STONED (Wrecked Book 1) (16 page)

“And yet, here you are.” She’s clearly not as moved as I am at our reunion.

“You’re using your aunt’s last name. You hiding from me, Willow?” I ask her, my gravelly voice pitched low with hurt although I’m not sure why. I had come to terms with her running from me. Or at least I thought I had.

“I wasn’t hiding from you, but it wasn’t meant to be easy either. I was tired of dodging the paparazzi back in Austin.” Her tone is resigned.

“You changed your number, and your email address I’m assuming, since I wrote you but never heard back.” I rock back on my heels, watching her as she still avoids meeting my eyes. “Since my emails went unanswered, I went old school and started writing you letters. I still have them. All two hundred and eighteen of them.”

Hers eyes shoot to mine. Finally. I shudder at the emotions I see there. I’m able to name them all—they’re that intense, my mind
that
clear, my knowledge of her still so acute. Disbelief, distrust, detachment, but that doesn’t hurt as much as what isn’t. Not a speck of the heat that has always been there. Whiskey on the rocks when her eyes used to look at me with all the warmth of a fifty-year-old bottle of Glen Grant.

“Two hundred and eighteen?” she asks, taken aback.

I nod, reaching out and fingering a long chocolate strand of her hair, wrapping it around my tattooed fingers, unable to help myself any longer. When she doesn’t pull back right away, I continue wrapping and stroking, the sun catching the red hues. Ignoring her question, “My number is still the same.” Not able to keep the disappointment, the pain, from my voice. “I must have missed your calls,” I say, knowing damn well that never would’ve happened. Even when I was detoxing, not allowed a phone, or visitors, Law had my phone with strict instructions to stop whatever he was doing if Willow called. It’s what kept me going—the thought that maybe, just maybe, she was waiting for me on the outside. Back at home with the guys, counting down the days when we would be together again, same as I was. Only that wasn’t the fucking case at all. Dropping the strand of hair, I let my hand slowly go to her cheek, but before it lands, she moves just out of reach. I think about the baby, and still can’t ask, so I just assume. Praying that I’m right. “Were you gonna tell me, Wills?” My hands shake with all the need flowing through me right now. Need to touch her, to hold her, need for a fucking drink, a cigarette, need for answers, for truths, need to be buried inside of her, to be whole again, to be me again. I get none of that. I don’t deserve any of it. But I want it. “What’s her name?”

“Lyric. My daughter’s name is Lyric,” she says, irritated. “And what would’ve been the point, Stone? You never used to answer any of my calls anyway. Just saved myself the headache and didn’t bother. I’ve learned not to depend on you. It was the hardest lesson of my life, but it finally stuck, so . . .” Her voice trails off and I see one more wall go up.

“You always were smart.” Smiling sadly, I lift my chin to indicate the school, not done with this line of questioning but knowing better than to push her. A more stubborn woman than Willow does not exist. It’s what kept her from giving up on me a long time ago like she should have. As much as I want to drill her about the baby—my baby?—I don’t yet. I can’t afford for her to throw another wall up. “You giving lessons again? Is this your Martin?” I had a custom Martin designed for her birthday. It has a Willow tree just like the tattoo on my arm, our initials carved into the bark, and little black birds taking flight, the same as our matching ink.

Willow nods her head yes, then shakes her head no. “I’m not doing this. I have to go, Stone.” She reaches for the strap I’m still holding on to so she can leave and I feel a clawing panic grip me.

“Not yet, Wills. Please not yet. Just talk to me. Let’s go get some coffee.” I amend, “Some tea, you still love tea, right? We can talk about the baby.” I’m rambling nervously.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Stone. I’m a parent, you’re not. My daughter has nothing to do with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some place to be.”

“Where? Where do you have to fucking be that’s more important than this, Willow?” I demand heatedly. Waving a hand back and forth between us. “And are you really going to say the baby has nothing to do with me?” I accuse. This flare of temper has more to do with panic than anger. I’m terrified if I let her leave now it’ll be another sixteen months before I find her again.

“And there he is. I was wondering when
this
Stone would show up. The one who always comes first and never takes anybody else into consideration. You almost had me fooled there for a minute with glimpses of the old Stone. This is the Stone I’ve come to know so well.” Sarcasm. Sarcasm dripping from every word. I forgot about
this
Willow. The one who gives as good as she gets. I thought I had snuffed out this fire completely with all of my fuck-ups. I’m glad to see I didn’t, even if it is biting me in the ass.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I just—I’m not ready to say goodbye yet. The guys are in town with me, they miss you too. Insisted on coming with me. Come have dinner with all of us. We won’t mention anything you don’t want to, I promise,” I plead. I’m playing dirty using the guys against her, I know I am, but I’ll do whatever the fuck I have to to keep her with me just a little longer.

“As much as I would love to see them, I can’t. And quite honestly, I’m not sure that I want to spend the evening with you, even if it includes them.” Her words cut me deep. Wounds on top of my already raw and wounded heart.

“Wills—” I begin but she cuts me off.

“You can’t do this, Stone. You can’t just come here after a year and a half and expect everything to be fine. We’re not fine, and I’m not doing this again with you.”

I open my mouth to say more, but her phone starts ringing. I recognize it immediately having put the song on a million times just to feel closer to her. I watch her search in her purse for the phone, taking her in from head to toe. My Willow. So fucking beautiful. There’s that panic clawing at my insides again, an anxiousness I can’t tamp down. What if she doesn’t take me back? What if she won’t allow me to be a father to my kid? All the what if’s are enough to make me crazy. I hear her ending the call saying to whoever was on the other line, “Just have them do a sound check for me, I’ll be ready. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“You performing?” I ask, smiling. She hates being in the spotlight but Willow is an amazing musician, better than me even, and her voice is beyond incredible. I used to love for her to sing to me. She was my muse, my heart. She’s always been my music. There’s not a song I’ve written that doesn’t have her stamp on it. Her leaving didn’t change that.

Tucking the phone back into her bag she looks at me warily. “Just a couple times a week at a small place downtown. Helps pay the bills and the owner lets me use their studio for my demos and whatever since I don’t have one at the house anymore.” I blanched, it isn’t a dig, but it hits me like a punch to the dick anyway. And what the fuck did she mean “helps pay the bills”?

“What? Wills, you don’t need to work to pay the fucking bills.” Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “Why would you need to work at all, let alone here
and
at this other place?”

“I’m not the rock star, Stone, you are, remember? Royalties only go so far, especially living in Toronto.” Shoulders squared and chin lifted proudly, defiantly, she holds my gaze as her words sink in. She knows what the hell I’m asking.

“Are you telling me that you are working two fucking jobs, with a baby at home, when you have access to millions of dollars?” I can feel my temper rising again. I never should have waited this long to come after her. Should have worked harder to find her. But if I’d have come before I was clean I’d never have a chance. Law wouldn’t have told me where she was until he was sure I wasn’t gonna fuck it all up the minute I walked out of rehab anyway.

“That’s not my money. That’s your money, and if you talked to your finance guys like you’re supposed to, you would know that I requested to be taken off of all the accounts a long time ago,” she informs me. “You spent the last few months that we were together reminding me that it was you doing all the work. Your name they were screaming in sold-out arenas, and that I was just along for the ride. Another groupie,” she spits.

Where in the fuck? “That’s not true. You know that’s not true,” I say horrified. “What the fuck would make you think that, Wills? That’s
our
money. I would neve—” I break off when I see her squinty eyed glare and almost bemused expression.

“You honestly don’t know? Can’t recall the hurtful words you used to sling at me?” Shaking her head, she looks at me with a solemn, defeated look. Then focuses on a spot just over my shoulder. “You were always able to wreck me with your words, Stone. Whether you were singing or just talking to me. Always. You opened your mouth and I was a goner. Hypnotized, mesmerized.” There’s a small, wistfully sad smile on her face. “Then for months I prayed for silence. I wished and hoped that you would pass out when you finally stumbled in so that I wouldn’t have to listen to that beautiful voice, the one I used to love so much, the one that spoke to my heart . . . break me.” Slowly she brings her eyes back to mine, the melancholy flowing through the golden pools as she fights the tears shimmering there. “Your words went from being my cure to being my curse.” Palms raised in surrender, “I’m not into your brand of voodoo anymore. Take care of yourself, Stone.”

I can say nothing, just stare at her in disbelief. What had I done to her? What had I done to us? The finality of her words like a dagger as she strides away, guitar case slung over her shoulder. For the second time in my life, I watch Willow walk away from me, only this time she takes more than just the heart I gave her so long ago. She takes my baby. And for the second time I recognize that it’s not how it should be, but that I may not be able to change our destiny because I spent too much time fucking it up.

I watch as she pulls away, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands and inhaling deeply. Not moving from my spot on the sidewalk until I can no longer see the red Jeep taking my life farther and farther away from me. Fuck me.

Willow

I REFUSE TO LOOK IN
my review mirror. I know he’s still standing there; I can feel him even as I speed away. As soon as I get a couple blocks away I turn down a residential street and park. Flushed from my scalp to my toes I feel like I’m suffocating. Rolling down the window to allow in some air, I can’t control the tears that fall down my face. Resting my forehead on the steering wheel, I focus on my breathing. In,
one . . . two . . . three,
out
one . . . two . . . three.
Just like in my Lamaze class. Over and over until I’m almost lightheaded with the task.

Why him? Why now? I knew he would find me eventually. He’s right—I hadn’t made it easy. I bought some time but it isn’t enough. Seeing Stone again is too much. Too much of everything. I feel scraped raw and left bleeding. Every barely healed fracture I spent the last sixteen months repairing, split wide open. Chasms of hurt and pain, sadness and longing. Ripped and torn, shredded. In only the way that Stone can leave me. Funny I always believed he’s also the only one who could fully heal me. God, just seeing him standing outside of the school like that brought back so many memories. A different time and place. A different girl.

When I walk out of the building where my last class is held, I’m listening intently to what Ann is saying to me. Her and her on again/off again boyfriend are on again and apparently making up for lost time. I can’t help but laugh at her antics as she throws her head back and starts flailing around like one of those dancing blow up things you see outside of dealerships. So lost am I in Ann’s story, I don’t notice him right away, but just as she’s about to burst into song, I come to an abrupt halt, my skin prickling, the butterflies in my stomach taking flight. Attention diverted, I scan the quad, searching for the source of my distraction. I know who I’m looking for and can’t help the smile that takes over my whole face—hell, my whole being—when my gaze falls on him. Stone. Stone Lockhart, rock star extraordinaire and love of my life. He stands there, bold as you please, leaning against the 1949 Chevy I watched him restore, tattooed arms crossed over a tight white t-shirt, winking at me in the bright Texas sunshine. Lollipop in his mouth and his brown hair catching the wind. He’s hotter than the Texas sun. Without a backward glance, I say goodbye to Ann and take off running for Stone. It’s been three months since I’ve seen him and that’s exactly three months too long. Launching myself at him, he catches me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist, his hands instantly filling themselves with my ass.

“You miss me, Birdie?” he teases in that barely there drawl I love so much. Removing the lolli from his mouth just in time for me to shut him up with my lips over his. Stone groans into my mouth, his fingers coasting over my back to tangle in my hair. He spins so that I’m up against the truck. I tilt my head and open wider, take him deeper, allowing his tongue to glide over mine. I missed him so much. The taste of him, the feel of him. It’s all too much and not enough.