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

by Scully, Felicia X.

  The more she talks, the more she’s winning me over. “You didn’t mention anything about this earlier.”

  “With my dad around? Are you kidding? I’ll wear him down, I always do. I just wanted him to see the space. As a restaurant, we know it’d do okay. But then again, it’s been closed for ten years and even people who remember it for what it was might not come back.”

  I chuckle. “You mean because of who used to own it.”

  “Not necessarily.” She hands me the two plates and I take them to the table. “Most of them have just moved on. Found new favorites. Still, there aren’t nearly enough places for people like us to hang out. We could host live bands, do open mic, just like Chagrin’s.”

  “And cut into Bryce’s profits. That’ll go over well.”

  “Oh please, Bryce won’t lose out. He caters to the older crowd these days anyway. And just about every night there’s some kind of row between a big-mouthed college kid and a townie. We can be the destination for those kids. If anything, Bryce would thank us. Remember he used to talk about banning them all the time?”

  She has a point but I’m still not entirely convinced. A restaurant I can handle. I spent so many hours working at Dad’s place I can’t even count them. I know the ins and outs. I could easily figure out the business side. Not that I’d really need to. I have Maya for that. But a nightclub? I don’t know the first thing.

  I repeat the sentiment as I grab two coffee mugs. “What if it doesn’t go over well? You could lose everything.”

  She uncorks the wine bottle and purses her lips. “Please don’t tell me Roscoe Black is scared of a challenge.”

  “I’m not scared. I’m…” I don’t know what I am. But it definitely isn’t keen. I like the idea but I’ve failed enough for one lifetime. She wouldn’t get it even if I tried to explain. She’d just give me pep talk and tell me to suck it up. “Forget it,” I say. “It’s your money. You want to open a club? Do you your thing.”

  She leans across the table, a sly grin on her face. In a matter of seconds it turns from sly to sexy and as she inches closer, I’m sure she’s about to plant one on me, but she stops just millimeters away and says, “My pleasure. Now can we celebrate?” Then she gets up, walks over to the kitchen window and closes the blinds.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sheila

  I barely slept last night after seeing what I did. The drawback to staying at Coco’s is the close proximity to the Black house. So close, I can see inside the kitchen windows. Roscoe used to gripe about putting up blinds so Cole couldn’t spy on him and now I wish he had. I’m pretty sure Maya new exactly what she was doing when she practically shoved her tongue down his throat.

  She did know what she was doing. Because she looked right at me, when she closed those blinds.

  “Still spying?” Coco shuffles into the kitchen and straight toward the coffee maker.

  I don’t answer. I’ve been leaned up against the sink for who-knows-how-long, my mind in the gutter. And not in a good way. It’s seven o’clock in the morning and Maya’s car is still in the driveway.

  She spent the night. I want to cry—an ugly, screw-faced, full-belly one, but instead I hold my breath and close my eyes. I left him. What did I expect?

  “If it isn’t Little Miss Ornery?”

  I turn around just in time to see Coco shoot her brother an annoyed glare.

  I narrow my eyes as well. But my face grows hot when I notice he’s wearing nothing but low riding sweat pants. It’s not like I haven’t seen him shirtless before but that was years ago. He’s changed quite a bit in all that time.

  I refocus my attention next door. “I’m not spying,” I say to Coco. “I’m thinking.”

  “Oh, my god, Sheila. Just go over there already. We talked about this.”

  “That was before I knew Maya would snake her way in.”

  “It’s not what you think. Tell her Cole.”

  I chance a glance at his bare mocha chest then force myself to look him in the eye. “What’s not what I think?”

  He’s standing in front of the fridge now and downs a half a bottle of water before answering. “The two of them are up to something,” he says with a shrug. “Some business venture that has to do with the old restaurant. My buddy works at the courthouse. Maya was down there filing papers or something.”

  “He’s reopening the restaurant?” My gaze snaps to Coco. “With her?”

  “At least now you know she’s not scheming to get him back.”

  I cross my arms. “Says who?”

  Coco rolls her eyes. “I’m going to have a shower. You go talk to your boyfriend, or whatever he is. That way you can stop dreaming up ridiculous scenarios in your head.”

  I have to take a shot of something before I can convince myself to venture next door. All Mr. Rose has in his liquor cabinet is sherry. I consider smoking the rest of the joint from the other night, but I shove the baggie in my pocket instead, quickly deciding against anything that’ll giveaway my state of mind. I down half a glass of the sickly, sweet drink and, twenty minutes later, once a slight buzz has settled over me, I drum up courage and force myself out the back door.

  I’ve never been so nervous, as I make my way across the patch of snow-covered grass separating the Roses from the Blacks. It reminds me of all those months ago when I headed over the house for the first time. I’d been excited to stay there but freaked out at the same time. Me in a house with two guys I’d obsessed over for three years was the last place I expected to find myself.

  I place my hand on the doorknob and pause. I can’t just walk in. Can I? I don’t live here anymore. I’m positive it’s not locked but…Maya’s in there. What if they’re doing it on the kitchen island? My heart sinks and I drop my arm. Maybe I shouldn’t bother. What’s the point? I left. She’s back. Perhaps this is the way it’s meant to be after all.

  But even as I fantasize turning away and never thinking about him again, I know that won’t happen. He’s been in my life for too long. The things I feel for him, whatever they are, I can’t just turn them off. I want to—life would be easier if I could—but I can’t. Coco’s right. I have to talk to him. I have to know where we stand. And if it’s really over, I need to know. I need to see it for myself no matter how much it hurts. Then I’ll be able to let go for good.

  Standing there on his porch feeling like the outsider I’ve suddenly become, I realize something. I can’t face him like this. I can’t do this sober. The very first time I slept with Ross I was drunk out of my mind. It was the day my sister died. He poured me a drink. Then another. Before I knew it I was waking up naked wrapped in his arms. It’s not that I didn’t want him. I did. Being drunk just made it easier to ask for it.

  After that day, I had a shot every night before I went to bed and nearly every morning within hours after waking up. At first it was to help me sleep and get through the day. Then two drinks became five, once I added one to every meal. No wonder I couldn’t sleep back at home. It wasn’t the room or what was missing from it. It was me.

  I step back, my hands shaking as I retrieve the baggie from my pocket. I perch on the edge of the porch swing and light up the stub. As the tears spring to my eyes, I convince myself it’s not my emotions. It’s the weed. It’s old and stinging my throat. I allow the tears to stream down my face without bothering to wipe them and hug myself as I lean back in the swing and stare up at the sunless sky.

  Even though I’m freezing, I linger on the porch for another twenty minutes, in hopes the stench won’t cling to my clothing. I pop two sticks of Doublemint in my mouth and take a few deep breaths as I anticipate what I’ll meet on the other side.

  When it opens, I almost wish the door would make some kind of sound. Something to let him know I’m here. But it’s as silent as ever. I glance around the kitchen to see the dishes from last night still cluttering the table. Two place settings, an empty wine bottle.

  Since when does he drink wine?

  I set my jaw and for
ce myself to keep going—down the hall, past the living room, toward the staircase. My heart nearly stops when I see what’s hanging on the banister. A woman’s top. And it’s not mine. It’s the one I saw her wearing last night. My heart starts up again, beating as fast as if I’d run here. I clench my teeth, making my way up the stairs even though my mind says to turn around and leave it alone. I’ve already gotten the confirmation I need. Why bother? Why do you need to punish yourself by actually seeing him with her?

  I linger outside the doorway to his room, pushing back the lump in my throat. Just a peek. It’s open a crack so I push it the rest of the way with one finger. The first thing I notice is one of her bare long, lean legs draped over the side of the bed. She’s lying on her back, her shiny brown hair splayed across the pillow. And she’s clearly naked. Covered by only a sheet.

  A sob builds in my chest and I cover my mouth. I don’t expect the reaction. I mean I prepared for this. I left with no real plans of coming back. I knew she was here. I saw her with him that night at Chagrin’s. So why am I freaking out? I take several deep breaths, willing myself to calm down. This isn’t the time and it’s definitely not the place.

  But that’s just the problem. It is the place. The only place I’ve ever felt safe enough to let out my real feelings. To cry like a baby until I can barely breathe. The only difference is he’s usually right by my side to help me through it. But this time he’s—

  “Carlson?”

  I whirl around to see him standing in the doorway of the bathroom, a towel draped around his waist, his skin glistening with beads of water. One strong arm is frozen on his head, towel in hand, soaking up the dampness from his dark hair.

  I can’t read the look on his face. I’m not sure if it’s shock or guilt.

  “What are you—? You’re…back. I—”

  I shake my head, a tear spilling onto my cheek before I can stop it.

  His gaze darts behind me and he steps forward. “It’s not—I didn’t—”

  I rush toward the stairs, descending as quickly as possible with blurred vision. Just as I reach the kitchen, I hear him behind me.

  “Sheila, wait!”

  And I do. Why did I stop? What’s he going to say that I don’t already know? Why would I even care? I need to stop crying. Stop crying, Sheila. God. Just stop it!

  He grips my elbow and turns me to face him but I keep my eyes glued to the floor. All the while, tears hitting the tile.

  “What happened?” he asks, gently. “I woke up and you were gone. Why’d you leave me?”

  Because my dead sister talks to me in my dreams and she told me to.

  I pull my arm away and close my eyes, the tears barely subsiding. “I have to go,” I snap and turn back toward the door.

  “No way.” Roscoe pushes his way in front of me, barring the exit. “Not until I get an explanation. You just fucking left. And a note, Carlson? Really?”

  “I…” I could tell him. He’d understand. But part of me feels like if I do, if I let anyone in on the secret, she’ll never come back. She’ll leave me for good. And my life will truly blow up. “It was time,” I say, finding my confidence. “And apparently just in time.” I glance back at the table, then to him.

  “You left.” He says it quietly, but I register it so loudly the tears start again.

  Every other time I’ve cried in front of him, I felt safe, but today I feel like a fool.

  “If I knew you were coming back, if you’d called, or said anything…”

  What? You wouldn’t have slept with your ex girlfriend twenty-four hours later? You would have waited?

  “You don’t owe me an explanation, Ross. Just like I don’t owe you one.” I level my chin and gaze past him. “Because we’re nothing. It was…nothing.”

  “Then why are you crying?” He reaches out and strokes his thumb across my cheek.

  He doesn’t bother to put up a fight when I jerk back and push past him on my way toward the door. “Because,” I say. “It’s what sad people do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ross

  Fuck that last shot of rum. Fuck Maya and that goddamn dinner. Fuck her and all that stupid wine. I should have just driven her home. What was I thinking? Fuck!

  I can’t believe Sheila just showed up here like that. What did she expect to find? Me pining away for her? Sleeping in until three, drinking myself into a funk? I smack the wall with my hand so hard it actually hurts and it only pisses me off even more.

  And what was with the tears? She leaves me then has another one of her fucking breakdowns like it’s my fault? Shit.

  I lower myself onto the bottom stair and lean back on my elbows staring up the ceiling. I shouldn’t have let Maya stay. I didn’t want to. Not in my heart or whatever. Not even in my mind. It was my fucking dick doing all the thinking last night—when I let her kiss me, when I let it go as far as it did. But I stopped it. I peeled her drunk-ass off me and dropped her in my bed.

  And when I rolled off the sofa this morning, I had a plan. This morning for god sakes. I got my ass up at seven a.m. with a goddamn plan. I was going to figure out a way to talk to Sheila—mend fences like Pete suggested.

  At this point I don’t know what has me more upset, the fact that my plan fell through and she’s madder at me than ever, or that I may just have ruined any chance of ever being with her ever again. I know how things looked. I could see the hurt all over her face. She thinks I slept with Maya. She thinks I’ve forgotten all about her. Just like that? Is she fucking crazy? Decades could pass and every second I spent with her would still be burned into my mind.

  But the way she looked at me just now—like I’d ripped her heart out and stomped on it. Damn it. She’s been through enough and I promised to be there for her, a shoulder to lean on, whatever she needed and now I’ve failed her too. Another one to add to the list.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  I crane my neck to see Maya standing at the top of the stairs just as naked as she was last night.

  Shit. There goes my dick again. But I force myself to obey my mind this time.

  “You need to leave,” I call. “I’ve got shit to do today.”

  “No kidding. We’ve got about million things to do today.”

  “I mean alone. I’ve got shit to do alone.”

  She pads down the stairs and I have to stop myself from bolting to the other side of the room. Standing in front of me, she places both hands on her hips. “So that’s it. You’re just going to kick me out like I’m one of your little groupies.”

  “Look, you were drunk last night. We both were and, us being business partners and all, I don’t think—”

  “Save it, Ross. Like I told you before, I’m not interested in getting back together. But, well, some things are harder to forget then others.” Her gaze drops to my chest, then travels toward my crotch. “You can’t tell me you don’t agree.”

  I look away, willing my dick to calm the fuck down.

  “I’m not looking for a relationship but, as long as we’re both single, I don’t see what the problem is.”

  I don’t respond, refusing to look at her.

  ”Whatever.” She snatches up her top from the banister and squeezes by me again. “Your loss. I’ll be out of your hair in an hour. But we have a meeting with the contractor at two. Meet me at the restaurant.”

  I nod, closing my eyes and letting out a long slow breath as she ascends the stairs.

  She’s right. I am single. Sheila left me. I didn’t even sleep with her. I haven’t done a damn thing wrong. So then why do I feel like a royal ass?

  This is the last place on the damn earth I want to be but I’ve been calling all day and the most I’ve gotten is some lame excuse from Coco, silence and then a click, from who I’m pretty sure was Sheila. Still, I just can’t let it go. I can’t kick myself enough for letting things get too far with Maya, but it’s not like I thought she was coming back. She left a note on my pillow. She didn’t call. I was moving o
n, getting over it. I was…stupid.

  I bang on the door again, bouncing on my toes and blowing into my hands. Even though I was supposed to meet Maya at the restaurant over an hour ago, I can’t bring myself to leave things with Sheila the way they are. After her sister died, I promised to be there for her. And even if things have changed between us, I’m holding up my end of the bargain.

  The door finally swings open and I’m met with Cole’s smug fucking face.

  “Can I help you?” He leans up against the door jam, sipping on a mug of something that smells so damn good I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s using it just to taunt me.

  He doesn’t stand to the side or ask me if I want to come in, so I just spit it out. “Is Sheila here?”

  “Last time I checked.”

  This motherfucker. “Can I talk to her please?”

  He scratches his shiny, baldhead and wrinkles his brow, as if it’s something he really has to think about.

  “Seriously?” I ask. “Where is she?”

  “Off somewhere with my sister.” He smirks. “I gotta say, she seems pretty pissed, dude. I think you could do all the talking you want and she’d still slam the door in your face.” He chuckles, then takes another sip of his hot chocolate. “What the hell’d you do?”

  His gaze holds mine and I don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. I just cross my arms—mostly because I’m about to die of hypothermia—and glare past him.

  He stands up straight, shakes his head and turns his back on me. I’m almost certain he’s about to leave me here on the stoop, but he throws over his shoulder, “Come on. You’re letting the cold air in. ’Sides, we need to talk.”

  I step inside and close the door behind me. Cole doesn’t lead me the rest of the way in the house. We stay inside the porch and he sits on the chair by the door.