Forever My Lady Read online

  Copyright © 2005, 2007 by Jeff Rivera

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Warner Books

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  The Warner Books name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  First eBook Edition: July 2007

  ISBN: 978-0-446-19785-4

  Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Acknowledgments

  Reading Group Guide

  About the Author

  The Story Behind the Story

  The book you are about to read is fiction. However, it was inspired by real people I know and events that really happened.

  The character of Dio is a combination of several people I’ve known in my life—especially one young man. They were passionate and talented, but stubborn. I think Dio is representative of a lot of people in the world who were hurt at an early age but always had that special person who motivated them to keep going, to somehow better their lives. From Dio, I learned the unsettling truth of what a young person goes through inside a juvenile detention center, as well as how far a person will go for love and how much a person will risk for true happiness.

  Jennifer is also based loosely on a real person—a good friend of mine who always tries to rescue people at the risk of sacrificing her own happiness. She is a totally free spirit who wants more than anything to be how she thinks she “should be,” but can never deny who she truly is.

  Louise has qualities similar to those of a few special women whom I’ve met over the years: strong, maternal, salt-of-the-earth types with wisdom gained from hard living.

  I have faced numerous hardships in my life and these have motivated me to write about the people and the places you will read about in this book. While this story is a work of imagination, it is closely based on the reality I have known and experienced. I hope reading this story will have the same kind of impact on your life as telling it has had on mine.

  —Jeff Rivera

  Prologue

  DON’T BE STUPID, FOO’. DON’T BE A PENDEJO.”

  Dio looked at his homie Spooky’s grip on his jacket. Most of his boys called Dio “Playboy” because all the ladies loved him, but those who had known him since he was a kid called him by his real name, Dio.

  He took another hit off his joint. He’d given up smoking over a year ago, had to, but on this day he was more nervous than he had ever been in his life.

  Thunder rumbled and rain poured, making it impossible to see. Thunder scared Dio, always had. Dio fought to keep from shaking. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow. He tried to hide his fear. His mind was set. He had to do it. Dio yanked his arm away from Spooky and pushed the door open.

  “Just keep the car runnin’, ése.”

  Spooky was a big guy, tattoos up and down his arm and a glass eye. He normally would have just kept Dio from leaving at all, but he knew nothing could stop him. Nothing at all.

  Dio jumped out of the car. It was a ’57 Chevy, complete with chrome wheels, slick red, with a chili-pepper-hot Mexican jaina painted across the hood. Dio had painted that picture himself. It was dope.

  He slammed the door shut and looked up at the cathedral in front of him. Lightning illuminated its majestic towers, windows with an eerie stained glass. He’d spent many a night imagining this would be where he’d marry her. They’d have a huge wedding with members of their families flying in from all over the world just to watch this event, this marriage he thought was so destined to be. He’d put his everything into this dream, his one and only dream, and now as he yanked the heavy oak doors open, his heart pounded like a subwoofer.

  He dried his soaked clothes with his hand and scratched his shoes on the mat so as not to squeak across the old wood floor. The church was jam-packed, mostly with Mexicans and Puerto Ricans, but some blacks.

  Probably his familia, Dio thought. How could she even think about marrying some pinche negro?

  The grand organ music permeated the building while a choir of children sang, their voices echoing throughout the church. It smelled musty in the air, a mix of wood stain and must as if they had never really cleaned the place, just painted over it.

  He tried not to look too suspicious, slipping past everyone. Funny, he was dressed probably better than he’d ever been. Black suit, his wavy black hair slicked back, starched white shirt, polished black shoes.

  Dio had grown into a very nice-looking young man. Maybe he could have even been a model, had he played his cards right. Maybe if he hadn’t grown up in the slums of Northeast Vegas, he could have been one of those Latin heartthrobs who were in those magazines. Instead, most of the time he looked like the thug most people assumed he was just by looking at him.

  But on this day, this very weird day, he was even wearing a tie. Jennifer would have been so proud of him if she could see him. Funny, he’d probably be the last thing she’d see.

  He checked his jacket pocket to make sure it was still there. Yep, it felt like a brick pressed against his chest. But he was so numb, or more like so focused, that he was oblivious to it. All he knew was that he had to find Jennifer, and he would use any means necessary.

  Wham! Dio bumped hard into a glass table. His thigh throbbed in pain as bullets dropped from his pocket and bounced off the wood floor. The sound echoed all over the lobby. People looked around for the source of the sound, but Dio managed to scoop them up before anyone could see.

  He got up and noticed the beautiful ice sculpture on the table—melting, dripping like an ice-cream cone in August. Melting just like his heart.

  He saw Father Martínez, his priest, the one he’d grown up with. It was as if the whole world had turned against him. They’d sided with Jennifer, when this was supposed to be their wedding. It was as if she’d slapped him across the face, as if nothing they’d been through together even mattered. The whole thing was surreal.

  She loved him. She’d said that over and over to him since they were little kids. She’d taken care of him and believed in him and dreamed with him and held him when nobody else had cared.

  “Estoy aquí para ti. No matter what—siempre,” they’d promised each other. And a promise was a promise.

  “Don’t be stupid, foo’. Don’t be a pendejo.” Spooky’s scolding remarks kept playing in his head. He warned Dio to just let it go. It wasn’t worth it. Normally Spooky would have been all for it, but this time around he said, “Olvídalo . . . let it go.” It was as if he sensed something was going to go wrong and, no matter how high Spooky had been, his gut was always right.

  Dio only hoped this time around he was wrong. He had worked so hard. He could really get a fresh new start now, “a new lease on life,” as his probation officer used to say, but now he was risking it all to confront Jennifer.

  Was Spooky right? Should he just let it go, face it that she didn’t want to be with him no matter how hard and bad it felt? Should he just forget the whole thing? Maybe he’d meet some other ruca. Time heals all wounds, they say, and maybe if he’d just—but no. Dio shoved those thoughts out of his mind.

  He’d spent the last year changing his life around
for her, so they could be together, so he would be the man she said she’d always wanted, so he could be the daddy his daughter needed. They were meant to be together and he was going to make Jennifer understand that, if it was the last thing he did.

  He could see Jennifer’s family in the front, dressed in their Sunday best. Her mom always made a spectacle of herself with her gigantic summer hat in purple. She never did like Dio and he knew she had probably orchestrated this whole thing, probably arranged the whole wedding herself.

  He wondered if perhaps Jennifer was doing this just to make her mom happy, but then he saw her . . . the music changed, the children’s choir sounded so beautiful, he had to admit, so irritatingly perfect. All heads turned and everyone gasped as the bride, Jennifer, made her way down the aisle. Her father took her arm, biting his lip, trying not to cry.

  He looks nervous, Dio thought.

  Jennifer looked incredible. How could she afford a dress like that? The guy must be rich or something. That’s probably what it was. That’s probably why she was marrying him. It had to be the money. The one thing Dio could never give her.

  Her gown had a lace top, cut just low enough to show her sensual bustline, but high enough to showcase the first-class act that she was. Her face was shielded by her veil. He hadn’t seen her in so long. It seemed like the whole congregation held its breath with him.

  Her mom made a dramatic spectacle of herself. Her wails were the only thing that could be heard above the organ playing as the children’s choir reached a crescendo, then trailed off. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Even Dio had to fight the tears.

  Thunder rumbled. Her father escorted her over to her groom. He was a nice-looking man, a light-skinned black man. Maybe he was mulatto or something. He wore a striped, stuffed tie, not a traditional bow tie, and the tux must have been Armani or something. He had one of those smiles with teeth so white it blinded you. His gaze never left Jennifer, even as the priest rambled on and on with the vows.

  “I, Antonio Estrella—”

  What kind of nombre was that? Estrella? Jennifer Estrella. It just didn’t match her. No le queda.

  “. . . hereby take you as my wife, to have and to hold . . .”

  There was a lump in the back of Dio’s throat. He wanted to burst out, “No!” It hurt so much.

  “I, Jennifer Lalita Sánchez . . .”

  He couldn’t believe his ears; she was promising him her life. Thunder rumbled and the lights went out. There was a small gasp in the audience, but Jennifer just smiled, the candles illuminating her. She was too lost in the groom’s eyes.

  “. . . to have and to hold, through sickness and health . . .” she continued.

  He couldn’t help it anymore. Tears came streaming from Dio’s eyes. This was too much for him. He was about to explode. His blood boiled.

  He looked around at all the stained-glass Bible stories, the creepy statue of Jesus on the cross. He swore Jesus was glaring right at him as if he were saying, “No lo hagas . . . don’t do it.” He looked the other way, but the statue of the Virgin Mary scolded him as well.

  Dio couldn’t help but think how proud his own mother had been with how he’d changed his life around, the tears of joy she’d shed. He’d never seen her like that before. He shuddered to think how his mother would feel after all this went down, how ashamed she’d be. Maybe it would drive her to drinking again. Drinking again, after how far she’d come around.

  “With the power invested in me by the state of Nevada, I hereby declare you . . . man and wife.”

  Dio couldn’t breathe. The only thing that kept him from passing out was seeing Jennifer’s face as her new husband lifted the veil. She was more beautiful than ever. She had olive-colored skin and was the type of girl who never did need any makeup. In fact, she hated wearing it. But this time she was wearing just enough. Her dark brown hair was curled; glitter sparkled in it. She looked like an angel, no, a goddess, better than the pictures Dio drew of her, better than he’d remembered her looking in his dreams.

  He’d never seen Jennifer so happy. Not even when she was with him. She had always seemed so distracted, but now she really did look like she was in love.

  How could that be possible?

  He loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone. Didn’t she see that? How could she do this to him? The ice sculpture melted like it was on fire.

  His heart raced as he reached for the .45 caliber in his pocket, which Dio called his cohete. He could hear the rain pounding against the stained-glass windows and the roof. His sweaty hands pulled for it, his heart in his throat. He crossed himself, closed his eyes, and prayed he was about to do the right thing.

  Chapter One

  —One year earlier—

  Y OU GOT COTTON FOR BRAINS OR SOMETHING? MOVE!” THE drill instructor screamed.

  He was nose to nose with Dio and Dio could smell the funk from the D.I.’s breath, like cigarettes and garlic. He was a stout black man who resembled a boar more than anything. His eyes were piercing enough to bring an elephant to its knees. His teeth had nasty coffee stains like he brushed his teeth with shit or something and never flossed. Spit sprayed out of his mouth with every syllable he spoke. Dio had a pounding headache from all the yelling and the D.I. had been doing it for the last twenty-four hours, ever since they got off the prison bus.

  Dio hadn’t had a cigarette in over a week and he was about to jump out of his skin. He’s been smoking since he was twelve. He was exhausted, hungry, and just not in the mood for all the bullshit. His mind was on something much more important than all this exercise crap that the D.I. had all the inmates, or trainees as they called them, doing. He was troubled, aching inside, like his heart had been ripped out and stomped on over and over.

  It had been over three weeks since he last saw her, since the accident happened. And he couldn’t help but wonder if she was okay. He didn’t even know if she was dead or alive. They wouldn’t even let him see her in the emergency room.

  The D.I. had made them run at least five miles so far, screaming in their faces every step of the way, and it didn’t look like he was going to let up. And Dio had to put up with a year-long sentence of this?

  This wasn’t legal. Was it? Dio knew prison boot camp wasn’t exactly prison, but they still had their rights as human beings. Didn’t they? How could someone make them do all this stuff and get away with it?

  Dio could hardly breathe. He felt sick to his stomach and now he had this lunatic screaming in his face like he was some retard or something.

  Who did he think he was talking to anyway? Here Dio was, almost eighteen years old, and he hadn’t been talked to like that since he was a little kid, and that was from his moms. On the streets everyone had respect for Dio. They all gave him props ’cause they knew he was tight with Spooky and no one fucked with Spooky. They didn’t call him Spooky for nothing. And second, they knew Dio would beat them to a pulp if they even looked at him wrong.

  You had to be that way in his neighborhood. There was no room for the weak or the lighthearted. They hit you, you had to hit them worse or they’d be treating you like their bitch the rest of your life. The vatos in the neighborhood were like dogs; they could sense if you were scared. Dio had seen enough atrocity by the time he was a teenager to make him callous to just about anything. Nothing got to him. He couldn’t let it or it’d break him.

  He never ventured outside his neighborhood unless he had to anyway, unless of course he was hitting some putos in another hood for payback. His favorite time was chillin’ with his homies, smoking bud, bumpin’ the oldies. But more than that, more than anything, he loved spending time with his lady. His jaina, his ruca, his amor.

  Jennifer was by far the best thing that ever happened to him. Just when he questioned if there even was a God, God sent her into his life like a gift with a bow on top. They’d met when they were just thirteen in Clark Middle School. And it was like meeting a long-lost friend. It was surreal. It was as if they’d known each other foreve
r.

  Dio remembered that day. It wasn’t any more special than any other day he’d had in middle school. It was a typical day from hell for a seventh grader.

  “You’re not too bright, are you, kid?” asked his language arts teacher, Mr. O’Donnell.

  Young Dio sank in his desk as the class laughed in his face. He only wanted to ask a question. He didn’t know what a pioneer was. He’d missed so much of class and he wanted to catch up. He didn’t think it was such a stupid question.

  “Haven’t you been paying attention? We spent the last three weeks doing nothing but talking about the Oregon Trail and you’re just now asking what a pioneer is? Should we send you to ESL or something?”

  The class roared with laughter. Sure they’d think that was funny. He was practically the only Mexican in the class, except for this skinny, nerdy little girl everyone called Pancake because of her flat chest, but he knew her name was Jennifer.

  She was the only one who didn’t laugh. Nobody else had to put up with the snide, undermining, racist remarks from everyone every day.

  Dio was burning up inside. His eyes squinted and his nose flared. What happened next he didn’t quite remember, but when he came to, Mr. O’Donnell was on the floor holding his bloody nose. The next thing Dio knew, he was in the principal’s office being screamed at.

  Dio waited for his mother to come and get him.

  “That’s the trouble with you people,” the principal said. “We do whatever we can to accommodate you in our classes and what do you do?”

  “It’s not his fault,” a squeaky voice said.

  Dio looked up and saw it was Jennifer from class. She pushed her glasses up and rubbed her nose.

  “Excuse me?” the principal said.

  “It was Mr. O’Donnell. He was saying—”

  “There is no excuse for that kind of behavior.”

  “I wanted to punch him myself,” Jennifer said.

  Dio looked at her with shock. She’d never said anything to him before. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when she said anything to anyone. Most of the time people “accidentally” bumped into her as she walked down the hall or threw spitballs in her hair if they paid any attention to her at all.