the one you’re meant to be with, and I hope you can get her back . . . before it’s too late.”
I say nothing, working hard not to grind my teeth.
Mom slips quietly away, leaving me to grapple with the harsh reality of spending the rest of my life without the love of my life.