FIRE
HEART
Fire
Heart
A Coming of Age Novel
About Kicking Fear in its Ass
and Embracing the Fear
and Fire of Love
Broken Bottles Series: Book 2
Pamela Taeuffer
Copyright © 2014 by Pamela Taeuffer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address Open Heart Press.
Published 2014
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-0-9899529-2-7
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014912867
For information, address: [email protected]
Fire Heart is dedicated to all the women in my family who, in their hearts, were mustangs trying to run free. May women and men everywhere shake their hair and stomp down their fences, unafraid and with an open heart.
Table of Contents
Prologue
A Child’s Cry Among the Broken Bottles
1. Hollow Eyes
2. On the Case
3. My Family's Legacy
4. A Future for Jenise
5. Walter Dixon
6. A Buffet of Choices
7. What is the Definition of Home?
8. Orgasms and Aching
9. Be Careful When Texting
10. Surprises
11. LA Style
12. Discussions
13. A Strange Gallery
14. Jerry Gets an Education
15. Dressing Up
16. Cranberry and Orange Juice
17. Can I be that Woman for You?
18. Please Commit to Me
19. Chris Tilton, Jr.
20. Half Moon Bay
21. Learning to Fight for Another
22. Memories in Softness
23. An Interlude
24. Undressed
25. The Morning After
26. Checking In
27. Do You Think We’re Weird?
28. Shopping for a Hot Dress
29. I’ve Got Plans
30. Dancing
31. Turn up the Air Conditioning
32. Chris Tilton Plays His Guitar
33. Night Falls in Yountville
34. A Draw
Resources
Acknowledgments
About the Author
WARNING
Nicky here: As you read Fire Heart, you may want to shake me. You may even scream, “What are you doing? Wake up for God’s sake!”
The thing about growing up in an alcoholic family is that I’ve become frozen. Every day is a battle for survival and change.
And change does not happen easily or quickly.
I know intimacy and the possibility for love are in front of me, but opening my heart is the essence of my fear.
Each book in this series ends in a cliffhanger and there is a very important reason why.
Hang in there.
Not knowing what’s next has been a very important part of my life.
The Story So Far
In Shadow Heart, the first novel in the Broken Bottles series, we meet Nicky Young, telling the story of her family's saga and a love story about relationship challenges, especially when it comes to those sensual feelings of intimacy. She's grown up in a family battling alcoholism, and trust doesn't come easily when those she's loved the most have been the biggest disappointments.
Left to fend for her own emotional survival, one way Nicky has kept her sanity has been the pursuit of her education—especially when it comes to getting into Stanford, the college of her choice. One of her projects to help pad her college application was a proposal to feature a high school cheer team at the San Francisco Goliaths baseball games. When her plan is accepted, an idea she spent over a year researching, she knows Stanford is in reach. Her plans are in her control—or so she thought.
One of the Goliaths’ star pitchers, Ryan Tilton, has entered her life and has set his sights on her. At 6’2” with blue eyes, golden brown hair, and biceps that turn women’s heads, Ryan appears to have it all. Few people know the private side of him and the losses he's suffered. To protect and hide his hurt, he plays hard to avoid his demons. He's begun to reveal himself to Nicky in ways he never has with anyone. Ryan has a reputation with women, and the very innocent Nicky Young won't be an easy mark.
That nagging feeling of being played, in combination with the steeled armor surrounding her heart keeps Nicky shut down. Fight as she may, desire seems to have awakened. A virgin, she’s never felt these strong urges until now. She writes about Ryan in her journal: That smile. That chest. Those arms.
Also in her line of sight is Jerry Stowe, her childhood friend. His innocence appeals to Nicky. She feels they are on a level playing field and can experience the newness of relationships and sex together—until their classmate tells Nicky he has been making advances on other girls.
Is either boy sincere?
Does it matter?
Will she dip her toes into the hot, sensual heat of passion and experience one or both of them?
A ticking time bomb is inside her, planted from the dysfunction of her childhood, repeating: No one will last. Abandonment will rear its ugly head sooner or later and the promises made to her will all fall away.
Will she step backward into the shadows where she's always sought refuge, covering herself in the secrets of her twisted family?
She knows in order to move forward a healthy woman she must allow herself to be vulnerable. She's opened up to her sister again. She's made new relationships with two women—one a fiancé and the other wife to two of the Goliaths' player. Each are big steps for Nicky, when all she's ever done is play it safe, holding back, watching and analyzing when it's safe to step forward.
Can she leap from the edge of her cliff, the one she clung to all her life when rising and dramatic emotions have challenged her to her very core?
Will she let her heart—a heart on fire—take her to new places?
Can she lose the fears from her childhood and dare to be loved?
Prologue
I had been standing by myself, reflecting back to the year I was eighteen and had found my first love, when a tug on my hand caught my attention.
"Great auntie Nicky!" Five-year-old Olivia whined. I'd been a friend with Olivia's grandmother, Lorraine, since being in sixth grade and took comfort in having a friend from those innocent years. We could say anything to the other and not worry.
I was enjoying a moment of reflection.
Friends and family were gathered together for my thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. The noise was loud. Children were shouting, grandparents smiling, perhaps reminiscing about the old days, just as I was.
Thirty-five years ago, I had been getting closer with Jerry Stowe, a good friend from childhood. We'd always been friends, but felt something else when we turned eighteen. At the same time, Ryan Tilton, a professional baseball player, had been making a full on press to get me to be his girlfriend.
Had I not fallen in love with the boy who encouraged me to explore intimacy on a deep, sensual level, I probably would have kept my heart shrouded in mistrust and in the fear of abandonment because of my dysfunctional family and alcoholic father.
Because of that man, everything opened.
"Oh, sweetie. Why
are you upset?" I asked Olivia.
"He hit me!" she sobbed.
"Who hit you?"
"Bobby!" She pressed her head into my hip as she continued whimpering. "He's a mean boy!"
I took her into my arms and listened to her story. As she dramatically embellished the tale of her woes, I remembered back to the day I was getting ready to check on Ryan Tilton's contacts. They were people who, with his say so, could help my family.
When I was finished speaking with them, I not only understood his wide circle of influence, but the generous spirit of his heart.
A Child’s Cry Among
the Broken Bottles
Shadows and darkness are my cover
My hiding places are many, even in my own home
I’ve witnessed his rage and red face
My father’s become a stranger
Tonight my mother didn’t notice
When I reached for her love
Every day I crave the moment
When I’m alive in my parents’ eyes
I feel ashamed
I’m tired of keeping family secrets
My family seems to have gone deaf
They don’t hear me anymore
Am I part of a permanent sunset
There never seems to be enough light at our house
I sit down with my friends
A television and a bag of cookies I need to fill up with something My father has changed
My mother is damaged and hurt
I’m on my own
I know it’s up to me if I’m going to make it
Will anybody love me
My fences are very high
The boards are steel
Reach inside if you can
I’m calling out but you can’t hear me
I’m looking for you but you can’t see me
I’m in here, waiting to get out
Waiting to get
Waiting to
Waiting
Chapter 1
Hollow Eyes
"Follow me," the man at Municipality's reception area motioned to me, reappearing after he'd checked in with Dad's supervisor.
We made our way to his office. In only minutes I'd find out in how much trouble my father was and if Stanford was still a realistic goal for me. He knocked on the door.
It was only an interview, but dread filled me.
When it came to my father, there was no safety net.
I knew the answers could be everything I didn't want to hear.
Then again, I'd heard those kinds of answers all my life.
"Come in," the man behind the smoky glass shouted.
* * * * *
Before my appointment at Municipality, I'd stopped at a nearby diner. I not only craved a cup of strong, black java, I needed to review the questions I'd prepared for my day of interviews a second time.
Sniffing in the rich aroma wafting up in the steam from my coffee mug, I took a nice slow sip of the delicious dark French roast and practiced my first interview out loud.
Ninety minutes earlier, when the alarm rang at seven, it took me longer than usual to shake out the cobwebs. I'd had another late night—a habit of late, still dragging from a beach party with my friends. The gathering would be one of our last. In only two months we'd take off like seeds blowing in the wind and begin our adult lives. We celebrated by having a bonfire on the beach.
Jerry Stowe, a boy I'd grown up with, had tried to make moves on me when we were in his sleeping bag. We were considering a deeper relationship, but his attempt at intimacy backfired when the park rangers broke up our party.
With strobe lights and megaphones they threatened to throw us in jail if we didn't clean and vacate the beach immediately. I laughed aloud as I recalled the vision of the ranger’s spotlight ready to find Jerry’s naked bottom as he rushed to put on his jeans.
We were two of just several people who were sober, proved after the rangers made us take a Breathalyzer Test. After that, we were charged with making sure everyone got home safely and cleaning up the beach. Since my best friend, Colleen, lived next door to me and we'd all come together in her boyfriend's car, I volunteered to take them home as well as a few of our friends.
When I finally walked into my house, I saw I'd missed a few calls from Ryan. We'd just spoken about trusting each other and being honest and I felt uneasy about calling him back. I went upstairs to my room, climbed into bed and lay with my thoughts.
Why was I hiding from Ryan the way I had with Jerry for years, to ultimately chose only friendship?
The moment I admitted my feelings for one of them, wouldn't I surrender completely and my own goals would weaken?
In those early morning hours, I realized a desire had definitely ignited inside me.
I was far from certain about who stirred me the most, but one thing that was clear. Ryan Tilton, a professional baseball player, and my friend Jerry Stowe, college bound to Stanford with me, had everything to do with my awakening.
It was as if a spark from the bonfire had come home with me and settled in my belly.
Tired as I was, I sat in the diner sipping my coffee, rehearsing my questions so I would appear prepared and ready to meet with some of Ryan's contacts—people who could help my friends and family. Through a candid conversation with him, I found out my father's job was in danger. Translation? An education at Stanford was in jeopardy.
What was Ryan's goal from these interviews? When I found out how he could help me, I would agree that his heart was in the right place and try a relationship with him.
My goal? I needed to find out what these people could do for my family and for Jerry.
One final sip of coffee and I pushed up from the table.
I went into the bathroom and took a moment to check myself in the mirror. I made sure my hair was in place and I hadn't stained the black slacks and white blouse I chose to wear.
I wasn't sure I was ready to confront my father's mess—but I'd prepared myself as much as possible. After all, could I ever really be ready for the uncertainty of his path of debris?
I tugged on my waist-length, flared-at-the-waist purple jacket and adjusted the amethyst pin I had fastened to its collar.
The pin was my grandmother's.
She'd come to stay at our house seven years earlier because no one else would take her. Before that, she had been admitted to St. Agnes Hospital and Sanitarium.
I remembered it as a place of terror.
As the generational chains of dysfunction rattled somewhere in my mind, I shivered.
* * * * *
“Girl!” The old woman moaned in a low, wretched voice, the word shaking as it came from her body.
Her bony fingers reached out for me as if crawling from a casket to rise and walk among the living for a few hours in a hallway on the fifth floor of St. Agnes Hospital and Sanitarium.
The box-shaped building was painted in a faded cream color, and a rusted iron cross was hung above the doors. It was as if the rust from it had become blood, staining the stuccoed fascia underneath it an ugly reddish-brown.
Bars covered many of the windows—especially on the upper floors. If not for the bright Red Cross on the lit sign near the road, passersby could have easily confused St. Agnes with a prison. On floors five and sex, no one could have told the difference.
Inside, the faded, pastel-pink linoleum floors were polished to a glossy finish. They led visitors down cream-colored halls to cream-colored doors leading into cream-colored rooms. Iron beds were painted white, covered with white blankets that covered white sheets.
As soon as we went inside, a smell hit me that I never forgot—a combination of something unsanitary, mixed with heavy amounts of bleach and Pine-Sol. I wondered if the patients crept from their rooms at night and smeared the floors with their feces. The quick wash by personnel failed to hide what went on when visitors left.
Screams, moans, and the constant otherworldly sounds—those well and unwell—filled the air of the fifth and si
xth floors.
It should have been off-limits to the public, but I was lost and found myself in the halls of hollow, frightened eyes.
Some stared unfocused at nothing, and others accompanied open mouths, mumbling and begging me to listen—gray-haired people were everywhere.
Pale and wrinkled skin adorned the skeletons on wheels.
All of them pushed toward me.
Surrounded me.
Tried to touch me.
The day I'd gotten lost at St. Agnes, my family was visiting my grandmother. I knew from hearing my parents talk that with each ascending floor, the patients were more violent, disturbed, and unreachable. It was nowhere for a child to be without an adult.
Always wanting something to eat to find comfort and relieve my anxiety, I'd asked Mom for money to get a candy bar and something to drink. The vending machines were on the first floor. I took the elevator, got my goodies and then stopped in the gift shop for a small note pad. I wanted to jot down some notes about an idea I had for a story—this time about flying.
Sent to me during the night, a dream about magic dust filled my sleep, perhaps sprinkled in my thoughts by an angel. In it, I skipped and then took a running start in our back yard, opened my arms, and flew high above my neighborhood, watching my house fade away as I ascended into clouds and rainbows.
I was so busy writing I didn't notice I'd passed the fourth floor. When the elevator doors opened, I walked down several hallways and suddenly realized I wasn’t where I should be.
Bang! It was like a hammer hit my chest.
Panic.
Confusion.
My heart beat hard and my throat tightened when I saw the pink heads of thinning gray hair wheeling down the hallways, bumping into walls, furniture, and people.
Some of them seemed to purposefully slam into each other as if trying to get attention from someone—anyone. Was this a way they screamed for help?
Wide, frightened eyes asked silent questions. Screams and yelling crowded the end of a hallway filled with locked doors.
Fire Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 2) Page 1