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

by Scully, Felicia X.

  I nod, enthusiastically. “Of course. That’s—it’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “I’m Brenda, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brenda.” I dig my hand into my back pocket to retrieve my wallet. “Say, I was wondering. Do you know where I can make a payment?”

  “For what?”

  “For the baby’s hospital bill.”

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “Come on,” I tease. “Don’t tell me I have to be authorized to pay a bill too. It’s a gift.”

  “Well, no.” She chuckles. “But they usually mail out the bills every month. You’d need the account number.”

  “Oh.”

  “You could always send a check in her name. I’m not sure how they’d process it, but it’s worth a try.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sheila

  Two Weeks Later

  The sound is worse than nails on a chalkboard and my head threatens to explode as I reach across the bed and feel around for the stupid clock. But it isn’t in reach. I groan and pull the pillow tight around my head, blocking out any hostile rays of sun.

  We need a curtain. A thick black drape to cover this stupid window. I’m tired of waking up to the sun every morning. I’m not that kind of girl.

  “Shut up,” Roscoe mumbles from somewhere in the room. Probably right next to me but the way my brain is pounding against my skull, it sounds like he’s several feet away.

  I moan in return, as the bed shifts beside me.

  “Who the hell calls so early in the morning?”

  The slam of the receiver is somehow worse and I know, without a doubt, I’m about to start another miserable day. Roscoe’s already buried under the covers again and his breaths are starting to even out. Inch by inch, I remove the pillow from my head, squeezing my eyes closed as I swing my feet over the bed.

  Shower. Coffee. Outside world.

  It’s what I’ve told myself every morning for the past month. But it usually goes more like: Coffee. Shower. Joint. Strong drink. Back to bed.

  At least it has for the past two weeks. Ever since my encounter with Dave and what he told me about Shannon, I’ve pretty much become a hermit. If he thought it would get me to come home, he was wrong. Knowing what I know now, going back to Palouse is the last thing I want to do. Ever.

  After a minute or two, I’m finally brave enough to crack an eyelid. Five minutes after that, I’m headed to the kitchen. I had a shower last night. Another one can wait a few hours.

  I flip on the coffee maker—the thing’s like an old car that needs to be warmed up before it can do its job—and I trudge to the fridge, swinging open the freezer, to seize the grounds. They’re probably older than Grandma, but fresh coffee would mean actually leaving the house and I’ve just decided today isn’t the day. Besides caffeine is caffeine.

  When I turn back to the coffee maker, I notice the red light isn’t on. I also notice, for the first time, that the floors are freezing. I’m starting to feel like my socked-feet are sliding across ice. It’s the end February so I’m used to the cold, but this house isn’t like home. There’s no wood stove to welcome warm hugs. It’s not like the ranch, with heated floors, either.

  God, I miss that ranch. But with Luke in jail and Shannon…

  There’s no way I’m staying at that ranch. This place has enough ghosts to last a lifetime.

  I flip the switch on the coffee maker back and forth a few times before I call time of death and give up on the idea of coffee for the day. Then I scurry toward the thermostat and crank up the heat. It isn’t until I’m still shivering thirty minutes later, that I realize there’s no power. I’ve tried every switch in the house with no success. And when I tried to call Coco on the cordless it was dead.

  So instead, I trudge over there in my pajamas.

  So much for not leaving the house.

  The frigid air hits me harder than I expect. It’s difficult to breathe it in and the sun only makes my hangover worse. I smack on the front door rushing into the house the moment she opens it.

  “God, Sheila. You look like hell.”

  “Feel like it too.”

  “You’re just in time,” Coco leads the way into her kitchen. “Your mom’s been calling and Dave left a message ten minutes ago.”

  “Baker?”

  She nods, handing me a cup of coffee.

  I take a scalding sip before I answer. “What the hell did he want?”

  “He said…” Coco turns and walks back to the stove. She spends the next several seconds tending to her grill cheese sandwich before turning a careful gaze on me. “He’s going to that session at the church today. He wanted you to come. And your mom said they’re going to the cemetery. It’s been two months since…”

  I grip my mug, willing my hands not to shake.

  Why do you avoid the outside world? This is why, Sheila. This is why.

  “I’m sorry. I know…I wouldn’t have brought it up but she’s not going to stop calling. None of them are.”

  But I wish they would. Why can’t they just let me deal with this in my own way? On my own time?

  “No,” I say. “I’m not going.”

  “I figured you’d say that. But he left a number, just in case you change your mind. I was going to bring it over.”

  It’s like everything starts clicking into place at once. The smell of coffee. The warmth of the floors. The brightly lit chandelier.

  “You have power.”

  Coco frowns, then raises an eyebrow.

  “We don’t,” I continue. “The house was freezing when I woke up and the cordless doesn’t work. I didn’t want to wake Ross so I…how do you have power and we don’t?”

  Coco shrugs. Her back is to me again and I realize to late, I’ve just stepped in it. The conversation that makes her uncomfortable.

  I sigh and place the cup down on the counter. “It’s been weeks,” I say. “It’s real.” Even though I’m sure it’s half-way burnt by now, she keeps flipping that damn sandwich. “Can’t you just…what’s the big deal?” I’m getting irritated now. Because if there was anyone I ever expected to understand what I have with Ross, it’s my best friend. The girl who coveted him right alongside me—and every other girl in Lewiston. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Everything happened so fast. Then Cole showed up to tell him about Luke’s accident and…I swear I would have told you first.”

  Coco finally turns to face me, her crispy breakfast sliding around on a plate as she sits down. She pushes a piece of paper, with Dave’s name and number written on it, toward me.

  I fold it up and shove it deep in the pocket of my sweater. Just like I did with that envelope a couple weeks ago. The one I haven’t dared to open.

  “It’s not that,” she says, as she starts slicing off the crusts. “I’m just not sure it really is real. You just lost your sister, Sheila. I know it’s hard and I know you hate thinking about it, but it’s the truth. You got knocked over hard and Ross was their to catch you. But it doesn’t mean it’s…real.. Maybe it’s just convenient.”

  “I know him,” I mumble into my coffee cup. I take another sip and place it in front of me. “I’ve gotten to know him really well over the past year and half. I like him. A lot.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “We just got together.” I get up from the table already sick of the conversation. “I have to go get Ross to screw with the circuit breaker or whatever.” I clear my throat, then choke out a lie. “I’ll call you. Thanks for the coffee.”

  The house feels even colder after coming in from the Rose’s. And I can actually see my breath. I toss the bundle of mail on the table by the door and glance toward the staircase. Roscoe and I were up until the early hours of the morning, playing Crazy Eights and drinking like our livers have superpowers. But our minds were numb, shutting out the pain and confusion of our messed up lives. Both of us conscious only enough to make each other laugh—and forget. He’s going to hate me for waking him, but I’ll be damned if I sit
around in an icebox until three in the afternoon.

  As I turn to make my way toward the stairs I notice something: the same stamped red letters scrawled across several of the envelopes. I pick up one and stare at it.

  FINAL NOTICE

  Shit. I’ve never paid a bill in my life, but I have a pretty good idea what it means. The envelope bears the address of the water company. I pick the others and leaf through them. Cable, telephone, electric.

  Why hasn’t he paid these?

  I tear open the electric bill, my eyes widening when I see the amount owed and the due date. Which was Monday. I tear through the other bills and notice all of them are dated for this Friday. We’ve been living in this house for two months without paying a single bill. We have no freaking power in the middle of the winter.

  I storm up the stairs, bills in hand, and throw open the door.

  “Are you serious?” I ask, yanking the covers off him.

  “What the…?” He sits up in the bed, squinting at me.

  “It’s fucking freezing, Ross. We have no heat, no light. Why didn’t you pay these damn bills?” I toss the papers in front of him.

  “I paid them. I always pay them. What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s hugging himself, rubbing his hands up and down his bare arms.

  All I can do is glare in response. “I’m going to Coco’s.” I grab my backpack from the foot of the bed and begin shoving clothes inside. “I mean really? What’s so hard about paying the bills? What’s so difficult about making sure we don’t fucking freeze to death? Is it so hard to something right, Ross? Is it? Are you that fucking dense? Why the hell am I even here? It’s like living with a five-year-old. You eat, sleep, the house is a mess. And now we have no power because you didn’t pay the damn bill.”

  My hand closes over the folded up envelope at the bottom of my bag and the sobs come next. I can’t even stop them from tearing through my chest. Before I know it, I’m hunched over the backpack. Hugging it, tears streaming down my face.

  I feel his arms around me, but it does little comfort me. I’m cold. And miserable. I want things to go back to normal. I want my life back. I want my sister back. But I don’t say it. I don’t say anything else. I just cry and let him hold me.

  “Fuck, Carlson,” he murmurs in my ear. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix it. Don’t go. Stay. I’ll fix it. I promise. I’m so sorry.”

  I can tell he’s not talking about the heat, by the way he keeps apologizing. And I know I’m wrong for yelling.

  “Me too,” I whisper. I shake my head, because what I need to say, what I should say, I can’t. Coco’s right. Dave’s right. I should go home and face my real life. But no matter how insane and completely wrong this is, I want it. I want him. He can’t fix me. No one can. But I want him to try.

  I turn my head to meet his lips, pulling him to me hard and fast. I loop my arms around his neck and position myself to straddle him, right there in the middle of the bedroom floor. The heat from his body, the way he instantly swells beneath me makes me forget everything. How cold I am, how sad I am, how lost I am. I fist his thick dark hair, digging my nails into his scalp. Seconds later, I feel his fingers slide between my legs, stroking me through the thin fabric of my tights.

  As Roscoe rises to his feet taking me with him, I wrap my legs tightly around his waist. And as my back hits his soft mattress, I close my eyes and allow him to take me as far away from reality as possible.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ross

  She cries a lot. But it’s not like I can blame her. I can only do whatever’s in my power to make it stop. To make her feel better. For whatever reason, I do that for her. My heart races at the thought. No girl has ever looked at me the way she does. Like she needs me. Like I truly mean something to her. Or maybe I’ve just never noticed until now. The only person who’s ever depended on me was my brother. With him away, it feels good to have someone take his place. She used to be different. The way she didn’t take crap from me, the way she always put me in my place—I liked that about her. It’s what made me want her so bad in the first place. But for some reason, I like this better. As twisted as that might sound. It’s not though. I like taking care of her. I like being the one she needs.

  And I’m doing a bang up job.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing all this crap away. Balancing the books was Luke’s thing. The kid is a genius with numbers. But it doesn’t take a genius to realize we’re screwed. Well, I am anyway.

  My gaze drops to the pile of papers on the table. I didn’t realize things were this bad. How did I spend that much damn money? Every check I wrote in the past two weeks has bounced. My bills are way overdue and, shit, we have no power. It’s going to take five hundred dollars to get it turned on again.

  Five hundred I don’t have.

  Luke used to warn me about spending money without thinking—the six grand I spent on that Stratocaster guitar, the shitload I dropped on the tour bus, the ranch in Washington, all the parties we had, his Harley. I never had to worry it would run out, because it wasn’t supposed to. My band made it. We were on our way to being huge. Then everything went to hell.

  I glance around. I could sell something. The guitar maybe? My leather jacket? The ranch. I could sell the ranch. I shake my head. Luke would kill me if I sold that house. He’s probably saving that for those kids too. I’ve let him down enough for one lifetime. There’s the old restaurant, but that place has been neglected for years. I’d lose more than I’d make selling that.

  I shouldn’t have sent that check. But I just had to go play Daddy Warbucks. It was too much. I thought Luke’s hospital bill was bad. I probably could have convinced him to use his Trust Fund, but I didn’t want to bring any of that up. Besides he told me specifically he wanted to keep it for those kids. I was just trying to help and now I’ve gotten myself in a bigger mess than I ever could have imagined. It’s not that I regret it, just the position it’s put me in now.

  Anytime she’s ready Sheila could walk out that door and leave me to rot on my own. Then again, I should probably just let her. For all I know, this could be a sign. It’s what Luke wanted, isn’t it? For her to go home, make nice with her family, so he can have access to Ray again.

  But what about what I want? Her. Right here with me. When am I ever going to get what I want? Guilt floods my conscience at the very thought. I don’t deserve what I want. I never have. I’ll spend my life making amends, and that’s just the way it’s going to be.

  I rub my eyes and let out a groan.

  Damn it. What has my life become? My brother’s gone. My money’s gone. My band’s over. My girl is ready to bolt and I’ve got no damn heat. I need to come up with a way to make some cash. Fast.

  I could call the guys. I laugh at myself for that one. I haven’t spoken to Ryan or Dash in a month. Not since I lost it on them after Luke went to lockup. They actually thought the band had a chance in hell without him. They actually thought I cared about Jerry Cowell and the rest of those dicks at Columbia. I didn’t then. I sure as hell do now. But that ship has sailed and I’m not a fool. My brother and I have long-since been replaced. Roscoe Gold is nothing but a memory.

  I swipe my arm across the table, the papers fluttering to the floor.

  This was supposed to be the easy part. I was supposed to have it all by now. Instead, it feels like I’m starting all over again. I hear the engine in the driveway next door and sink down into my seat, peering through the kitchen window.

  Cole Rose.

  He gets out of his squad car and struts toward the front door of his house. Perfect uniform. Perfect fucking face. Everything comes rushing back with one sight of him. How did the tables turn on me? How is it possible that Cole has everything and I have nothing? A job, a real home, family. He’s got it all and I’m all alone. I’m sure he’s loving this.

  As if he can sense me watching him, he turns slowly looking over his shoulder toward our house. And I swear I see smirk. He’s probably getting the most satisfaction
out of my pain.

  Goddamnit, Ross. You were almost the town’s Golden Boy. Now they hate you. Just like they hate your folks. You’re a fucking failure.

  Not that I care what they think. Any of ‘em. I’m my own man. I work hard and I take care of business. It’s all that matters.

  I pull my toque over my ears and take a deep breath. I can get through this too. All I need to do is think.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sheila

  I sit up and glance around the dark room. There’s a black sheet covering the blinds, not a sliver of sunlight. And I’m completely naked under a pile of blankets. Roscoe must have laid every blanket in the house on top of me. I can’t even see the imprint of my toes.

  He’s fixed it. At least for now. But what happens when the sun goes down? When it’s dark for real and I start to feel lost again. Everything is so much worse at night. I start imagining all sorts of things. Like where she is. If she’s okay. If she’s scared. Is there even is a heaven and after everything she’s done—defied Mom and Dad, abandoned the rules of our Faith—is she even there?

  The thought makes me shiver, so I reach for my sweater and pull it over my head. Then I pull the blankets back up to my chin. I’m content to stay right here in this room. But thanks to the heat I demanded, I started to sweat as I slept. Worse, I stink and I don’t even want to consider getting in the shower. But thoughts of Roscoe coming into check on me and fainting from the stench coax me out of my little tent. I grab a towel and prepare for the worst.

  Thanks to the small amount of hot water left in the tank, the shower turns out to be not so bad. I’m quick about it, hopefully leaving enough for Roscoe, until we can figure away out of this mess. As I redress, pulling the same sweater over my head again a little while later, my hand grazes the scrunched up paper as I push them deep in pockets.