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

by Scully, Felicia X.

  Pushing my way to the front of the line, I ignore the scowls and biting remarks and grasp my fake ID, just in case. I shouldn’t have any problems getting in. Most people know Roscoe and I have something going on. And if they don’t, then they know I’ve been with the band for almost two years. Still, I don’t want to take any chances. There’s no way I’m missing this show—or missing out on making up with him later.

  I’m relieved to see Bryce at the door, chatting with the bouncer. He kisses me on the cheek, a hand on my back.

  “Nice to see you,” he murmurs in my ear.

  There’s a hint of sympathy just at the surface but he doesn’t say anything else. No one ever does. Uttering my sister’s name is like blasphemy in these parts. Sometimes I get the feeling Roscoe’s spread the word: Fragile, handle with care. Which annoys me and endears me at the same time. Shannon was a lot like that. She kept her relationship with Luke a secret from me for months because she thought I’d break. I’m not sure why everyone thinks I’m made of glass but I don’t bother fighting it anymore.

  “This one’s on me.” Bryce speaks loudly above the crowd as we hover near the bar and hands me a bottle of Coors Light. “Don’t over do it, little girl. This damn place is my bread and butter. I get caught serving minors and I’m done for.”

  I thank him with a wink and pull back a refreshing swig. It turns out my outfit was the right choice after all. It’s so damn hot in here I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to ditch the jacket soon. But not before my man sees me in it.

  My man. I like the way it sounds. And even though it’s not necessarily true, I’ve had one thing on my mind since our fight. It’s time we make things official.

  I don’t see Roscoe. He must be out back getting ready. I’m tempted to give him a before-show pep talk, though I don’t plan on doing much talking. But I decide against it. Instead, I push to the front like I always do. I want him to see me the moment he takes the stage.

  Thirty minutes, a shot and another beer later, I’m getting as impatient as the rest of the crowd. I’m just about ready to make my way back stage when the lights start to dim. The stage is completely dark and shrieks and squeals trickle to murmurs and whispers, as Roscoe starts to play the first rift. It’s a familiar song. But one I haven’t heard in a while. In Peace, a Roscoe Gold oldie. The first song he wrote with Luke and the first one they played for the world, outside of this little city, last year. The spotlight floods Roscoe and the space around him and everything goes silent.

  He’s staring down at his guitar, attending to each note carefully, playing like he’s in a room all by himself. And when he starts to sing the first words it doesn’t take long for people to join in. Myself included.

  Love don’t last forever.

  Best friends they part ways.

  Life ain’t worth the living,

  If there ain’t a little bit of pain.

  We get to the point where the spotlight usually shifts to Luke, but it stays on him and he continues to play and sing every note so sweetly, it’s like they were meant for him alone. And when we reach the keyboard and percussion intro, he stops short, tapping out a rhythm with one hand on the base of his guitar and the other on the strings. When he wraps up the acoustic solo, people start whistling and calling out. But it’s almost like we’re all too scared to get too loud. Like anything more then a call of approval will distract him from the beautiful rendition he’s just pulled out of nowhere.

  I’ve never heard Roscoe play like this. He’s all about putting on a show. Making eye contact with every girl he can and doing suggestive things with his instrument. But right now, up on that stage, all he does is sing.

  Warm chills run through me as the other voices fade away and I tune into the sound of his alone. I don’t think I’ve ever really listened to the words. And I can’t help but wonder where they came from, what they really mean.

  In Peace I’ll rest until the end.

  I’m a beat girl. If the instrumental is good enough, I’ll listen to just about anything. I only know every word to this song because it’s sung by my idol. And for the first time, I want to know far more than just the words.

  I smile, biting on my bottom lip. If anyone had told me two years ago I’d be living with Ross Black I would have fainted. If they’d told me a year ago, I would have laughed. It’s crazy how things change.

  I’m dying to catch his eye, to let him know I’m here and I’m over all that shit from yesterday. I want him to know it was just another stupid argument. One we’ll spend the entire night getting over. But he never looks up. I can’t tell if he’s nervous or just in the zone.

  Every time a song ends, the stage goes dark again. It’s almost haunting how the noise in the bar never rises above a collective low murmur. When the music starts again, voices die out. Roscoe plays and we all listen, some of us singing along. By the time he leaves the stage, I know we’ve all just witnesses something brand new.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ross

  Holy Shit. I feel like I’m floating. And I don’t know if it’s because I was pumped full of liquor or because I was so damn nervous, but I was pretty sure I’d pass out up there.

  I couldn’t even look at the crowd. What was that? I always engage the crowd. It’s my thing. But I sat up there like a little pussy. On a goddamn stool! Strumming my guitar and staring at my fingers.

  Fuck.

  If Bryce never books me again, I wouldn’t blame him. I may have packed the bar for one night based on buzz alone, but no one’s coming back to hear me play after that shit performance. I squeeze my eyes shut.

  The tapping.

  Holy fuck. I tapped a beat on my fucking guitar like I was Eric Clapton or something. I’m such an idiot. What was I thinking playing those songs? I should have written new ones. I should have put this whole thing off until I could come up with something better. Something that doesn’t require three other guys.

  Shit, Ross. You just fucked up everything.

  I wonder what Sheila thought. I was so happy to see she’d shown up. I hadn’t expected her to. I didn’t even think she’d remember. I only mentioned the gig once. It took everything inside me not to pull her up on stage with me when I saw her standing there in her usual spot, wrapped in my old jacket. Based on her expression I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She only smiled for a second, but the rest of the time she looked like everyone else in the room—a mix between shocked and mesmerized.

  I haven’t moved from my spot backstage. Twice, Bryce has come back asking me about an encore, but I don’t do encores. I never have. Besides, he’s probably only pitying me. Giving me a chance to get up there and do better. The bar’s probably emptying out as I sit here. But there’s no way I’m getting back up on that stage. Not a chance.

  Someone clears their throat and I glance up to see a white-haired dude with coke bottle glasses. He’s got on a skin-tight, black turtleneck that enhances his potbelly, a brown tweed jacket and a pair of faded blue jeans.

  “Hey, Ross.”

  I nod, then turn my attention back to the floorboards.

  “Nice job up there. Different than your usual stuff but, from where I’m standing, I gotta say, I like the change. It suits you.”

  An old guy, like him, maybe but not my regular fans. I look up at him again and he smiles.

  He pulls a stool up next to me and offers a hand. “Richard Tanner.”

  I barely give it a shake. “Hey.”

  “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “No offense, man. But you’re not all that memorable. What were you one of my old teachers or something?”

  He laughs. “Not quite. I’ll tell you this last time we met, in this same town, you had a lot less attitude. But I guess eleven years and millions of adoring fans will do that to ya.”

  I put my guitar down and swivel to face the guy. I can’t place him for the life of me and I’m all of a sudden worried I’m missing something. Something major.

  “February 1982
. I met with you in your parents’ living room. About attending Berklee College of Music.”

  I sit up a little straighter, suddenly unable to speak.

  “It’s a shame you had to give up the opportunity but, I have to say, I’m impressed with what you’ve done with your career. I heard about the success with your band.”

  “Band’s broken up,” I reply.

  “Still, you had quite an impressive run for a group of unknown kids from Idaho. And, like I said, what you did up there knocked my socks off. I kid you not.” He waves around. “This is a nice little thing you have going on here. But I have something you might enjoy just a little bit more.”

  “Yeah? And what’s that?”

  “A job. At Berklee.”

  I can’t tell if he’s serious or not, so I laugh. “You’re offering a college drop out a job at the college he dropped out of?”

  “I’m offering a talented performer an opportunity of a life time.”

  I raise both eyebrows and pick up my guitar again, cradling it in my lap. “All due respect, I don’t think I’m the guy you’re looking for.”

  “On the contrary. When I met you all those years ago, I saw something in you I don’t see in many. Something special.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “Passion. Not just for music, but for what it does to you. What it does to other people. We didn’t accept you because you can play two instruments and sing better than some of the greats. We accepted you based on the way you looked while you did it, on the way you made us feel. Our students need a teacher like you. Based on that alone. Now there’s an opening—”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner. But I can’t just run off to Boston right now.”

  “But I haven’t even gotten to the good part. You’ll get to perform too. Write some more original songs. You’ll have an apartment of your own.” He nods to my lap. “That’s a nice guitar you got there. Bet you could use another. You know,” he winks. “Just for back up.”

  My chest swells, the answer I know he wants to hear on the tip of my tongue. But I can’t. Not now. The timing couldn’t be worse. I’ve got too much shit going on.

  I shake my head. “My family needs me right now. I have people who need me here in Lewiston. I can’t. But thanks for the offer.”

  He nods and slips his hand into his pocket. “Here.” He holds a card between us. “If you change your mind, give me a call. We’ve got another six weeks to fill the position. You let me know if it’s really worth giving up.”

  I find myself in Bryce’s office twenty-minutes later. My head still cloudy. I lie back on the sofa and stare up at the ceiling.

  “My, God.” I turn my head to see Maya standing in the doorway. “Are you kidding me?”

  I sigh, turning away from her as I begin to massage my temples with my middle and index fingers. “Not now, okay? I know.”

  “Do you really? Because if you did, you’d be out there right now, signing autographs instead of in here doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

  I glance up at her, waiting for a better explanation. But I don’t get one. Instead, she steps the rest of the way through the door and closes it behind her. In her usual flirty way, Maya takes the short stroll across the room to stand in front of me. Then she crouches down until we’re eye-level.

  “What’s wrong, baby?”

  The way she way says “baby” has me immediately on high alert, but I realize I’m too drunk to care. I was nervous earlier, so I let her buy me more drinks to calm me down. Then I was so fucked up after I gave a shit performance, I had Bryce bring me another. So even though pushing her away, getting up from this damn sofa, walking out that door finding Sheila and taking her home is the smartest thing to do right now, I can’t. I can’t move.

  Maya’s hand strokes the side of my face. “You were amazing, Ross. Do you know how incredible you sounded up there?”

  I frown, then scoff. “What?”

  “You blew everyone away. I mean, I’ll be the first to admit, you up on stage without Luke, without the other guys, it was weird. And you doing that tapping thing was even weirder, but it worked. I mean, like, really worked. You had those people eating out of your hand. You were amazing, baby.”

  I shake my head. “I…that was…but I…”

  Before I can form a coherent thought, she moves in, pressing her lips to mine. She smells sweet, and when she pulls back to assess my reaction, I can’t help but lick my lips. Maya smiles, then pounces on me again, this time slipping her tongue inside my mouth and letting out a soft sigh. But when her fingers find my hair and her nails begin to scrape at my scalp, I jerk back, pushing her away, and jump up off the sofa.

  “What are you doing?”

  Her mouth drops open and her eyes go wide. “I’m…I thought we…”

  “I’m kinda with someone.”

  She laughs. “Kind of? You either are or you’re not. Which one is it?”

  “I don’t know. But I think—”

  “Would you stop it?” She coos. “Stop thinking. Ross Black doesn’t think. He does.” She reaches out to touch me again, but I pull back.

  “I’m too drunk for this. Just ease off for a minute. Okay?”

  She narrows her eyes. “Do you really expect this thing with that little girl to last? From what I hear you’re her rebound anyway.”

  “From what you hear? You just got back.”

  “People talk, Ross. And it’s obvious to everyone but you. You’re nothing but a prescription. She lost her sister. You make her feel better. Before you she was with your brother. She’s a preacher’s daughter from Palouse, for god sakes. Do you really think she’s going to stick around? After all the dust settles, and she’s over her rebellion, she’ll be on the first bus back home.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And you should stay out of it. Green doesn’t look good on you.”

  “I’m not jealous. I just see things for what they are.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Let me know when you’re ready for the real thing again. After all, I’m the one who handles your shit best.” She opens the door, stands there for a few seconds, then shuts it behind her again.

  She’s always been one for long goodbyes.

  “What?” I ask in the most bored voice I can muster.

  Maya responds by unbuttoning her top.

  Is she serious?

  She grins at me, slipping each button from its clasp with a quick flick of her fingers. Once her shirt is wide open, revealing a black lace bra, she leans forward, her hair spilling out in front of her. With both hands, she musses it up, sending the dark brown strands flying in every different direction.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” This girl must be drunk out of her mind.

  When she stands upright again, her hair’s a complete mess. She takes a few steps forward and, intuitively, I step back. She keeps walking until she’s got me trapped in a corner.

  “What are you going to rape me now?” At this point, I’m not sure I’d put it past her.

  “When I want you, I won’t have to take it,” she whispers. “I never have.”

  “You need to go home and sober up.”

  Maya laughs. “Don’t we all?”

  Pressing her body up against mine, she plants another kiss on me. This one isn’t soft and teasing, it’s aggressive and demanding. And I’ve never felt more uncomfortable.

  I push back again. “What the fuck, Maya?”

  She smiles in response, turns on her heel and marches out the door. The second she’s gone, I grab my drink, down the last of it and plop back onto the sofa.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sheila

  The moment I see her, leaning up against the wall, fumbling with her shirt, I know something’s not right. But I can’t place it. Maya glances up at me, a smug smile spread across her face.

  “Looking for Ross?” she asks.

  All I can do is frown in response. When the hell did she get back? And what hell is going on?


  “Guess I was right about you all along,” she continues. She straightens her statuesque posture and rakes her fingers through her rumpled hair. “But I was right about him too. Breaking up with me for you might have been the stupidest thing he’s ever done. At least he’s finally come to his senses.” As she walks by and her shoulder smashes into mine. “You might want to give him a minute to get himself together. These things can be…awkward. Trust me, if anyone should know it’s me.”

  And just like that, I’m left alone in the dim hallway outside of Bryce’s office.

  My first instinct is to burst in. Demand an explanation. But I find myself taking the bitch’s advice. I linger outside the doorway for a few more minutes, unsure of what I’m about to walk in on.

  I take a deep breath, replaying the events from yesterday over in my head.

  Did we break up? Were we even together? Is he sick of me hanging around? Is that why he didn’t come home? Because he wanted me to get the hint?

  He didn’t call. He wouldn’t look up during the whole show. Was it because of me? Was it my eye contact he was avoiding?

  I place my hand on the doorknob, then raise it up, knocking instead. “Ross?” I call.

  The door swings open a few seconds later and, I’m so caught up in his presence, I almost throw my arms around his neck. Until I see the streak of lipstick on his chin.

  “Hey, Blue.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek. “You came.”

  I nod. “You were great.”

  “So I’ve heard.” He leans his head up against the doorway. His lids are heavy and he’s slurring his words.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Fuck me,” he says. “I know. I got nervous and I was…I had some drinks.”

  “Was that Maya that just left here?” I hug myself, stepping back slightly. “Didn’t know she was back.”

  His gaze perks up, but just barely. He nods. “Yeah. Crazy. Left Los Angeles to come back here.” He laughs. “Fucking crazy.”