Stolen Hearts (Hearts 1)

“Don’t chicken out now!” she cried, and I raced in after her.

I could count on my hand the number of times I’d been brave. That was one of them. It was hard to remember if marrying the senator had been brave, I’d felt so scared. So desperate to make sure my sister was safe that I would have done anything.

As soon as I got out of the car in front of my house, I could smell the fire my sister had built in the back. And I won’t lie, it gave me a pause. A quick second with my heart in my throat. Four years ago, we’d known Zilla was in trouble for a while, but when the fire happened after Dad died and the truth came out . . . it made her psychosis very real.

But that was four years ago, and she was better.

In the house, I kicked off my shoes, took off my jacket and grabbed my college sweatshirt I’d left in the kitchen. The benefit of no cleaning lady was that everything was exactly where I left it.

I opened the sliding doors to the back, and my sister turned in her seat.

“Finally,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I didn’t like fighting with you.”

“I don’t like fighting with you either,” I said.

“And since your husband isn’t here to kick me out, I thought I’d come make amends in person.” Zilla smiled at me, and I remembered that girl with the Coke cans beneath the willow tree with an ache so pure it took my breath away. “Are you mad?” Zilla asked in my silence.

“No.” I practically ran across the deck to hug her. “I’m sorry we fought, too. And I’m so glad you’re here. Are you cold?”

“No. This fire is kinda amazing, if I do say so myself,” Zilla said. I felt the heat all along my side and realized she’d pushed the chairs back so she wouldn’t roast. Don’t say anything, I told myself. Every fire doesn’t have to circle back to that fire.

“Are you hungry?”

“No. I’m fine. Just . . . sit with me.”

I sat beside her in the cushioned love seat. We sat facing each other. Both of us with our legs tucked up, an arm stretched across the back of the cushions.

“Hey,” I said, not wanting to think about my sister and fires. “Remember that summer we practically lived under the willow tree?”

“Of course. We were feral.”

I laughed. “Do you remember the day with the Cokes?”

“And the skinny-dipping?” Zilla laughed, her face lit up by the fire. “I’ll never forget your bare butt running out to that pond. I could not believe you were doing it.”

“Me neither, frankly. I blame the pop.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night.” Zilla laughed. “But I always thought you were a little more wild than you let on. You just needed a reason.”

I thought of Ronan and the way he made me feel. Like I was touching a part of myself that I never knew existed. Like a lost moon.

“Dad was pissed,” Zilla said.

“What are you talking about? Dad never found out.”

Zilla looked at me, earnest and serious, clear and focused. “Of course he did, Poppy,” she said almost like she pitied me. “The housekeeper told him everything we did that summer.”

“What? Why didn’t he say anything? Or do anything?”

“To stop Mom? To take care of us? I have no idea. But the skinny dipping got placed firmly on my shoulders, and I got spanked. For real.”

I blinked, searching through my memory for some proof of this. But there was none. We swam. Went inside and ate turkey sandwiches. I finished reading Twilight. Zilla fell asleep in the recliner, snoring in the heat.

“That night,” Zilla said. “When Dad came home. He called me into his office.”

“But why didn’t I get in trouble too?”

“Because I said it was only me. And he believed me.”

“But it was both of us.”

“Yeah, I know, dummy. I was protecting you. I know that seems inconceivable, but I’ve done things too, you know. To take care of you. To make sure you were okay.”

The fierce edge in her voice made me sit up straight. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh don’t look so scared, Poppy. Nothing dramatic. I’m just saying some things are worth the consequences.”

I thought of Ronan and had to agree.

“Where have you been?” Zilla asked.

“In the city,” I said with a sigh. “I’m taking the executive director position at the foundation.”

Zilla’s eyebrows hit her hairline.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . do you want to do that?”

“Why is that suddenly what everyone is asking me? No one has ever cared so much about what I do with my life.”

“That’s not true,” Zilla said with her fierceness. “It’s just been a while since you had a choice.”

“Do you think I can’t do it?”