Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set (99 page)

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.”

“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.”

His pauses for a moment and then says, “Music was the only thing that cut through the noise for me. That and my job. The Seattle PD gave my life meaning. Gave me direction … even as a kid. It gave me something to admire and aspire to. A goal to work toward. And once I reached that goal, it gave me a sense of belonging and a purpose.” He shrugs his shoulders again, shaking his head slightly. “I honestly don’t know where my life would be today without those two things.”

His words tug at my heart. Imagining him as a lonely, troubled, angry teenager – and then an equally lonely, troubled, angry young man – still reeling from his part in his father’s death and contemplating suicide … the whole thing is just so sad to me. “What’s the third thing?” I ask softly after a slight pause, looking at him with a puzzled frown.

“What?”

“Earlier, you said music was one of three things that saved your life. And you just implied the job is the second thing so, what’s the third?” I ask once again, and he blinks at my question and swallows hard. He won’t look over at me.

“You,” he whispers softly, deliberately focusing on the road, refusing to look at me, and I sense that he’s slightly embarrassed.
My God. How amazingly sweet is he!

I say nothing because I’m just so taken aback by his words, and I feel a warm and fuzzy glow spread throughout my entire body. I squeeze his fingers as my hand rests in his and he lightly tightens his grip reflexively. Then he brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles.

Our tender moment is short lived as Josh slows down and pulls into the long drive of our potential dream home, and I feel a small flutter of butterflies as I see the realtor, Mrs. Falk, step out of her car that’s parked beneath the portico. Josh pulls carefully into the circular drive and parks just outside the garage. I’m so excited as I climb out of the car, I almost can’t stand it.

We greet Mrs. Falk and Josh seems somewhat guarded and skeptical as we begin our tour of the house with the grounds. We walk around to the back of the house and we stroll hand in hand around the beautifully manicured yard, through the rose garden and down to the back of the property. I show him the greenhouse cottage and excitedly pull him inside.

“Isn’t it charming?” I squeal, spinning around in the bright, open space, and Josh beams at me.

“I can see why you’d earmark this spot for painting,” he says looking around. The place is only slightly larger than the studio in my old apartment and it gets so much light. And with the view of the garden on one side, and the view of the woods on the other … it’s perfect!

Glancing out the window of the cottage, I spot the old man I met yesterday walking in the woods and I gasp. Rushing over to take Josh by the hand, I pull him back out of the cottage and he laughs as he follows me into the woods.

“Mr. Mercer!” I call out after him wondering which direction he went in and I immediately hear the baying of his dog in response. And as I look off to my right I see him step out of the brush.

“Well, hello again young lady,” he says with a bright smile. He’s dressed much the same as he was yesterday in an old pair of worn coveralls and a denim jacket with an equally worn cowboy hat atop his gray head. “And I believe I told you … I’m just Joe. Mr. Mercer was my daddy.”

“Yes. Forgive me,” I smile at him. “I wanted you to meet my boyfriend, Detective Joshua Pierce.”