The Ex

by Margaret Ferguson

  “Go,” he gasped coughing up more than a little blood this time. “Get out of here.”

  Corbin immediately stood and pulled Mary Beth toward the door. She resisted for a moment until I nodded for her to leave. Warily, the young waitress crawled from Arnold’s lap, tripping over me as she rushed hurriedly past me toward her freedom.

  I could see, and I’m pretty sure Arnold knew, he was dying. I stared at him for many moments. “I’m sorry for what they did to you. To your dad.” I turned back to the wall of alcohol in front of me. “To all of them,” I breathed out, waiting to die myself.

  “Me, too,” he whispered, before coughing again. It was a wet cough, thick with the blood and sputum that was filling his lungs. When he finally stopped, he murmured, “They won.” He scoffed. “Now, there are two less people they have to pay.” His head fell against the shelf behind him. “It was all for nothing.”

  Slowly I shook my head.

  “Not for nothing,” I said. “Maybe some of them heard. Maybe they’ll change it and make it right.” I stared into nowhere in particular.

  He coughed again. “Wouldn’t that be something.”

  “Yeah,” I chuckled to myself. “Wouldn’t that be something,” I closed my eyes again, feeling tired, so very tired. Muffled voices called out in the distance. People yelling, only it sounded so far away. Yet, suddenly, a familiar voice spoke into my ear.

  “Ipok Nukni!”

  Grandfather?

  A hand was nudging me.

  “Ipok nukni!” he proclaimed, in perfect Chickasaw dialect. “Stand up.”

  The nudge became a shove.

  “Quit laying there. You’re a warrior. Get up! Now!”

  Grandfather, is that you?

  “He’s delirious,” the voice said before repeating. “Roarck! Wake up!”

  I opened my eyes to find several people surrounding me, talking to me. Or were they talking to one another? It was all so jumbled, and my head was killing me. I turned to the right, only to find Arnold, slumped against the wall, very still. His lifeless eyes were still open, and blood dribbled from his mouth and nose. I stared at him for a moment until I felt myself being lifted to standing. I immediately shook off my rescuers.

  “I’ve got this,” I insisted, pulling myself up the rest of the way, using a bar stool as a crutch. I stood completely upright, holding my side, feeling the warmth and the wetness of my own blood. “I’ve got this,” I reiterated. And then every ounce of my two hundred twenty-five pounds crumbled as my legs gave way.

  Chapter 36

  The dim glow from the sunset shone on the buildings of downtown, illuminating the eighteenth-century architecture and its delicate features. I sat at the end of the ambulance, as the medics tended to my bullet wound, among my other injuries.

  “You really need to go to the hospital,” the attendant suggested.

  “I can drive myself.”

  Mary Beth glared at me, obviously not amused.

  “Is he always this stubborn?” he asked her.

  She gave me a wry smile. “Ever since I’ve known him.”

  “Pot,” I said.

  “Kettle,” she rebuffed, looking away.

  We both turned when they wheeled a zippered, black body bag through the broken restaurant window.

  Mary Beth continued staring at the gaping hole while I gazed at her. She looked so vulnerable, a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders, smudges of soot all over her face. As though she could feel me watching her, she turned.

  I grinned.

  Mary Beth smiled at me. Only it was a sad smile, a telling smile. When her eyes met mine again, they were moist with tears. “You’re a fool, Eddie Roarck,” she chastised. “He could have killed you.”

  I stood, towering over her. Suddenly, she leaned forward against my chest. I caressed her head without kissing it, which I had the strongest urge to do. “You going to be all right?” I asked her.

  She held onto my shirt and nodded, her tears wetting my chest.

  Suddenly feeling light-headed, I dropped back onto the tailgate of the ambulance.

  Mary Beth looked at me, alarmed. “You should let them take you to the hospital.”

  I shook my head. “I’ll be fine,” I insisted. “I just need a moment.”

  “Mary Beth!” a voice hollered from behind the police barricade. “Mary Beth!”

  We both turned, and my heart sank.

  “Mary Beth!” Henry yelled, pressing past the police and running toward us.

  “Henry,” she breathed out. Suddenly, she rushed into his arms. She began to sob as he held her. When they turned, I could see that he was crying, too. He held her tightly, and when they embraced, I had to look away.

  Suddenly, I felt like I needed to lay down. A moment later, I looked up, and Mary Beth and Henry were walking toward me.

  “Ah, hell,” I exhaled before forcing a smile. “Henry.” I offered my hand, without standing.

  “Eddie,” he took it and then pulled me into an awkward hug. When he stepped back, he smiled sincerely. “Mary Beth told me you saved her—again. Thank you.”

  I shook my head. “She’s one tough lady.”

  Henry nodded, holding her hand. “Yes. Yes, she is.” Henry drew in a deep breath. “That’s twice you’ve given her back to me.”

  “Yeah, well, it wasn’t me,” I insisted. I looked over at Mary Beth. “It definitely wasn’t me.” I glanced upward for a moment. “Don’t squander what He’s given you,” I said, looking him firmly in the eyes.

  He held my stare. “I won’t,” he said, shaking his head, pulling her closer to his side. “I promise.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” I nodded toward his wife.

  “I’ll spend the rest of my life showing her.”

  “You do that.” I looked down at Mary Beth.

  Immediately she released Henry and rushed to hug me, knocking me back a little so that I had to hold onto the ambulance door to stay upright.

  “Thank you,” she sniffed, against my tear-soaked shirt.

  “No, thank you,” I whispered to her head. Then I hugged her back. “Take care of each other,” I ordered, sitting back down.

  When they stepped back into each other’s arms, I felt dizzy. “I need to lay down,” I told the medic who helped me into the vehicle. And, as I lay back, the last thing I saw before they closed the doors was Henry holding Mary Beth as she looked up at him, with so much love that I envied him.

  “Not so fast,” a voice said as he slapped the door. The medic opened it once more, and Foster stood there with that stupid crooked smile before climbing into the ambulance.

  “How you doing soldier?” he asked, as he sat opposite where I lay.

  “I’ve been better,” I moaned, feeling a little sorry for myself at this point.

  “Well, I don’t know whether to thank you or arrest you.” Foster opened up the folder in his hand. “Assaulting a police officer. Interfering with a crime scene.” He leaned over me. “Jaywalking.”

  A small smile crept up on my lips. “You baited me,” I smirked.

  He leaned back, grabbing his chest. Aghast. “I’m a professional. I would never,” the man insisted. He leaned in again. “Never doubted you for a second.”

  “Uh, huh,” I scoffed, looking away.

  “You are full of surprises, though. The countdown. Quite ingenious. Didn’t expect that one.”

  “Glad to disappoint you.” I looked at him again.

  “Yeah, well, seems I’ve actually got some good news for you.” Foster tapped the folder in his palm. “The guy in the closet…”

  I looked at him expectantly.

  “He’s gonna make it.“

  My eyes widened in total shock. “But, I saw the kid shoot him. Point blank.”

  “Well, the kid was either a really lousy shot, or never meant to kill him.”

  I dropped my head onto the gurney, staring into the ambulance ceiling in utter disbelief. “Well, I’ll be.” I brushed my hair ba
ck as I pondered the implications of that little detail.

  When the chief climbed down from the ambulance, I called after him. “Hey, Foster.” He turned my direction. “Do you think anyone heard? I mean, what he was trying to tell them?”

  “Who, Benson?”

  I nodded weakly.

  Foster threw back his head, contemplating. “Maybe. Probably up until the moment he pulled a gun on you. At that point, most people just tuned him out, giving it no credence and writing him off as a looney. It’s the same reason the media probably won’t investigate the injustices done the soldier by the VA and our own government. The juicier story will be the distraught soldiers who killed three people in the restaurant,” he added dramatically. “It’s the reason why everyone will continue to ignore the underlying problem. Unless there’s a scandal involved, son, it’s just not worth their time and effort.”

  I shook my head, disgusted.

  “You take care of yourself now, Roarck.”

  I nodded, then sat up on my elbows. “Hey. What about my file?”

  Foster held up the folder. “What, this?” he asked, opening it up and flipping it over, showing me the empty, blank manila file.

  I chuckled.

  “Hey, Roarck, I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure knowing you.” He slowly walked backwards. Then, as if for effect, he smiled that damned smug smile again. “And don’t take it personally, son,” he said grinning ear to ear. “But, I hope I never see you again.” And, with that, he turned and strode away, waving the empty file folder over his head.

  I dropped back onto the gurney, a small wry smile on my lips.

  The medic climbed up into the wagon, immediately looking at my gunshot wound. When I turned to him, he didn’t even meet my gaze as he busied himself with my care. “You allergic to anything?” he asked.

  “Penicillin,” I replied.

  “How does morphine sound?”

  “Sounds good, doc.” I stared at the ceiling.

  He banged on the wall before giving me my shot. Then, the driver turned on the siren, and I felt the vehicle move.

  My eyes started to become heavy. “Home James,” I breathed out, just before drifting away.

  Epilogue

  “Everyone’s ready, son,” he spoke to my reflection as he walked to me and took the tie that I had draped over my shoulder. Tomás turned me around and then began dressing me like I was a kid. “You look nervous,” he grinned as he grasped the wide end of my tie in one hand and the thin end in the other. He carefully began constructing a half-Windsor knot while he spoke, his eyes on his hands the entire time. “I remember when I married your mother, how nervous I was.”

  I studied his features as he pulled the large end through the loop he had just created. He was older than my mother by at least ten years, his youngest child just years apart from Christina. His hair was thinning and graying, except his brows, which were thick with white hairs.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever love anyone again, after my Rosa,” he added as he adjusted the knot and then created the perfect dimple in the front. “But your Mama, she was something else.” He looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “There,” he exclaimed proudly, before proceeding to adjust my collar and the shoulders of my jacket and my sleeves. “She swept me off my feet,” he smiled, finally looking up at me. “My bonus was, I got you kids, too.”

  “You’ve always been a great dad.”

  “I’m so proud of you, son.”

  “Thank you, Tomás,” I said, looking again in the mirror, then patting my hairs back into place. I turned around and hugged him.

  “There you go, messing up your suit,” he reprimanded playfully, with a shake of his head. His fingers returned to the tie and then my jacket again. “Perfect!” He looked up. “You ready?”

  “Can I have a minute?”

  “Sure, son.”

  I watched him leave, in the mirror, then my eyes refocused on my reflection. I drew in a deep breath and blew it out before dropping my head and mouthing a short prayer. When I looked back at the man in the mirror, he didn’t look as confident or as sure as he did a few short weeks ago. My hands moved to adjust my tie, but then stopped as I realized that if I changed anything, Tomás would surely notice.

  Adam pushed the door open and stood there, tapping his foot. “The judge is ready for you,” he grinned.

  I walked toward him.

  “You’re about to be sentenced to life without the possibility of parole, my friend,” he chuckled, slapping me on the back as I walked by. Then he grabbed my shoulder, holding me firm—probably afraid I was going to turn and flee.

  He turned me down the hallway to the right, and I stopped. Emily stood by the door, looking beautiful in her lavender knee-length party gown. Her fingers toyed nervously with a small tight bouquet of roses in her hands. My mother stood beside her, stoic, wearing a forced smile. She saw me first, and her smile grew. With a gentle touch of her hand, she drew Emily’s attention. Then their eyes turned to me.

  My smile grew with each step. When I stopped before her, I took her hand. I was speechless, so I merely brought it to my lips and kissed it.

  Emily smiled her signature wry smile, a twinkle in her eyes. “Sharp,” she said, eying me head to toe. “You clean up nice.”

  “And you,” I began with a shake of my head. “You look amazing.”

  “You know they say it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

  I leaned closer. “I’ll take my chances.” When I looked up, my mother and Tomás were standing close by, still smiling. I turned back to Emily. “You ready?” When she nodded, I held out my arm for her to take.

  The small round man stood at the front of the courtroom, also in a plaid suit. Except, his looked like it cost five times what mine did. However, he also looked just as uncomfortable—probably sweating in all the same places. He motioned for us to come in and asked for our marriage certificate, which I promptly handed him, along with an envelope filled with his standard stipend. Then he pointed and adjusted until we were all in the proper place.

  Adam was standing up for me. Emily, for lack of anyone else, asked my mother to stand in as her maid of honor. Then, she asked Tomás to give her away—therefore, securing not only my parents’ permission but their participation. She chalked up points with my mother, and I got to keep things small and simple. It was a win-win all around.

  I felt like I was in a daze throughout the ceremony, not even really hearing what the judge was saying. Emily nudged me, pulling me out of my trance, just in time to say I do. To save me embarrassment, everyone chuckled. A minute later, I was repeating brief, non-traditional vows, in a courthouse in a city I was only temporarily calling my home.

  My mother, of course, wanted a church wedding. But seeing as her eldest son was finally getting married, I think she would take it any way she could get it. She wanted more grandkids, so for her, it was a means to an end. And since Emily signed the prenuptial agreement, no one was about to make a fuss about how we got married or where.

  I fidgeted uncomfortably and closed my eyes for only a second. And in that brief moment in time, I thought of all the first kisses in my lifetime. Kissing Emily at the skating rink. Kissing Amanda at the Cameron Park Zoo in front of the Tiger enclosure. A stolen kiss in a dark cave in the middle of Afghanistan.

  I jerked slightly when Adam elbowed me. When I turned to him, he grinned then encouraged me with a nudge to do what the magistrate had already given me permission to do.

  “Go on,” he whispered. “Kiss her.”

  When I looked at Emily, she seemed a little perplexed. I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it, then I pulled her arms behind me and embraced her tenderly. Once my mouth met hers again, it was as though no one else was there. I pulled her closer and became lost in her once more.

  Another nudge by Adam brought me back to the present. When I opened my eyes, I dropped my forehead to hers. Emily grinned mischievously then took my face into hers and kissed me again.


  And, when I looked her in the eyes, it felt… right. “Hello, Missus Roarck,” I whispered. “Where to now?”

  She breathed softly against my cheek, then into my ear. “Take me home.”

  The End

  Did you love The Ex? Then, I would really appreciate if you have a few minutes to give a review on the site from which you downloaded the book... it only takes a moment!

  And if you loved The Ex, sharing is caring, right? At the time of publishing, the Kindle eBook version of The Ex is only $2.99, so why not share Eddie’s adventures with a friend?

  I’ve also included a preview of The Mojado in a few pages… Keep reading!

  Text Copyright © 2020, Margaret Ferguson Books

  Get Involved

  Join my newsletter and be notified of future releases and new books at www.margaretfergusonbooks.com/subscribe

  Like my Facebook page: www.facebook.com/margaretfergusonbooks

  Please report typos:

  www.MargaretFergusonBooks/typos

  Excerpt from The Mojado

  Prologue

  He made no excuses, his stance proud—proud as a man could be, ragged and unshaven, having not bathed for almost three weeks. He stood humbly before the rancher, his eyes pleading, without begging.

  “Tiene trabajo?” he asked softly, hoping beyond hope that this would be the last stop of his thousand-mile journey on foot. “Work?” Tomás repeated in English—one of the words he’d learned through his many trips to America. He was tired. Tired of eating meager meals of cactus and beetles; snakes and rodents he or his fellow travelers had caught along the way. Soups made from roots he’d dug up with his bare hands. His feet were beyond tired. The soles of his boots taped on by scraps of duct tape he found in a dumpster in the last town through which he had passed. He’d been gone almost nine months now. Nine months of walking through thick brush and woods, trying to be more invisible than he already was. Nine months of walking town to town, state to state—job to job.