Hearts Series Bundle: Books 1-6

by Sabrina Lacey

  There hasn’t been a single time in all the years since college that I’ve thought about giving monogamy a shot. I was on a roll – for years – and panties were flying. Some tried to have more, some tried to capture me, and some knew instinctively there wasn’t a chance in hell so they just calmly went on to the next guy – the one who could give them what they wanted. That wasn’t me, unless what they wanted was a really good time for a really short period of time, months at the most. There’s something valuable in that, so a lot were game.

  But me? I was happy with it. Didn’t need anything else. Name one guy on the planet who wouldn’t have loved to have had what I had, and I was top on that list.

  Rising to Creative Director was connected to that. Having a revolving door of the hottest ass in town was a rush that kept me at the top of my game. After a night of fucking someone who could have easily posed for Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, and sometimes had, I’d walk in feeling like there was no way I could lose. My mojo was amped, high on pheromones and acquisition. Applying that same strategy – make them feel like it’s their idea, and they’ll open their legs or their advertising accounts – I found that all the goals I set out for myself were not only achievable but achieved. I got what I wanted. They gave me what I wanted. They all did. And the main ingredient to success was that I never really cared.

  When you can walk away, then you have all the power. I knew if Location Times Three didn’t promote me, there’d be another agency waving me in with a smile. I’ve studied the changing marketplace. I know how to help my clients reach new people, even if that means rebranding. I know what to do and when to strike. So I had all the answers, and all I had to do was let them know I was willing to walk.

  People will do a lot when they don’t want to lose someone.

  Losing someone…

  Looking at this beauty beside me, there’s a feeling deep in me that I can’t believe is here; I don’t want to lose this one. Which means she holds the cards. She’s got the knife and I’m left hoping she won’t use it. That should scare me. But I trust her. She’s the first woman I’ve trusted since my first love. And there’s a huge difference between my trust then and now; then it was born of innocence, now it’s the opposite, so it’s stronger. Coming from where I’ve come, trusting her means a lot more.

  Staring at her sleeping face, I’m wondering why I trust Annie, and the only answer that comes back to me is it’s in her eyes, in the way she looks at me. Besides that, it’s just a feeling I have in my gut, like she’s safe for me to care about. Like she won’t do anything disrespectful to me.

  Plus, she’s given me room to be a man in so many of the things she’s done. And never once have I caught her looking at me like she was planning something. She just seems happy to be around me, grateful for our time together. Not in an insecure way, but in a way that says she gets her own worth, gets my worth, and is happy when the two come together. Or maybe she knows that life is short so why not just let things be as they are and enjoy them. I’m sure the shooting helped solidify that. It sure did for me.

  Rebecca... dammit, I can’t believe what’s happened with her.

  I turn my head and look at the ceiling, thinking of that stupid hair-tie stunt, feel the impatience pull at my belly. Plus, I’ve got to pee. Carefully getting up to answer nature’s call, I let go of Annie’s hand and walk away from the bed, thinking of Rebecca and how she handled everything.

  Calling Tommy I could understand more than that rubber band bullshit. Tommy was a bomb waiting to detonate that she was powerless against. He’d been scheming and I know his game just as well as I know Mark’s. Which means I know how good he is at it. The second she found out there was a weakness in our relationship was the second she’d fall into his trap. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I say with disgust, “You have only yourself to blame for how this went down. You should have set her free years ago.”

  But I’d negotiated with myself. Gave myself ‘The Maybes.’ Maybe I’ll grow to love her. Maybe we can keep things casual without problems. Maybe she won’t get hurt. At least Tommy called off seeing her when I asked him to. At least I’ve got that. At least she told me what she was planning, so I could cut it off before it happened.

  He’s not a good guy, and she deserves better.

  “Go find someone who will make you happy, Rebecca,” I say out loud, flushing the toilet.

  Pity, too. I’m not one for burning bridges so I was planning on continuing a friendship with her – until I saw the nightstand and lost all respect. And I know she left the calls on my phone for me to find, to make me crazy. The list goes on and on, nailing the coffin and setting it to sea.

  I walk back into the bedroom, see Freckles sleeping with San Francisco as her backdrop, and it occurs to me like a punch to the head that maybe the robbery was what Oscar called a ‘God-Shot.’ If I hadn’t been shoved down into a hospital bed with nowhere to run, would I have kept my wall up and not let Annie in? Would I be looking at Rebecca in my bed now, feeling dissatisfied and ignoring it? Would I be still thinking Mark was an idiot for falling in love and changing everything?

  I reach for the remote on the nightstand, press the button, and watch the blinds shut all three windows, holding back the soon-to-be rising dawn and the busy world.

  No more interruptions.

  Rebecca

  Same Time: 4:00 A.M.

  Staring at: Tommy’s T-shirt

  Obsession: what’s underneath

  ________

  He’s sleeping. I can tell by the rise and fall of his chest. I’m sure I can get away with a little peek. If I lift his shirt by by the neckline, I can see what’s going on. There’s clearly a square shape pushing through the fabric. Is it a bandage?

  My eyes flit up to his as my hand slowly comes up. Eyeing his left shoulder, holding my breath, I slowly move my hand over his chest, hovering above his neckline. With my index finger slipping down first, I hook it oh-so-gently under the cotton. Tommy’s right hand latches onto mine so fast that I gasp. His eyes, mere slits, look over at me. I stare at him, heart slamming in my chest.

  His grip tightens on my fingers.

  “I was just going to…” I stop as his eyes narrow more. “You’re hurting me, Tommy.”

  He shoves my hand away from him hard and fast, and my whole body sways with it, pushing me back. He leaps off the bed and goes for his pants. I lift up on my hands, locking my arms at the elbows, surprised. “You’re leaving?!”

  He checks his wallet and his phone, like I might have taken something or called someone. I stare at him, aghast. As if I would ever go through his wallet! But the memory of pulling Brendan’s phone from his jacket stops me cold from objecting, and my jaw drops as I realize I’ve been doing things I would never do!

  “You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” he spits out.

  Defensively, my neck lengthens and I cock my chin proudly upward. “What? I was just going to put my hand on your chest to cuddle up to you.”

  He looks at me in disgust. “Really?! Women! Do you think we’re that stupid? Do you really think we don’t see what’s going on in your heads?” He gives his temple a couple swift taps with his finger. “That we don’t get it? Who started the wars, Rebecca? We did. Who strategized and conquered not only countries but entire continents? WE DID.” He laughs a cynical ugly laugh. “And you think we’re stupid! Don’t think you can outsmart men because you CAN’T.” He strides over to one of the wine glasses and slams it into the darkened fireplace, the glass shattering as I cringe, shocked. He turns to me, hatred in his eyes for my entire gender. “Jesus, I thought you were different. There’s only one thing you women offer us. The ONLY thing. And it’s not your brains, Rebecca. You think you’re all so fucking smart.”

  I stare with my mouth furiously shut. He glares back at me and strides over to grab up the other glass. He throws that one from where he stands, the glass flying across the room and shattering in the fireplace so loudly it echoes. I b
egin to shake, unable to control it.

  “You know why it’s not your brains, Rebecca? Because you pull STUPID SHIT. This?” He points to his shoulder. “This is my body. If I want to leave my fucking shirt on, I’ll leave it on. Ever heard of boundaries?!”

  “You just fucked me in the window with the whole world watching and you want to bring up boundaries??!”

  He laughs. “You wanted that, and you know it. You could have said no. Did you say no? Because I know I did! But you couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

  I pull the comforter up around my chest. A banging from the room next door sounds near my head. “SHUT UP!” I yell at it, and turn to glare at Tommy again, afraid he’ll do something violent.

  But Tommy does worse than hit me. Instead he says something I will never be able to forget, ever. “I know why Brendan never fully claimed you. He saw the truth about you. You can’t be trusted.”

  I scream, “STOP IT!”

  He smiles ruthlessly. “That’s why I never even heard about you before that night I showed up there, unexpected. If I hadn’t come over, would I even know you existed? No way!”

  “STOP IT!!”

  “If I wasn’t at the baseball game, do you think he would have kissed you in front of everyone? He was doing that to make me jealous, because he knew I cared.” Tommy’s eyes slice into my heart as he yells, the veins popping out of his temples, “I FUCKING CARED ABOUT YOU!”

  The sting of tears slaps against my cheeks, and I sob, “Stop it.”

  “Go ahead and cry, Bec. You’re going to keep crying until you can learn to become a woman a man can trust.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  He walks to the bottle of wine, picks it up and heaves it into the fireplace, but the sound is dull now to the numbness that’s encasing my body from shock. Tossing a last hateful look back at me, he throws open the door and leaves.

  Wracking sobs rip out from my lungs. I bury my face in the pillow, pulling it tight around my head so I can scream. Minutes pass. A tentative knock at the door is heard, but I don’t move because I know it’s not Tommy. It was too gentle.

  A small female voice calls though the wood, “Mrs. Wells?”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.” Wrenching the blankets off the bed, I jerk them around me, racing to the door to throw it open. “What? I’ll buy new wine glasses! They’re like what – ten bucks each? Leave me alone!”

  Just as I’m about to slam the door shut on her, she says, looking sad, “I guessed you turned him down then…”

  Flustered and confused, I grip the door, staring at her. “What are you talking about?!”

  “He said he was going to propose. I guess it didn’t go well. I’m so sorry.” She looks so earnest that I can’t help but burst out laughing.

  “He said that?! That’s hilarious! God, are you as naïve as you look?! Well, get ready honey, the world’s a fucked up place and there are no fairytale endings. Unless you count the ones where everyone dies at the end!”

  I slam the door shut on her and her innocence, plodding back to the bed to climb in and cry myself to sleep.

  Tommy

  Keys: rattling

  Feet: loud on the living room floor

  Fear: unavoidable

  ________

  I walk in like I should be here, like it’s okay that I left, like I’m a grown man who can go where he wants. Predictably, the stomping at the top of the stairs makes it clear that Dad’s up, and he’s not happy. What else is fucking new?

  I look up and meet his eyes, not interested in the game but knowing I have to play.

  “What the fuck?! Did you leave?”

  So, that answers that. He didn’t know. I could have snuck back in. But this was smarter.

  “Yeah.” I lift up a bag of Jack in the Box in one hand, an extra large Dr. Pepper in the other, with the straw all bent and sucked on. “I was hungry for some grease.”

  He scowls, screening my face like a human foolproof lie detector. “I didn’t hear the garage door open.”

  “I took your truck.” Throwing him a sneaky grin, I add, “Had to see if I could get away with it.”

  He does his half-sneer, the one that says he gets it, that I haven’t fallen far from the tree. That he’s almost proud of me. Almost.

  “Fuckin’ kid.” He turns around and I head to the den thinking I’m in the clear and I can get some much needed sleep, but he stops me. “Hey!”

  Backward I step into his line of sight. “Yeah?”

  His chin jerks. “If you’re able to drive, you’re able to go back to work, and sleep in your own bed.”

  Staring up, I nod. “I’ll be out tomorrow.”

  “Go now.” His eyes are firm. “In your own piece of shit car. Keys are in the coffee-table drawer.”

  I take a sip of my soda, looking at him from underneath my brow. I let the sound slurp loud. Real loud, and release the straw with a snapping sound. “I love you, Dad.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I smirk. Break eye contact. Motherfucker wants to show he’s in control. That I can’t sneak out and win. He’s the boss. Not me. And I’d better never forget it. It’s pin-drop quiet as he watches me walk to the coffee table for my keys. I slide the drawer open and pull them out, nice and slow. “Night, Dad,” I say, still smirking to cover up my hatred for the man as I walk toward the garage.

  His voice reaches me just before I’m out of earshot. “I’ll see you in six months for the Tiburon job.”

  I close the door, slowly listening to the click as the latch slides into place. Releasing the handle, my shoulders go lax, exhaustion taking over me. I don’t want to drive back over the bridge again. I just wanted to sleep, even if it was on the fucking couch.

  Lowering myself carefully into the scrubbed-clean seat of my BMW, I sit in the closed garage, turn the key and stay with the car running. I could let the fumes take everything away from me. Check out of here for good. Would I care? Is there anything after this? Would I know I died? Would I go to hell? If there’s a heaven, I doubt I’d be invited in. But maybe I would. Maybe that’s why Brendan survived, so I wouldn’t be a murderer and be locked out of the Pearly Gates for good.

  Turning on the radio, I lay my head back on the seat, thinking about what a good idea this is. My parents finding me in the morning. My dad’s face when he sees I finally got the last word. They’ll have to explain to the cops why I have a bullet-hole in my dead body. The cops would probably think it was my dad who did it. Would that be so bad?

  Let them think it was him.

  I smile, feeling sleepier…

  But maybe Dad would rat me out and say it was all because of Fuckhead Brendan that this happened, that I lost my cool. What am I asking maybe for? Dad would definitely rat me out, and then Brendan would know he got the drop on me all these years – that I couldn’t handle the heat.

  Fuck that shit.

  I step out of the car and hit the button on the wall, watching the street slowly coming into view, along with another day alive. I climb back in and drive away.

  Annie

  Dream: walking down a path.

  Wearing: a white dress and flowers in my hair.

  Eyes: fluttering open because someone’s looking at me.

  ________

  “What time is it?” I ask on a stretch, smiling at Brendan’s sleepy face. His hair is sticking up in funny places, and he looks crazy-adorable.

  “I have no idea,” he smiles, reaching to move a lock of hair from my cheek. “I closed the curtains sometime before dawn.”

  “Mmm.” Snuggling up to him, I kiss his shoulder and trace the angles of his collarbone, coming up to circle his Adam’s Apple with the tip of my finger. “I left my purse in the stadium.”

  He chuckles. “You mean my living room?”

  My eyebrows go up innocently. “You mean they don’t hold the World Series there? They could.”

  He laughs. With a firm kiss on the top of my head, he mumbles, “I don’t know what time it is, and I
don’t care.”

  “I have to meet the contractor today.” My legs stretch out and I let my whole body follow, pulling away from him. “So let’s hope it’s still early so we can lie in bed some more and do filthy things to each other.” I climb out of his enormous bed and look over my shoulder to make sure he’s watching. He is, and when his eyes rise to meet mine, I grin. “You should see your face. Do you have a robe?”

  His hand languidly points to the door on the wall that stands between the bathroom and hallway doors.

  “Let me guess. You’ve got a closet the size of my apartment, too.”

  “I haven’t seen your apartment,” he says, behind me.

  Throwing him a flirty look, I call over, “Play your cards right and you just might get to.”

  His mouth spreads into a groggy grin, and he adjusts the pillow, both hands sliding under his head, his biceps flexed fan-fucking-tastically. “If I’m lucky…”

  “That’s right. If you’re…” I open the door. “HOLY SHIT!”

  He busts up laughing. “Jesus. You’re making me feel obnoxious.”

  His closet would make a male version of Martha Stewart cum in his pants at the sight. Dark wood. Floor-to-Ceiling shoe shelves. Middle island. A wall of ties sectioned off, and a high-end cubbyhole each filled with its own hat or cap. I grab a thick, navy blue cotton robe, slipping it on as I walk out. “Your baseball hats are spoiled. I bet when you bought them they thought they were going to be shoved in a gym bag with someone’s smelly shoes, not kept in a palace shrine to be bowed down to.”