Gibson's Melody: (A Last Score Novella) (Last Score (Gibson's Legacy and Trusting Gibson))

by K. L. Shandwick

  Gibson’s Melody

  Last Score Novella

  K.L. Shandwick

  Gibson’s Melody

  A Last Score Novella

  K.L. SHANDWICK

  ©2017

  Copyright © 2017 K.L. Shandwick

  All rights reserved.

  The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book is a work of fiction, Names, places, characters, band names and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or names are used within the fictitious setting. Any resemblance to actual person’s living or dead. Band names or locales are entirely coincidental unless quoted as artists.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  1. Levelling Out

  2. Sobering Moment

  3. Hunch

  4. The Moment of Reckoning

  5. Stunned

  6. Getting Close

  7. Determined

  8. Trust

  9. Cynical

  10. Hurt

  11. Not Anal

  12. Waiting for Superman

  13. Distance

  14. All Right

  About the Author

  Other books by K.L. Shandwick

  Acknowledgments

  Editor: Andie.M. Long Editing and Proofreading service

  Cover Design: by Francessca Wingfield

  Cover Images: Anuki @ A.Chumburidze Photography and K.L. Shandwick

  Cover Model: Joseph Wareham

  Beta Readers: Elmarie Pieterse, Sarah Lintott, Donna Trippi Salzano

  Proof readers Lisa Perkins, Sue Noyes, and Kim Gray.

  This book is a work of fiction, Names, places, characters, band names and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or names are used within the fictitious setting. Any resemblance to actual person’s living or dead. Band names or locales are entirely coincidental. All artists quoted are in context of this fictional setting.

  As with all my other books I like to dedicate them to the fantastic people I meet on my writing journey. This book is dedicated to a special person who has tirelessly shown her dedication to promoting my work. Nancy Pracht, thank you for everything you do for K.L. Shandwick. Words never feel enough to express my gratitude to you and all my other fabulous readers and followers who share, read, and review my work.

  Prologue

  Piper

  Relentless fat tears flowed steadily down my face, staining my pale grief-stricken cheeks. No seventeen year old girl should be in my position. No girl on the cusp of womanhood should have to say goodbye to the one woman who is bonded to her like no other. For most of the funeral I felt detached from reality until I stood by the graveside.

  Snapping back to reality, I dragged my eyes away from the fancy oak coffin with the too expensive handles, and saw the solemn but sympathetic face of the elderly priest. He gave me a slow nod of encouragement and prompted me to carry out my final duty.

  A large strong hand gently squeezed my shoulder. I glanced up at his face through blurry tearful eyes and met the compassionate stare of the man I owed my future to. Stepping forward my breath hitched and a strangled sob tore from my throat as another wave of overwhelming emotion hit me. This is it. For over a week I’d feared this very second in time but when it came, I had just wanted it to be over.

  Inhaling a deep shuddery breath I crouched low to the ground and grabbed a small handful of powdery dirt from the mound of earth piled at the edge of the grave. My fingernails scratched at the arid soil as they scraped through it. Closing my fingers, I stood up straight with a fistful in the palm of my hand. Just then he was right where I needed him to be, wrapping a supportive muscular arm tentatively around my waist.

  Courage crept up from deep within me until it flowed steadily at his caring touch. He was the most unlikely hero, but he was definitely mine. Like some kind of guardian angel, he had swept in and caught me at a time when I was helpless and felt in freefall. “You can do this, baby. Take a deep breath and do what you gotta,” he said, in his gentle deep Southern drawl as he kissed my temple and held me reassuringly against his strong, warm body.

  My eyes closed momentarily as I tried to shut out my horror of losing her forever. This is the moment when I sever the ties that bound me to the woman who’s been there through all of my suffering, just as I had been there through most of hers. She didn’t deserve any of this and I hate God for taking her from me after everything we’ve suffered. I love you, Mom. I’ll never forget you. I stepped closer to the edge of the grave.

  The noise of the dirt scattering over her casket as it lay in the deep hole sounded hollow— final. I couldn’t bear to look down at it in the ground and turned into the warm protective arms of the man standing beside me. I was thankful for the deliberately tight hug he gave me.

  “Good girl, I got you. Your mama would have been proud of you, sweetheart,” he said, soothingly while his hand gently rubbed my back. “Come on, let’s get you out of here before someone recognizes me and it turns into a circus,” he encouraged gently in his soft tone.

  I let him guide me to the safety of the luxurious black limousine, transport I could not have afforded, had it not been for him. I felt dazed. A vein in my head pulsed with a throbbing headache I’d had for several days from all the crying I’d done.

  Johnny, the driver, opened the door and I slid in beside Chloe, who was already seated. “Come here, sweetheart,” she coaxed with a sympathetic smile and wrapped her arms around me in another tight hug.

  A new wave of grief washed over me and I fell apart with relief that the duty I’d dreaded was finally over. Sobbing into her shoulder I felt no shame at sharing my grief. “Let it out, honey. It’s okay, we’re here for you,” she said in a kind and gentle tone.

  Somehow it felt easier to cry in the arms of people who knew what it was like to live the kind of life I’d led, and I felt Chloe definitely knew. They both did. That’s how Mom and I met them. Mom trusted them when she had trusted no one in years. She said the couple supporting me had saved us. From how my mom’s violent and abusive partner had been treating us for the longest time I knew she was probably right.

  Living in a world where your abuser also served your needs was a pretty delicate path to tread. We accepted all he gave us because my mom felt we had no other choice. The slaps, the bruises, insults, and the fear he instilled, because we knew no other way and for a long time it appeared as if there was no escape.

  Mostly we stayed because my mom was broken; a shell of the person she was because he changed her and made her believe she wasn’t worthy of anything else.

  However, our abuser was also the breadwinner. He fed and clothed us, kept a roof over our heads and so we accepted his terrifying behaviour and managed the best we could. At least that was how my mom saw our situation.

  My beautiful gentle mom and I had been through hell for as long as I could remember. She was resigned to the life my father dealt us, but tried her best to protect me from his cruel and harsh behaviour. She taught me some survival skills and to be resourceful at fi
nding ways of staying out of our home until around an hour before bedtime.

  If only she’d taken her own advice. There was no such escape from him for her…the man she’d lived with half of her life. Every day since I’d been born she’d lived her life in terror and always tried to meet his demands to keep him happy.

  The man was insistent that I called him Dad, wasn’t my dad at all. Colin had gotten with my mom when she was pregnant with me. Frightened and vulnerable, she was a nineteen year old girl, who’d made a mistake by having her one and only one night stand and he was older, in his thirties.

  Thinking the guy would be someone who’d take care of her she’d settled for him. I remember her saying that being in love hadn’t mattered to her, being looked after when she had me to provide for was more important. In reality, the way he’d treated her she’d have been better off as a single mom.

  Working as a backing singer for a semi-famous act when she met him they had toured the club circuits in the state of Ohio together. Apparently he had a silver tongue and an easy going nature back in the day. She’d felt at the time he was “Protective and cool,” but after she’d had me and regained her figure, his personality started to change.

  When she started singing with the band again Colin’s jealousy and insecurity got the better of him. According to her he got into regular fist-fights with guys he figured were after her. Mom said it was all in his head but from that point on the manipulation and brain washing had begun until she was out on a limb, cut off from all her friends, and a battered, stay-at-home mom to me.

  We relished in the times when he worked away. Those were our golden times because we relaxed our guards. The atmosphere in our home felt instantly light and unoppressive. It was like we breathed deeply when he was gone.

  During those precious days it was like my mom would suddenly come to life and a whole different person would climb out. Watching her eyes fill with emotion instead of the dead expression that was there when he was present, was everything. Her smile lit up the room and her laugh was infectious. Whenever I saw her like that I wished it could be that way all the time.

  Usually, I had to wait a couple of hours after he’d gone to see that side of her, because she had to convince herself he wasn’t going to come back unexpectedly. Once she was sure it was safe we’d head to Colin’s closet, drag out his vinyl long-playing record collection, and listen to the coolest bands from the 70s 80s and 90s.

  Listening to her talk about music gave me a glimpse into the world she’d lived in before she’d met Colin. The passion and understanding of the emotional lyrics made me enthralled to hear her talk about them.

  Maybe—she was extremely talented as a singer as well as being knowledgeable. Her voice touched me so much I cried when she sang. Secretly she passed her skills onto me, and taught me so much, like how to breathe properly, to control my voice, blending and scaling octaves from my chest voice to my head voice smoothly. We worked on strengthening my diaphragm and voice projection until my range was extensive and I could sing practically anything.

  Of course our time was limited and it was done without Colin being aware because he had forbidden my mom from listening to music unless he was there to call the shots. He never allowed my mom to sing…ever and if she hummed along he’d switch the turntable off and put the records away. It was torturous to watch how quickly he’d flip from the sublime to ridiculous in his behavior just because he knew music made her happy and that wasn’t part of his plan for her.

  My love of singing also made me happy and as Colin was brought up in a religious family he let me join the church choir. What he didn’t know was that allowed me to practice honing my voice and gave me confidence to sing in front of an audience. It also helped me temporarily escape the crappy life I led at home.

  Mom said music was in my blood and I’d always wanted to play the piano, but Colin flat out said it would be a waste of money. “No one earned a living playing piano unless you were Stevie Wonder or a classical prodigy,” he remarked. That was rich coming from the guy who earned his living working for musicians. His comment only made me more determined to prove him wrong.

  Without proper music lessons my voice became my instrument. Colin couldn’t take that away from me. He was careful what he said and did about that because the school included me in the music recitals and from the moment I hit high school I was selected for all the main singing roles in school plays and performances. The constant praise from my teachers and my mom gave me all the encouragement I needed to keep going.

  Although I was popular, I wasn’t liked by some of the cliques who felt they should have been given the character parts allocated to me, purely because they were richer and felt entitled. They were no barrier after dealing with someone like Colin and their attitudes only made me more determined. Like my mom said, money can’t buy brains or talent. I wasn’t a glory hound, but I fought for those roles as I believed if I was good enough it just may have been the one thing that could have led to a better life for me and my mother.

  Burying the single most precious person I loved with all my heart was by far the toughest thing I’d ever faced and I imagined it to be the hardest thing I’d ever do in my lifetime. Everything we’d worked so hard to achieve in the previous nine months had happened too late. All our efforts appeared pointless since she died.

  Trying to be optimistic wasn’t something I could stomach at the time but Chloe was more optimistic than me and worked on the philosophy life’s turns happened for a reason. Who knew maybe she was right, because Mom never knew she was sick when I saw the flyer for Dignity Safe House and rang the Freephone number. Had she known I’d have probably been standing at a pauper’s grave with my mother’s partner.

  The stars must have aligned that day, because Colin had left for Denver City that morning and within three hours of calling Chloe’s charity, we were sitting in a blacked-out SUV with all we could carry, crossing the state line. It was a sixteen hour drive to Colorado and when the driver informed us we only had one more hour to go the transformation in my mom’s face was incredible.

  I’d never been to the mountains before. It felt like it took forever to get there but with every mile after that stretched behind us I could see life being breathed back into my mom. She was petrified as was I, but something about the woman’s calm and soothing voice on the call I made gave me the confidence I need to believe she’d keep us safe.

  When I first brought up the subject of escaping Colin’s clutches my mom was terrified but when I threatened to go without her it was all the persuasion she’d needed to make the jump. There was no way for her to know I’d never have left her but I didn’t feel guilty. It broke my heart to let her think I’d leave her behind but I was desperate and she’d taught me that sometimes it was necessary to be cruel to be kind.

  Setting up somewhere else takes time, but with the support Chloe’s team offered would see us relocated in a matter of months and just when I thought, God is good my mom started complaining of headaches. Apparently the changes in Mom hadn’t gone unnoticed by Chloe despite the short time she’d known her and the day she fainted, Chloe wasted no time in calling the retreat physician, insisting my mom see her.

  When the doctor came I had no idea our journey to Colorado would mark the beginning of the end for my mom. I remember the day I learned of her fate like it was yesterday. Chloe and the retreat doctor sat down with me and gently delivered the devastating news that my mother had cancer, it was terminal and she only had a short time to live. No one could imagine the pain those words brought me.

  Shocked and terrified, I screamed in disbelief that they were lying. Mom was too young to die and they were wrong. I became angry and immediately went into denial. Sadly they were telling the truth. My mom died never seeing her fortieth birthday.

  She barely made it eleven weeks after we found out and instead of us preparing to move out like all the other domestic abuse survivors, we were given one of the little apartments on the other side of t
he main building that was normally reserved for staff.

  For the last month and a half of her life I lived alone supported by the refuse staff, Chloe and her husband. My thoughts were a mess and I couldn’t see past the point when my mom was no longer around. It felt selfish, but I was frightened of what would happen to me.

  Chapter One

  Levelling Out

  Piper

  Chloe Barclay was the director of the charity that became our safe haven from the abuse we’d run from. She was stunningly beautiful with those massive soulful eyes, a gentle, soft voice, and an incredibly kind and humble person.

  When Mom and I reached the ranch retreat the quiet calm of the environment was so far removed from what I’d grown up in, it felt strange and uncomfortable.

  When we arrived near midnight a hot supper was ready and waiting. The staff on duty were warm, friendly, and empathetic toward us. It helped us to feel welcome. While we ate, our assigned keyworker, Elenor, came into the communal dining area to meet us and as we filled our stomachs she gave us some history about the place.

  Gibson Barclay funded his wife, Chloe, who built the secluded refuge facility for battered women and hand-picked a team of experts in everything from housing, education, family therapies, and financial aid.

  The small-storey blocks of two and three bedroomed apartment units housed twenty-six families at any one time. As well as emotional support, the refuge staff arranged tailor-made support relocation packages to every state of America to ensure the safety of those in their care safe from falling prey to their previous abusers.