Comin' Home to You (41 page)

“You remember pee wee football, right? Down in Canton. You ever play?”

“One year. Realized I didn’t much care for playing it. Ben played it his whole life.”

“Yeah. Adrienne had their own team. We were the Steelers. I wanted to be the Cowboys, but one of the Canton teams were already the Cowboys. Kinda pissed me off, but it was just a team name.”

Owen lightly smiled. “We were the Steelers the one year I played too. Must be an Adrienne thing.”

“Don’t make no sense. There ain’t any steel mills here. If anything, we should be the Oilers. Plenty of oil towers around here. Shit, you can go outside and look at them at night. They’re usually lit up. But whatever. I’m getting off subject.

“Ben was on my team. I think we were eight or nine, around Austin’s age. We were having practice and Dad was out there with me. You remember my cousin Michael?”

“I think so. Your Uncle Max’s boy?”

“That’s him.”

Curiosity got the best of Owen. “Whatever happened to him?”

“Well, you know how his mom and him moved away when Max dragged those black guys around from the back of his truck, right? I heard he joined the military when he graduated high school. He went to Iraq, I think. Made it back in one piece. That’s all I know.”

“Ah.” There wasn’t really any other way to reply to that.

“Anyway…shit, I suck at telling shit. We were doing hitting drills and I told Michael I was going to nail Ben’s ass. Ya know, because he was a Tomkins. So I did what I said. I hit him good and hard. He was on the ground for a minute. Our coach was over there checking on him. Michael high-fived me. Our coach was pissed though. He had me run across the field over and over again. Shit, at the time I thought that punishment was worth it.”

It rang a bell for Owen. He remembered Ben coming home shaken up from practice. It was easy to recall because earlier that day, he and Patricia had sex without any protection. It was likely the day Ali was conceived.

“So Uncle Max dropped me off at the house,” Scar continued. “I find my dad out at the barn, feeding the horses. I tell him what I did, how I just popped that stupid Tomkins boy. He smiled a little. I told him I can’t wait to do it again next practice. Then I said that Ben was a no good something or another. My dad stops what he was doing and tells me that I should give everyone a chance. Doesn’t matter their skin color or their last name. Give them a chance, then form your own opinions.

“So…I did. My dad hardly ever gave calm words of advice, so whenever he did, I heeded them. Next practice, instead of just knocking the shit out of him, I acted normal, I guess, and talked to him. I still didn’t like the Tomkins. But Ben himself wasn’t that bad. Quiet and reserved back then. But tolerable. I mean, I still hit him hard in hitting drills again, but he seemed a bit cooler about it.”

“What are you getting at?” asked Owen.

Scar wiped his nose with his hand. “Our fathers. Mine and…what was your dad’s name? Ah, it doesn’t matter. They became friends in a lot more tense time. Even after that relative of yours got shot and killed, my father never said anything bad about yours.”

“Yeah.” Owen took off his brain’s blinders to realize something. “My dad hated the Graysons. And he said a lot of bad things about a lot of them individually. Never anything about your dad though.”

“Exactly. They still respected each other. They tried to end these hostilities, but shit went bad.”

“We also have Austin now.”

“Yeah. He’s like our own little messiah. Everyone loves him, even if he is half you.”

“It shouldn’t matter what he is. He’s our blood.”

Noticing his gun was still in his hand, Scar placed it back behind him in his waist line. He moved any stray bangs over his head, leaving his forehead bare. Kneeling back down close to his brother’s bones. “I’m never going to really like you. We ain’t ever going to drink beers together and watch the games or any of that shit. Especially for what you did. But I think about it sometimes. If things were different, Ben would probably be sitting here with a gun on Roy while he dug up your bones.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it.”

“I’ll tell my family to chill. No provoking anyone. No starting shit. Not many people know about my brother. We’ll keep it that way. You tell Ben to lay the hell off of me.”

“If he catches you doing something illegal, he won’t have a choice.”

“I guess it’s a good thing he won’t ever get to.”

Owen watched Scar’s mouth make some sort of a smirk. God, he hated that Grayson smirk. It was so pretentious. But, now was the time to stop with petty annoyances. The corner had officially been turned. Or so he hoped. That was all he had to cling to right now. The promise that things might get better. But he needed more. He needed to ensure this confirmation by the only way men know how.

Scratching at his wrist, Owen found himself in a pensive mood, as if years and years of work by their fathers was finally coming to fruition. Blowing air through his nostrils, Owen finally spat out what he needed to say. “So, do I have your word? Is this feud over?”

Scar said nothing for a moment. He just looked at Roy’s bones. Owen had no idea what was going through his head. It was probably an incomprehensible mess of jumbled thoughts and chaotic ideas. For him to just end his desire for vengeance had to be the most difficult thing he ever experienced. But all of this started before Austin was born. That boy was the only reason these two adversaries even agreed to meet. As long as he was alive and well and neither party provoked or attacked the other, he would forever be the raison d’etre for Owen and Scar.

Finally, Scar averted his eyes from his brother. “Yeah. Word given. But you’re carrying him to the truck. You need some sort of fucking punishment, at least.”

Owen could live with that. He didn’t really want to, but compared to everything else, this task would be a walk in the park. He knelt down, wrapping the tarp back over the skeleton. Scooping his arms underneath the rib cage area and the knees, he mustered up all his strength to lift it, just to lightly drop it. Owen was feeling extra weak, almost to the point where he wanted to collapse and take a rest on the soft soil. Looking at the dug up dirt made him grasp that he still had to fill up the hole. Downtrodden, he sighed at all the work he still had left. But this was no time to be lazy and careless. If some random person came walking in this area to find a large hole that could fit a body, suspicion would be roused. He could take nothing to chance. But Owen calmed himself, convincing himself to take it one step at a time. First, he needed to get Roy’s remains to Scar’s truck.

Dragging it sounded like the easiest way. He hated feeling like a world class weakling, but his body wasn’t what it once was. It was just something he had to deal with for the rest of his probable short life. Turning his back to Scar, he got into a manageable position, grasped his grip onto the edges of one side of the tarp and started pulling it toward him, with his feet backing toward his destination. This was a much easier method, but one that made him look feeble. He dragged the body a few feet, yet was already feeling out of breath. The humidity made sweat drip from his chin and down the small of his back. It was becoming a hassle just to obtain oxygen. Taking a breather, Owen rested with his hands on his hips.

A loud cracking sound was heard through the trees. Owen felt his muscles tense and jump as he tilted his head upwards as birds fled the sanctity of the trees. That sound was recognizable, but another sound occurred almost instantaneously after the first one. This one, however, was accompanied by a fierce burning sensation in the lower left side of his back. It was like someone stuck a hot poker directly into his skin and left it there for his tanned skin to twist and melt. Owen fell to his knees, desperately reaching to touch the burning spot, hoping that would relieve the pain. However, it only made the pain pulse into something much worse. Even through the jumbled thoughts of agony, Owen quickly recognized what had just happened when he looked at the red liquid that covered his hand.

He had been shot.

Owen’s eyes stung. His lower back burned and ached. He could feel the warm blood pour down his skin and further down his pants leg. His head felt like a weight was dropped on it and the rest of his body grew weaker. His mind, however, was fully active and throwing a flurry of questions at him.
Who did this? Why? Fuck, this hurts. Scar? Fucking Scar! Who the fuck else could it be?

His head turned slowly, but he kept his back turned, so that he was only looking from the corner of his eye. Only about twenty feet away, Scar had his gun out and at the ready, but had his back turned to Owen. His face was alert, yet confused and rattled. He frantically looked around, his eyes darting from tree to tree. Owen could feel his own anger bubbling to the surface. He felt his cheeks redden to a candy apple red and his eyes, once just stinging, burned like the fires of hell. The man a near distance away from him was playing stupid. It just infuriated Owen more. He gave his fucking solemn word that the feud was over, and as soon as Owen turned his back to Scar, he betrayed that oath by putting a bullet in his back. Owen’s head felt like it was going to explode like a hydrogen bomb. God, he should have drawn his gun earlier and ended this charade. There would never be peace between these two families. Only now after enduring this burning bullet hole into his skin did he realize this. The whole concept of a peaceful relationship was a fresh mushy pile of cow shit. There was a reason why he never trusted Scar. Now, he was paying for it. He kept asking himself in lightning fast thoughts,
what was I thinking?

Was this what actual betrayal felt like? These feelings were similar to the mental anguish from the other night, when Grace completely ended their relationship. But this was different. He and Scar had never been friends. It seemed impossible to feel deceived by someone who you never really trusted anyway. The more he thought about it, it wasn’t so much as a betrayal toward him. Sure, the pain was excruciating, but the real person who would be the one paying from the fallout would be Austin. The boy would hear about this in some way or another. After a sob story about how he couldn’t get the revenge he wanted because he cared so much about Austin’s feelings, for Scar to change his mind and shoot while Owen’s back was turned was just a brutal kick in the nuts for the poor boy. That was betrayal in its purest form. Now, Owen had reached his breaking point.

Painfully rising from his knees and turning his body, Owen reached for his gun. The handle was a little wet from his own blood. Thankfully, Scar was still not paying attention. He had his back completely turned to Owen, peering deep into the darkness that the forested mire provided. The piece was heavy in his shaking arm, but Owen maintained what little strength he had to aim it at Scar.

Scar’s eyes almost bulged out of his head when he turned and noticed Owen. “Whoa, whoa, what the fuck? I didn’t do that!”

Owen only held his sinister gaze at Scar. One second felt like a century. His entire hand trembled, like hw was enduring an Arctic front. The gun felt heavier with each passing moment, while his rage continued to build. Scar remained motionless.

“You gave me your word.”

“I didn’t-”

The pull of the trigger felt like all the pain in the world escaped from his body. Each subsequent pull gave him more relief. The first bullet found its way into Scar’s abdomen. The second one missed. The third one hit him in the sternum. The last one found its way through his neck. Scar stumbled, his face in utter shock. He had no balance left as he fell to his back. Owen could not keep his balance either, dropping back to his knees.

Taking a shallow breath and staring at the dirt below him, Owen closed his eyes and wondered if this was finally over. A fifth shot rang out and a crackling echo followed. Owen almost jumped out of his skin, hastily aiming his gun at Scar. He remained on his back, motionless. Realizing that the shot didn’t come from him, his eyes darted every direction his still head would allow. He jumped again when a sixth shot sounded. The whizz of a bullet flying by his face almost made his heart stop. It was enough, along with his current discomfort, for him to lose balance and fall over on his side. His shoulder felt a dull pain, as it landed on an oddly placed stone. His eyes were conveniently staring at Scar’s lifeless body. A sensation of injustice overcame him, causing him to not even try to move. He had just wrongly killed Scar Grayson, and now he was remorseful for it.

Laying there in pain, Owen pondered how much time he had left before he would absolutely need to seek medical attention. He could feel the bleeding not ceasing its flow out of his body, but he just couldn’t will himself to get up to go somewhere and do something about it. A lot of it was attributed to his overall weakness. Yet, something else kept him down. It was a depressed and maudlin feeling, like even if he did get patched up, it would only delay the inevitable from the mystery shooter. As chatter and reasoning in his mind persisted, something out in the woods quieted his mind. Voices from the trees were heard. They sounded like they were in the middle of a conversation, though one of the voices had a touch of cockiness. As they came closer, he recognized that irritating voice with an overwhelming amount of southern twang.

Clint!?

Emerging through brush, Clint walked out into the swamp clearing with a rifle ready to fire. Behind him was Nicky, who was unarmed. His eyes had a puffiness to them and his face appeared to look a tad more haggard than he did yesterday when they ran into each other on Old Day’s land. It looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Granted, neither did Clint. The youngest Grayson gave a glance at Nicky while pointing to Owen. Understanding the non-verbal expression, Nicky briskly ran to Owen and grabbed his handgun away from his grasp. He doubted he would have resisted anyway. Eye contact was made between the two men, but no words were spoken. Nicky’s five-o-clock shadowed face contorted in a weird way, though it may have been the moving shadows or Owen’s mind playing disoriented tricks on him. It was an awkward return of glances, but it helped him not think about the pulsing pain of his back for a time.

Nicky walked over to Clint, who was standing over Scar’s body. Both men said nothing, letting the birds that remained in the trees do the talking. A car horn way out in the distance faintly sounded. Nicky spoke the question all men present had wondered. Owen listened intently, even though his eyes suddenly grew heavy.

“Is he dead?”

“Looks dead to me,” answered Clint.

“Hmm.”

Clint sniggered. “Neither of us ended up havin’ to do it. Just had to kill that fairy over there. Or wait, he ain’t dead, is he?”

Nicky sighed. “No.”

“He still got his gun?”

“Nah. I grabbed it.”

“Well shit, we ain’t finished then!” exclaimed Clint. He headed toward Owen, keeping him in his gun’s sights the entire way. He had tried to move constantly since after he shot Scar, but his legs and arms felt like Jell-O, and his mind barely seemed to care. Extremely weak, he understood that fleeing was an impossibility.

Son of a bitch,
screamed Owen inside of his head. Clint was now over him. He was a lousy shot, but at this range, his accuracy was assured.
This is not how I wanted to fucking go. Definitely not from him.
Clint pasted on that stupid smirk.

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t the murderer of not one, but two of my brothers. Shit, you are a Grayson hating machine! Hey Nick, could you imagine if I let him go, what would he do? Shit, he’d probably kill me, then he’d go find Mary’s weird ass and go kill her. Shit, I’d bet you’d go searching all over the world for Shannon so you can kill her. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit in the world if you found my fuckin’ Ma and raped and killed her too. You faggot piece of shit.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” It was the only question that came to Owen’s mind even after being insulted.

Clint pressed the barrel of his rifle into the unwilling forehead of Owen, forming a circular indention. “Shut the fuck up.”

He kept his gun pressed into Owen’s head for the longest. A calm, yet vehement look shot out of Clint’s eyes in waves. Owen had already silently said his goodbyes. Clint wasn’t going to let him out of this one alive. Lying there, waiting for a bullet to shoot through the rifle barrel at the speed of sound, Owen hoped Ben would find out about this so that Clint would receive justice. Be it the death dealing kind or life in prison, any kind of retribution would be idyllic.

Seconds ticked by. Owen felt his body tense up.
Why is he not pulling the trigger?
His eyes quickly darted to Nicky. He had turned his body wholly around, not even looking at what was transpiring. But was it ever going to happen? Owen’s eyes moved back to Clint’s. His smirk grew larger and a blast of air shot out of his nose.

“Man, fuck this. This is too fuckin’ easy,” Clint stated, lowering his gun and throwing it well out of the way. “Get your faggot ass up. We’re gonna finish what you started the other day.” Clint gestured his arms wildly. “Get the fuck up!”

Blinking a few times in disbelief, Owen had to admit he was stunned. Clint had the easy shot. A guaranteed kill was just a pull away. Instead, a round of fisticuffs would decide his fate. While it improved his chances of survival, it wasn’t by much. Owen wasn’t one hundred percent. He wasn’t even fifty percent. Clint had all the odds in his favor and was primed to pummel Owen to death. That probably got Clint hard thinking about it. But at least Owen had a fighting chance, for what it was worth. Granted, that chance was probably worse than Adrienne’s high school football team beating the Dallas Cowboys. He wasn’t sure if he could last even standing up. Blood still drained down his back and if it continued to bleed unobstructed, death would eventually follow. Yet, he refused to use his wound as a crutch. Owen tried a positive approach; any chance was better than none. Struggling and grabbing a handful of dirt, Owen somehow managed to get to his feet, though he stumbled and dropped to a knee before gaining his balance.

Clint chuckled, smiling from ear to ear and shadowboxing in place, swiftly punching the air. “God, I’ve been waiting days to fuck your ass up.”

The last male Grayson stood before Owen. It was time to man up and end this feud with the man who had abused his daughter, and if left unchecked, would likely abuse Austin too. Thinking about him smacking Ali and choking her gave him a jolt of energy, powering through the wooziness from the blood loss.

However, he had no time to reflect on his newfound boost of vigor. Clint came at him with fists flying. Owen managed to dodge the first one and blocked the second one with his forearm. But he couldn’t block the unexpected kick to his calf that ended up knocking him off of his feet. If he wasn’t so weak, he could have flexed his leg and not fallen from the blow. Instead, he was scrambling back to his feet before Clint could mount any further offense.

Owen backed away, making Clint laugh with an angry look on his face. “Why are you running away, pussy?”

Nicky crossed his arms and spoke deep and loudly. “Well, you did shoot him.”

“He’s still being a bitch.”

“You ever been shot?” asked Nicky.

“No. Shut the fuck up, follower.”

Nicky’s eyebrows furrowed as Clint continued his offense against Owen. Punch after punch, kick after kick, Clint was not letting up. Owen blocked some, dodged some, evaded grapples, but still took a few hits. Breathing was slowly becoming a chore and his shaky legs made evading, let alone standing tough. He wanted to counter somehow, but Clint was relentless, and any careless attack could be fatal.

But he knew he wouldn’t win without some sort of gamble. Trusting fate, Owen threw a punch anyway, hoping to get in a lucky shot.

He missed badly, leaving him wide open.

Clint seized the moment and buried a straight right hand into his jaw. Owen melted like hot butter to the soft unearthed dirt. The fight was over. Now, attempting to survive began.

Clint mounted Owen in the same way he did days earlier. He did his best to struggle, but the amount of strength that remained within him could be compared to a small child. Clint easily brushed any defensive attempts to the side and delivered punch after punch. Each shot made him dizzier and number. Clint let up after a few more haymakers, just to examine and revel in the bruised and bloody sight he created on Owen’s face. He thought about commencing with the assault, but he seemed satisfied by what he saw. Clint got up and walked over to his gun. Grabbing it, he aimed it at the head of Owen.

“That felt fuckin’ good. But I want to watch your head fuckin’ explode.”

Owen was fading in and out of consciousness to answer. He could feel his lip throbbing and his left eye swelling. It added to his already pained body. At this rate, he was almost welcoming death.

Clint aimed the gun straight at the forehead of Owen. He smiled with his teeth showing. “And now, I’m gonna kill ya. I’m gonna celebrate, ‘cause we are fucking done with Tomkins in this town for good. I’m gonna drink some beers with my boys. Smoke a little more crystal. Then, I’m gonna go fuck somethin.’ Someone real hot. Someone who probably don’t want me anymore. Yeah, somethin’ like Ali. I haven’t fucked her in days. I think I’m gonna have some fun with her. She’s into some real kinky shit, Owen. Fuck, I kinda want to leave you alive so you can watch me fuck her. But, I gotta do this now.”

Owen used every ounce of his strength left, just to rise up a few inches and collapse back to the ground. There was nothing left in him. He closed his eyes and awaited the afterlife.