Black Magnolia (An Opposites Attract Novel)

by Lena Black

  “Move closer, and I’ll fucking shoot your face out from between your ears.”

  He tests me, and I point the pistol at the floor to the right of his feet and squeeze the trigger. He halts in his tracks, twisting the handle of the knife in his twitching hand, and glares up at me from the shadow under his brow. His jaw ticks, and his mouth sets in a tense frown.

  I aim the gun at his chest, prepared to filch his life if he sneezes wrong.

  “You should’ve left her alone. You should’ve given her up. You don’t love Rae. You don’t even like her.”

  “What the fuck does love have to do with it?” A deadened laugh flops lifelessly from of his mouth. “I. Own. Her.”

  “Grey?” a whispered voice comes from the stairs.

  Worried Rae came back for me; my attention is broken away from my cousin. I only hear my name, not who’s calling it.

  It’s a fatal mistake.

  Before I realize my fuck up, I’m staring down the barrel of my own gun.

  I raise my hands to him in a defensive manner, remaining as level-headed as someone can with a lethal weapon threatening their life. “Don’t be stupid, Shaw. Let’s talk about this. You don’t want to do anything more you’ll regret.”

  “No,” he jolts the gun, “not this time. You’re not getting what you want this time.”

  “Shaw,” Beau barks from the doorway, his backlit reflection in the window behind Shaw, rifle trained on the space between Shaw’s eyes. “Put the fucking gun on the ground.”

  “I’m righting the wrongs of our family,” he says, clicking the hammer back, ignoring Beau. “Goodbye, cousin.”

  In a blur of bullets and blood, white-hot pain shoots through my shoulder, and Shaw lies dead on the floor, his brains painting the wall behind him.

  Staggering through the screen door, clutching his shoulder, Greier collapses face first into the porch. I bound toward him, crying out his name, and drop to my knees beside his motionless body, his eyes closed over. I struggle to flip him on his back, checking his chest for the rise and fall of a breath. If he is breathing, it’s too shallow for my eyes to detect. My numb fingers search his neck for a quiver of a pulse. I sense a faint flutter, but I’m not sure if I’m feeling my own heartbeat drumming a violent rhythm through the tips. I’m buzzing with adrenaline.

  “Greier?” I whimper out, my eyes scanning his body for any sign of life.

  Not even a muscle twitch.

  “Grey?” I ask, my voice becoming louder, more urgent.

  Nothing.

  “Grey baby?”

  He’s unresponsive.

  “Please wake up.” I tow his upper body into my lap and stroke his face. “Please, baby, stay with me.”

  Suddenly, his eyes spring open, and he gasps a much-too-large breath into his empty lungs, choking and coughing on it.

  It’s the most beautiful sound in the world.

  When he’s able to take in a proper breath, I ask, “Are you alright?”

  “Depends on your definition of alright,” he jokes inappropriately, his specialty, the pain of the bullet wound evident in his gravelly voice. “Think I knocked the wind out of myself.”

  I lean over him and mercilessly smother his face with kisses, his presence like a shot of euphoria in my veins. I fling my arms around him, and he groans in anguish, snapping me out of my overjoyed hysteria.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know where your husband is?” Beau’s solemn voice asks from the doorway, the rifle gripped in his hand.

  Mame mutters, “Thank heavens,” from the grass.

  “Don’t,” Greier tells him. “She doesn’t need to hear this.”

  “Where?” I inquire, feeling stupid I didn’t consider he may be lurking around somewhere.

  “Dead,” he replies, stone-faced.

  Sorrow for the loss of a human life—as despicable as it may’ve been—washes across me like a wave on the shore, coming and going with the ease of a breath, replaced with weightlessness. Maybe, in some way, it’s wrong to experience such joy and relief when my husband’s body hasn’t even begun to cool. But it’s what I feel, and I’ll never deny what I feel again—especially when it comes to Greier. He’s alive, and I won’t take that for granted for a minute. He’s the only thing that matters to me. The world could go to hell around us. As long as he’s by my side, I’m in heaven.

  “How’s your shoulder?” I carefully peel his hand from the wound enough to examine the severity of the bullet’s bite. It isn’t pretty but doesn’t seem fatal. He isn’t bleeding out or anything.

  “I’ll survive,” Grey promises me, linking his fingers with mine. I didn’t even realize I continued to hold his hand after I removed it from the wound. I stare at it eclipsing mine, caked with his drying blood. “Did he hurt you or the baby?”

  He’s more concerned about us than himself. He’s saintly like that.

  “We’re fine,” I assure him.

  In the near distance, sirens wail in the night, growing louder and more urgent.

  “Beau,” Greier says, “take your mom back to your place. We’ll send the cops to you. Rae, lets meet the police down at the gate.”

  Assisting him upright, a drawn-out groan rumbles low in his throat. He takes a deep breath, attempting to control the agony radiating from his shoulder. It must be on fire.

  “Don’t you think I should help you?” Beau suggests, stepping toward him.

  “No, they’re gonna take me to the hospital,” he pauses from a bout of unbearable pain, continuing when it passes, “and I want Rae with me. She’ll give her statement when they come to get mine. You stay here and man the fort, make sure they find everything they need.”

  Such as the lifeless corpse decorating the room upstairs.

  “What do you want me to tell ‘em?” he asks.

  Carefully, I help my wounded hero off the ground.

  “The truth,” Grey answers, flinging his good arm around my neck. “We’ve got nothing to hide.”

  Beau nods, his face devoid of any emotion, and then walks over to his mother, shocked into a state of silence.

  Rounding the main house, we walk down the tree-lined avenue, both worse for wear, toward the red and blue lights strobing beyond the front gate, bright searchlights glaring at us. Arm draped around my shoulders, he keeps me close. I burrow into his side, noting the way we fit together, trying to crawl deep within him.

  “It’s over, Rae,” Greier mutters against the top of my head, his voice scratchy through his dry throat. “Nothing can stop us from being together now.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, turning my face into his chest. “And nothing ever will again.”

  On a foggy Sunday morning in early February, we take a drive to visit Greier’s mother, like we’ve done every Sunday since he first brought me. Except this time, it’s different. We have our five-month-old son, Jackson Patrick Dixon, with us. Born October 3rd, 2018. Eight pounds, eleven ounces. Twenty fingers and toes. With blue eyes and a mane of brown hair like his daddy.

  He’s the love of our lives, the beat of our hearts, the breath in our lungs. He’s our little man.

  Today, we’re introducing him to his grandmother as if Jax understands what’s happening. He sleeps through most of our visit, but it’s more for Greier than anything else. It means something to him, which means something to me.

  About to leave, I request a moment alone with her.

  “I’ll catch up,” I tell Greier.

  He tosses me an inquisitive look before pushing the stroller with our sleeping son back to the car.

  Twisting her ring on my finger, I stand in silence and stare at the name on the headstone, trying to fathom what it would be like to leave behind my son. If I wasn’t already dying, I can’t imagine I’d survive it. But Jackson would have a wonderful dad to depend on. As terrific at being a husband as he is, he’s twice the father. Jax would grow to be a strong, well-rounded man like him. When she was dying, I’m sure his mother took some comfort in knowing he’d grow into the
man he has. She must’ve known, seen the signs of greatness in him even as a teenager.

  “He really is incredible,” I confirm aloud. “Thank you for giving him to me and giving Jackson the best father and role model. It’s because of you.”

  I reach out to her name chiseled in the stone panel, tracing it under my fingertips, wishing I’d known her. I smile sadly and then leave to catch up to my husband and son waiting for me down the walkway. We stroll back to the car and head to meet Tobias and his girlfriend for brunch at the Commander’s Palace.

  On the drive, I stare out the passenger window at the city that has become my home, counting my blessings. One passed out in the back, strapped in his car seat. My heart races when the other takes my hand in his.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks, bringing my knuckles to his mouth.

  I glance back at him, my face serene. “How much I love you and our baby.”

  He grins against the back of my hand, his not-so-fresh scruff gently scratching the skin. He hasn’t had time to shave in over a week. Fatherhood looks good on him though.

  “That makes two of us,” he confirms.

  I sigh, gazing out the window again, slipping into my memories like a favorite sweater. Even though we’ve managed to come out the other side unscathed and happier than ever, it’s been a long, rocky road getting where we are today.

  Shaw’s death was ruled an act of self-defense by the cops. Law officials approached us regarding Lou LeBlanc. Turns out, they’d been investigating him and Shaw for quite some time. With the help of my testimony, Big Daddy LeBlanc was sentenced to life in prison, along with his head lackeys. Apparently, they were responsible for more than a few bodies in the bayou, illegal gambling rings, distributing drugs, and prostitution. After the verdict was announced and splashed across the media—if the loss of her son and husband wasn’t enough—Blanche was disgraced, labeled a social leper, cut off from the community she so desperately fought to be a part of. She now lives alone in that big, empty manor in the Garden District.

  Once some time had passed, Greier proposed to me, on the anniversary of the night we met, in the garden under the magnolia tree, him on one knee, twinkle lights everywhere, with his mother’s antique emerald ring. It was the most romantic moment of my life. After Jackson came into the world, I knew, without a fleck of doubt, Greier was my forever. Before he finished the question, I squealed out a yes and fell into his arms, making love right there on the grass.

  The following month, Greier married me in an intimate ceremony in that very spot. We invited the people most important to us. Tiny and the girls from the Magnolia. Izzie, my maid of honor, held the best man in her arms, our son, who slept through most of the ceremony. Tobias did the honor of giving me away. Mame cried like a baby. Since he was the reason we have a future together, Beau was ordained and oversaw the ceremony. And Giorgi provided the entertainment and music. For the reception, we had a potluck-type dinner with all of Greier’s favorite dishes, which Mame made with love.

  Auntie Izzie insisted on watching Jackson for a few days while Greier and I holed up in the apartment for a quickie honeymoon.

  We never once put on clothes.

  My parents contacted me following the birth of our son, but I ignored their efforts. After a few months, they actually had the nerve to show their faces at the restaurant. I’d like to say they were the loving, caring parents I’d always wanted. Life doesn’t always work like that though. They told me I’d made a huge mistake and ruined everything they’d worked so hard for. Greier introduced himself in the middle of them berating me, his hand extended in a friendly gesture. My parents shook his hand because they didn’t seem to know what else to do. That’s when my wonderful husband, the father of my baby boy, instructed them to kindly get the fuck out of our building and lives. The stunned look on their faces was gratifying. They looked to me for confirmation. When I didn’t argue against it, they left without even a goodbye.

  Ninety-nine percent of me was proud my husband’s the type of man who’d stand up for me against anyone. Especially my parents. The other percent mourned the loss of grandparents for Jackson. I’d come to terms with the death of our relationship long ago. They’d never change, not even for him. And I won’t expose my child to the things they did to me. Luckily, Tobias has really stepped up as a father and grandfather, quitting drinking and cleaning up his act. He even met and moved in with a nice woman, Leanne, who is mad about Jax.

  We made our own family, a patchwork quilt of characters who love and care for Jackson like he was their own. But, above all else, he has us, Greier and me, to love and guide him through life, give him everything we never had.

  And Greier, my Greier, the man who saved me, the man who gave me the world, the man who risked his life for mine and our baby’s. Where would I be without him, without his strength and support? What would my life be like if I hadn’t walked into the Magnolia that fateful night, if I hadn’t found him there behind that bar? Luckily, I’ll never find out. Because I did walk into the Magnolia that night, and I did find him.

  I stare down at his hand, clutched securely around mine on the center console of the car, smoothing the back with his thumb. And an overwhelming surge of emotion swells in my chest.

  Feeling protected and loved, I sink deeper into my seat, close my eyes, and think about how drastically different my life looks from what I thought it would a year ago, from what my parents mapped out for me.

  Falling in love was never part of the plan, but this isn’t love.

  It’s more.

  So much more.

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  AN OPPOSITES ATTRACT SERIES

  METAL & LACE

  JAMISON

  BLACK MAGNOLIA

  A DOMINANT SERIES

  A DOMINANT MAN

  A DOMINANT FALLEN

  A DOMINANT SALVATION

  RIVER WALK ANTHOLOGY

  SPANKED

  SECONDARY COLORS

  Possum Kingdom – Toadies

  A Change is Going to Come – Sam Cooke

  Summertime – Sidney Bechet

  Desperation – Steppenwolf

  I Can’t Give You Anything But Love – Louis Armstrong

  Tiger Rag 3 – Original Dixieland Jazz Band

  You’re the One – The Black Keys

  Wicked Games – Ursine Vulpine & Annaca

  Lena Black is the author of A Dominant Man, A Dominant Fallen, A Dominant Salvation, Metal & Lace, Jamison, and Spanked. She lives in Los Angeles with her man. When she isn't writing, she's reading, listening to killer tunes, or being a general goofball.