Black
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books
Black
Copyright © 2017 K.L. Grayson
ISBN: 978-0-9986253-2-4
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover photographer and Designer: Sara Eirew
Editor: Jessica Royer Ocken
KL Grayson Bio Pic Photographer: Lauren Perry of Perrywinkle Photography
Formatting by Champagne Formats
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books
To my beautiful daughter, Ava.
Every single day I thank God for allowing me to be your mother. You are beautiful and kind and funny and smart and you inspire me in more ways than you’ll ever know. Always follow your dreams, wherever they lead.
Standing on the sidewalk amidst the bustling crowds, I stare up at the skyscrapers. I’m fresh off the plane on my first day back in Chicago, and like a magnet, I’ve been drawn to the bustling streets of the city. The sun has dipped beyond the edges of the buildings, casting the streets in a warm, orange glow. It’s different here. Everything moves at a fast clip. Life has somehow found a way to speed up. And even though I enjoy the quiet, southern Illinois town I call home, this feels familiar.
Comfortable.
That’s a feeling I haven’t experienced in quite some time. Lately, the fading memories of my father and sister have become harder to bear. With each passing year, the sound of their laughs grows quieter in my head. It’s something I’ve gotten used to, something I’ve grudgingly accepted—but I’d hoped those memories would return, perhaps even joined by some others, when I came back here, to Chicago.
They haven’t.
Beyond the surface of the good memories I’m desperate to hold on to are the not-so-good ones—the dark memories my nine-year-old self has buried deep, the ones Dr. Fairfield has spent the last three years trying to help me dig up. It’s those memories my soul craves, though my conscious self is concerned about the emotions that may come with them. Though so far I can’t remember any specifics, I can feel them inching their way to the top, simmering below the surface, waiting for something or someone to turn up the heat so they can boil over.
I will inevitably get burned. It’s something I’ve prepared myself for.
That’s a lie. My therapist has prepared me—at least she’s tried to. But how can you prepare someone for the memories she’s suppressed?
I’ve been told that I witnessed my father’s murder, that my hands and clothes were covered in his blood. I’ve also been told that my sister Cami and I took off running. I showed up at my uncle’s house two miles away. Cami did not. No one knows what happened in those two miles—no one except me. Only I can’t remember, which leaves Cami’s disappearance a complete mystery.
We know she’s dead. Her body was found three days later with a single gunshot wound to the head. But what can’t be explained are the cuts and bruises on the rest of her body, which were similar to the cuts and bruises found on me.
But what happened? Who killed my father and my sister?
How did I get away?
Why did I survive?
Those are the questions that haunt me. The questions I need answered.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the tattered piece of paper. It showed up mysteriously in my mailbox a few weeks ago, and it’s what ultimately brought me back here—what made me throw caution to the wind, put my life in danger, and return home.
I look down and send my eyes once again over the words my father wrote so long ago. They’ve nearly faded away, but they’re words that have changed my life.
My dearest Isa,
Time has not been our friend, neither has fate. But you have my love always, as does our son. Please give me more time. I know you’re anxious to get this over with, as am I, but please let me do this the right way. I hate the way things have unraveled, but right now I must think of your safety, as well as the safety of my children.
Love always,
Luca
There’s one teeny tiny problem with this letter. Well, two.
First, my mother’s name was not Isa.
Second, I don’t have a brother.
At least not that I know of.
A brother.
A living, breathing sibling.
Is it possible?
I’m not sure how I feel about that. Elated? Ambivalent? A cross between the two?
My father and mother were so in love, always touching or kissing. Just thinking about him cheating on her clenches my heart tight in my chest. Yet this note leaves little doubt that there was someone else.
After squeezing my eyes shut, it takes several deep breaths to get the pain to stop.
“Are you okay?”
A husky male voice startles the shit out of me. With my heart in the pit of my stomach, I spin around. “You scared me.”
The stranger smiles, showing off a line of pearly white teeth. “I’m sorry.” He takes a step back. “You look lost.”
Sighing, I turn back toward the building. “I am.”
“What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”
“I’m not really sure. I thought this building looked familiar, but
I can’t place it.”
“This building?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
I nod, turning toward him. “I feel like I’ve been here before, with my dad.”
Pursing his lips, he looks at the building and then back at me. “It’s a strip club.”
“I can see that.”
“Your dad brought you to a strip club?”
“No,” I say, laughing. Did he? “And it sounds horrible when you say it out loud.”
“It is horrible.”
Shaking my head, I can’t help but giggle, grateful for the shred of levity this man offers to my shitty day.
“My dad died when I was a little girl.” The words tumble from my mouth as though this stranger is a long-lost friend. “I’m just trying to remember him, that’s all.”
With a tremulous smile, I look up. The stranger watches me with sympathetic eyes, but there’s something else swirling behind his dark brown gaze, something I can’t quite place. Curiosity, maybe? Whatever it is, it’s too intense, and I look away.
“I, uh… I should get going.”
He takes a step toward me. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“I didn’t offer it to you.”
The ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “Well, you could. Over coffee, maybe?”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“Dinner?”
I shake my head, smiling. “You’re relentless.”
“And you’re stubborn. It’s dinner. I can walk you around town, and we can stand in front of buildings that look familiar.”
I cock my head to the side. “Are you making fun of me?”
His smile falters. “Never.”
“I can’t.”
The look on his face says he doesn’t like my answer. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
He opens his mouth, but I don’t stay to hear what he has to say. I turn and walk off, ignoring him as he calls to me.
This is my first day back in Chicago, and the last thing I need is a distraction.
Especially one that looks like him.
Three Weeks Later
Thirteen floors in this apartment building, and of course they chose to live at the top.
I say they, but I guess I mean we, considering I live with them now. And by them, I’m referring to my two best friends, the closest thing to family I have: Erin and Johnny aka JJ.
And don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m grateful they took my broke ass in.
I can’t call Erin and JJ childhood friends, because even though they grew up in Pocahontas with me, I didn’t meet them until I was much older. Eighteen to be exact. But we’ve been inseparable ever since.
Two years ago they both took jobs in Chicago, and I took one in St. Louis.
Three weeks ago, I lost that job. And it wasn’t just any job; it was my dream job in event planning. Turns out my boss’s wife had been using the company to launder money. Once that came to light, Just Say When Events went belly up, along with my income. So when Erin and JJ invited me to move in with them, it was a no-brainer.
At least that’s the story I tell everyone. The real one is much more complicated, and I don’t like to talk about it. It’s all centered on that damn tattered letter.
Anyway, here I am, living just north of downtown Chicago in a massive condo—which takes up the entire thirteenth floor of the building—that I most certainly cannot afford.
Not now anyway.
And that’s exactly why I’ve spent the day searching the internet for jobs and running around the city, picking up applications.
Despite Erin and JJ’s constant reminders that they don’t need my money and their encouragement that I wait for the right job to come along, I just can’t do it. I need to make money. I need to pay my own way and carve out my own path in this crazy-ass life—a life I’m no closer to figuring out now than I was the day I moved here.
Last week I was hired on part time at Josalyn Allen Events—a place that definitely has potential—but she only has me working twenty hours a week. That’s not enough to pay the bills, so I’m looking for something else too.
The tiny voice in the back of my head chimes in, reminding me of the untouched bank account in my name—the one that probably comes from the life I don’t remember, the one with a number two followed by way too many zeros. It would be easy to tap into those funds, but I refuse.
“Honey, I’m home,” I sing, pushing through the door. Tucking the stack of applications under my arm, I shut it behind me, making sure the deadbolt is securely in place.
“You do realize no one can get to us, right?” JJ says, taking the papers before they can slip out from under my arm. “I thought I explained how this works.”
Rolling my eyes, I brush past him, giving him a hip bump in the process. “Yes, I know. The thirteenth floor is key-card access only from the elevator and the stairs; therefore, the only people who can get up here are the three of us and whomever we personally buzz up, yadda, yadda, yadda.”
“This place is nothing like the apartment complex you came from,” he says, following me into the kitchen.
“I know, but it’s still Chicago.” And whether I’m on the first floor or the thirteenth floor, I will lock and double lock every door and window. Daddy used to say, “Just when you think you’re safe, you’re not,” and that’s always stuck with me.
JJ drops my papers on the kitchen counter. “More job applications? I thought you took that job for the event company.”
“I did, but it’s only part time, and I need to make more.” The stack of applications taunts me. “So I have to improvise.”
“I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Probably not.” Swiping the applications off the table, I toss the first one to JJ. “This one is for a bartender at Club 23.”
He frowns. “I don’t want you working in a club.”
“Yes, well, it’s not your choice. You’re my friend. You should support me.”
It’s not that I want to go back to bartending, but it’s what I know. I bartended my way through college. It comes easy to me, and it’s a way to bring home cash in hand.
“I will,” he confirms, softly adding, “financially.”
“Absolutely not. We’ve gone over this how many times?”
“Shae, listen to me. I can afford to help you out while you get on your feet. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Do the event planning part time, and let me worry about the rest.”
“JJ, listen to me.” He narrows his eyes as I mock him. “I don’t want you to help me. I’m a grown woman. I’ve had a stable, full-time job, and I’ll find one again. But until then, I need to have a steady income.”
And not just for rent, but because of my love for handbags. JJ would probably think twice about supporting me if he knew how much my latest Louis Vuitton cost.
“Fine.” He picks up the first application. Shaking his head, he rips the paper in half. “Bad neighborhood.”
“Okay. How about this one? Bartender at Shiver Vodka Bar.”
He snatches the paper from my hand. “Nope. Try again.”
“Are you going to tear up every application? Because that’s not going to work for me. I need a job.”
“It’s bad enough you’re even considering work as a bartender in the city. At least pick a place with some class or in a better neighborhood so I don’t have to worry about you every second you’re gone.”
I would argue with him, but it’s no use. He’s a hot-headed, macho computer nerd who somehow always gets his way. Plus, he loves me, and he’s looking out for me. I know better than to take that for granted.
“Fine,” I concede. “I’ll pick out the ones in decent neighborhoods and go from there.”
“Thank you.” Standing up, he tosses the shredded papers in the trashcan. “You better get your ass ready or we’ll never get out of here on time.”
“Whatever.” I wave him off. “I only need an h
our tops.”
Two hours later, I stand in front of yet another building while JJ parks the car. Disappointment slowly creeps in. I’ve been living here for three weeks and spending every spare moment walking the streets and taking the el to different neighborhoods, trying to trigger some sort of memory. Dr. Fairfield said it was only a matter of time before something sparked a recollection, but I’m starting to think she just said that to make me feel better.
I feel JJ’s gentle touch on my arm, and I sigh, grateful someone is able to keep me grounded and pull me back to reality. I often find myself tangled in the web of thoughts that consume my brain.
“You okay?”
I look up as JJ smiles warmly at me. “I’m better than okay.”
He quirks a brow. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod, trying to convince myself more than him. “Our best friend is getting married to a sexy, successful, and kind man. Of course I’m better than okay.”
“Sexy?” JJ scrunches his nose. “I don’t know that I’d call Jacob sexy. That might be going a tad too far.”
“Yes, well, you’re a man. Ask any woman if Jacob is sexy, and you’ll get a unanimous drop of the panties.”
JJ waggles his eyebrows. “Am I sexy enough to drop panties?”
“Even better,” I croon, leaning in close. “You melt them.”
JJ grabs my skirt, acting as though he’s going to lift it up, and I slap his hand away.
“What are you doing?” I ask, laughing.
“Checking to see if your panties are melting.” Twin dimples wink at me when he grins. If he wasn’t one of my best friends, and the brother I’ve never had, my panties would, in fact, have just melted.
“Who says I’m wearing any?”
The look on JJ’s face is priceless. His jaw nearly hits the sidewalk before snapping shut. Giving him a wink, I turn my attention to the entrance of the building and completely ignore him when he mumbles, “You better be wearing underwear.”
“Vault,” I say, reading the stainless-steel letters stretching across the middle of the brick building. Above that are rows upon rows of tinted windows.
“Tell me again why Erin and Jacob combined their bachelor and bachelorette parties,” he says.