Blank Space (Dirty South Book 1)

by Alla Kar

  Adjusting his glasses, he shut the door behind him. “The gallery for Savannah is coming up next week. I thought you’d want to enter something; you sold a few pieces last year.”

  “Sure,” I said. “This’ll be finished by then. When is the deadline?”

  He studied my face. “Sunday. Are you okay, hon?”

  “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

  He gave me a sad smile. “Cash called up here this morning. Actually, he’s called a few times. And since you didn’t leave after your class, I figured something was wrong. Want to talk about it?”

  I’d spilled my guts to Frankie and cried for hours over this; I didn’t want to talk or think about it ever again. “I don’t think so, Mr. Scott, but I appreciate it.”

  He nodded. “I understand—”

  The sound of clicking echoed down the hallway. Mr. Scott shot me a look. Those quick steps only meant one thing—my mother. The door swung open and she barged in. Her eyes swept the room and landed on Mr. Scott. “I need to speak with my daughter, please.”

  He gave me a worried look as he left the room.

  “How are you, Mother?”

  She swept her bangs from her forehead, her lips pressed into a tight line. “What in the hell is this?” She threw the paper, and I let it fall to the ground.

  “What is what?”

  She closed her eyes tightly. “Why would you go out without Cash? Are you two fighting?”

  Dammit. I stood up quickly, my stool flying backward to crash against the wall. Heat boiled underneath my skin. “No, I found out about the deal you had going with him.”

  My chest heaved as I watched her face morph to horror. “Sydney—”

  “No,” I said, stopping her with my hand. “I don’t want to hear any fake-ass apologies. I’m completely finished with this family. I’ve been scorned and mistreated since Ryder died. It was an accident, and I have enough guilt about it as is. You only made it worse. I miss him too, Mom. Now I hope that you realize that you’ve lost both of your children. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  She opened her mouth several times only to close it. It was the first time in my life that she was speechless. The only time she didn’t talk down to me or snarl in my direction. She looked—sad.

  “I know you don’t want to hear anything from me, but I didn’t do it to be mean—”

  I shook my head. “No, you did it to make your family look good. I know why you did it.”

  She lost eye contact.

  “Just leave, and don’t come back.”

  I turned my back to her, and heard the soft click of the door behind me. My heart fell to my stomach, and my knees weakened underneath me. I hit the cool tile floor and curled my body into the fetal position.

  My mind raced through memories like a slideshow of the good, the bad, and the ugly. I guessed it was a lot like dying in the sense of remembering everything. The only difference was that the pain didn’t subside once it passed, it was a rerun of every mistake I’d made. The worst part was the good days with Cash, and how I’d never have that again.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Cash

  My father’s hands wrapped tightly around my neck. I imaged death would be a relief,

  Stars filled my watering eyes, and then it ended. I gasped for breath, only making out the small frame of my mother standing behind his tall frame with a skillet in her hands.

  I woke to the darkness of my room. Only a small slit of light crept through from my bathroom. It was the second nightmare I’d had since remembering. How had I forgotten about this? Running my hands through my hair and over my face, I pulled the heavy covers from my body and walked toward the bathroom.

  I cupped water into my hands and splashed it over my face. I hated the person I saw in the mirror for the first time in my life—that I remembered anyway. I looked like him, and part of me was heartless like him. There were so many things I wanted to ask my mother, but she’d passed, she was gone. I’d never know why she didn’t leave, or if we’d tried to leave.

  There was no way I’d get any sleep for the rest of the night, so I found myself walking toward the hallway closet, where I knew my mother’s personal items sat. I’d looked through some after she died, but not all of it; it was still too fresh at the time.

  Now, it was time. Time for me to find out if she had left me any clues. I pulled out all of the boxes, shoeboxes and plastic containers full of her things. Most were valuable items we’d bought her after we made it big. I’d always been happy that she lived long enough to see Asher and I succeed. I knew that’s what she always wanted for us.

  Pieces of paper stuck out from inside of a red and white shoebox. I tore the lid from the top, and immediately chills raked my skin. The first picture staring back at me was of all four of us. It looked like a birthday party, Asher’s—I think. He smiled up with a toothless grin, a Ninja Turtle bandanna around his head. But it was the man—monster—standing beside him who had my blood pumping. I looked just like him, down to the way he put most of his weight on his left leg.

  I dropped the picture, trying to cleanse myself from the sight of him, and grabbed a letter that lay beneath it. My name was scribbled on the front in small cursive handwriting that I knew was my mother’s.

  I peeled the top open and pulled out a yellow, worn paper, unfolding it in shaky hands.

  Dear Cash,

  I don’t know if I’ll ever have the guts to give you this, and once you’ve found it, I’m sure I’ll have passed. I never had the heart to tell you the things that happened to you. Ignorance is bliss they always said. And I want you to be oblivious to what I let happen for too long. The rage your father had was never meant to be toward you, or me, or Asher. It was his own personal demons he faced from being the alcoholic that he was. His father was before him, and I made myself promise to never let it happen to my boys.

  You don’t remember much. Not really. That’s the only way I was able to live with myself for as long as I did. Asher was sworn into secrecy once we realized you’d forgotten your father after he was killed.

  I blinked a few times, re-reading the last sentence. Killed? I thought my dad took off?

  Your father didn’t have friends and hadn’t worked in over two years when it happened. His parents had died years before, and he had no siblings. He only had us, and that made it so much easier. Easier for me to do what I had to. I needed to keep my boys safe, and it came to a point where I couldn’t fight him off anymore. He’d become too violent, too strong for me to take on, and you were so small. My firstborn baby stood up for me like no one else ever had. So I had to do the same for you.

  Cash, your father didn’t take off on us, I killed him. You don’t need to know the details, but I had help from someone I know will take it to his grave. As I will take this to mine.

  I love you baby boy, and I pray these memories are easy to get rid of. The doctors all said they could come back from the simplest of things, a touch, a yell, a familiar feeling. But when it does, I hope you’ll have someone there to help you through it. Don’t let that bastard be the reason you’re alone. You deserve love, Cash, no matter how much you look like him. You are not your father.

  You’re my eldest son, and I love you with everything I’ve ever had. Please start a family one day, and treat her like I taught you to treat women.

  I love you.

  Momma.

  The letter fluttered to the floor, along with my heart. I couldn’t breathe. How had my mother, that small, fragile woman, killed someone? I didn’t bother putting the shoebox back, or anything else. I didn’t want to dig for more, because I knew I’d already found what I was meant to see.

  My hands shook at my sides. Did Asher know about this? Did he know that mom had killed our dad? For some reason, I didn’t think he did. Wouldn’t he have told me?

  I hadn’t realized I’d made it downstairs as the sunrise shone through the windows of my home. Pots and pans clacked together in the kitchen, but I knew I coul
dn’t go there. I didn’t want to see Gloria and answer twenty questions. I needed air, fresh air, something I could inhale besides shock and betrayal.

  I walked outside, the bright sunrise blinding me, and I welcomed it. Maybe it would bring me back to life. I’d died, hadn’t I? Or I was dreaming? I dipped my toe into the pool, and I felt it throughout my body. I definitely wasn’t dreaming.

  One of the guest house’s windows flickered the sun into my eyes. Before I knew it, I’d started toward the door. I hadn’t been in there since she’d left. She was the only reason I’d ever go over there. Some of her random items scattered the living room: a brush, two DVDS, and one of Nyla’s toys.

  The scent of her body still lingered in the air, the breezy smell of her skin like lavender, and it brought back every memory I had of her. The good and bad, the guilty. I’d fucked things up with her so bad, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it right.

  My feet brought me to her bed where I lay down and sank into her smell again. Tears streamed down my face, soaking the pillow where she’d laid her head. What kind of man was I to make this fucking deal? To hurt a person I knew was already hurt. All for myself, to further myself along. For all I knew, I wasn’t any better than the man who beat me. The beast that had taken my childhood away. The man that I shared DNA with.

  I’d fallen asleep but didn’t realize it until I felt a sharp jab to my cheek. I sat up straight, my eyes straining to adjust to the light of the day. Asher jerked his hand away from my face and shoved it into his pants pocket. Joey stood beside him, a worried look on his face. “What the hell are you doin’?” Asher asked.

  I rubbed my palms against my eyes, swinging my feet from the bed. “I fell asleep.”

  Asher lifted a brow. “Really? It looks like you were wallowing in self-pity to me.”

  I shot him a glance. “I had another flashback, nightmare, whatever the hell you want to call it.”

  Joey frowned. “I know it’s tough, brother, but you have to get out of bed and do something. Wallowing will only make it worse.”

  I studied their faces and swallowed the toxic taste in my mouth. “I went through some of mom’s old things, and I found out something.”

  Asher checked his watch and sat beside me on the bed. “What?”

  “Good thing you’re sittin’ down,” I mumbled. “Did you know mom killed dad?”

  Judging by the silence, I figured it was a no. Asher looked at Joey whose face turned pale. “What do you mean she killed him? How in the hell—she told me that he jetted off when you were twelve.”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure. I found it in a letter written to me.”

  Asher’s mouth was ajar, his eyes wide with shock. I knew my face had looked a lot like that when I’d first read it. Joey was pale, but he kept his composure more than I had. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  Asher rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck goin’ back to work. I need a fuckin’ drink.”

  We sat in my office for the remainder of the day, drinking and trying to talk about anything but what we’d just found out. I’d been racking my brain trying to figure out what she had done with the body, or who helped her. Part of me thought it was better I didn’t know, and the other part of me wanted to know everything.

  “Was she at work today?” I finally asked over my scotch.

  Asher shook his head. “She wasn’t there when I checked this morning. What about you Joey?”

  Joey glanced quickly down at his drink. “No.”

  That was a fucking guilty look if I’d ever seen one, and I’d seen it plenty over the last month. “Spill it,” I snapped.

  Joey rolled his eyes. “I went to talk to her. I don’t think she’s coming back, Cash.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were going?” I tightened my fingers around my glass.

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t want me to, Cash.” He leaned forward. “She’s hurt really bad, and you’re the only one who can fix it.”

  I shook my head. “She won’t talk to me. I can’t get around her fuckin’ guard, Frankie.”

  Asher groaned. “Don’t get me started. Frankie won’t talk to me either. At least you got into the house, Joey.”

  “What did you do to her?” Joey asked, with a small smile.

  Asher shrugged. “Long story. Not for today, gentlemen.”

  I’d take his word for it. “What am I goin’ to do to talk to her?”

  Asher leaned forward. “You could try to corner her at the gallery. Maybe she’d talk to you there?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable; she’s already heartbroken. I need to get her to come to Dallas to paint. To finish the contract.”

  Joey snorted. “And how in the hell are you gonna do that?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question right there,” I said, taking the last sip of my drink.

  Joey raised his finger. “I think I have an idea. I’m not sure it’ll work, but it might.”

  “Anything is better than nothing. Tell me what I need to do. I’ll do whatever it takes to get her to listen to me.”

  Joey swallowed and tilted his glass toward me. “Mr. Scott. All we need to do is get him on board. She’ll do anything for that man.”

  I lifted a brow. “And how in the hell do you expect to do that?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sydney

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Mr. Scott leaned over the counter; his hands held up his chin. “They raised the price to hold a spot at the gallery next weekend. We don’t have enough to enter.”

  My heart dropped. “How much do you need?”

  “Three thousand.”

  Three thousand. Shit. Nervously, I pushed my hair behind my ears. “Did they say why?”

  “No, I just got a letter in the mail today saying the price had gone up due to the cost of the event itself.”

  I had only around three thousand left of my money from Cash because I’d paid off two semesters of my student loans. I wanted to sell my things; I’d taken all of my leftover emotions and finished my last painting. I was proud of it, and I wanted to sell it. Seeing it only brought back painful memories. I could ask my parents but I wasn’t talking to my mother, and dad would never give it to me anyway.

  “I have an idea,” I whispered.

  Mr. Scott lifted his brows, his heavy glasses moving up with them. “What is it?”

  I smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Scott. I’ll take care of it.”

  I called the receptionist desk late Friday afternoon to talk to Katy. There was no way I could hear his voice over the phone just yet; I needed to prepare myself first. She told me she’d get him the message about me finishing the paintings in Dallas.

  I didn’t want to go with him, be near him, or even be in the same room, but I had no fucking choice. It was the only way I could earn enough money, fast enough, to enter in the show.

  When the taxi dropped me off at the airport, my nerves drummed in my ears. Cash had called several times a day for the two weeks since I’d seen him last, but I never answered.

  It took swallowing my pride to do it, to take his money, but we needed it. Joey stood by the limo in front of the airplane, his same stance and deadpan look. I knew Cash stood beside him, but I ignored him, which was hard because he stared at me.

  I felt his eyes all over my body. I’d taken a lot of time to get ready that morning. My jeans were tight on me, hugging me in every place that I knew they needed to. The low-cut red shirt was snug, and my tan boots stopped at my knee. I’d taken way too long on my hair, but it was long and straight down my back.

  Cash’s fingers tightened at his sides, those too-green eyes pierced into me like knives. By the time I reached him, I knew he’d undressed me three times in his head. He’d better get used to it, because that was the only undressing I’d be doing for him.

  “Ms. Henry,” Joey said.

  “Do not fuckin’ call me that,” I
snapped his direction. I sensed Cash’s shoulders tighten, and I saw his white button-down stretch over his muscles.

  “I’m sorry,” Joey said. “Sydney.”

  I didn’t make eye contact with either of them. “We can leave now,” I said, dropping my suitcase and walking up the stairs. I felt both of their stares on me as I disappeared into the cabin of the plane. I took three deep breaths, trying to loosen the knot in my chest.

  I quickly found my seat in the corner of the large cream-colored sectional. Memories of him above me slithered in. I’d loved the way he felt against me, his rough fingertips pressing against my soft skin.

  “Sydney.”

  My heart stopped beating for three seconds, and somehow my eyes found their way to his. Electricity coursed through my blood. I couldn’t help from tracing the hard lines of his face, and the muscles that strained in his forearm from his tightened hands. “What?”

  He swallowed, taking a few steps toward me. “I want to talk about what happened.”

  Bile crawled up my throat, leaving a burning fire in its wake. “I came here to finish this mural Cash, and for no other reason. I need the money, to be honest, and this was the only way to get it on such short notice. Now, I’d love to make this quick trip to Dallas a pleasant one. If you want me to sit somewhere else, I will. But I am not talkin’ about what happened.”

  He tilted his chin up; his teeth ground hard into one another. The urge to control the situation had him on edge. He wanted—craved—it like I had once craved him. “I want you to understand,” he whispered, dropping his guard. Those eyes pierced into my heart but only drove the ice pick deeper.

  “Well, tough shit,” I said. “I don’t understand, and I’m one hundred percent sure that nothing you say will change that.”

  He opened his mouth at the same time the pilot announced over the intercom. Relief swept me. While he took a seat across from me, I went to dig in my bag for my sketchbook and froze. I’d left it somewhere …