Pierce My Heart (Women of Willowbrook Book 1) (3 page)

In between the couches I put a low wicker, rectangular box that I hot glued a sheet of glass onto. Unfortunately, I had to redo it more than once after opening the box with a little too much force. Since one little box hadn’t been enough for five people, and I’d gotten tired of worrying about beer stains when everyone was over, I went in search and found an old, low round coffee table at the local antique store,
Out of Time
, that my girl, Evan, ran with her mom, Tiffany.

The table was dark brown, wide as heck on top and tapered down to a wide, but smaller, round base. It was distressed and looked like I’d made it that way. So, other than stocking up on some tan, burnt red, and navy coasters to protect it from drinks, and holding my laptop from time to time, I left that baby alone and enjoyed my find.

Thanks to Evan’s awesome taste (and her even more awesome discount), most of my funky pieces have come from
Out of Time
. In fact, the vase I keep on the windowsill in the kitchen was her house warming gift. Another vase, as well as the cute frames I have around were my gifts to myself from there.

One frame spells out ‘Family’ in a tarnished looking bronze that I’d hung on my living room wall with pictures of my immediate family, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents; another frame—that one black iron and has what looks like growing vines shooting out from the main frame that holds smaller sized frames—hangs on the same wall and showcases pictures of me with everyone I love.

Both mesh insanely well with the muted, grayish blue color of my walls.

And smack dab in the middle of those two frames is the one actual painting I own of a big willow tree, gnarled branches shooting every which way.

The background is the calm before the raging storm, but there’s a single lightning bolt slicing into the middle of the tree; the whole thing done in black and white. You can see the beginning of the split in the tree, but it looks like the lightning is fusing it together instead of tearing it apart.

It’s
the shit
and I paid that for it, but it was worth every cent.

Each time I take a moment to look at it, it gives me something new.

Sadness.

Hope.

Anger.

Peace.

A myriad of emotions can be pulled out of you after just one look, which is the main reason it’s the shit.

After perusing my living space, and mentally reminding myself to plug my laptop into the charger on the breakfast bar, I put all my cold groceries away before dumping a little food out of each carton into a bowl, grabbing a Diet Pepsi, some chopsticks, and wading over to the loveseat to eat and watch some TV.

*              *              *

A couple hours (and three
Once Upon a Time
episodes) later, I take my bowl and cans to the kitchen to wash and trash, tsk’ing myself for not putting the rest of the groceries away but not really caring too much, while thinking that Captain James Hook and his accent are seriously hot.

Men in eyeliner are not my thing, but he works it.

Catching sight of the time from the microwave, I know it’s time to start on the frosting for the cupcakes so it can have time to chill and get thicker before I make my pretty, swirly patterns all over them.

And by the time I finish the cupcakes and the cleanup, it’s well past midnight.

I let out a huge, eye watering yawn and start to turn the lights off before heading down the hall and into my room.

When I walk in and flick the lights on, I can’t help the smile that spreads over my face as I take in my closet—that Dad took the doors off of so I could hang some shimmery cream and gold veined curtains up instead.

My kitchen is classy but cool and my living room is awesome, but my bedroom is the pièce de résistance.

It had taken me lots of time to decorate it the way I wanted. Picking each piece specifically, saving up if I had to—and I had to.

Dad and Mom had the brilliant (when I say brilliant I mean freaking genius) idea to make bed frames for everyone exactly how we wanted them instead of going out and spending an arm and a leg. There was lots of arguing, plenty of threats with hammers, and a few times someone was chased with a saw, but we all came out unscathed.

Mostly.

Mine’s wide, big enough for a king to fit tight but plenty of room for the queen I own. It’s got these two posts that shoot up from the frame and a cushioned back in a bronzy, brownish leather that matches the dark brown stain to a ‘T’. The natural color of the wood had come through in hints, leaving the end result a dark espresso color with the golden brown showing off the wood’s natural pattern—it works in a way that meshes insanely well with the fabric. The posts that shoot up go beyond the actual fabric back giving it an almost ‘imperial’ look.

Which I also love.

The lush, faded and distressed looking, wine colored sheets I’d bought cost more than the wood to make the frame. Fortunately, I found a cute quilt that had swirls of brown, shining gold, and maroon all over it since I wasn’t big on comforters.

They’re heavy and hot and I always kick the suckers off me in the middle of the night.

Unfortunately, the quilt didn’t do the best job of keeping me warm in the winters so Mom decided to crochet a long, cream blanket that had little flecks of sparkling gold shining through and breaking up the neutral tones, for me.   

It’s soft, warm, and beyond sweet.

And, if I hadn’t been worried about freezing my ‘girls’ off in the winter, I would’ve probably kept it in a hope chest for my future kids.

I told her exactly that, and her response?

“Anna, don’t be silly. You
can’t
freeze your ta-ta’s off. That’s impossible.”

I didn’t know what was more shocking.

Her thinking I was serious about
literally
freezing them off, or her use of the word ‘ta-ta’s’.

She must’ve mistaken my silence for something else, especially since she couldn’t see the strange look on my face. “Don’t worry, my girl, I’ll make your girls each their own one day.”

She’d looked at me that time and smiled bright.

I tried not to cry.

My bed sits center against the wall to the right of the door, my smaller thirty-six-inch flat screen, that I’d bought on a Black Friday special years ago for college, sits on a tall dresser (because, come on, one closet was
not
enough space) opposite the bed. Situated on both sides of the dresser are tall, slim book-cases filled with paperbacks from my favorite authors and an assortment of knickknacks, candles (because I’m obsessed with them), and more pictures of the people in my life.

Almost everything in here was also from
Out of Time
.

Talk about some serious convenience.

A ceiling fan that shines so much light (not to mention radiated so much heat that I only stocked two of the four lights with bulbs) is my main source of light, leaving my end tables on either side of my bed free for my kindle, phone, laptop, and all the other shit I drop there on occasion.

The whole room, the whole
house
, is all
me
and I absolutely
adore
it.

Shaking off my admiration at my decorating skills, I move towards the laundry basket I’ve squeezed on the side of my short dresser next to the door, kicking my strappy black and cork wedges towards my closet as I go. I pull off my frayed black shorts and my soft pink-with-black-stitching V-neck sweater, dropping them both in the basket before finally yanking my bra off and tossing it on the dresser, barely managing to hold in a shout of Hallelujah.

Bras can do wonders, but some of them are like medieval torture devices.

Snatching up my black tank top with the cute matching gray and black plaid pants from where I’d thrown them this morning, I slip them on before taking off all my jewelry; making sure I
at least
sit all the pieces next to the jewelry box Great Grandma Pierce left me.

I have the bad habit of leaving my jewelry wherever I take it off and it makes getting places on time a bitch when you have to go treasure hunting every day for your rings.

Grabbing a hair tie from my bookshelf, I yank my hair up in a knot and head for the bathroom to do my nightly routine of washing my makeup off, scrubbing the top layer of my skin off with my acne scrub before slathering the remaining layer with moisturizer and brushing my teeth.

I do my business and head back to my room, shutting the lights off as I go. Slipping under my soft sheets, I snag my remote off the nightstand to slip a movie from my DVR on for bed.

Two hundred recordings and still nothing to watch.

I give up really trying and turn on
The Proposal
.

There’s no going wrong with Sandra Bullock, Ryan Reynolds, and Betty White.

Snuggling in, I feel myself relax as I watch the hilarious and romantic antics before fading off to sleep.

Words of Love

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

I force my left eye open and try to blink the sleep out of it. When I don’t succeed and my phone decides to repeat itself, I choose to glare at it instead.

Bob Seger is awesome anytime, anywhere, anyplace,
except
when rudely interrupting your dreams. Good dreams starring Hugh Jackman (Wolverine version).

I let out a huff of air before untangling my left arm and reaching for the phone, lifting myself up with the other. Squinting at the screen, I notice Robby’s name and picture, one he isn’t fond of but I
love
.

He’d been dressed as a clown to surprise the kids at Maddy’s daycare, face paint and all, when it had started to rain. He hadn’t been outside more than a few minutes but that hadn’t stopped the makeup and paint from running down his face. I’d stopped by to watch the show and lucked out by having my phone handy when Maddy grabbed the door.

I’d fallen off the armrest of the chair I was on from laughing so hard and the kids ran screaming for their lives.

I stab the green button, imagining it’s his eye and answer, “What?”, annoyance and sleep fighting for victory in my voice.

Dead air.

“Robby?”

Nothing.

I let out a sigh. “Robby, come on.”

Still, nothing.

“Robert Johnathan Pierce, I swear to all that is Holy if you butt dialed me and woke me up I’m putting those pictures of you in a tutu all over Facebook,” I threaten, annoyance clearly winning out.

He’d gotten drunk one-night last year and thought it’d be a good idea to put on a tutu one of Maddy’s daycare kids left behind. I’d had to run to the bathroom during his rendition of Swan Lake, otherwise I would’ve made my own lake in my pants.

Finally, there’s a response. Unfortunately, it’s laughter.

I drop my face to the pillow and wait for him to finish.

“Jesus, Anna, what crawled up your ass this morning?” he asks, chuckling.

Lifting my head onto my hand, I roll my eyes to the ceiling.

Seeing a pattern when it comes to my family?

“This is two days now I’ve been woken up with phone calls. Yesterday was Mom and now you. I’d just like to actually sleep in till my alarm,” I explain. Taking a deep breath, I try not to take my lack of sleep out on him. Though, it
is
his fault I’m not still sleeping. “What’s up, Robby? Why’re you calling this early?”

“Well a little birdy told me that Nate was getting his favorite cupcakes made for him. I said to myself, self, there’s no way my favorite sister in the whole world would make Nate of all people something and not her big, strapping, strong—”

Another eye roll.

“Get to the point Robby,” I say through exasperation and laughter.

“Can you make those brownies? You know, the ones with that hard shit and caramel on top,” he asks, referring to my turtle brownies.

I’d seen a recipe awhile back on one of the cooking shows I liked and tried them out.

To say everyone liked them was an understatement.

After making it a few times, I’d decided to alter it and make it my own. I kept the brownies the same with all the yummy caramel and toffee mixed in with the batter so you didn’t get just the taste of brownie. But, instead of just throwing crushed nuts on top I went with chocolate icing, then I took some toffee and crushed it with a rolling pin (so it was easier to sprinkle on), and finished it by dropping melted caramel over the whole thing and swirling it around.

They were an addiction in food form and I didn’t make them unless I knew the boys, or Evan, was around. I had enough to heft around. A whole pan of those babies would do some serious damage.

Lucky for him, I have everything except the toffee so they’d be simple to put together.

But, he doesn’t have to know that.

“Now why, my dear brother, do you think I should slave over a hot oven making you sweets? You’re not leaving home and missing out on all the goodness while you’re away, our baby brother is.”

A sound of disbelief comes from him.

“Come on, Anna. You know Nate’s got those bat babes lined up around the bases begging to make him all sorts of shit.”

I definitely can’t argue with that.

Both my brothers took after Dad in looks. While Robby got Mom’s golden hair and slim figure (slim in the sense he wasn’t hulking out of his clothes) and Nate got her eyes, both of them had Dad’s height, strong jaw, and masculine brow.

Even though Dad carried around some weight from partaking in copious amounts of beer, chips, and fried foods, he didn’t get the nickname ‘Big Bubba’ for nothing. He looked good at his age of sixty-one and my brothers were following in his path of aging beauty.

Therefore, I know Nate has girls after him. With his looks, the manners Mom brought him up with, and his overall confidence on and off the field, he’s a catch.

When I don’t respond, Robby carries on.

“Besides, you weren’t nearly as good at that shit when I was in school as you are now. It’s only fair I get a piece of the action. Come on, Anna, don’t make a grown man beg.”

“What do you call this?” I quip back.

“Anna,” is all he says, but, then again, it says it all.

I give in, not that I wasn’t going to anyways and he knows it.

So, I haggle.

“Okay, okay, I’ll make the brownies. But, you have to get the wine. One of the Moscatos, either a white or pink, for the desserts. Deal?” I ask.

“You got it. I’ll see you later tonight." I hear some mumbling on his end before he continues. "Maddy says hi, by the way, and that she’ll give you a call later. I'll pick up the wine before we head over tonight. Love ya.”

I smile.

Even if my brothers are a pain—well, there’s no ‘if’ about it—our parents taught us to never end a conversation without showing our love.

They said life could be crazy; something full of beauty or something full of tragedy could be right around the corner, but this way, no matter what, our last words would always be words of love.

“Say hey back and to give me a shout whenever. Love you, honey. And give Maddy my love too,” I reply.

“Later, girl.”

“Later, Robby.”

I hit the red end icon, look at the time, and slide my phone back onto my end table. It takes no time to make the brownies and I have no other plans for the day, so I decide to try to get in another couple hours of sleep.

Fully rested is always the best way to handle my family.

With this thought I snuggle back in, snatching a pillow from the other side of the bed to curl around, and close my eyes.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before I hear it.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

I want to ignore it, but George Thorogoods’ voice hit my ears.

“Son of a bitch,” I snap at my phone, already mentally plotting the murder.

Grabbing my phone, not even bothering to check the name or picture since that song was set to that person
by
that person.

I hit green and continue snapping, “Jesus, Evan, what?”

“Whoa, bitch, who ate your cinnamon roll this morning? Or, should I say didn’t?” she snorts, laughing loudly at her own joke.

I close my eyes and count to ten before simply saying, “Evan.”

“Seriously, babe, that’ll start your day off right.
Every time
,” she needlessly explains, still laughing. “Anyway, what’re we doing today?”

I blink.

“We?”

“Mom’s decided to close the shop early today so her and Dad can work the books. As if I don’t know what she means when she says
that
,” she mutters.
“And I’m not digging staying home so I’m gonna tag along with you.”

That’s when I hear a car door shut, an engine turn over and the call get that background noise you get when you’re on Bluetooth in the car.

“Are you already on your way?”

Some honking.

“Move, asshole! Yup. Get your ass out of bed and in the shower. Don’t worry about me, I’ll just use my key. See ya soon, babe. Love ya!”

One more honk and then the line goes dead.

I stare at my phone a beat and sigh, realizing my idea for sleep is out the window.

Dropping my phone on the end table, I fling the covers off and head across the hall to the bathroom to get my ass in the shower.

About forty-five minutes later I get out, snag a big, fluffy, burnt orange towel to wrap myself in, another less fluffy beige one to wrap my hair in, and head out the door.

When I step into the hallway and don’t see or hear anything, I figure Evan got a little sidetracked, which isn’t unheard of.

Walking into my room, I stop dead and start staring.

I’m not a neat freak by any means. I mean, I may not always throw my clothes in the hamper, but when I dumped them on the floor it was usually in a pile and it’d only be a couple days before I picked them up, but right now my room looks like a bomb went off.

I look from my bed covered in clothes, to my tall dresser with drawers open and clothes hanging out, to my closet where I find my best friend rummaging.

Evangeline Elizabeth Grant.

Evan takes after both of her parents in the looks department. While she got her mom’s eyes, slim body and delicate features (on the curvier side of thin with a small upturned nose, bow shaped lips, and fine eyebrows), she got her father’s dark hair and tan skin.

She loves red lipstick and any dessert she can get her hands on, and it’s always been that way.

I’ve known her all my life.

Both our fathers had been born and then raised in Willowbrook. They went to school together, played ball together, and were the best man in each other’s weddings. Naturally, they brought their wives together who formed a quick and deep kinship. And when they found out they were both expecting (Mom for the second time) girls, the dreams of a repeat came true.

Evan and I ended up weeks apart, her ahead of me, and she took the position as oldest
very
seriously. All through high school while I struggled with my confidence from being overweight, wearing braces, having acne, and just generally being shy, Evan was my shield.

The amount of sass she holds in her slim, 5’4 frame is
insane
. She’s never held back and she never will.

Having a best friend in high school so beautiful whose biggest flaw was her abundant ass (thanks to her love of desserts) was not easy on my self-esteem. Evan, being the amazing girl she was, never failed to tell me I was beautiful inside and out, proving that while she had the looks, she was nowhere near selfish, uncaring, or mean.

Unless she was threatening me bodily harm, mouth full, for baking and bringing her sweets, even when
she
was the one who helped herself.

I quickly grew out of my envious phase and became grateful to have lucked out and earned a best friend as awesome as Evan.

College had been the first time in our lives we weren’t together. I’d gotten a partial academic and athletic scholarship to New Falls College in its namesake three hours away, while Evan hung back and went to Willowbrook CC to take some business classes.

She’d already known she’d be working at, and then eventually running
Out of Time
with her mom.

I’d been at a total loss.

And when my situation had reached its breaking point, Evan was the person I called.

I remembered the pain, the lack of sight in my left eye, and the scrambling to find my phone while trying to keep my good eye on the road. I decided to give up and pull over before I crashed. Finding my phone on the floorboard of the passenger seat, I unlocked it and tried to think.

Everything was rattling around and spinning; I couldn’t get my thoughts in order and my fingers hit buttons without my even realizing.

That was when I heard Evan’s voice calling my name.

“Evie,” I whispered, shaking, tears clogging my throat

“Anna, where are you? I’m getting in my car now and I’ll be there soon, just tell me where,” she demanded, her voice serious, and it would be.

In all our years, the only time I’d ever called her Evie was in high school when things got bad for me.

I didn’t fit in, I was made fun of, and I was alone when it happened; my shield gone.

Evan had dropped everything and demanded her parents drive them back from visiting her grandparents an hour away and straight to me.

“Evie, I—”

“Anna, honey, please tell me where you are,” she begged softly.

I took a shaky breath. “S-side of the road, I
—
I left Xavier. I
—
he
—
” A sob broke through.