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

by Scully, Felicia X.

His admission stings, because I know he’s right, but it didn’t stop me. And if anyone should have shunned our father’s dirty money it should have been me. Especially after everything that went down all those years ago. But instead I’ve spent every penny like I made it honestly.

  “I just don’t understand why’d you flake on the chance we’ve both been dreaming about all our lives. Since the day Dad took us there.”

  The guard signals again and Luke pushes his chair back.

  “Because,” he replies. “I didn’t think it was fair to have the one thing you had to give up.” With that he hangs up the receiver, leaving me glued to the chair, mouth open as I watch him walk away.

  Damn it. It’s my fault he’s led the life he has, now he tells me he ended up at some mediocre school, in some mediocre town, to protect me? As if my life needs more complication.

  Shit, I’m really racking up the failures.

  I’m light on my feet as I step out of the elevator and head toward the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. I’ve brought a toy this time. Not that a sick baby hooked up to monitors can get much use out of it but it’s the gesture that counts. It’s a plush, pink pony with a bright pink mane and three balloons stamped on its ass. I can’t wait to give it to her. Brenda said family sometimes brings gifts and when they do they bag them and hang them on the incubators. To thank her for the tip—and all she’s done—I brought a little gift for her too.

  I haven’t seen Sheila since our fight. I snuck back in the house last night and crashed on the sofa. Then left again before she woke up. Truthfully, I don’t even know if she’s still here. I was too afraid to check. There’s a pretty good chance she’s long gone. It’s not like I could blame her after the argument we had.

  The second I step into the reception area, I place the box of donuts down in front of Brenda and offer her a bright smile. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  She grins and the younger nurse beside her giggles, blushing when I wink in her direction. “It sure is,” Brenda responds, as she peers inside the donut box. “Ross you are a doll. I’m starving and it’s been so busy I haven’t had time for a break.”

  “How’s Mariah today?”

  “Doing wonderfully? I’m sure even better now that you’re here.” She gestures for me to follow her to the back room and I eagerly comply.

  “I brought her a gift,” I say, proudly. “Where should I put it.”

  “Just leave it with Jess. We’ll hang it up later.”

  I spend the next five minutes allowing my niece to turn me all mushy and googly-eyed. The kid’s got some serious superpowers and I can’t help but imagine the things she’ll be able to make her uncle do once she can smile at me and say my name.

  “Thanks, ladies,” I announce as I exit the room. “I’ll see you all in a few days. Be sure to give the little princess a kiss for me.” I glance over my shoulder one last time. “Bye, Mariah.”

  “Who the devil are you?”

  My back stiffens as I round the corner, regarding an elderly woman standing near reception. A pile of brown hair is swept high on top of her head, the sides slick and shiny as melting ice. She’s dressed from head to toe in pink tweed and the scowl, on her otherwise smooth face, is directed at me.

  I glance over at Brenda whose head is bowed, her face bright red. Jess’s eyes are wide and she shakes her head frantically, freezing when the old lady turns around to follow my gaze.

  “Did he just say Mariah? Mariah Carlson? Who is this young man?”

  Ignoring Jess’s warnings, I step forward. “Her uncle,” I announce proudly. “The one who pays the hospital bills and visits her three times a week. Who the hell are you?”

  Her eyebrows shoot up, her mouth dropping open. And it’s almost like she’s looking at me for the first time. Her gaze settles first on my face, flashing over every piercing then moving down my neck, lingering on my forearms and hands.

  “You’re that boy’s brother.” Her voice drips with acid and her eyes narrow further. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Like I said—”

  “Oh, I heard you. If you know what’s good for you you’ll leave this place this instant and never return. Before I call the police.” She turns her attention to the reception desk. “And you.”

  Brenda’s face is so red now—practically purple—that I feel sick.

  “This hospital has very strict policies,” the woman continues. “As far as I know there are only five people on that baby’s visitors list and he is not one of them. Whether he’s throwing his filthy money her way or not.” She sticks her chin in the air. “I’ll be speaking to the Chief of Staff regarding this debacle. He’s a close friend and I’m sure he wouldn’t stand for this kind of—”

  “This isn’t their fault,” I cut in. “It’s a simple misunderstanding. I’m not doing any harm. I’m just visiting. What’s wrong with that?”

  I’m surprised the look she gives me doesn’t strike me down right there. “Is that what you’re telling my granddaughter?” she spits. “That you’re not doing her any harm. Keeping her away from her family, causing pain when no more is needed.”

  “Y-you’re Sheila’s—”

  “Yes,” she hisses. “I am. And if I catch you snooping around here again, I will have you arrested. And thrown in jail right next to your no-good brother.”

  It takes everything inside me not to reach over and wrap everyone of my trembling fingers around her neck. My hands are shaking so bad I have to clench my fists. Brenda mouths an apology and Jess silently shakes her head.

  I don’t say another word as I turn from the scene and swiftly make my way to the elevator. Once I’m inside, I haul off and punch the wall. It doesn’t hurt as much as I expect it to but it does leave a small dent in the soft metal. What surprises me most is the moisture in my eyes and the racing of my heart.

  After I leave the hospital, I’m tempted to go back home, hide out in my room and lick my wounds in private.

  I’ve never been so angry in my life. I’ve been plenty pissed. Just never like this. I’ve also never had violent thoughts toward a member of the opposite sex. But I wanted to string that woman up in more ways than one. I’ve met a few bitches, girls who thought they could manipulate me into getting what they wanted. Hell, I’ve even been shut down a time or two and made to feel unworthy of a girl’s attention. But I have never been treated like that. Even with the dozens of people around town who treat me like I’m nothing—thanks to my parents’ arrest—not one of them has never made me feel more insignificant than a chewed up piece of gum at the bottom of a fucking shoe. That woman was a bitch in the true sense of the word. I’ve heard Sheila complain about her. Even Luke warned me. But damn.

  I can’t go home now. If I do, only to find out Sheila really has left, it’ll only make a bad day that much worse. Despite what Luke says, despite what he wants me to do, I want her to be there. I want to tell her I’m sorry. To talk to her about where the money went. To tell help her heal. But I have to help my brother too. Because, while I’m living on the outside, he’s locked away, unable to enjoy the simple luxury of playing with his kids, or saying a proper goodbye to his wife. Giving up my own selfish desires to ease his pain is the least I could do. I owe that kid everything.

  I still can’t believe he gave up Berklee because of me. It’s like some twisted Gift of the Magi crap. What was that dumb kid thinking? I’d have cleaned out my own account to send him there. This isn’t how any of this was supposed to go.

  I groan. Sometimes it seems like no matter what I do, I can’t make up for my mistakes. It’s like they have a life of their own, living on in every decision I make, cursing every good thing that comes my way.

  I arrive at Chagrin’s several hours before my gig, giving Bryce the excuse of getting in the zone. He doesn’t look all that convinced with my lie but I brush it off and find a seat in a dark corner. I rest my guitar down beside me and order round of shots. It’s the perfect place to blow off steam. Plus, I’m ne
rvous as fuck about tonight and it’s only turning the jumble of emotions into a perfect storm that desperately needs taming.

  Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on the bar. Fuck this day. Fuck yesterday too.

  No matter how I try to make light of what happened with Sheila, I can’t. Why did I say those things to her? Why do I care? She’s right, I should be grateful. Instead I’m a jealous idiot. I’ve turned into one of those guys. Maybe Luke’s onto something. Maybe I am—no. No way. We’re just having fun. I mean obviously I care. I might even be a little addicted. It doesn’t feel much like fun. It’s a little more serious than that but it isn’t love—I’ve only been in love once in my life and it didn’t end well. Sheila and I are friends just like we’ve always been. It’s consensual. We’ve just been keeping each other company. Licking each other’s wounds.

  I shake my head and down another shot. I’ll regret this later, since I haven’t eaten anything all day. I used my last bit of money to fill up the tank. If it wasn’t for my long-running tab, I wouldn’t even be enjoying this right now. I down the last of the vodka and sit with my head in my hands, staring at the bar top and trying to work out my set list for tonight.

  I’ve never played by myself. I’ve always been part of a band. I could play a few of the old ones, stuff people remember from before Roscoe Gold. But without Luke, the idea scares the shit out of me. My brother’s always been by my side up on that stage,

  I rub my eyes again. Shit, I hope I can pull this off. I glance at my guitar, my chest tightening. I hope to god I can. Because, if I don’t, I might be forced to sell everything I own.

  The stool beside me scrapes across the floor, and I freeze at the scent that immediately fills the space around me. It’s called Satsuma. I know that for one reason and one reason only.

  “You look like hell,” she whispers.

  Damn it. Not today.

  “I hear you’re playing tonight. Seems like I got back just in time.”

  I glance to the side, taking in full view of those long legs, practically painted in a pair of light blue jeans. As always, she’s got heels on her feet. Not the chunky ones like Sheila wears, the spiky ones that look impossible to stand in. Shiny red fingers nails drum out a rhythm across her thigh. And I finally allow my gaze to make its way up her bare stomach, past those perky tits, I haven’t touched in almost two years, and along her slender neck. By the time I make eye contact with my ex girlfriend, I’m ready to bolt.

  This isn’t good. Shit like this is never good.

  Maya smiles, her perfect teeth gleaming. Then, as if she knows it’ll make things ten times harder for me—okay, not as if, because she definitely knows—she licks her full pink lips slowly and leans forward, her hand moving from her thigh to mine.

  “How are you, Ross?” Her brown eyes are wide and she bats her eyelashes a few times.

  I should get up and leave. Right now. But maybe it’s the vodka that’s got me stupid.

  “I’m good, Maya. How are you?”

  She scoots her stool a little closer to mine and props one elbow up on the bar. Her hand doesn’t move from my leg. “I’m okay. Just moved back from L.A.”

  This makes me laugh. “You moved back here? From L.A.? In the middle of the winter?”

  Her eyes narrow a bit but, in the seconds that follow, she paints on a seductive smile. “Yes. There are some things a girl can’t get on the West Coast. Some things are irreplaceable.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her about Sheila. But I don’t. Maybe it’s because there’s not really anything to tell. We’re not a couple. Not really and for all I know she’s already back in Washington. I’m not sure why, but I don’t say what’s on my mind, instead I engage my ex in a conversation I should probably just walk away from.

  “Oh yeah?” I ask. “Like what?”

  “Oh, I think you know.”

  She squeezes my thigh and I have the sense to pull back.

  “Last time I talked to you, you told me you didn’t need me. That you were moving on to bigger and better things.”

  She bites her lips together and places her long fingers on the drink in front of her. “You’re the one who broke up with me.”

  “I was going on tour. Just wanted you to be free.”

  She scoffs. “You mean you wanted to be free.”

  “What really brings you back to Lewiston? ‘Cause I know it isn’t me.”

  “It’s home,” she say, squinting. “So if you’re doing so well, why do you look like you do?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “How do I look, Maya?”

  “Disheveled. A little tired. Depressed maybe? It’s kinda hot.” She sips her drink to hide her smile.

  “Well, I’m sure you heard about Luke.”

  “That’s a mess,” she says, with a slight pout. “I couldn’t even believe he was married in the first place. But for his wife to just die like that. Food poisoning of all things. That’s…it’s horrible. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I offer a tight smile. “Thanks.” No one’s ever apologized to me for it. I barely knew the girl but it hit me hard nonetheless.

  “How’s the baby? I heard she was pregnant.”

  “They have two kids. Boy and girl. Ray’s living with her parents and Mariah’s still in the hospital.” The thought of the kid lifts my spirits, but the memory of what just went down at the hospital causes my mood to plummet again. “She’s doing really well.”

  “You see her often?” Maya smiles.

  I nod, my stomach clenching as I consider the fact that I likely won’t anymore. I wave to the bartender. After today, I may never see her again.

  “And Luke?”

  “I visited him yesterday.”

  “That explains the look,” she says.

  Not really, but it’s nice to know someone cares about my feelings. “Guess I’m just processing. It’s been tough, you know?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. If there’s anything I can do to take your mind off things. Just let me know.” She raises her drink to her lips again, sipping slowly. Her eyes on mine the entire time.

  What the hell am I doing, opening up to her like this? Shut up, Ross. Shut the fuck up.

  “Yeah. Sure thing.” I push away from the bar and jump off the stool.

  Maya’s hand curls around my arm. “I’ll stick around tonight, okay? Just in case you need some moral support. You know I’ve always been good with that.” She climbs off her stool and onto her tiptoes, leaving a soft kiss on my cheek. “I mean it, Ross,” she whispers in my ear. “Anything you need. Anything at all.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sheila

  As I slip into the leather skirt, a part of me considers wearing something else. Something less antagonistic. But the more stubborn part of me tells me it’s my choice. My skirt. My life. My choice.

  It sounds immature. But am I really going to never wear it just because it’ll make him uncomfortable? Just because I borrowed money from another man to buy it? A friend? That’s ridiculous. He should know me better than that by now.

  I slip into my new boots next. Paired with fishnets, my mesh black tank top over a bright blue bra top, I know I’m making the right choice. I top it off with one of Roscoe’s old denim jackets. I’ve been eying it hanging in his closet since the moment I saw it. It’s from his high school days. The one piece of Zeppelin memorabilia he actually does have—with the bands name boldly stitched across the back. It’s completely worn and faded with an almost-yellow tinge. It’s also a little big in the shoulders but, for the most part, it fits perfectly. Like it was meant for me. I can’t wait to walk into Chagrin’s in this outfit. I’ll be freezing as hell but it’ll be worth it for him to see me in it. I can’t wait for him to tear it off me after we make up. Because tonight when he gets off stage and takes me home, we will. After every fight, we do.

  We fight a lot. It’s always been part of our banter. For as long as I’ve known him, we’ve had arguments on just about everything. But now that we’re�
��whatever we are, it’s different. It feels personal—everything from my top that’s too revealing to the fact that he thinks it’s rude to tell a shameless fan to get lost when he’s clearly with me.

  It doesn’t just feel personal, it is.

  And I’ll be damned if I don’t make it that way sometimes, just to see how he reacts. To see how much he really cares. I don’t mean to play games. And maybe taking that money from Dave, leaving that shopping bag on the floor where he’d see it, was some subconscious way of picking a fight. I don’t know. I guess I could have just told him the truth. I could have stopped things before they got out of control. I didn’t have to poke the stupid bear, but I did. And I know why. Because I needed a reaction.

  I don’t want Coco to be right. ‘And Roscoe can?’ she asked. The simple question implied so much—a truth that bothers me more than I ever thought it would. I’ve been depending on him way too much. I’m not even sure what I’d do without him.

  Maybe I do have some growing up to do.

  I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon. All day, I’ve busied myself, trying hard not to think about where he might be. Twice, I’ve nearly called Dave, of all people, to help me find him. But I thought better of it. I’m betting Dave would be better than Cole but Roscoe’s a big boy. He knows his way home just fine. I’ve thought about leaving too, considering his words.

  Why am I here? Why not just leave? If I really don’t need him like I said, why not just go? That answer’s as simple as my best friend’s question. I need him. Whether I’m willing to say it out loud or not.

  The line to get inside Chagrin’s is longer than a Roscoe Gold party. And I’m not sure why I’m surprised. He’s Roscoe Black and no matter what’s gone down in the past few months, no matter how far away from the spotlight he is, the Lewiston fans still love him. That much is clear. I wasn’t there to witness it—back when my Saturday nights were spent preparing for the Sunday morning solo—but this bar is where it all began.