Three of a Kind: Tales of Luck, Chance & Misfortune

by C. J. Pinard

  “I can’t, he won’t let me go,” I say quietly.

  “I can protect you, Chance.”

  Rising from the settee, I make my way to the door before he realizes it. As I open the door, I pause and say, “As before, Trey, this isn’t your fault or your battle. Goodbye, it was good to see you. Take care of yourself and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  I’d just stepped into the elevator when I hear Trey calling my name. I push the button marked “up” and ignore his call.

  Chapter 4

  Con is sitting on the couch, nursing both a cup of coffee and a hangover. He lifts blood-red eyes to me when I enter the penthouse.

  “Good morning,” I say softly.

  “Yeah? Well, what’s so good about it? Huhh?”

  I shrug my shoulders and make my way into the bedroom, longing for a hot shower and a way to avoid Con. I strip quickly and step into the shower. I turn the water on as hot as I could bear it. I bow my head under the spray and think over what Trey had told me. I’m not surprised Con is involved in illegal things, I just can’t understand why. He is wealthy and certainly doesn’t need the money. I have nothing to do with his business so I don’t see how I can be tied to whatever he’s into.

  I stiffen when I hear the shower door open and feel Con’s naked body press up against me.

  “It sounds as if you’ve had a busy morning,” he murmurs as he presses his lips against my neck.

  “What… do you mean?”

  Con allows his fingertips to slide down my bare skin causing goose-bumps to rise up on my flesh. “Word is you and Trey Montgomery were looking pretty cozy this morning.”

  I swallow and remain completely still. “A bellman hit me with a luggage cart and Trey helped me up. That’s all.”

  Con slides his hands to my belly and brings me up against him and his desire. Slowly, he runs his hands up, allowing them to linger on my breasts.

  With his lips back against my neck, he whispers, “You are so beautiful. I’ve always thought so.” He runs his hands down my arms until our fingers intertwine then he pushes us forward until our hands are pressed against the shower wall. Pressed against me intimately, he whispers into my ear, “You’ve turned me on since the very first time,” he licks the rim of my ear with his tongue. “Do you remember our first time, Chance?”

  With my heart pounding, I only nod. I close my eyes to keep the tears from leaking out.

  “Or should I call you Claire?”

  I stiffen at his words and the air gushes from my chest.

  Con pulls me more tightly against his body. As he begins to grind his body against mine, he says feverishly, “I remember our first time so well. Your hair was piled up on your head and you were wearing a long, white dress. You looked just like a princess. You were like a gift just waiting for me to unwrap you.”

  The blood drains from my head and I sway a little unsteadily on my feet. Con had been one of them – one of guys who’d raped me and left me for dead. How could I not have known? How long had he known? Has he always known?

  I become aware of Con pushing me forward intent upon his need and desire. Spotting the body wash in front of me, fluidly I untangle my fingers from his, grab the soap, twist around in his arms, and squirt the soap into his eyes. He howls in pain and pulls away. I drop the bottle and begin to wail on him. I hit him as hard as I can with my pounding fists. He attempts to stop me, but his hands are too busy trying to get the soap out of his eyes.

  “You stupid son-of-a-bitch!” I cry. “How could you have done that? How could you be so sick? Don’t you know… or care what something like that does to someone? You ruined my life. I hate you. I hate you!”

  I continue to pound him as I cry and yell. The floor of the shower begins to get slippery as the soap from the bottle I’d dropped leaks out. My feet slip out from underneath me and I stumble backward. Reflexively, Con leans forward to grab me before I can fall. His sudden movement, combined with the slippery shower floor, causes him to slip and fall backwards as well. While I am able to stop my fall by grabbing the ceramic soap holder, Con’s flailing arms can find nothing to impede his fall, however, and he lands hard on his back, striking his head on the tiled shower seat with a sickening thud. His blood gushes and swirls with the still-pouring water from the showerhead, flowing into the drain.

  I stand stunned and trembling; I reach behind me and shut the water off before turning back to Con. Blood is beginning to bubble around his lips and nose. With shaking hands, I lean forward and press my fingers against his neck. His pulse is thready, but there. Not sure what to do, I race to the phone and dial the only person I know I can trust – Trey Montgomery.

  He answers on the second ring. With my voice trembling, I whisper, “Trey, I need you.”

  There’s a second’s hesitation, then, “I’m on my way.”

  I fumble with the phone as I can’t stop the trembling in my hands. I glance down and realize I’m naked. Racing to the bedroom, I grab my robe and throw it on. I step to the bathroom door, but Con lies as he was before, still and bleeding. A knock at the door has me scurrying out of the bathroom.

  I fall into Trey’s arms when the door is opened. As before, he holds me close to his chest with his hand wrapped tight against the back of my neck.

  “What is it, Chance? What’s happened?” he murmurs.

  On a sob I tell him. “It’s Con. He fell in the shower. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Did you call 9-1-1?”

  I shake my head.

  “You do that and I’ll go check on him, okay?”

  “I don’t know if I can,” I whimper.

  Trey grabs my face and looks deep into my eyes. “Yes, you can. Now, go.”

  I watch Trey head into the bathroom as I pick the phone up once more. When the operator comes on the line, I explain the situation as calmly as I can and beg them to hurry. The operator tells me to stay on the line with him until the emergency people arrive. I intend to do just that until I see Trey’s face. Then I know – Con is dead. I drop the receiver back on its cradle and slide to the floor.

  Trey rushes to my side and lifts me up and sits with me on the couch.

  “What happened, Chance? How did he fall?”

  “He… he… followed me into the shower. He… he was one of them,” I sob.

  Confusion causes Trey’s brows to furrow. “One of who?”

  “That night… after prom. He raped me… he was gloating about it. I didn’t know. I didn’t know he was one of them. I was angry. I squirted soap in his eyes to stop him… from touching me. He slipped and fell… I killed him. I’m glad I killed him. I’d do it again… and again… and again,” I wail into Trey’s shirt, the lapels of his shirt clutched within my grasp.

  Trey stiffens at my words but just pulls me closer to him. “Shh, shh.”

  A knock at the door startles us both. Trey brings us to our feet and begins to the door. I stumble when he stops suddenly.

  He turns and grabs my arm and whispers urgently in my ear, “Listen, Chance, don’t tell them any of that. You tell them he slipped and fell. That is what happened. It was an accident. Don’t muddy the waters. Don’t mention what happened that night, okay?”

  Blinking rapidly, I only nod. Together we go to the door and let the emergency personnel into the penthouse.

  Ω Ω Ω

  It’d been a long day all way around. It seems a lifetime since I swam in the ocean this morning, freeing dolphins, picking up pennies, and buying lottery tickets. I gratefully accept the glass of wine from Trey. Together we stand at the window, gazing out at the lights of Atlantic City. He’d not left my side all day. For that, I’m grateful.

  “What will you do now?” he asks me.

  I shrug my shoulders. “Get a job… find a place to live…”

  “Chance….”

  I put up a hand. “Please call me Claire.”

  “Claire, let me help you. I can get you a job. You’re more than welcome to stay with me… no stri
ngs.”

  “Trey, that’s not necessary. I’ve been on my own for a long time. I’ll be fine.”

  “Claire, I feel it’s the very least I can do. Please let me help you.”

  “We’ll see,” I answer noncommittally.

  Trey smiles at my non-answer. “I know what that means. I have parents.”

  Exhausted, I move to the settee and lean my head back. Trey sits beside me and reaches for the T.V. remote control.

  “I want to see what the news is reporting about Conner’s death. Is that okay?” he asks.

  I nod.

  We sit together and watch several local news stories and the weather. Sandwiched between them is a small announcement about Conner’s accidental death. The focus of the story is more about the outcome of the Diamond Mine Casino and Hotel than for the man himself. I think it is somehow fitting. Trey brings the remote up to click the T.V. off when the heading reads, Lottery Numbers, and the numbers begin flashing across the screen.

  I inhale sharply and grab the remote from Trey before he can switch it off.

  Jumping up, I yell at Trey, “Write them down, write down those numbers.”

  I dig my beach cover-up from the hamper and burrow in the pocket for the lottery ticket I’d purchased this morning. I knew those numbers – I knew these numbers: my birthday; my parent’s anniversary; my brother’s birthday; and the day my life ended – prom day.

  Running back into the living room, I almost run Trey over. He grabs my shoulders. “What? What?” he asks.

  “Did you write down the numbers?” I ask excitedly.

  Handing me a piece of paper, he says, “Of course. Here.”

  I snatch the paper and compare it to my ticket. My legs begin to shake and I lean back against the wall and slide down to the floor. Finally, I look up at Trey and whisper, “I won. I won the lottery. I won one hundred and twenty-five million dollars.”

  Sinking to his knees, he wraps his arms around me. “Oh, my God! That’s fantastic. I can’t believe it. Congratulations! I’m so happy for you.”

  “I can’t believe it either.” The old familiar words of the fortuneteller float across my idled mind, Luck doesn’t strike everyone. A picture of the dolphin striking gently against my body filters right after. The dolphin, the protector of sacred wells and sacred waters, the watcher of the waters, and the guardians of those on the waters, they’re considered… lucky, Trey had said.

  Looking up into Trey’s face, I smile and say, “I think I was struck by luck!”

  ΩΩΩ The End ΩΩΩ

  Free Excerpt from LR Potter’s Snow Blind: The Color of Snow – Book One

  The Color of Snow

  Snow Blind

  And you shall be washed whiter than snow…

  Chapter 1

  ∞Reina Devereaux ∞

  With a quick flick of my fingers, I impatiently push the hair out of my eyes as it attempts to obscure my view. I run my crystal blue eyes over the man pounding the hammer over the horseshoe he’s forming against the iron awl. He works without looking up or stopping and sweat runs in rivulets over his face and down his body. The sweat causes his well-formed muscles, formed from this repetitive action, to glisten. I can’t help but catch my lower lip between my teeth when his shoulder muscles bulge beneath his thin cotton shirt as he turns to dip the scorching red-hot horseshoe into a trough of water. Not wanting to be seen watching him, I stay hidden behind the wooden pillar of the barn across the street. I barely even register the smells of my hiding place as my complete focus is on the male vision before me. I swat a hand at a pesky fly which tries to bid for my attention.

  While it isn’t particularly fashionable, the object of my scrutiny sports both a mustache and goatee. His hair is dark, not black like mine, but a nice dark brown, and it’s longer than is deemed appropriate in polite society. But I don’t care, I like the way it is. His eyes are as dark as mine are light. The few times I’ve been close enough to look into his velvety-chocolate eyes, I’ve seen the shame, the pain, and the longing within their depths. I’m probably one of the few people who recognize these things. I ache for his pain and desolation. These feelings seem to call to me… it draws me to him in an unspoken bond. Of course, of the two of us, I’m the only one who’s aware of this bond. He is an island unto himself. He holds himself apart from those in this police society. His self-enforced isolation is one of the reasons he appeals to me. I understand the need to safe-guard oneself from the whipping lashes of the tongues of others. He is so appealing with his sad eyes and quiet contemplation. Still waters run deep, my mother always tells me. I have to agree with her on this one thing.

  Is it any wonder I come here almost every day? The man is so indescribably beautiful. Blowing a steady breath between my lips, I lean forward against the rough-hued pillar and stare as his hands moved assuredly over the now cooled horseshoe. Running my tongue over my suddenly dry lips, I wonder what it’d feel to have those same hands run that assuredly through my hair and over my shoulders. My mouth goes dry; I can’t even contemplate anything beyond that.

  My mother would so not approve of this man. She would think him too old and with too much baggage. I don’t care what my mother thinks. What can she possible know of how the world works in this day and age? She’s had a chance to live her life, and now… I want mine. I watch as every so often, he unconsciously reaches a hand up to gently touch a golden crucifix suspended around his neck. He touches it as if it is some sort of talisman. And maybe for him, it is.

  I watch as he stills and stares off into the distance somewhere far removed from the livery stables. Even from my position I can see his sad, mournful expression. I know what puts that soulful, gut-wrenching expression on his face, everyone does. The reason for his pain is why he is now shunned by our so-called polite society, even though he’d had no part in it. He’d been a victim and yet those in this town have made him a leper. But he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seems to prefer his imposed solitude; left alone in his pain, his sorrow, his loneliness. Better than anyone, I understand all these things. Like him, I suffer from a similar pain from those in this polite society. I am also a victim and not responsible for the circumstances of my exile.

  As I stand surveying the man across the street, I lean my head back against the wooden beam. My heart twists a little as I watch him take a shuddering breath before slowly drawing himself back to his task at hand. I see the man of my desire, Elias Snow, glance quickly up the street. Following his eyes, I see two women from the upper crust strolling down the center of town in their very high-class finery and umbrellas expanded to guard their fair skin from the ravages of the mid-day sun. As they draw close to Elias, they dip their umbrellas to shield them from his sight; as if the mere sight of him could in some way taint them. From my position opposite of him, I see them lean their heads together and giggle in disapproval of him. Eyeing him covertly from under their eyelashes, I watch them very pronouncedly move with exaggerated purpose across the street to put as much distance as possible between them and Elias. Outrage pours through my body. How can they do this to him? What did he ever do but love someone. My heart begins to pound within my chest. Years of hurt and yearning build up inside me.

  Without giving myself time to contemplate the saneness of my actions, and without looking down, I reach down and pick up two harden clods of mud from the ground at my feet. As the two ladies, dressed in their supposed glory, pass by my position in the barn, I take careful aim, and throw the cods, one after the other, knocking the feathered hats off the heads of the two pompous women. If I’d learned nothing else from being isolated from the town, I’d learned to throw straight and true. With silent, mirthful laughter, I duck down as they turn to see first what’d hit them and then who’d thrown it. I have to cover my mouth to suppress the giggle which threatens to escape my lips. The two ladies search but can’t see me where I’m hidden and they storm off in a huff.

  As they move from my view, I tentatively take a step out into the str
eet to watch them as they fuss with their hats and complain loudly about their sudden travail. I raise a hand to my mouth to stifle the laughter as I watch them scurry up the street.

  My heart stops and my lips freeze, when behind me I hear a low male voice say, “Tsk, Tsk. Reina, you should be ashamed. Whatever made you do such a thing?”

  Spinning towards the voice, I can’t keep my face from burning with embarrassment. Grabbling for the right words, I finally manage to stammer out, “Uh, uh, they were… uh, uh, they didn’t… I mean…” My face flames at my inability to look Elias in his beautiful face and answer his simple question.

  Gently he tips my face up with his forefinger. “Thanks Reina. But I promise it wasn’t necessary. I don’t care what those women think, and you shouldn’t either.”

  My breathing stops at the touch of his hand on my face. As I stare with my mouth open into his soulful, brown eyes, I feel righteous indignation welling up inside me and I can’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth. “But they were mean to you. They deserved what they got and I’d do it again!”

  Chuckling he said, “That’s quite an arm you’ve got there, girl. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  I can’t stop the sharp intake of air at his words. His words wound me. He thinks of me as a child.

  I feel the red-stain creep up my neck and over my face, indignantly I stammer, “I’m not a girl, I’m a woman. Why, next week I’ll be eighteen.”

  With his lips twitching, Elias gives me a small bow of his head and says, “Of course, my mistake.”

  My face burns further as I see the mocking glint in his eyes. Then without warning, I see his expression harden and his smile fade. I watch as his quickly glances around the street. As before I follow his gaze and see several people watching us, observing our interaction. I watch as they poke one another and lean in to whisper behind their hands.