Quarantales: The Complete Contemporary Romance Box Set, page 41
Suddenly, someone grabs at my tied hands.
I try to pull away. I can’t let Tommy have this gun!
But then a gruff voice says, “Hold on, Gina. Let me get you out of these ropes.”
Jeb! Oh God, it’s Jeb!
He makes quick work of the ropes and turns me around to face him. His expression is worried and rough, but he informs me, “Your ex can’t tie a knot for shit. You okay?”
I don’t laugh. I have to warn him, “Jeb, you have to watch…”
The “out” fades from my voice when I see what’s taking place beyond his shoulder.
Nico and Mitch…they’re taking turns again. But this time not with me.
They’re throwing punches into Tommy’s face like he’s a bag designed specifically for their fists.
Jeb picks up his hunting rifle from where he laid it on the floor when he was untying my hands. He watches them for a long, cold moment before saying, “That’s enough.”
Mitch stops, but Nico grabs the front of Tommy’s shirt and keeps going. “You thought you could come here and just take our wife, you worthless sack of shit?” Punch! “We’re going to make you pay for hurting her.” Punch! “That’s our woman you hit. Our baby you tried to claim. And you’re never going to hurt them again!” Punch!
Nico might have gone on like that, if not Jeb for saying, “That’s enough, Saint Nic! Let him go!”
Violence shines bright in Nico’s eyes, but he lets Tommy go.
As it turns out, Nico’s hand fisted around his shirt was the only thing holding him up. Tommy slumps to the ground like a pile of Irish bricks.
“You won’t get away with assaulting a cop,” he mumbles through his bloodied mouth. “All of you are going to jail.”
“You’re right. We can’t get away with assaulting a cop,” Jeb says, coming to stand over him. “So, we better make sure no one ever finds out.”
That’s all the warning Tommy gets before Jeb cocks the gun and shoots him point blank in the face.
We all stare at the dead body for a frozen moment.
Then Nico turns to me and says, “So your real name is Gina, huh? And what’s this we hear about you being a state beauty queen?”
Epilogue
One Year Later
Yes, my real name is Gina. And yes, I’m a former Princess Georgia.
The guys let me know Cynda told them that while they’re tending to my wounds back at the cabin. At first, they had suspected I skipped town, just like I’d been low-key trying to do for weeks.
Mitch and Nico had been distraught, but they had decided to respect my decision.
Only Jeb hadn’t believed I was really gone. On a hunch, he followed up on the only real lead he had on me.
Cynda. He found her. He claimed it wasn’t that hard. There weren’t many Cynda’s in the state of Missouri, and only one of them was black.
He called her, and as soon as he found out about Tommy, he connected to my other gift. The one he hadn’t gotten around to telling me about. There wasn’t only money in that diaper bag. There was also a phone—a phone they used to track me. And when my dot had shown up across the lake, they pieced together exactly what had happened.
After that, they found me, ended Tommy’s life, and called the fiancé of my other best friend, Billie. That was another huge twist in the story. Not only had both Cynda and Billie also gotten engaged during the pandemic, Billie’s fiancé was a Rustanov. And apparently, the Rustanovs were a Russian family about two steps away from mafia.
The kind of people who say, “No problem at all,” when you call them looking for help getting rid of a cop’s body.
“None of you want to believe me,” Nico crowed after all was said and buried. “But I really am the luckiest guy on Earth.”
With that problem solved, they take me to the Sweet Lake doctor a few days later. He lets me know that despite my fall, everything looks great, and he easily found a heartbeat.
I cry tears of joy. Not just because the baby’s okay, but also because this is the last time I’ll ever have to cover up Tommy’s abuse.
Maybe that makes me a bitch, just like Tommy said. But if so, I’m a happy bitch. And I’m glad he’s dead.
Mitch and Nico keep asking if I’m alright for weeks after. They don’t believe me when I tell them I’m totally at peace. But Jeb gets it. He says we’re a little too fucked up and suggests that we both start talking to a therapist over Telehealth. But he gets it.
Therapy helps. Jeb finds us a sex-positive therapist couple from California. They’re happy to see us individually or together when Jeb and I have trouble communicating because of the things we suffered in our pasts. The wife, who I see individually, doesn’t care that much about my three partners. She just wants to help me deal with my low self-esteem issues so that I can receive love. From them and from myself.
I can’t say that I stopped having dark moments as soon as I decided to accept the guys’ marriage proposal and took on a therapist. But it does feel like my relationships with Nico, Mitch, and Jeb now has a self-sabotage safety net now.
A few months before the baby was born, we all got married. Jeb and I went to the Sweet Lake courthouse and let the team’s publicity department send around a few announcements. And then we came home to the cabin and had our own private ceremony with Nico and Mitch.
Billie’s now husband has a hilarious habit of referring to us three beauty queens as fairytale princesses. He calls Billie krasotka, which means “Beauty” in Russian, and he refers to himself as her beast. Of course, he labeled Cynda, Cyndarella. And he’s the only one outside my husbands who refers to me as Goldie.
I know he’s teasing, but it really does feel like we’re living happily ever after.
Especially in the summer of 2021.
“Nico, I can carry the popcorn,” I insist when he tries to tug the bowl away.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his expression filled with gentle worry. Basically the opposite of the man that beat Tommy toothless before Jeb shot him straight in the face.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I answer with a laugh.
Then I have to have the same conversation with Mitch as I make my way out to the living room. Honestly, they’ve been the worst ever since I announced I was pregnant again just three months after delivering our first baby, who we named Saul after Coach Granger.
They don’t let me cook. They don’t let me clean. I barely get to breastfeed Saul before one of them comes along and swoops him out of my arms. It got even worse when Saul started occasionally using a bottle. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up to find out that Mitch or Nico have taken him to a job site.
Nico quit the team before the beginning of last season. And, even though there’s now a COVID vaccine, Mitch announced he wasn’t returning to the Wisconsin Bears this season.
They’ve started their own prefab and modular cabin business and it’s already booming. In the wake of the pandemic and social unrest, a shocking amount of people want to live at least partially off-grid in the northern Wisconsin forest. However, they also want big houses in the middle of nowhere, and they don’t want to spend years building their own places. Mitch and Nico can barely keep up with all the demand for the modular log cabins they offer. They’ve hired a bunch of crew from the surrounding areas, and Jeb plans to join the business after his current three-year contract is done.
They asked me to add design touches, and I staged the three model cabins they built. A few of our big-city buyers were so impressed they asked me to design their entire home. So it looks like I’m on my way to becoming an interior designer and the mother of a big brood after all.
Funny how dreams you’re sure are dead can find new life.
Soon our house will really be full. And in the meanwhile, Mitch and Nico spent most of the off-season putting together cabins and fussing over me.
When I get out to the living room, Jeb, who’s mirroring his phone to the TV, doesn’t even ask to take the popcorn. He tries to grab it from me, even though he’s carrying Saul on one hip. “Let me get that for you.”
But I no longer act like a docile thing who has no will of her own—at least not outside of bed.
“Seriously, I can carry popcorn!” I insist to Jeb, before plopping down to watch the Missouri Corona Wedding Livestream.
When Cynda told me she and her fiancé had decided to get married along with hundreds of others in Missouri today, I’d thought it was pretty wild.
But who am I to talk? Pretty wild is how most people would describe my life if more than a select few knew I wasn’t just married to one Wisconsin Bear, but three of them.
And I’ve gotta admit that this 50-state outdoor concert and wedding series is a pretty cool idea. It’s gotten a lot of social media love with a new group wedding presented along with a surprise musical guest every weekend.
“Who do you think the musical act will be this time?” Mitch asks, sitting down next to me on the couch.
“Probably Sheryl Crow or Nelly. Those are the only acts I can think of from Missouri. “The Montana Concert was last week, and I read Roxxy Roxx was the headliner for that one.”
“Yeah, and Colin Fairgood did the one in Nashville,” Mitch added. “I love that dude.”
I grimace. “I like that one song he did with Roxxy Roxx—ooh, and that other one he did with C-Mello—”
“Of course you did.” Mitch laughs. He’s accused me before of only liking country when the artists crossover with black artists, like Colin with Roxxy and C-Mello, Billy Ray Cyrus with Lil Nas X, and Florida Georgia Line and Nelly.
“If we’re lucky, maybe Nelly will do ‘Cruise,’” Nico says.
I clap in gleeful anticipation. “I’d love that. What do I get if I’m right?”
Mitch grins. “If you’re right, I eat you out first tonight. And if I’m right, you suck me while taking Nico from behind. Bet?”
Mitch is all about the love money can’t buy these days, but he still loves to use bets and handshake contracts to manipulate me into bed.
“Bet!” I say, laughing.
With Saul’s arrival, the four of us don’t get up to our wild times nearly as much as we did before. The rotation is still in effect, depending on who’s here, so usually, it’s just one-on-one sex these days. But about twice a month, we leave Saul sleeping upstairs and have some good times in the big bed.
“Nico! Jeb! You want in on this?” Mitch calls out.
“Sure,” Nico answers, at the same time Jeb says, “Fuck yeah!”
By the time the live stream starts, we’ve got a somewhat complicated bet going. If it’s Nelly, then each of them will take turns playing with my breasts while one of them eats me out. If it’s Sheryl Crow—Nico’s guess, I ride him and suck Jeb off while Mitch takes my ass. And if it’s Michael McDonald—we had to look that one up to find a third option—but if it’s the former Doobie Brother, Jeb calls the shots all night.
“Either way, I win,” I let them know as Jeb turns on the TV.
But as it turns out, none of us wins.
Jeb cheers like a maniac when Death Buddha takes the stage. He’s been listening to their latest album non-stop, and he’s already bought tickets for the Somerset, Wisconsin concert on their next tour.
“But what the hell?” Mitch sputters. “They’re not even from Missouri.”
All our mouths drop open when we find out over the next few minutes exactly why one of the biggest heavy metal bands of all time have come out to this particular concert venue.
And suddenly I’m totally okay with handing off the popcorn. After shoving the bucket at Mitch, I pull out the phone that saved my life a year ago to call Cynda.
Of course, the phone goes to voicemail, but I leave a message anyway, “Cynda, it’s Goldie—I mean, Gina! Did I just see what I thought I saw? Was that your mom? Oh my God, call me back as soon as you get this!!!”
* * *
Whoa, what happened at that concert???
Keep scrolling for the sweet final quarantale,
REINA AND THE HEAVY METAL PRINCE!
Thank you so much for reading the third story in my Quarantales series. I know a lot of us struggle with feeling deserving of love. So how happy am I that Gina found the prince(s) she deserves. If you loved Goldie and her Bears, please let others know by leaving a review.
REINA AND THE HEAVY METAL PRINCE
To my best friend’s mother, Donna Marie King. Hey, Suga! I thought of you when I started writing this story. And I missed you even more when I finished. I hope you get a chance to read it on your next angel break. Rest In Peace, Beautiful Soul.
Part One
Episode 1: I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER
Chapter One
I Should Have Known Better
REINA
I’m a reformed woman. Don’t drink, don’t swear, don’t even take the Lord’s name in vain. But I mutter a few not so nice things when I see the sirens on top of Bruce’s cop car flashing in my rearview window.
I should have known better than to speed down the empty stretch of highway leading to Wyatt’s place while singing along with Death Buddha at the top of my lungs. Yes, “Hole of Destruction” is an impossible song not to sing. And yes, the roads were unbelievably clear thanks to this virus that has just about every state but ours on official lockdown.
But I doubt Bruce listens to death metal. He’s in the church choir with me, and he’s always complaining about how all the gospel songs these days are “too rock n’ roll” for his tastes. In-person choir practice has been put on hold, thanks to the pandemic. Combine that with less traffic, and it means Bruce is even more bored than usual.
Everybody who lives in Lake Pinewood knows Bruce loves himself a good speed trap. I shouldn’t have let myself get lured into a false sense of security—even if “Hole of Destruction” is my favorite Death Buddha track of all time.
Still resisting the urge to drop a few S-bombs, I pull over my little Ford Fiesta. Then I watch Bruce call in the stop over the radio, even though he knows it’s me, and there’s only a single deputy holding down that shed they call a police station back on Main Street.
After he’s done with that, he scoots out of his vehicle, hitches his trousers up under his beer belly, and moseys toward my car. He’s taking his sweet time, I note. Probably because he literally has nothing else to do.
I use the extra time to switch the radio to an old-timey Christian music station and affix a sunny smile to my face before cracking the window.
“Hi, Bruce!” I call through the window slot. “How are you today?”
“Missed you at online choir practice last night,” he answers, peering back at me.
“I know! I got busy. Sorry.”
The lie doesn’t sit well in my chest. I still haven’t figured out how to tell people I’m basically homeless now. Pastor Thomas would’ve lectured me about Pride being the deadliest sin and forced me to turn to the congregation for help. But he died last month, and without him here to guide me, I’ve been…I don’t know…reverting, I guess.
Bruce’s brows lower with a suspicious look. “You been busy for over a month now. This is the third practice you missed. You want me to tell Shirley to take you off the roster?”
Before I can answer, Bruce holds up a finger and turns his head to let out a big honking sneeze.
“Bless you,” I call out through the window slot.
“Dang allergies. They’re worse than ever this year. Doc had to put me on Singular, and I’m pumping two squirts of Flonase into each nostril every morning.”
“Mm,” I answer, trying to sound interested. I used to be great at acting like every single word coming out of a man’s mouth riveted me. Acting interested in the boring things men told me was so much easier before I went sober. Still, I try. “That’s terrible.”
“Works, though. You should get Doc to write you a prescription before the pharmacy runs out. People been hoarding, you know.”
“Yeah, I heard…” I answer, hoping all this small talk will get me out of the ticket.
“So Wyatt’s back from California?”
I jolt. Is that a trick question? Does he know I’ve been squatting at Wyatt’s cabin for the last week? “Um…why do you ask?”
“Because you’re headed toward his place with a bunch of groceries in the back seat,” Bruce answers.
I inwardly wince, realizing my mistake too late. But, “How do you know I’m headed to Wyatt’s?”
“Wyatt’s cabin and the rez are the only two things in the direction you’re headed, and the rez put up checkpoints yesterday. Said they weren’t allowing no outsiders. Mayor Earl’s pissed, but he’s waiting to see what the governor has to say.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that…” I frown, thinking of Wyatt’s father, the Chairman of the Lake Pinewood Sioux Tribe. “Mayor Earl’s always getting into dust-ups with the reservation. I hope this doesn’t make it worse.”
“Yeah, me too. I don’t care what those folks do with their highway stretch, but you know Mayor Earl. And he’s still pissed they didn’t have to pay construction taxes when they expanded their casino into a resort hotel. So why are you headed to Wyatt’s with all these groceries again?”
The question once again catches me by surprise.
“Trying to be a good Christian?” I answer, a question mark creeping in because I’m really not great at lying these days. “I noticed his cupboards were pretty bare the last time I checked on the cabin. And I just wanted to make sure he had some stuff waiting whenever he decided to come back.”
“Whenever he decides, huh?” Bruce shakes his head. “You think I’m dumb enough to believe you’re taking groceries to his house just because you’re trying to be a good Christian?”
I wince. Eagle-eyed Bruce probably noticed the grocery bag with very perishable eggs and ice cream on top. I’m totally caught. How am I going to get out of this?
