Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set (51 page)

Samantha nods slowly and I can tell she’s all types of nervous now. I reach out and take her hand, giving it a small squeeze, and she smiles shyly at me and glances around the table.

“Wow,” Pam says softly, looking around to see if anyone else is as taken aback as she is.

Aunt Celeste has a spoonful of food stopped in midair as she watches us, and my Uncle Paul waits patiently for the mouthful.

“So your father was Richard Colby, right?” Paul asks, continuing his stunned investigation. “The other one … the blonde that’s in the tabloids a lot … she’s Kenneth Colby’s daughter?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Sam answers quietly.

“So you’re Lucas Colby’s sister,” Paul says in astonishment, and Sam nods slowly, saying nothing.

Okay, this has gone far enough. “I told Samantha she had no reason to feel nervous coming to dinner with me today,” I say with an attitude as I look each one of them in the eye. “You’re all making me a liar.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” Aunt Celeste speaks first. “Of course, we’re behaving badly; please forgive us, Samantha!”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Josh.” Paul Jr. says, still clearly flustered. “Samantha, I’m … just really surprised. But I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that; it was very rude of me.”

“It’s okay,” Sam says with a sigh. I look over at Mom, imploring her to do something to make them stop.

“Uh, so, Samantha … you said that you work at a museum?” Mom says, trying to steer the conversation away from Sam’s family.

“Yes,” Sam says, brightening. “The Pryor Art Museum.”

“So you like art?” Mom asks, smiling at her.

“I love art!”

“Samantha’s actually a very talented artist, Mom,” I say a bit proudly as I gaze at her and she bites her lower lip and blushes slightly.

“Really? What sort of art are you into?” Mom asks.

“Um, I draw mostly,” Sam answers shyly. “But I also paint a little.”

“Oh, I would love to see some of your work sometime,” Mom says and I smile at their exchange.

“Oh … I’m not that good really,” Samantha shrugs nervously.

“Yes, she is that good,” I speak up definitively. “She just refuses to see it for some reason.” Sam is eyeing me as if she can’t believe what I’ve just said. And when I meet her startled stare with an amused gaze of my own, she blushes and looks away bashfully. I can’t help but smile at her. She’s so adorable.

The rest of our dinner passes uneventfully with lively conversation and laughter, and I think Samantha and I both relax and enjoy ourselves. After our meal, Sam pitches in as we all help clear the table. As I place a small stack of dishes on the counter next to the sink, I notice that she and Mom seem to have hit some kind of stride, chatting away like old girlfriends as they head out of the kitchen together. I’m not sure whether to feel happy or uneasy that they’re getting along so well.

Following them out into the living room, I watch in disbelief as my mom pulls out the old photo album and they sit together on the couch and begin pouring over it while I stand by the fireplace in dismay, a definite unease settling over me.
This cannot be good.

“Oh, my God, how cute is that picture?” Sam squeals. She looks up at me and smiles and then looks back down at the photo book. “What a beautiful baby,” she says softly.

“He always was a beautiful little boy,” Mom confirms, and I roll my eyes.

“I cannot believe you dragged out that photo album,” I growl at her, shaking my head.

“Well honey, you’ve never given me the pleasure of embarrassing you in front of a girl before,” she smiles. “I have to take advantage of it!”

I say nothing in response but shake my head again as I smirk at them. The rest of the family trickles into the living room then and scatters about, watching the game on TV or joining in on the Josh Pierce Humiliation by laughing at the old pictures.

They turn the page and I suddenly see Mom’s expression change. When I glance down at the photo album from my vantage point, I can easily see why. There are pictures of the old man. An old family photo taken when I was about two years old. There are other shots of him on the page as well. One of the two of them together, one of him holding me, another of him at about five or six years old placed next to a photo of me at the same age. They look like pictures of the same little boy.

“Wow, is that your dad, Josh?” Samantha asks innocently. “He was so handsome. You really do look just like him!”

I suddenly feel slightly sick and I can taste the bile rising in my throat. Mom quickly turns the page and there is another picture. I’m sitting on a stool in the kitchen, I must have been eight years old at the time and Mom is standing beside me. She’s clearly about six months pregnant in the picture.

“I … I didn’t know you had another child,” Samantha says hesitantly and Mom flushes nervously. Shit
.
I can already see where this is going.

“No, I uh … I lost that baby,” Mom says, offering a small smile as she attempts to regain her composure.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Samantha says apologetically, watching the sorrow in Mom’s eyes.

Mom puts on a brave face. “Those things just happen sometimes,” she says softly, trying to turn the page and move on. I know why she’s in a hurry to move past that picture and I know that she’s hoping Celeste will keep quiet since Sam’s here but, I glance over at my aunt and I can see it coming. Fuck!

“Miscarriages just happen, Liv,” Celeste says snidely. “Having a baby beaten out of you does not!”

“Celeste! That’s enough.” My mom’s sharp look at her sister is as stern as her tone and, for once, Celeste lets it drop. The awkward silence in the room is oppressive and I see Samantha’s shocked expression as her questioning eyes dart from my mom to Celeste and finally, over to me.
Fuck!

I can’t take the thickness of the air in the room anymore and I turn and head to the kitchen and out the back door, stepping outside into the backyard. Once there, I take a couple of deep, uneasy breaths, trying to hold on to my equilibrium and let the anger roll off my back. It’s not working.

I’m not sure how long I stand here, but I look out at the lawn, seeing images of Danny Pierce and trying not to throw up when I suddenly feel a hand lightly touching my back. Turning, I see Samantha standing behind me. She says nothing as she steps around to face me, a soft green glint in her concerned eyes. She tugs lightly on my white dress shirt at the stomach and looks up at me, smiling softly.

“Are you okay?” she asks me quietly.

“Yeah. I just needed some air.” What are the odds that she will let the matter drop without asking any questions? My guess is that there’s zero chance of that happening.

“Why didn’t you tell me that your mom had lost a baby when I asked if you were an only child?” she asks me softly, and I shrug my shoulders.

“It’s not something I think about,” I tell her, feeling a little dishonest. “I mean it’s not … something I like to think about.”

She is silent for a moment and then sighs heavily. “Look, Josh … I know that you don’t like to talk about your dad. And I promised you that I wouldn’t pester you about it. But I feel like I just stepped into a viper’s nest in there with your family, and I have no idea why.”

She’s looking at me imploringly, as if she’s trying to will me to say something and I know that she deserves some sort of explanation about what just happened in there. And as I realize that, I can feel the panic begin to set in. I frown as I nervously run a hand through my hair. I think she can see my distress and she keeps talking. Doing that nervous chatter thing that she does sometimes.

“At the bar last night, your friend … Lee … he hinted that your dad was abusive.”

“What?” My voice sounds harsher than I mean for it to but, I can’t help it. “He told you my old man was abusive?”

“No, he didn’t use those words,” she says, looking at me anxiously. “He said that your dad made life hell for you and your mom. He called him a miserable son of a bitch … ‘meaner than a snake’ I think were his exact words.”

“And how did that conversation happen, Samantha?” My slightly raised voice sounds very accusatory. “Lee doesn’t like to talk about Danny Pierce any more than I do. Did you ask him about my old man?”

“No, of course not! I would never do that.” She looks a little hurt that I’ve asked, and I feel like a dick, but I can’t stop.

“Oh, so he just offered this personal information up to you, for no reason at all?” I ask sarcastically, and I can see her spirits sinking.

“No, I … ,” Her voice trails off and she looks guilty. When she speaks again, her voice is small and timid. “I told Lee that you speak very fondly about him. That you said he was like a father-figure to you since you were never close to your own dad. That’s all I said. And he just started talking.”

I say nothing as I just watch her, trying to get a handle on my warring emotions.

“I wasn’t pumping him for information, Josh,” she says softly. “Please don’t be angry with him.”

I run a hand through my hair again. “I’m not angry with him, Samantha,” I say gruffly. “Or with you.” I take a deep breath then and turn, walking over to the long picnic table that sits to the side of the patio, and take a seat on the end of the table. Sam follows me over and stands in front of me, between my legs. With me sitting on the table, we are eye to eye. “I just didn’t want you to know any of this,” I tell her honestly. “Not yet.”

“You keep saying that, but I don’t understand why.” She’s looking at me earnestly, her hands resting lightly on my thighs. “I know you seem to think that once I know about your dad I’ll run screaming for the hills but, that’s not going to happen. In case you haven’t noticed, Josh…,”

Her voice trails off and she looks as though she’s searching for the right words. Or maybe like she’s afraid of saying too much. Finally, she takes a deep breath and continues.

“I’m sort of crazy about you,” she says softly, her green eyes boring into mine. And my heart starts to pound at her words. Did she really just say that?

“You’re crazy about me?” My voice is small and disbelieving. Sam says nothing but nods her head as she chews on her bottom lip. My breathing shallows as I try to wrap my head around it. Crazy about me. I can say those words, can’t I? Those words would tell her how I feel. Let her know that she doesn’t have to be unsure of me. Reaching up, I caress her face and look into her eyes as I swallow anxiously. “Samantha … I am crazy about you too,” I whisper.

She smiles shyly at me. “You are?”

“Yes. I am. That’s why I didn’t want you to know any of this yet.”

“But, Josh, don’t you see? You have been so afraid that I would find out the awful truth … whatever it is. And you’re plagued with worry over it. But if you would just tell me about your dad, then you won’t have to worry about it anymore and we won’t have this big secret hanging over our heads. Please … don’t let whatever it is come between us before we’ve even had a chance.”

I frown at her words. She’s right. I know that she’s right but … I also know that I can’t tell her everything. She says that she’s not going to run for the hills, and I believe that she thinks she means it. But she doesn’t have all the information. If she did, she wouldn’t be standing here right now. She’d be long gone. I know she would. There is no doubt in my mind.
You can’t let that happen, Pierce. You don’t want to lose Samantha. You need her, remember?

No. I don’t want to lose her. I don’t know why but, I need this woman. I know that’s true. I’m not sure exactly when it happened, or how but … I know without a doubt that it’s true. Samantha took away my nightmares and somehow, she keeps my anger in check; it can’t exist where her light shines. She takes away the madness and the rage and replaces it with sweetness and laughter. Things I haven’t had nearly enough of in my life. And with that realization, I know that I have to talk to her. To tell her at least part of the truth in order to keep her by my side for a while longer. I have no choice.

Taking a deep, unsteady breath, I lower my head and look down at the ground. “Samantha … ,” I pause, looking for the right words. How do you explain the most horrific of nightmares? I look up into her eyes and she is looking at me with such concern and emotion. The compassion in her eyes is too much for me to take, and I have to look away before I start again.

“Samantha … Danny Pierce was not just abusive.” My voice is low and unsteady. Barely above a whisper. I feel my hands clench around the edge of the picnic table as I talk, and I still can’t look at her. “He was sadistic and cruel. He enjoyed the pain that he inflicted on my mother and me.”

When I venture a glance up at her, Sam is watching me closely, and I know that she’s hanging on every word. She says nothing, and waits for me to continue. So I do.

“My earliest memory is of watching that bastard beat the shit out of her.” My stomach lurches as I recall the memory. “I must have been about three years old … maybe four. And I can remember sitting in the … the playpen? Is that what you call those things?” I look at her questioningly and she nods silently. “I can remember his yelling … and her screams. And I remember clutching a blue, stuffed bunny to my chest and seeing the terrified expression on her face.”

“Oh, Josh,” Sam whispers.

“But what I remember most about that day is the look of gratification in his eyes as he was hitting her. He enjoyed it. He smiled! You want to know how my mom lost that second baby, Sam?” She is looking at me with wide, worried eyes but, she remains silent. “He got so pissed at her one night because she fixed spaghetti and meatballs for dinner instead of the meatloaf that he wanted. So he proceeded to beat the fuck out of her, knocking her to the kitchen floor and kicking her in the stomach over and over again. He stomped on her stomach! And he laughed as he dumped the plate of pasta in her face. He never just hit her, Sam … he took great pleasure in humiliating her. And that night, he beat her so badly that she went into early labor and the baby was stillborn!” My voice is low and gravelly, full of frustration and rage, and I can feel the unshed tears stinging my eyes. “And when she finally got out of the hospital, he smiled when he told her it was a good thing the baby was gone because babies are expensive. Filthy, no good, cock-sucking bastard!”