A Girl by Any Other Name (60 page)

“Hiya, Tex,” she greeted in a choked whisper.

I exhaled for what felt like an eternity. I’d been holding that breath in since I’d left her at the

coffee shop. Maybe even longer than that, like the night she left me.

“Get in here, girl,” I said, pulling her into my apartment. She dropped the apples, embracing me.

They thudded to the floor with hard thunks, but I wasn’t about to pick them up. I leaned her against a

wall and stared at her, allowing myself to look at the face I’d missed so much over these years. “I

knew it was you. Everyone told me I was crazy, but I knew if you weren’t on this earth, I would have

felt that.”

“I’m so sorry, Cal.” Hearing her say my name made it clear why Sophie Becker never used it.

The way she said it, drawing out the syllable slowly against those sumptuous lips, gave her away

immediately. All the anger instantly dissipated as I wrapped my arms around her. She let me, falling

into my body where she fit so nicely.

“I’m assuming you had your reasons. I want to hear all about that, but right now, I just need to

hold you. God, it’s so good to hold you, baby.”

She cried against me, and I suffered each whimper with her as it waved through her diminutive

frame. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, and breathed in her sweet scent. She placed her arms

around me and I couldn’t help myself. I slid my hands from her waist to her ass and lifted her. She

immediately crossed her legs over my hips, tightly locking those cowboy boots behind me. We

remained like that for several minutes, since it seemed neither of us had words for this reunion.

“Why are you crying, Sylvie? Isn’t this a good moment for you?”

“Yes, of course it is. I… I’ve been walking around the whole city with that stupid bag of apples

since we talked. I didn’t know what the right choice was.”

“Why was it a choice at all?”

“I’m going to tell you, but first can I try something?”

I lifted my head and stared into her tear-stained face. She smiled nervously.

I gave her a wide grin to put her at ease. “I wish you would.”

She moved her lips toward me, but I met her halfway. The gravity between us pulled our mouths

as if they were independent of the rest of us. We smashed into each other, desperate for the contact.

Her lips, soft and silky, chapped as I pressed my mouth against them. I slid my tongue across her lips

until she opened for me. I drew out her tongue and tasted her delicate sweetness. She moaned, sending

vibrations through my body. I had so many questions, but my physical longings prevented my mind

from forming any coherent thoughts. I wanted to take her against this wall right now. I wanted us to be

one.

“Cal, we have to stop,” she murmured, when I finally parted our lips to suck in some air.

“Why? You don’t want this? Because your body’s communicating a very different message,” I

whispered against her ear. I ran my tongue over it and sucked in her lobe. She shivered against me,

clutching me tighter. I knew she could feel my erection against her shorts. I only hoped I could hold

out long enough to make it satisfying for her. She did things to me that I had never experienced with

another girl. Dr Arnold had said that childhood memories were often misguided and inaccurate, but I

knew it wasn’t true. What I felt for Sylvie was no childhood crush. It was so much more.

“I want you, but—”

“We both need this. Hell, we deserve it. We can talk later,” I growled, planting kisses down her

neck.

“Damn it, Cal, I’m trying to tell you something.”

“What?” I demanded, not wanting to put her down.

“Something’s burning.”

“Fuck,” I groaned.

I didn’t release her. Instead, I carried her into the kitchen and set her on the counter next to the

stove.

“You didn’t have to carry me in here.”

“Do you think I’m ever going to let you out of my sight again?”

I almost removed the pan with my bare hands, but she had the wisdom to grab my arm before I

did. She held out the kitchen towel for me.

“I’m your Huckleberry,” she said.

I grinned so hard it hurt. “You sure are.”

I reached for the kitchen towel, removing the charred contents from the oven, setting it on top of

the stove.

“What was that?”

“Dinner.”

“Should I make us something?” she offered.

I turned off the oven and shifted over to her. I spread her legs and wedged my body into the

space between. “No, I’ll make us something, but let me just look at you for a minute.” I moved my

fingers through her hair. The soft, vanilla-scented strands felt like spun silk against my hand. “You’re

so beautiful, but then again, you always were.”

She looked down. “You’re the beautiful one. Mr six-foot, blond-haired, blue/gray-eyed

perfection. I can’t believe you’re a prof—sorry, a college instructor.”

I chuckled. “I’m six-two now, for your information.” The normalcy of our conversation instantly

put me at ease, like we were sixteen again. “I can’t believe you’re actually here with me in my house.

Even Momma and Mandy thought I’d gone nuts. I can’t wait to tell them.”

Her eyes got wide and she placed her hands on my shoulders, halting my gaze to stop its

lascivious descent across her heaving breasts. “You can’t tell them. We really need to talk, Tex.”

I swallowed, knowing she was right. There were so many questions and as much as I desired her

in this moment, I didn’t want any of them hindering what I was feeling physically or emotionally.

“Sandwiches okay?”

“Sure,” she replied, hopping off the counter.

She proceeded to the living room. I started making our meal, keeping a close eye on her through

the opening between the two rooms. She picked up the apples and set them on the dining room table,

piling them in the center.

“So, this is you?” she said, hooking her fingers through the loops on her shorts, taking in my

small apartment.

“Rent’s cheap,” I replied.

“This is exactly where I imagined you living.”

“Like I said, it’s a rental.”

“Yes, but you picked it. It’s old school like you.”

I laughed. “You think I’m old school? We’re the same age.”

“I think a better description is old soul. You have an old soul, Cal. I thought you’d live in a

place like this with architectural moldings, hard wood floors, crystal doorknobs and, of course, lots

and lots of bookshelves.” She gestured to the three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves I had made myself.

They’d had to be double stabilized because they were bursting with books.

“Yeah, I really need to get an e-reader.” I walked over to join her with the plates in my hand.

“I’m sorry, I should have offered to help.”

“Although I burned the chicken, I assure you my sandwich-making abilities are completely

intact.”

I gestured to the couch. I didn’t want the limitations of the dining room table to keep us

separated. She sat on one end, taking the plate from me. I sat on the other.

“Roast beef with spicy mustard. You still like that, right?” I asked her. It upset me that I had to

ask her. That I didn’t know the answer.

“It’s my favorite still. Thank you.”

“I’m your Huckleberry,” I responded, trying to smile. I realized I’d forgotten the drinks. “Milk or

juice?” I asked.

She looked hesitant. “Actually, I would really love some wine if you have any.”

I’m such an idiot.
We weren’t sixteen anymore. “I’m sorry. Guess I should have asked red or

white.”

“Either is fine. I usually drink milk or juice still, but I could use a glass of wine right now.”

I nodded, heading into the kitchen. I poured us both a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and brought

the bottle with me.

I handed her a glass and sat beside her. “I don’t know where to start,” she said, chewing her

bottom lip.

“How about the beginning? Also, if you want me to listen, you’ll stop playing with your lip in

that sexy way that makes me want to peel off those shorts.”

She swallowed her wine. All of it. Then she took my glass from my hand and did the same. I

refilled our glasses.

She put her hand out toward me in a gesture that signaled a handshake. I took her hand, slowly

shaking it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Caleb Tanner. My name is Gabrielle Deluca. That was my birth name.

Everyone called me Gabby.”

I stopped shaking her hand, but I didn’t relinquish it. Instead, I lowered it so I was just holding

it. “You will always be Sylvie to me, but please go on.”

She swallowed, taking a bite of her sandwich and chewing slowly. I tried not to let my

impatience show. “I’ve never told this story. I’m not supposed to, but if anyone deserves to know, it’s

you.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. I have so many questions, but I’ll hold off asking them. I don’t want

to interrogate you anymore,” I said, smiling wryly, hoping she’d take comfort from it.

“My father was in the Mafia.”

I almost choked on my drink. “What, like a wise guy? Like in
Goodfellas
or
Casino
?”

She laughed. “Hardly like that. He was an accountant. He cooked their books and laundered their

money. He’d never even used a gun. I know I told you I was from Boston, but I’m really from New

York.”

“How did a New York girl with a mobster accountant father end up in Podunk Prairie Marsh?”

She sipped some more wine, but she didn’t down the glass this time. “We were in witness

protection.”

I wasn’t totally surprised. It made sense and was actually one of the theories I’d come up with,

although the mobster image didn’t fit her father at all.

“They killed your mother, right? I just remember you referring to them as cancer.”

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything about that night, Sylvie.” I didn’t want to tell her it haunted all my

nightmares, or that the images were seared into my skull, like a tattoo.

“Yes, they killed my mother. My father worked for the Vincetti family. My mother forced him to

get out. He started collecting evidence and went to the Feds. They agreed to put us in witness

protection, but by then, someone in the family had found out and shown up our house. My father

wasn’t home. My mother hid me in the fake drop floor. I could see through a vent into the living room.

Edward Vincetti kept asking her where my father was, but she refused to tell him. He shot her,

execution style. I stood there like a statue as they killed my mother. They ran off right before the Feds

showed up.”

“I’m so sorry, Sylvie. I wish I had known.”

“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone the truth. The cancer was a lie concocted by the US Marshals

who protected us. They trained me on what I was allowed to say.” She turned to me, new tears

forming at the corner of her eyes. I wiped them before they could fall. “I’ve told you so many lies, but

I wasn’t lying about how I felt for you. Never once. You believe that, right?”

I nodded. “I always knew there were things you were hiding from me, even as a kid, but

somehow I felt it was better not to ask you or you’d run away from me.”

“That was very astute of you, but you always seemed very intuitive.”

“The only intuition I have ever had was when it came to you. I always felt like we were

connected.”

“Me too.” I placed my hand on her knee, rubbing it. She looked down at it. “I need to get through

this, and it would be easier for me if you didn’t touch me right now.”

I lifted my hand. “I understand. I’m sorry I interrupted. I know this is hard for you.”

“Anyway, my father and I were relocated to Prairie Marsh. I wish you could have known him,

Cal.”

“I did know him.”

“No, I mean the way he was. Before my mother died. He was a good dad and husband.”

My jaw clenched. “And a criminal. He put you in danger. I know how he was with you, Sylvie,

and that’s all I need to know. I’m sorry you lost him that night, but you know I’ve never approved of

the way he treated you.”

“You have to understand it from his perspective. When he first started, he didn’t even know he

was working for the Mob. He thought they were all legit organizations until Edward Vincetti wanted

him to start doing some illegal things. In fact, my mother and I never knew…until much later. He

never once laid a hand on me, Cal.”

“Neglect is a form of abuse, Sylvie, but I won’t talk ill of the deceased anymore, especially not

someone you loved.”

“I think he always blamed himself for what happened to my mother. He thought I was at fault

too.”

“Why in the hell would he blame you?” I demanded. She winced in response and I immediately

felt guilty. I tucked a strand of her hair around her ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

She twisted a piece of hair between her fingers. “’Kay. I’m getting to that part. I think you know

the rest of what happened to lead up to that night, though.”

“They found you.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t like a normal hit. At least, I don’t think so. They usually send people to do

that—professionals, so they don’t get their hands dirty. They didn’t. It was Edward Vincetti’s son,