Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set

by Lashell Collins

  She is a screaming, sobbing, beautiful mess and I am on my feet in an instant, folding my arms around her and holding her tightly to me. She cries into my chest as I hold her, feeling like a self-absorbed ass. I’ve been making this whole money issue all about me and how uncomfortable it makes me feel. But I have never stopped to think about how that makes her feel at all.

  To her, the money is just another fact of her life, like her chestnut brown hair or her love of art. It just is. And me being uncomfortable with that aspect of her life is like me taking issue with her hair color or her interests. It’s a part of her. Another facet of who she is, and she wants to share that side of herself with me without the fear of it causing a problem between us.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper as I hold her, kissing the top of her head. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Sam. I just … I wanted you to think about my perspective and try to see where I’m coming from. Sometimes I don’t think you do that.”

  “You’re wrong, Josh,” she says softly, looking up at me with tears swimming in her beautiful eyes. “I think about your point of view all the time, I really do. I admit, that I screwed up today … I got so excited over the house and I jumped the gun. But I do try to think about your perspective and put myself in your place.”

  I tighten my arms around her and lightly kiss her forehead. “Sam…”

  “And you’re wrong about something else,” she continues tearfully. “Maybe I don’t need you to provide for me financially and to put a roof over my head or to keep food on my table or to buy me things. But you provide me with something much more important than money or financial security, Josh. You make me feel loved and cherished and protected and brave and sexy and confident. You make me strong. You make me happy. And no one can buy those things. But they are all things that I am in desperate need of, and you give them to me!”

  “Oh, Sam,” I whisper, wiping away her tears. I am taken aback by her words. I make her feel brave and confident? I make her happy? “Baby, you make me happy too.”

  “Then will you please move in with me?” she asks softly, her green eyes searching mine.

  I study her eyes for a long moment, getting lost as I look deeply into their vast green pools. This woman has turned my world completely upside down. But I know that I don’t want to be without her for a single second. I swallow anxiously and take a deep breath. “Yes, baby. I will move in with you on one condition.”

  “What’s the condition?” Her voice is small and she looks worried.

  “You have to promise me. From now on, Sam … you have got to talk to me. Every major decision. Anything that is going affect both of our lives, we make those decisions together!”

  She smiles broadly through her tears and nods at me. “I promise!”

  “Okay,” I say softly after a slight pause.

  She squeals and throws her arms around my neck, prompting me to tighten my arms around her waist, and I straighten up, making her feet dangle above the floor. “You are going to be the death of me, baby,” I sigh, holding her tightly, and she giggles. I kiss her temple and then set her feet back on the floor. Then I kiss her tenderly for a moment. “Feed me,” I say quietly, smiling at her. “I’m starving.”

  Chapter Ten

  Samantha

  I walk into the house and close and lock the door behind me before proceeding into the bedroom. Kicking off my black Jimmy Choo pumps as I unbutton my blouse, I take a deep breath and sigh. I am slightly exhausted, and I have no idea why. And then I roll my eyes at myself at that thought. Really, Samantha? No idea why? I’ve only been running around like a chicken with its head cut off all day long. First to work to give four back-to-back tours, and then off to meet Lola at the gallery to make some final decisions on the presentation of a few of the pieces. I can’t believe my show will be opening on Friday, just three days away! The thought terrifies me.

  I finish getting out of my work clothes and pull on a pair of comfy purple sweatpants and a tank top. I know that I should be thinking about dinner but, I just can’t right now. I really need a nap. As I lay down across the bed, wishing like crazy that Josh were here to snuggle up with, I start to worry about all the things that could go wrong on Friday. I’m really starting to freak out the closer it gets. What if no one appreciates my work? What if the show is a big fat flop and Lola’s gallery goes bankrupt as a result? My mother’s admonishments of all my time spent in pursuit of my artistic passions will finally be validated. Well, at least someone would get a happy ending. I roll my eyes at myself once more.

  Sleep soon overtakes me and I’m not sure how long I doze but, I am awakened by my buzzing phone. I stretch as I reach to the bedside table to answer it.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, baby. It’s me.”

  “Josh, where are you?”

  “I’m at work, of course,” he chuckles. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I was just napping, sorry,” I mumble.

  “Sleeping in the middle of the day. You feeling all right?” he asks, his voice full of concern.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired and anxious, you know … working and then dealing with Lola. Worrying about the show.”

  “Well, I understand being anxious, baby. But don’t worry yourself sick. Your paintings and sketches are amazing, Sam. The show’s going to be a big success.”

  “You are so good for my ego,” I smile.

  “I’m just calling it like I see it, baby,” he says, and I can hear his smile over the phone. “Listen, I’m calling to tell you not to cook dinner tonight. I hope you haven’t already started.”

  “No, I haven’t but, why not?”

  “Well, Simon just reminded me that we called a band rehearsal tonight. So I thought, if you wanted to, you could go with me.”

  “To band rehearsal?” I can hear the surprise in my voice. This sounds interesting!

  “If you want to. Then I thought maybe we could ride out to the house afterwards and you can show me around. Then we’ll just grab a burger or something on the way home.”

  “Really?” He has no idea how happy this suggestion makes me. I want Josh to love this house as much as I do. “I would love to show it to you! I’ll call the realtor right away and make sure she can let us in.”

  “All right. I’ll see you in a couple hours, Sunshine.”

  We hang up then and I lie back against the pillows once more and think about Josh. He was so sweet to me last night when we hashed it out about the house. I know that he was really angry when he came home, and I could tell as we talked that he was so frustrated with me. But he never raised his voice at me. Well … not until the end anyway, but he never let his anger get the best of him, and I could see how hard he was trying. He’s such an amazing man. So sweet. And always so mindful of his history and how his own mother was treated by his dad. I know that he tries really hard with me not to repeat that pattern of dysfunctional, abusive behavior, and it makes me want to try just as hard for him.

  He said last night that sometimes he didn’t think I took his perspective into consideration. I protested when he said it but, maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t always think about how he feels in a given situation. I’m sure if things were reversed and he was the one with the exorbitant trust fund and significant shares of a multi-billion dollar corporation, I would feel quite a bit overwhelmed with his wealth. Especially if my own upbringing had been less than affluent. I have to remember to keep that in mind going forward. I want a future with Josh. I want to be with him always and I want him to want to be with me too. Why would he want to do that if I didn’t make the effort to see things from his point of view?

  Before I forget, I call the realtor and give her an approximate time, telling her I’ll text her just before Josh and I leave our appointment. Then I stretch lazily for a moment and get out of bed. What shall I wear to band rehearsal? After wrestling with the closet for several minutes, I settle on a pair of skinny jeans and a simple emerald green tank top and green cardigan sweater. Then I dig
out my green Louboutin ankle boots and I’m all set. I lay my clothes across the bed and head into the bathroom to freshen up a bit before getting dressed, and by the time Josh gets home I’m all ready to go. I wait patiently while he changes out of his work clothes and puts on a pair of worn, faded blue jeans and an old Aerosmith concert t-shirt. Then he loads his guitar and amp into the Charger and we’re off.

  On the drive over to Butler’s house, we talk about each other’s day and he tells me about the new case he and Dave are working on. And he mentions that Dave and his wife want to have us over for dinner soon but, I ask if we can hold off until after the craziness of my show dies down, and he agrees.

  When we get to Butler’s house, we are met at the door by his wife, Carla, and she ushers us through their living room, into the kitchen, and down the stairs to the basement. The house, I note, is in Kent and it’s simple and modest. A lovely three bedroom home in a nice working class neighborhood – just like Josh described last night – and it brings to mind our conversation again. Could I live in a house this size with Josh? In a blue collar neighborhood this way? Of course I could, couldn’t I? I mean, the house Josh is in now is much smaller than this one and I’ve done just fine so far. Granted, we are sorely hurting for closet space and we practically trip over one another in the tiny bathroom. But we’re managing. I could live in a house like this if it’s what Josh really wants.

  As we enter the partially finished basement, I see there’s a small area set up toward the back of the space where the band is setting up. Off to the side, there is a small couch and a couple of chairs, where Simon’s girlfriend is sitting, along with an adorable little boy who can’t be much older than four or five. He has curly dark hair and warm brown eyes and he comes running over to Carla as soon as he sees her. Butler is obviously a daddy. I don’t know why this information surprises me. I suppose it’s just because I don’t have any friends with children.

  “What up, Guy?” Butler says as Josh walks over and begins setting up his amp.

  “Hey, Gary. Everybody,” Josh says, addressing the room, “you all remember Samantha.”

  I am met with a chorus of greetings and I blush slightly as I give the room a bashful wave of my hand.

  “Sit down, Sam,” Carla says, waving to the couch as she takes a seat in the chair, placing her little boy on her lap. “I’m sorry, is Sam okay?

  “Oh, sure. Sam’s fine,” I answer as I get comfortable on the couch. I sit quietly and take it all in as I watch the guys setting up their instruments and listen to them talk. They discuss a tentative agenda, planning to go over a song that they’ve apparently been working on for several weeks. And as I listen, I gather that they’ve been wanting to play the song at The Slammer for a while now but they can’t seem to get it right, and the problem is apparently the fact that Josh has been struggling with the difficult tempo changes and fancy finger work required at the end of the song. This intrigues me greatly since, so far, everything I’ve heard Josh play has been exceptional. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him mess up once. Or if I have, I didn’t realize it because he’s just so good.

  “All right,” Simon says, picking up an acoustic guitar and pointing his finger at Josh, “We’re taking ‘Anastasia’ from the top and we’re playing straight through, man. None of this starting and stopping shit like you been doing. We will never get it that way.”

  “Fuck you, Simon,” Josh says dismissively, and Simon smiles. “Just go,” Josh says, indicating for Simon to begin. And as he does, I’m surprised to see him playing. I thought Simon was just the lead singer, I didn’t know he also played an instrument.

  The song begins with a beautiful, almost Spanish sounding acoustic melody that Simon plays to perfection. It’s a soft, sweet interlude before the rest of the instruments burst in with a vengeance, and I immediately understand how Josh might have difficulty with this one. The lead guitar part is intricate and fast and beautiful, and as I watch, I can clearly see Josh concentrating on what he’s doing.

  Simon discards the acoustic guitar he used for the intro as soon as that part is over and takes the microphone, and his sweet smooth voice begins to belt out a song about a man running from the law and telling his girl that this may be their last goodbye. It’s a song I’ve never heard before and one that I would normally never gravitate to, but even with it’s driving guitar and aggressive attitude, it is simply beautiful and I find that I really like it.

  From the sound of it, Josh seems to breeze right through the solo in the middle of the song, but I watch his face closely and I know that he is fully focused on his task, obsessing over every note and finger placement. The last quarter of the song is all on him, featuring another solo that I can tell is the number’s showcase. And glancing around at the faces of the other band members as Josh plays, I can see that they are all pleasantly surprised that Josh has made it this far. Butler watches him with a shocked smile as he continues to keep the steady driving beat on the drums. He throws an amused glance at Simon, who is standing with his hands on his hips, watching Josh with an awestruck grin. And the bass and rhythm guitar players both seem equally impressed. As the song comes to an end, Cody, the rhythm guitarist, actually leads a round of applause and Josh looks surprised at first, but then just smiles and shakes his head.

  When the applause dies down, Simon surprises me yet again when he suddenly calls my name. “Samantha?” I look at him with wide, curious eyes but, say nothing. “Could you do me a favor, darling?” he says sweetly, smiling at me as Josh frowns at him. “Would you mind coming to rehearsal with Guy from now on? See, we have been practicing this song for weeks now and, not only is this is the first time he’s been able to get all the way through it, but he just played the shit out of it to boot. So, I’m guessing that he’s playing to impress you, sweetheart. ’Cause he sure as hell ain’t been worried about impressing us lately!”

  There are snickers and laughter from each of the guys at Simon’s comment, and Josh tries to hide his embarrassed amusement beneath a scowl and another “Fuck you, Simon!” They all clearly have a great deal of fun together and it’s enjoyable to watch.

  They practice another song then, an old remake by Van Halen that I actually recognize, and I think I am honestly developing a true appreciation for rock that I never had before I met Josh. Just like his appreciation for art is growing. The thought makes me smile.

  As the band does their thing, I strike up a conversation with Carla and Simon’s girlfriend, Lesley, and I find that I like them both a lot; they seem nice, and they have nothing but nice things to say about Josh. The guys rehearse a couple more songs and then finish up with “Anastasia” once more at the end. And even though Josh nails it a second time, they decide to give it one more rehearsal before debuting it at The Slammer.

  Josh gathers up his gear then and we say our goodbyes to everyone and we are on our way. I text the realtor as we get into the car and she responds quickly, letting me know that she’ll meet us at the house. I’m glad that we still have a little daylight left so I can show Josh the grounds of the house too. I think we’ll begin there.

  As we drive, I think back on the rehearsal we just left and the good-natured joking between Josh and his friends, and I wonder how long they’ve all been playing together. And that brings another thought to mind.

  “How long have you been playing?” I ask softly as we head to Redmond, and Josh glances over at me and smiles before turning back to the road

  “I got my first guitar, and a year’s worth of lessons, as a Christmas gift from my mom when I was twelve,” he says quietly. “But I didn’t start taking it seriously until a couple of years later. After the old man died … music became sort of a refuge for me.” He grows quiet for a moment and I get the feeling he’s reliving that bleak time in his life. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before he continues. “Other kids my age were always drinking or getting high. But I was always afraid doing that shit would turn me into him so … I rebelled in other ways.”r />
  “Through the music?” I ask softly.

  He nods slowly. “Through the music,” he answers, glancing over at me once more. “Most people think that rock and roll automatically means drugs and alcohol but … it doesn’t have to. Focusing on my grades and learning to play all my favorite songs off the radio – that was my life. But, of course, since I wasn’t out drinking and getting high, I didn’t exactly fit in with all the other badass rocker types at school so, I was sort of a loner.” I giggle slightly at that and Josh looks over at me with an amused frown. “What?”

  “I can’t imagine you as a sullen, lonely teenager,” I answer. “When I see you with your friends from the PD, you are so animated and confident and funny. And with my family, you’ve been nothing but charming. Everyone loves you. Your bandmates clearly think the world of you.”

  He’s silent for a moment as he seems to mull over my words. “Yeah well, I guess you could say music was one of three things that saved my life. Without music after the old man died … I very likely would have killed myself.”

  “Josh!” I am startled by his words. They halt me in my tracks and I can clearly hear the alarm in my own voice. He looks over at me with a serious expression and shrugs.

  “I’m just being honest, baby. Music gave me a much needed outlet back then. A way to vent and express all the confusing emotions I was feeling … all that rage and anger. It needed a positive outlet. Music became that for me, you know? My way of communicating what I was feeling at a time when I couldn’t talk about it.”

  “Maybe it still is,” I say softly, and it’s more of a question than a statement. Josh smiles and glances over at me. We both know that I’m referring to the playlist.

  “I suppose maybe it is,” he answers softly, taking my hand. He falls quiet for several minutes, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Then he says, “I was so mixed up back then, Sam. I didn’t have a whole lot in my life that was good. Mom tried. But after what happened … we couldn’t talk.” He hesitates, gathering his thoughts. “I couldn’t talk, not about that. Not about anything. The guilt was eating me alive, and I was just so angry all the time. Angry at myself for killing him. Angry at him for being a dirtbag and making me have to kill him. Angry at her for loving him.”