Blackout (Lewiston Blues Series/Black Family Saga Book 2)

by Scully, Felicia X.

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  BLACKOUT

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  More Books by F.X. Scully

  Join the Scully Street Team

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  BLACKOUT. Copyright © 2014 by S.C.O.R.C.H All rights reserved. This book may not be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, other than brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. AMAZON EDITION

  Cover Design: Scorched Designs

  Editor: Tirzah Price ( True Blue Editorial : http://www.trueblueeditorial.com )

  BLACKOUT

  LEWISTON BLUES/BLACK FAMILY SAGA #2

  by

  F.X. Scully

  For Cameron

  ~

  Rest in Peace

  Prologue

  “Maybe you should go back.” I pick up the bottle from nightstand and move it out of her reach.

  “Maybe you should give that back.” She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. In the last few days, she hasn’t done much of anything.

  She’s spent most of the day in my room. If she’s not in the sofa, she’s in the bed, if she’s not in the bed, she’s on me.

  I never thought I’d complain about that. I never thought I’d care if she wanted to touch me every which way she can. I never thought I’d voluntarily ask her to leave, but I can’t stop the words from coming. I can’t watch her suffer anymore, even if she doesn’t believe she’s suffering.

  “I can’t,” I reply. “I can’t do any of this anymore.”

  “Sick of me already?” She snickers, getting up from the bed and snatching the bottle off the floor. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You go through women like you do fucking underwear. Or wait?” She lays a finger aside her cheek. “Maybe more.”

  “That’s not what this is about. You know that.”

  “Do I?”

  “It’s not you, Sheila. It’s not this. It’s not us. I want this. I just can’t watch you suffer.”

  Our gazes finally meet and I can see it in her eyes before she acts on it. She puts the bottle down first, then slowly removes her shirt. She makes her way toward me, standing in front of me so my head is level with her chest. Sheila’s fingers rake through my hair as she tilts my head upwards.

  “If you want me so much, take me.” I try to shake my head, but she holds it still. “If you don’t, say so. Just say the word and I’m gone.”

  I lick my lips, my eyes focused on hers. “Of course, I want you. Like I told you before, I’m here for you. I’ll always be here. You have my word. But you have to promise me you’ll try to get better. Try to deal with reality at some point. I don’t want to rush you. I just want you to be okay.”

  “As long as I’m here with you, I’m perfectly fine.”

  The words aren’t sensual, but they turn me on anyway. They make me want to give her what she’s been taking from me since that first night.

  She climbs on top of me, straddling me, her hands still in my hair. And when our lips meet, I lose all sense. I forget the speech I prepared about how she’s better off dealing with her loss in a familiar surrounding, around family and close friends. How she’ll never get over it if she doesn’t face it head on. How even though what we’re doing feels good, it’s wrong. It’s so fucking wrong we should stop. Right now. But I can’t, because if I never have to be apart from her again, I’ll be the happiest man alive.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sheila

  The second we pull up, I want to turn back. I haven’t stepped inside a church since my sister’s funeral and before that, it was even longer since I bothered. Considering what I’ve become in the past two years, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was struck down by lightning the second my foot hit the first step.

  “You alright?” Cole asks.

  I don’t know why I’ve taken the advice of my best friend’s brother. Maybe because he’s the only one who doesn’t treat me like I’m going to break. The only one who’s brave enough to tell me the truth.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “It’ll be fine. Trust me. Everyone there is just like you. They’ve all lost something too and—”

  “That’s not what I mean. It’s been a while since…” I glance up at the steeple. “You know.”

  “Well then you really have nothing to worry about. This place holds a meeting for every kind of sinner.” Cole nudges me. “I’m serious. It’s not just Sunday School and Bible Study. I’m talking AA, Gambler’s Anonymous.” He smirks. “SA meetings.”

  “SA?” I frown.

  “Think about it.” He laughs as my eyes widen.

  “Seriously?”

  “Sex addicts need healing too.”

  “But at a church?”

  “What better place? Maybe you should grab a pamphlet for Ross.”

  Even though it’s meant as a joke it stings like a dig. Especially considering how close the two of us have become in the past six weeks.

  Six weeks. I haven’t spoken to my parents in six whole weeks. It’s been forty-five days since they put my sister in the ground and I didn’t even stick around to watch. Instead, I ran into Roscoe’s arms and never turned back. I’ve been living with him, sleeping with him, confiding in him, like he’s mine. But he’s not. I don’t know what we are. Just that being with him makes me feel good—half normal when life is anything but.

  “Sorry,” Cole says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay.” Based on what I witnessed while on tour with the guy for three months, Cole’s probably right. I lost count of the girls Roscoe slept with—on the tour bus, in the hotel rooms, back stage. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memories. I’ve been living with him for all these weeks and he hasn’t touched anyone but me. I know that for a fact. What Ross w
as and what he is now are two different things.

  I place my hand on the door handle. “Guess I should get going.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to come with?”

  I nod. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour.” Cole leans over and kisses me on the cheek. He’s been like a big brother over the past few weeks. After spending a year and half touring with four men, I was sure I’d been blessed by not having one, but I’m glad I do now.

  I step out of the car and make my way toward the massive stone staircase that leads up to two huge wooden doors.

  Inside, the building reminds me a lot of the church back home—only about ten times bigger. I’m met with a stone foyer, where there are tables against the walls holding dozens of pamphlets. Straight ahead are the doors to what I assume is the sanctuary and to my right is an open door revealing a set of stairs. The smell of strong coffee leads me in that direction and I descend the steps. I stop short at the end of the stairwell and take in a few deep breaths.

  I can do this. All I have to do is listen. That’s what Cole says. I don’t have say or do anything. Not just yet. Just listen.

  I walk through the doorway and make my way quietly toward the group in middle of the dimly lit room. They’re arranged in a circle, all focused on a guy speaking. I can’t see his face but his voice sounds familiar and as I tune into his words, I start to back up.

  “….but I was in love with her anyway,” he says. “I’d have done anything. I did…do anything. I still would. We were…” he sniffs. “Pretty close. I hurt her once. That’s something that sticks with me.”

  He clears his throat and the man beside him places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Just take your time.”

  “I left her. I was going to college, so it’s not like I didn’t have an excuse. But it was still just an excuse. I left and I didn’t even say goodbye. I don’t know if she ever knew…I can’t…I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “It’s okay. Thank you, Dave. That was very brave.”

  My entire body feels like it’s about to shut down. What is he doing here? In Lewiston of all places?

  The man beside Dave stands up, turning halfway. “Would anyone else like to share before we get started?”

  I take another step back, but I’m not quick enough. He notices me almost immediately.

  “Hello. Welcome.” He smiles so brightly you’d think he was trying to sell me something. “Are you here for the session?”

  I nod, my gaze falling on the back of Dave’s blond head.

  “I’m Dr. Chambers,” the man says. “But you can call me Rowan.” He beckons for me. “Why don’t you join us? We usually start with an open floor. You can share anything you want. How you’re feeling, why you’re here, what you expect to get out of it. Anything. Or you can observe. It’s up to you.”

  “I…don’t want to interrupt.”

  “Of course not. Everyone’s welcome here.” Rowan smiles again. “What’s your name?”

  I clear my throat. “Sheila. My name’s Sheila.”

  In a matter of seconds, I’m staring into Dave’s pale blue eyes. They widen, he blinks. Then he offers a weak smile.

  “Come sit, Sheila.” Rowan gestures toward the empty chair beside Dave and I silently make my way toward it. “If you’d like to share, we’d love to listen.”

  I perch on the edge of the hard wooden seat, gripping my purse on my lap. “Uh, no. I’m good.”

  “All right then.” Rowan’s voice gets a little louder as he sits in the chair on the opposite side of Dave. “Enough talking for one day. Why don’t we get started with today’s first exercise?”

  “Isn’t that the point?” I ask Dave. “To talk about…feelings.” I came here to listen, not…exercise.

  Apparently I’m not quiet enough because Rowan turns back to me. “In my experience, it doesn’t do much good.”

  “How?” I ask, all eyes on me. “I mean I thought that’s what these things were for. To tell people about your experience. Swap stories and what not. My friend…he says it makes you feel better.”

  “When it’s done correctly,” Rowan says. “But that’s not always the case. When I was a kid, my dad was in Anger Management classes with a bunch of other guys charged with assault. He’d come home after almost every session rehashing everything these guys talked about. Mostly they just bitched about their wives and how unfair it was that they had to be there in the first place. I can tell you, it did nothing to help manage his anger. I can tell you that first hand. When I started this group I wanted things to be different. We could sit and chat for hours telling sad stories, but it’s not going to get you where you need to be anytime soon. My goal is to get you actively involved in the healing process. To understand how to process your tragedy, to use it to change your life.”

  “My life’s already changed,” I mutter.

  “It’ll get better,” Dave whispers. “I promise. Just trust him.”

  I don’t look at him when he speaks. I just keep my gaze trained ahead of me. “I doubt that very much, Dave.”

  “We’re going to partner up. So everyone look to your right. That’s your buddy for today. We’ve got six weeks and three steps. I can’t promise you’ll be completely healed by the end of the program, but I can promise you’ll be on your way. So buddy up, find a corner and we’ll get started.”

  I glance over at Dave.

  “It’s good to see you,” he says. “We’ve all been pretty worried.”

  “What are you doing here? In Lewiston? Don’t they have grief counselors back home?”

  “Only one I know of. And well…”

  Dad. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “It’s okay. It’s nice to get out of town for a while. I come here nearly everyday. It’s easier than…”

  I nod. “I know.”

  The room is suddenly alive. Chairs scraping across the floor, voices murmuring. “What exactly are we supposed to do?”

  Dave sighs. “Well last week was an ice breaker. We had to compliment each other. Then, using the first and last letters or our first name we had to come up with two things that made us smile in the last six months. Like, really smile. So much your face hurts.”

  I scoff a laugh. “Uh, okay.”

  “It was refreshing. I thought it was kind of dumb at first too, but it ended up not being so bad.”

  “What were your two things?”

  Dave smiles. “Diapers. I changed a lot of them last year. And Ray’s diapers are always explosive. I mean the kid barely ate anything, but crapped like a horse in training.”

  I laugh. “That’s one thing.”

  “There were a lot of diapers, Sheila.” He feigns a shudder and I laugh a little harder.

  “What would yours be?”

  I shrug. “Don’t know.”

  “Sure you do. You must have had a pretty insane year. Touring with a band, living your dreams. She said you were pretty happy.”

  “I was.”

  “So…two things. One that starts with S the other with A.”

  I sigh. “I don’t know, Dave. Um…Sacramento.” I can’t stop the smile from taking over. “I…well, it was my first real act as a manager. I went into this guy’s office, the promoter, and I told him our band deserved more. That they were better than the others, that they were bringing in a lot of money. I pretty much demanded more sets. And he went for it. I mean, it was incredibly scary at the time. I was freaking out because I basically got this other band fired after I dug up a bunch of dirt on them—and I wasn’t supposed to be there anyway and I was sure Ross was going to kill me—but Bill gave us all their slots and it changed everything. We made a ton of money, we ended up getting signed by Columbia and…well, the rest is history.”

  Dave smiles. “And what’s your A?”

  “Um…” I frown, glancing up at the ceiling. “This is hard. I don’t…oh, I know. April. I don’t remember the day but it was April. Ross hi
red me. I swear it was the best day of my life. I didn’t think I stood a chance in hell of getting that job. But he hired me on the spot and…sometimes I still can’t believe it.”

  Dave places a hand on my mine. “You should see your face right now. Compared to when you walked in here, you look…you look really happy, Sheila. And even though I didn’t think it was possible, we’ll both be happy again. It’ll pass. We’ll get over it. We’ll learn to let go.”

  I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “That’s the thing. I’m not sure I want to. It doesn’t seem right to just forget.”

  He shrugs. “No one’s asking you to forget her. Just…how you’ve been feeling. Think about her. Do it as much as possible, but remember her the way you loved her. That’s what I do.”

  But that’s just it. The way I loved my sister was alive. And when I think of that—her smile, her laugh—I know I’ll never be able to separate it from how I feel. Ever.

  “Okay, for today’s exercise we’re telling secrets,” Rowan calls out. “Think about when you were a kid. How you felt when someone told you something no one else knew. That feeling of empowerment or…privilege…control. We all love that feeling. And being in control of your emotions or your day-to-day life is an important step in the healing process. I want you to tell your partner something that’s a secret. Something your lost loved one shared with you and no one else. And I know what your thinking,” Rowan says. “But we’re all strangers here. And you don’t have to give a name, just a secret.”

  “Well that’s quite the assumption,” I say.

  Dave chuckles. “We don’t have to do this. You must have a ton of material to work with.”

  I smile. “Yeah. I do.”

  “We don’t have to—”

  “When you left. She was devastated.”

  Dave looks away. “I…”

  “I’m wasn’t trying to…sorry,” I say.

  “No,” Dave shakes his head and clears his throat. “It’s fine. I deserved that.”