Lucky(69)

“You bet I am.”

It happened quickly: the sudden movements, the loud noises, police rushing through the doors, the shouting, the guns.

Nico had pulled a gun and jumped up, but he didn’t get the chance to use it; he was shot by a SWAT officer. He fell to the side and Lucky felt the weight of him, slumped against her. She collapsed to the floor with Nico on top of her, and for a moment she thought she might suffocate. Someone pulled him off her; she could smell the strong metallic tang of blood, reminding her of some of her worst moments. She could hear Priscilla screaming, swearing to God that she would kill Lucky someday, that it was a promise she would die to keep. Someone led her into the parking lot and she didn’t have to hear the shouting anymore, the ugliness of Priscilla’s words—but she knew she would never forget the things she had said.

Nico’s blood was on her shirt. She was shaking.

“Is he dead?” Lucky asked. But no one answered her. She felt so alone.

But not for long. Her mother appeared in front of her. “You did such a good job, you were perfect. I’m so proud of you,” Valerie said. She opened her arms, and for the first time, they held each other. Lucky’s shoulders shook with the silent weight of her tears. But they were tears of joy; they were together at last.

Valerie drew back and looked into Lucky’s eyes. “To answer your question, no, Nico is not dead. They’re taking him to the hospital. My team is very grateful to you. Many people are. You brought Priscilla Lachaise down today. You did it. You’ve made a difference in the world.”



* * *




Later, when Lucky was sitting in the back of a police van with a blanket around her shoulders and a warm cup of coffee in her hands, Valerie explained the process that was about to begin. Lucky was going to be placed in police custody for the time being. The lottery ticket would be kept safe. Valerie’s staff had already contacted the lottery and gaming commission. Once the ticket was verified, the winnings would be held in trust while Lucky testified against Priscilla and Cary in court. Reyes and John would also testify. Valerie assured her Reyes and John would both be protected, that they wouldn’t be charged with violating parole.

“Where are they?” Lucky asked as she held the warm coffee in both hands.

“On their way back to the city, under police escort. They’re safe, and they have your dog with them. She’s beautiful, by the way,” Valerie said.

“Thank you. She’s family.”

“I understand that. But I want to be your family, too. I know you’ll have some forgiving to do, and I’ll be patient. I won’t abandon you, ever. Not again. Okay? Everything is going to be fine. Trust me. I will make it all better for you. I can do that. I promise.”

Second chances, third, fourth. If we never forgave, we’d all be alone, Reyes had said. She was right. “What about Gloria?” Lucky asked.

“That all depends on you. Do you want to press charges against her for stealing the ticket?”

Lucky shook her head. “I don’t,” she said. “Just let her be.”

“All right, whatever you want.”

What Lucky wanted was to tell Valerie she was going to change—that she was going to become a daughter Valerie could be proud of. There would be time for that, though. Time to prove who she was with actions rather than words in this brand-new life she was standing at the precipice of.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” Valerie said. “About back then.” Her green eyes shone with emotion. “I gave you a name after I gave birth to you. I called you Julia—it was my grandmother’s name. She was my pole star. To me, it’s your real name. But I can’t deny it: you are Lucky. So you should call yourself whatever you want.”

From the van’s windows, the city, with its bright lights and dark shadows, loomed in the distance. Her true history was there, too, woven through those streets. And the story belonged to her now. She couldn’t decide yet if she felt like a Lucky or a Julia. But for the first time in her life she was sure of two things: she knew who she was, and she knew she was safe.





Acknowledgments


My gratitude begins with my mother, Valerie Clubine. This book would not exist without her, and neither would I. She encouraged me to write even on the hardest days and promised there would be no regrets. She was right. Mom, I believe in myself because you believed in me. I miss you—and I feel lucky that you were ever mine.

I’m also grateful to my steadfast agent and friend Samantha Haywood, who is simply the best; her team at Transatlantic Agency; and my film/TV agent Dana Spector at CAA, who is an absolute hustler.

Thank you to everyone at Simon & Schuster Canada, especially my excellent editor, Nita Pronovost; my delightful publicist, Jillian Levick (puffed sleeves forever!); Karen Silva, Rebecca Snoddon, Adria Iwasutiak, Felicia Quon, David Millar, and Kevin Hanson.

Lucky Armstrong stands alone, but I do not. I’m deeply grateful to my coven of writer friends—Karma Brown, Kerry Clare, Chantel Guertin, Kate Hilton, Jennifer Robson, and Elizabeth Renzetti—for always being there, even if it had to be in witchy spirit for most of this year.

Special thanks to Laurie Petrou for helping me find a patronus in Miss Piggy.

I’m also grateful to Taylor Jenkins-Reid, Colleen Oakley, Samantha Bailey, Lisa Gabriele, Hannah Mary McKinnon, and Catherine Mackenzie for early reads and generous endorsements of a character so dear to my heart.