Jaybird

by M. A. Foster

  “We didn’t really talk about it.” I shrug and stare down at the picture. Jay doesn’t do social media, which is fine since neither do I, so we’ll stick with texting and FaceTime.

  “You should’ve locked that shit down. Marked your territory. Stamped ‘Property of Zach Easton’ on her ass. Something. We don’t grow girls like that around here.”

  Truth.

  I chuckle. “It’s not like we won’t see each other again. I told you, she’s coming Labor Day weekend.”

  “So… what? You just see each other on holiday weekends? What if you want to hook up with someone else? What if she does?”

  I hadn’t considered that. I guess it could happen. Not me, but her. Although, she said her dad is pretty strict about her dating.

  Brad picks up on my internal struggle. “Aww, my boy Zachy is in love,” he singsongs, hooking an arm around my neck. I hate that stupid nickname. I hate it as much as Jayla hates Sparkles. Fucking Logan.

  “Does this mean your obsession with Reagan is over?” Brad asks.

  Ah, yes. Reagan Vaughn.

  I wouldn’t say I was obsessed.

  Reagan was the object of my affection last year. She was the new girl. She’d had my attention ever since the day she pranced her hot little ass into Mr. Jones’s first period Marine Biology class and sat down at the desk in front of me. She teased, and all but tortured me with flirty smiles, a touch here and there, or by flipping her strawberry-scented hair over her shoulder. She was the girl of my dreams, until she wasn’t.

  “I wasn’t obsessed with Reagan,” I lie. Kind of.

  “So, you wouldn’t care that she’s been asking about you all night?” Brad chuckles, bringing his cup to his lips, and eyeing me over the rim.

  I shrug. Honestly, I don’t know what to think. Reagan has dated a lot of guys and has never shown any interest in me.

  I’m… intrigued?

  Why me?

  Why now?

  Reagan is no Jayla, that’s for sure. Comparing any girl to Jayla would be unfair. And I’m not saying this because I just spent the last two weeks with her. It’s just a fact.

  The two couldn’t be more opposite. Reagan is pretty, in a wholesome kind of way, petite, and blonde with a heart-shaped face, big, brown, doe eyes, and soft, pink lips.

  Jayla is more exotic-looking. Tall and thin, with legs for days, black hair, olive skin, full lips, and captivating, blue-green eyes.

  Some people are just born beautiful, only to become even more beautiful over time. Jayla King is one of those people. I’m not just talking about her face or her body; I’m talking about her heart. She’s sweet, and kind, and when she smiles, you can’t help but smile too. She’s infectious that way.

  I miss her.

  “I say stick with the goddess,” Brad advises.

  I huff out a laugh. “It’s not that easy,” I remind him. “High school relationships hardly work out. How is a long-distance relationship supposed to work? I’ve got football, and I’m sure she’s doing her own thing. I guess we’ll just have to see how things go.”

  “Well, you better figure it out.” He gestures with his cup, prompting me to look over my shoulder to see Reagan making her way toward us. “I’m gonna go find Hannah.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “Be careful, bro,” he says before walking off, lifting his cup in a mock toast, and nodding to Reagan as they pass each other.

  Famous last words.

  “Hey, Zach,” Reagan says, smiling up at me with those big, doe eyes.

  “Hey.”

  “SO, TELL ME everything,” Weenie says as she plops down on the opposite end of the sofa and tucks her legs to her side. “And don’t leave anything out.” Propping her elbow on the back of the sofa, she rests her cheek in the palm of her left hand, gesturing with the right for me to hurry up and start talking.

  I laugh quietly. This bitch loves her some gossip. Damn drama queen.

  Evangeline Skye, aka Weenie, is my best friend, and keeper of my secrets. I’ve known her my whole life. She’s four years older than me, and my only true female friend. If it weren’t for her—and Tumblr—I’d know nothing about the opposite sex. However, judging by the look on Mom’s face earlier, I’d say “the talk” is coming soon.

  Evangeline has no filter; she tells it like it is. If she doesn’t know you, she doesn’t like you. And if she doesn’t like you, she’ll tell you. She’s a bitch most of the time, but in our world, it’s how we protect ourselves. However, she’s my bitch, and I love her just the way she is.

  Evangeline has been modeling since she was thirteen. Recently, she’s become quite popular, gracing the cover of almost every fashion magazine over the last few months.

  “Come on, asshole.” She unfolds her long legs and kicks me in the shin, making me laugh harder. “You’ve been in love with this kid for like ever.” She rolls her eyes. “Why are you laughing? Are you embarrassed or something?” She pauses to study me. “Aww,” she coos. “Va-jay-jay, you are embarrassed.”

  I cover my face with my hands. Best friend or not, this is still embarrassing. Joking about sex is one thing, but having to talk about it, in detail, is not as easy as I thought. And, honestly, I’m not sure I want to share something so personal.

  I jerk my head away from my hands. “You know what I just realized?”

  “What?”

  “This is the first real conversation we’ve ever had about sex.”

  Her eyebrows pull inward. “Not true.”

  “It is. Yeah, we’ve joked about it before, but we’ve never had a real conversation about it. You never told me about your first time. Maybe if you shared, it would be less embarrassing for me to tell you about mine. Was Alex your first?” Alex is Evangeline’s hot-as-hell boyfriend, who also happens to be my cousin, Dylan’s, friend. She and Alex met when Dylan and Alex interned for my dad at King Records a couple of years ago.

  They’ve been together ever since.

  Weenie drops her head and suddenly becomes very interested in the frayed holes in her skinny jeans. “I wish… but no. There was one guy before him,” she murmurs, and my heart sinks from the sadness and regret in the tone of her voice. She sounds nothing like my tough, tell-it-like-it-is, smartass, best friend.

  “Holy shit, you were holding out on me, bitch.” I stretch out my leg and kick her back. “Who was he? Tell me,” I demand.

  “I wasn’t holding out on you. It just wasn’t worth talking about. He was a dick.”

  “Give me a name, and I’ll get Bass to kick his ass.”

  She snorts at my ridiculousness and shakes her head. “I’m fine, Jay. I was young and dumb. I thought I was in love and that he cared about me, but I was wrong. I didn’t know any better.” She shrugs. “He cheated on me with another model and broke my heart.”

  “I can’t believe you never told me.” I pout. “We promised to never keep secrets from each other.”

  She holds up her hand. “Don’t be mad. I wasn’t keeping it a secret, I swear. I didn’t want to make a big deal about it until I knew for sure it was going to work out. Obviously, it didn’t. And, thank God, because when I met Alex, and I fell hard. He’s got that whole brooding, alpha-male thing going on. It’s hot. He’s sweet to me, and he loves my crazy. It wasn’t too long after that I realized Alex is the one I’m supposed to be with. I can’t wait to marry his sexy ass, and pop out a bunch of his little, blue-eyed babies.” She lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug and smiles. “That’s all I got. Your turn.”

  Alex and Evangeline’s relationship is what has me holding out hope that things will work out for Zach and me. Alex lives in Heritage Bay, where he and my cousin, Dylan, manage my Uncle Max’s restaurant, Mac’s, while Evangeline travels all over the world for modeling.

  It doesn’t escape my attention that she totally avoided telling me the name of the asshole who broke her heart.

  I’ll let it go. For now.

  For the next hour or so, I tell Evangeline all about Zach and me, and the most unforgettable summe
r vacation ever.

  “Do you think we’ll still be friends when we’re in our sixties?” she asks, referring to the longtime friendship between my Mimi and Zach’s grandma, Kate.

  I roll my eyes. “God, I hope not,” I tease, dodging the throw pillow she whips at my head.

  AFTER A LONG hot shower, I slip on a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top before crawling into bed with my iPad. My cell phone pings on the nightstand with a text from Lucas, and, when I reach for it, I notice there are two missed calls and two voicemails from Zach.

  I tap the message icon and pull up Lucas’s text first. Sorry I didn’t make it over tonight. Still in the studio. Be over tomorrow. Promise. Luv U, little sis.

  Lucas Wild is my brother from another mother. His father is Andrew Wild—I call him Uncle Drew—my dad’s best friend, and the drummer for Royal Mayhem. My dad and Andrew formed Royal Mayhem together when they were still in high school. Andrew hooked up with Lucas’s mother while they were on tour, and, when Lucas was three months old, she abandoned him. My mom and dad were already married by then, and both of my parents helped Andrew raise Lucas. To this day, my mom is the only mother Lucas has ever known.

  A couple of years ago, Lucas formed his own band, LAW—Lucas Andrew Wild, or Lucas, Ace, and Wes. Insert eye roll. I’ll admit, it’s catchy, and it works for Lucas and his bandmates. LAW is currently in the studio finishing up their first album and will be touring next summer.

  Another text from Lucas comes through. Drew is driving me nuts. Whose idea was it to make him our manager? I laugh out loud. I totally get where he’s coming from, and I sympathize. I’ve been there.

  It wasn’t that long ago that I was spending long hours in the studio with my dad and the rest of the guys from Royal Mayhem, working on the Jaybird album. Working with my dad was fun, but frustrating at the same time. Let me just say that I love my dad more than anything; I would give my life to save his. I know he’s sick, and it sounds wrong, but the truth is, sometimes he pushes me too hard, and it pisses me off. I feel guilty for all the times I got angry with him, wishing he’d back off.

  For Lucas and me, music is our rite of passage. We’ve both been given talent that people pay tons of money for, writing and performing since we were kids.

  I’m glad Lucas didn’t come over tonight; I’m so not in the mood to be grilled over Zach, again. Lucas plays the protective big brother role pretty well, so as much as I love him, I could never tell him about Zach and me. I don’t trust that he wouldn’t tell my dad, or worse, Bass.

  No worries. Weenie wore me out today lol ;)

  Hahaha! You’re not right.

  Going to bed. See u tomorrow. Say hi to the guys and give Ace a kiss for me. xoxo

  I snicker, picturing Lucas scowling at his phone right now, as he reads my text. Ace is the drummer for LAW. He’s hot and a total flirt. I think he does it to piss Lucas off. Even if I were allowed to date, I wouldn’t date a musician. Sounds crazy, I know, considering I’m surrounded by them, but I’ve seen and heard enough in my life to conclude musicians—rock stars—are not for me. I’d even go as far as to rule out athletes, too, but since Zach is a football player, I’d make an exception.

  Stay away from Ace. You’re gonna get his ass kicked.

  I laugh out loud again as I text back xoxo, before switching to my voicemail.

  Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I pull up the first from Zach. It’s from earlier today.

  “Hey, Jay, it’s Zach. Just checking to see if you made it home okay. I hope you were serious about coming Labor Day weekend, because I’m already counting the weeks until I get to see you again. Anyway, I’m on my way to my friend Brad’s house for his annual end-of-summer party. I’ll be sure to tell the boys you said hi. I’ll call you tomorrow. You’re my girl, Jay. I miss you. Bye.”

  I’m grinning hard right now. I’ve never been in love before, but if this is what it feels like, I never want to feel any other way again. I just wish we could be together, not three thousand miles apart. It’s unfair. And forcing a long-distance relationship isn’t fair either.

  The second message is from thirty minutes ago. When the message begins, I press my free hand flat against my stomach and take a deep breath, calming the butterflies that are my nerves. After ten seconds of nothing but music and the muffled sound of voices in the background, I realize Zach must have accidentally pocket-dialed me. Just as I start to pull the phone away from my ear to delete the message, I hear something that has me bringing it back to my ear.

  The sound is muffled, but the heavy breathing makes it pretty clear what’s happening. Then I hear his voice.

  What did he just say?

  My stomach flips and bile rises in the back my throat.

  And those butterflies from earlier? They burst into flames and fall to their ashy death.

  I don’t bother pausing or deleting the message before pressing the callback option, which immediately dials Zach’s number.

  His phone rings three times before it clicks, and a female voice says, “Hello?”

  My heart shatters into a million pieces as my eyes well up with tears. I can’t speak past the lump in my throat.

  “Hello?” she says again.

  Swallowing past the lump, I finally choke out, “Uh… I think… Is this Zach’s phone?” I don’t even recognize my own voice.

  “Yes. He’s asleep. Who is this?”

  “You answered his phone, so I’m sure you already know who this is. Who are you?”

  “I’m his girlfriend. And, let me guess, you’re the skank he hooked up with in St. Thomas, right?”

  The most significant moment of my life has just been reduced to a hook-up. And now I’m pissed.

  “Excuse me? Skank? You don’t know me,” I bark into the phone.

  “I know enough.” She huffs out a breath. “Look, Zach and I broke up over the summer, but we’re back together now. He still loves me, so I would appreciate it if you stopped calling him.”

  Click.

  Did that just happen?

  Zach has a girlfriend?

  A fucking girlfriend!

  I feel like I’m gonna throw up.

  And I do.

  Splashing some cold water on my face, I make my way back to my bed, flopping on the mattress, and pressing my hand over the gaping hole where my heart used to be. My chest heaves and tightens with every breath until I can’t hold back anymore.

  And I burst into tears.

  I AWAKEN TO the sounds of heavy footsteps and muffled clipped conversations on what sounds like two-way radios, and my phone still clutched in my hand. I realize I must’ve cried myself to sleep. Blinking, I clear away the haze and dried-up tears from my eyes, and check the time on my phone—2 a.m. It sounds like an army is invading my house on the other side of my bedroom door.

  What the hell?

  Then the sound of sirens breaks through my sleepy, confused brain.

  Oh my God, Daddy.

  Leaping from the bed, I rush to my bedroom door and yank it open, and see at least half a dozen paramedics filtering in and out of my parents’ bedroom.

  I sprint down the hall and push past the crowd of firemen lingering outside their doorway. I freeze just inside the room, taking in the scene of paramedics loading my father’s unconscious body onto a stretcher. My eyes immediately seek out my mom, who’s perched on the edge of the bed. Grace, our housekeeper, is beside my mom, with her arms wrapped around her, comforting her.

  Before I know it, I’m in front of them, dropping down on my knees, my hands flat on my mom’s thighs. “Mom, what’s happening?” I ask through a sob.

  She shakes her head and cries harder into her hands. I jump to my feet and turn toward my father, still unconscious with an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

  “Daddy!” I take a step toward him, but am stopped by strong arms embracing me from behind, holding me back as the paramedics wheel my father past me and out of the room. “Daddy!” I cry hysterically. Mom stands and follows th
e paramedics out with Grace still at her side. “Mom? Is he gonna be okay?” Why won’t she look at me? “Let me go, B! I need to be with them. I need to know he’s okay.”

  “Princess, let them get him to the hospital,” Bass says, holding me tight.

  I fight against his hold on me, kicking and clawing, but it’s pointless; the man is built like a brick wall. My chest heaves as I struggle once again to catch my breath.

  “Please don’t let him die,” I whisper as the noise around me fades.

  And my world goes black.

  “HELLOOOO.” CHELSEA SNAPS her fingers in my face. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing,” I lie, shaking my head. I’m thinking about Cole. Two days ago, he and his family left for California because his uncle Marcus, Jay’s dad, is dying.

  Apparently, he’d been sick for some time, but Jay left that part out when she told me about her dad. According to Cole, the night Jay returned from St. Thomas, Marcus King’s health took a turn for the worse, and he was given a few months at best.

  I guess that explains why I hadn’t heard from Jay. It’s been six months since we said our goodbyes at the airport in St. Thomas. However, it doesn’t explain why she blocked my calls.

  “Yo!” Justin Phillips, my friend and teammate, calls out, pulling me from my thoughts, as he drops down in the empty chair beside me. “You coming to my party tonight?”

  “Of course, he is,” Chelsea says at the same time Reagan says, “Of course, we are.” They sneer at each other.

  My eyes flick between the two of them before I shake my head and tell them to grow up. Reagan and I have been officially dating for a few weeks now, against Chelsea’s protests. Chelsea thinks Reagan isn’t good enough for me, and, apparently, Chelsea also thinks she’s my mother. I turn to Justin. “We’ll be there.” Reagan smiles triumphantly at Chelsea, and I inwardly roll my eyes.

  Perfect example of why I’ve avoided relationships.

  It all started the night of Brad’s end-of-summer party—the night I came back from St. Thomas.

  “Hey, Zach,” she said as she walked up, holding a red Solo cup in one hand and using the other to play with her hair. “How was your summer?”