Grayson

Grayson

A Shattered Existence Book One

Tamara White

Photo by Tamara White

Published by Rogue Phoenix Press for Smasheords

Copyright © 2017

ISBN: 978-1-62420-343-5

Electronic rights reserved by Rogue Phoenix Press, all other rights reserved by the author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law. This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

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Dedication

For my husband and children. Thanks for always accepting me as I am.

Chapter One

You know the only reason she likes you is because you're White.

I know. David pulled Grayson to him and kissed the top of her forehead, as the Lincoln limousine sleeked effortlessly up the winding country estate road. I've always known.

Grayson shifted her gaze away from the mammoth weeping willow and oak trees that lined the drive leading to her childhood home, Lakeland. Grayson searched David's face in vain trying to find the humor in his words. Grayson prayed his casual response was nothing more than another failed attempt at one of his God-awful jokes. You're serious?

Yeah, why wouldn't I be? David's chuckle exposed his deeply set dimples.

And you're fine with that? It doesn't bother you at all that my mother doesn't give a damn about you? What you like? What you don't like? How you treat me? Are you happy? Hell, are we happy? You're fine with Mother thinking of you as nothing more than unproven breeding stock. Rather than seeing you as my husband: The man who loves me and takes care of me. Grayson's tone had a recalcitrant edge to it. The edge in her voice let David know she was tired of dealing with all the crap that came along with being a Harrow. Grayson rolled her sultry onyx colored eyes behind her soft eyelids and thick lashes. A hint of Grayson's buried southern accent peaked through in her response. Grayson's voice only showed its roots when she was either too tried, or too pissed off to care that someone might hear her speak in her true vernacular.

David let out a loud boyish laugh. "Unproven breeding stock! Wow, that's a new one. I've been called a lot of things but never breeding stock. Hell, I could be proven breeding stock if I could get a weekend alone with you. David kissed the top of her head, and whispered, Just you and me; no work, no cellphones, just one long weekend in bed, and a couple of bottles of cheap wine.

Grayson pulled away slightly, and ran her fingers through her hair. It was one of her many nervous idiosyncrasies. Lakeland and the business of being her mother's daughter could send her anxiety though the roof. I am so tired of all of this. I don't understand how you can be so calm knowing that's what she thinks about you. David, you let her off the hook too easily. Grayson returned her gaze to the trees. The comments she makes are out of line, and you know I'm telling the truth. You let her get away with too much. You have to put her in her place. Mother needs to know she can't just say anything to you or about you. She needs to know she just can't

David's Louisiana drawl tickled his words as he spoke. Baby, listen to me. I can't let your mother off the hook because I never had her on the hook. Nor do I want to. David turned Grayson's shoulders so she faced him again. He lifted her chin up so his blue eyes could meet her worried gaze. You know why I don't let your mother get to me, because I know it's what she wants. She wants to antagonize me to the point I lose it with her. Your mother knows once I lose, she has me. And she can rain misery down on me anytime she wants. I'm not going to let her own me, Gray. I refuse. And you need to stop letting your mother control you. Grayson, you get so worked up when it comes to your mother. Do you know that just the mention of her name sends you into an emotional tailspin? You've got to let some of this stuff go. It's not healthy to obsess about her the way you do.

So, I'm just supposed to be meek, keep my mouth shut, and let her get away with everything she does?

No, I didn't say that. I'd never ask you to do anything like that. What I'm saying is, David curled the corner of his lip down in frustration, you give her too much pull in your life. You let her get in your head. It's a choice you make. Don't let her get to you. Don't entertain her bullshit; it's simple.

Says the guy whose childhood was a Norman Rockwell painting. But as the woman whose childhood was Norman Rockwell stung out on vodka and Valium, I'm here to tell you it's not easy to just let go. Mother made sure she did enough damage to keep me stuck. For as long as I can remember, my mother has treated me like a stain on her perfect blue-vein society family tree. She treats me as if I ruined her life, Grayson scoffed. I didn't choose any of this shit. That woman never gave a damn about me. I'm nothing more than the collateral damage left over from her past. She never wanted me, but she didn't get rid of me either. It's like she hated me too much to let me go. I swear we're like a dysfunctional version of the Addams's Family.

David's lips turned up in a soft masculine smile before he pulled Grayson back into his arms. He knew there was nothing he could say in the next few minutes that would change her mind or the situation. David let out a pronounced sigh escape from his slender lips. The robust smell of peppermint gum and the slight sway of the limousine as they traveled up the long drive made Grayson's stomach turn. No, no, not now. Please not now. I'm not ready to have that conversation either.

Just remember you're here for answers, not a fight. David wrapped his strong arms around her, and drank in her scent. The tighter he pulled Grayson in, the more the peppermint assaulted her senses.

Grayson swallowed the pooling saliva in her mouth as fast as she could. Over and over she swallowed, but the clear liquid filling her mouth was never ending. If this damn car doesn't get to the house soon the breakfast sandwich I ate is going to be all over this damn floor. Her stomach turned over again, and she felt a sour taste overtake her mouth. This kid is determined to make its presence known whether I want him to or not. Hell, one more thing in a long list that hasn't gone as planned. It would be a miracle if anything in life actually went the way I wanted it to go. Maybe I should tell David I'm pregnant. Because if marrying into the Harrow Family hasn't run him off, a baby shouldn't. I hope. I'll look at him and say congratulations, not only are you going to be a dad, you are now forever connected to the most dysfunctional Black family south of the Mason-Dixon line. But, if I tell him now, then it just adds another layer to the bullshit—gives Mother something to gloat about. She'll find a way to take credit for me being pregnant. As if she had anything to do with it. And I don't even know if I'm going to Grayson caught herself mid thought.

David stroked his wife's arm as he allowed a barrage of curse words to fill every available space in his brain. It hurt him to see his Grayson so tormented. He wished he could liberate her from her painful past. David often felt like a failure as a husband because he couldn't make the nightmares in her head go away. Baby, she was young. Our youth allows us to make decisions, and do things age and wisdom would never allow us to. At least that's what my Mawmaw used to say.

Being young is no excuse. I was her child, and she treated me like, like the flu. You know what I mean. You really don't want it, but if you get it you cope and suffer through it, and you try not to get it again. Grayson swallowed the sourness her stomach produced, and prayed it didn't rush up again.

Baby, it's not—

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. The limousine driver unknowingly interrupted their painful discussion.

Oh, thank God. Grayson slid out of the backseat. The sound of her strappy Manolo Blahnik stilettos on the pebbled road made her pause. Their move to the land of concrete had made her forget how ear deafening the pebbled stones were. Lakeland's loud road was always too eager to tell everyone's business. It wasn't the staff you had to worry about telling on you; it was the damn road.

Grayson took a moment to soak up the quietness of the afternoon before they headed inside. The country air tickled her nose. Grayson had forgotten how clean air could smell. The sweet smell of the honeysuckle lingered over the slight breeze and settled her stomach as it occupied her lungs. She enjoyed how the crisp air danced on her skin, and brushed away the city of Boston's lingering aroma. Grayson turned her eyes towards the estate she had grown up in, and saw Lakeland in a way she never had before.

The unusually harsh winters over the past few years had abused the hand-made clay shingles and caused a distinct discoloration. The landscaping was neat, but not kept to the same standard it had been when her grandfather was alive. Grayson knew her grandfather would have never allowed the forsythia bushes to expand and move about the grounds freely. He would have demanded the gardeners control the beautifully bright yellow shrubberies and conform them to the Harrow standard. Wild is for the wilderness, Grayson's grandfather would have said. Grayson smiled at the absence of the ancient oak tree she'd fallen out of when she was ten. The enormous oak tree with the giant knock hole had shaded her bedroom, and helped her sneak out when she was sixteen to Elizabeth Brownsworth's end of the year party. The white washed bricks demanded a thorough cleaning, and the cliché, Gone with the Wind pillars pleaded desperately for a fresh coat of cloud white paint. Lakeland looked miserable. It was as if Lakeland knew her final chapter was already written.

Lakeland is really showing her years. Grayson stared at the midnight black, heavily ornate front door with the bulky lion head doorknocker, and equally obnoxious doorknob she swore she'd never enter again, every time she walked out. Grayson picked up her laptop bag and started her pilgrimage towards her past.

Relax, David whispered from behind her. Everything is going to be fine.

Her mother, Vivianna, opened the front door and stood in the archway like a Grand Duchess impatiently awaiting the arrival of her audience. Grayson, put the bag down! she snapped in an egotistical tone. We don't carry our bags. We have them carried. Has city life caused you to abandon your upbringing? Ladies of means do not carry bags.

Five seconds. That's how long it took Grayson to go from a strong, accounting firm executive, to the shy, chocolate-skinned, frizzy haired, correction-shoe girl of her past.

Mother, Grayson retorted in the stiff flat tone she reserved for addressing Vivianna. So nice to see―

Never mind all that. Vivianna motioned them towards the front door. Inside quickly. No need for some of us to get any darker than we already are, darling. Vivianna paused in the foyer to admire her creamy beige skin in the mirror before entering the sitting room. She never passed on an opportunity to admire what she perceived as her greatness. "Grayson, I don't