by Ginger Scott
Finally about to be called, I turn to Gia at my side and offer to pick her up. I don’t think she much cares for Sal, and I’m not sure I want him holding her. I hoist her from my hip to my shoulders, and she holds up the sign she made for her big brother.
MY HERO, it reads. I’m glad she never saw him as a villain.
When their names are called, we all scream and cheer, Dom’s dad whistling through his fingers. I think he’s perhaps the proudest parent in these stands. I know I’m holding the proudest sister.
The traditional tossing of the graduation caps is more awesome here. The sky blacks out for a moment when nearly a thousand caps touch the sun. Makes eleven seem almost comical. I head down the steps with Gia and Dominica’s family when the students are finally dismissed. We meet up with Justin first, just as he picks his hat up from the grass. He squashes it down on Gia’s head, and she grins to show off the gap where she just lost a tooth.
“Congratulations, JJ,” she says.
I mouth JJ to him and he whispers “Nickname.” I step into him and we hug, holding on to each other and rocking a few times because screw society’s opinion about affection. This guy has become my brother, and I’ve missed him.
The slight tap on my back spins me around, and before I even lay eyes on her, Dominica leaps at me and wraps her arms around my neck and legs around my waist. I think this might be the only circumstance ever that Justin doesn’t want to kill a guy in my situation.
“You drove!” She knows what a big deal it is that I made it here. I debated it all the way until the hour I left, two days ago. My dad even offered to come with me, but he had business to deal with at home. We got that land whore Leland Nash to lay off of us permanently. All I had to do was mention how I know the real reason his son has bruises on his face. If the Leland in my dreams beat his son, I thought maybe the real one did, too. I took a gamble; I was right.
“I was worried I’d get a ticket for going too slow,” I say as I let her down and back into Justin’s arms. She laughs and shoves at my shoulder, but I catch Justin’s gaze and he knows I’m not kidding. I really did stick to fifty the entire way.
“You’ve got keys?” Justin asks, punching my other arm. I don’t know why these two have to hit me so much.
I nod and hold them up from my pocket. He takes them from me without warning and crosses the field toward the parking lot, Gia’s hand in his as she jogs to keep up.
“Come on. We’ll meet the others for dinner after this. I’ve got something big,” he says, turned and walking backward, his manic grin on his face.
“You know what this is?” I ask Dominica.
“He won’t tell me a thing,” she says through a nervous giggle. She rushes to her dad though, and from his hefty sigh and irritated wave of his hand just before she kisses his cheek, I guess she told him she’s coming with us and would meet him later.
I follow her lead across the field, and by the time we get to the truck, Justin already has the engine rumbling and the passenger door kicked open.
“How’d you know which one was mine?” I ask, taking Dominica’s hand as she climbs in to sit between me and Gia.
“Bro,” Justin says, dragging his hand out in front of him, gesturing to the parking lot full of black Acuras, Beemers, and Benzes. My rusted white pickup from the late nineties probably sticks out, yeah.
“Fair enough,” I say, pulling the door closed. Justin spins the tires a little as he punches the gas and we peel out of the lot. I grab the dash and glare at him sideways, so he slows down and apologizes. Clearly, he doesn’t have the same PTSD I do.
We cruise through buildings and hop on the freeway toward the city, and I take in just how massive it all is. I won’t deny its beauty, but my heart still beats for the hills and open fields. Just doesn’t have quite the same smell here as it does back home.
“You are actually wearing boots,” Dominica says, reaching her foot over to tap on my toe. I don’t feel a thing, sorta the point of boots.
I smile at her sideways and flatten my hand on my chest.
“Cowboy, remember?” I tease.
“Oh, Lord,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Yee haw, I guess.”
“We don’t actually say that,” I add. It makes her laugh, and I catch the raspy nature that still lives in her lungs. She’s had a long road back, more than either of us. Her body healed faster than her brain, even the cuts on her arms and legs from the glass. The force of hitting the pavement at that speed, along with the swelling effects prolonged by some of the Morpheus drugs took away a lot of her automatics. She had to work a lot harder than I did at walking, and for whatever reason, she became a lefty for everything. Justin said her handwriting is completely different than before.
Maybe that happens when you go in through dreams and come out through nightmares.
We exit the freeway and dip below the on-ramp along a road that feels both foreign and familiar. I can tell Dominica is having the same reaction because she reaches over and grabs my hand as we roll up to an alley.
“I need you guys to wait here for just one minute,” Justin says, hopping out of the truck. “You’ll know when to get out. Trust me?”
I smirk and nod.
“Hell yes, I do.” That’s the thing, trust between the three of us? It’s pretty much bonded with steel by now.
He smiles back, then meets Dominica’s gaze, nodding. She pulls Gia to her lap to braid the little girl’s hair, something she’s doing to hide the trembling in her hands. I touch her wrist and tilt my head just enough to let her know it’s all right. She doesn’t have to hide her story from us.
After thirty seconds, though, I start to get antsy, and I’m about to break my promise and get out of the damn truck when a dozen rows of golden lights flicker on, lighting our way to what looks like a restaurant on the other side of the street.
“I can’t believe he did this,” Dominica says, her mouth wide in wonder and eyes in shock. I’m not completely sure what this is, but I have a sense that it’s symbolic, and probably very important.
I climb out and the girls both follow me, stopping when we meet up with Justin at the front door of what looks like it used to be a salon.
“It’s the place,” Dominica says, spinning slowly in place and gazing up at the lights. We’re in an alleyway that’s been turned into a patio of sorts, bricks at our feet and a colorful mural on the wall. Justin steps in behind her and wraps his arms around her, his chin on her shoulder as he forces her to pause and look at the art on the wall.
“Oh, my God!” She cups her mouth.
“You like it?” he asks.
She nods, and her eyes get misty. It’s sweet, if not a little uncomfortable for me to be here. Still, I’m glad I am.
“It’s not perfect because I painted it myself, and”—he breaks for a short laugh—“I’m no artist, but—”
“It’s perfect,” she says, spinning into him and lifting up on her toes to kiss his lips. I turn and wander the alleyway on my own to give them privacy. After a few seconds, though, Justin puts his hand on my shoulder.
“It’s going to take a few months to get it up and going, but this area is going to be a pretty big one for restaurant growth, and I thought . . . what if we served Dakota barbecue?” Justin pushes open the door for me to get a look at the shithole inside. It’s gonna take more than a few months, but given what he’s done out here, I can see the vision a little.
I squint one eye, trying to get at his meaning as I step back outside and look at him.
“Are you saying you want McCoy Stockyards to—”
“Partner? Why yes, Cowboy. I believe that’s what I’m saying.” He holds out a hand.
I laugh a little, mostly blown away by the gesture, but I give him my palm and squeeze firmly because this—a connection here, a future for our family name—I’m all in.
“Brother, I’m . . .” He pats my chest and turns, not liking to show people when he’s emotional.
“That’s enough. You ca
lled me Brother, so . . . we’re good,” he says. I catch the slight sniffle, but I’ll never bring it up.
“Dom’s going to Loyola, but school for me . . . That was not really . . .” He hems and haws a bit, but I nod, totally understanding.
“We both sucked at trig, man,” I say.
He laughs and rubs the back of his neck, walking in circles.
“Yeah, I guess we kinda did.” He runs his hand along the wall he painted, moving us back to where Dominica and his sister are looking at other designs he created on the wall.
“There’s an apartment above this place. I’ve got it pretty well set up and ready to go.” He points at a window above our heads with a faint light pouring from it. Dominica and I both look up.
“Gia, should we tell them what that room is?” Justin says. Our heads fall in unison and we both anticipate the news. There was something about his tone.
“It’s mine!” Gia shouts, standing with her arms raised in the air.
Justin’s been fighting for custody of his sister while he’s been fighting off his parents. Once authorities got a good look at the life they both had there, I guess it was easy to finally grant him guardianship.
“So, it’s final? It’s real?” Dominica says, seizing his hand and Gia’s at the same time. His sister answers for them, skipping and swinging their arms while singing “Yes” over and over again. Dom and Justin just stare into each other, quiet and peaceful, words without words.
We can all do that now—talk without speaking at all. But only to each other.
“Let’s toast,” Justin says, waving his arm for us to follow.
He leads us through the dark main floor, loose boards and paint cans lying about, and then up a narrow staircase tucked in a hallway just behind what will be his future restaurant. The upstairs is a lot nicer, but it’s still a canvas in need of some paint and things that will make it a home. There are two bedrooms, and a wide-open living room with a table pushed against one wall, and the basics for a kitchen in the corner. For a downtown space, it’s pretty big. I can see the appeal of the investment.
He pours three glasses of champagne and one of ginger ale, and we each take one in our hand and hold it up while we wait for Justin to speak. He takes his time, looking into each of our eyes for long seconds before moving to the next.
“To dreams, man,” he finally says. The double-meaning is both hard and momentous. I breathe in deep through my nose, and Dominica does the same, finally repeating his words.
“To dreams,” she says, then downs her champagne in one swift gulp.
“To making them our own,” I add, following suit and drinking all of mine.
Justin’s eyes meet mine and hold for a breath, a tiny laugh playing at his lips, leaving behind the faintest smile. He nods slowly and leaves his open eyes on mine as he brings his glass to his mouth.
“Indeed,” he says, and in a beat, his glass is empty too.
41
Villain
(Justin)
I’m not sure I will ever get tired of tucking my sister into her monstrous pink bed. I haven’t furnished much in this place, but I want her room to be perfect. I want her school to be perfect, too, which is why tomorrow, visiting the Montessori Academy down the street is my first move.
Balancing it all is going to be hard, and there will be times I’ll have to sacrifice for this business or to make sure Gia’s got a person here at home, waiting for her and caring for her. Those are worth giving up other things for, though. My parents never did that. The only thing they ever gave up on was me.
I kiss my sister’s head and pull her blanket up to her chin, then leave the lamp on low as I back out of her room, leaving the door cracked enough to be able to hear her. It’s going to take some time for this place to feel like home, for her and me. I’ve never really had one, so I figure since I’m in this position, I might as well make it the way I want.
Contentment blooms in my chest as I make my way to the kitchen and the empty glasses the four of us used to toast how far we’ve come. I run my thumb over the pink stain where Dom’s lips took a drink. I’m glad Kell made it, too. I know he meant what he said, that he and I, we’re brothers. We are.
We’re brothers here, and we were brothers there.
I spend a few minutes rinsing the glasses and drying them by hand to put back in the cupboard. Everything I own is mismatched and pieced together from things I got from Sal, from Dom’s dad, and from the Goodwill. I don’t think I really ever want them to match. I like the way things are, a little imperfect.
I pour myself the last little bit of champagne, then slide out the chair Gia said gets to be mine and sit with my legs crossed while I sip at the tangy liquid. It’s still hard to catch a complete breath. No matter how hard I try, my lungs never seem to fill. I don’t think they ever will, but I’ve come to terms with that. I like where I’m at. My friends like where they’re at, too.
Leaning to the side so I can slide my hand into the pocket of my black dress pants, I feel for the hard-surfaced item there. At some point, I’ll quit keeping it with me. But I’ll never tell anyone it’s here. I’ll probably bury it. But for now, on a night when everything went exactly as I want, perfect and right, I admire it a little.
The bullet is copper, slim and rough where my initials are scratched in its side. If I ever really shot it, the aim probably wouldn’t be exact. But it’s here, this bullet. It showed up in my pocket when I found the tablet in that bathroom cupboard. I don’t know whether it’s real or a joke or a sign, but if I’m the only one who sees it and everyone else is okay, then the other bullshit doesn’t matter. It’s my burden and secret, and I’m enough of a villain to carry it for the good of everyone.
A happy ending for all of us. The justice we deserve.
I think Dom would be okay with that.
~ THE END ~
Acknowledgments
Goodness gracious this story! I have so many people to thank. First and foremost, I owe a great deal of this story’s existence to my husband and my mom. You see, this twisted story idea I had? It’s right up their alley. And it’s up mine, too, but I’m usually on the reader side of the journey. The thought of being on the author side terrified me a little. World-building…like this, crazy plot twists…like this, alternate-alternate universes…like these—LOL! What if I messed it up?
“You won’t. Do it!”
That’s what they both said.
And then I heard it again from writer friends Rebecca Shea and Anne Eliot.
“Do it!”
And then I went ahead and mentioned it to a few more people…that I maybe wanted to write this strange little sci-fi-ish tale that was still very much my flavor and also a contemporary romance, sort of.
“Do it!”
It was like I was living in a Nike ad campaign.
Damn am I glad I just did it, though. I love this story with every beat in my bones, with every cell that makes up what and who I am, and with every version of me that lives in my awake life and dreams. This might just be the most fun I’ve had doing anything ever. And it scared the crap out of me because dude! This story was hella-crazy-hard! But I think I painted every stroke exactly the way I wanted to, and in the end, that is all I could ask for when the final period was typed into place.
A sense of ahhh.
And so, I must thank the following people, beyond those mentioned above, for getting me from concept to book baby. My beta warriors, Shelley, Jen, Katja and TeriLyn—dear lord did I put you ladies through the wringer with this one. You drove me through every little twist and turn, though, and your feedback helped make this story come alive. Endless thanks to you for every minute you gave to Cowboy, Villain and Damsel!
Brenda Letendre, you were an editing savior! Your mark on this book has made me so confident in its worth. I truly could not have crossed that finish line without you. Thank you for the crazy hours you invested in me. I’m forever grateful.
And Autumn…I know this will sound clich
é, and I don’t give a rip. It’s the truth. You complete me. I’m not sure if I would have been able to leap over that final hurdle of doubt without your faith in my work. If this book soars, it’s because you gave it wings and demanded I push it from the nest. Thank you, my friend.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. The book market is daunting for us small authors, and getting the word out in this increasingly noisy world is becoming so hard. I am incredibly thankful to my readers and supporters for every boost they give. It’s those viral shares, the recommendations to friends, that help get my stories seen, and I don’t for one minute take any of that for granted. I get to do this because you give me your time and your passion—you tell others to give my books a try. I promise to keep pushing my limits for you, and I’ll work tirelessly to make sure you are entertained.
Because this life? It’s my dream. And I sure as hell don’t want to wake up.
Want more?
If you liked Cowboy Villain Damsel Duel, you might also enjoy A Boy Like You, the first book in the Like Us duet by Ginger Scott.
About the book:
They say everyone’s a superhero to someone. I’m not sure who I’m supposed to save, but I know who saved me.
We were kids. His name was Christopher. And up until the day he pulled me from death’s grip, he was nothing more than a boy I felt sorry for. In a blink of an eye, he became the only person who made me feel safe.
And then he disappeared.
Now I’m seventeen. I’m not a kid anymore. I haven’t been for years. While death didn’t take me that day, the things that happened left me with scars—the kind that robbed me of everything I once loved and drove me into darkness. But more than anything else, that day—and every day since—has taken away my desire to dream.