Jaybird

by M. A. Foster

  All I could think was Holy shit, she’s finally talking to me.

  No. Scratch that.

  She was flirting with me.

  “Good. Yours?” My voice came out a little high-pitched, so I cleared my throat, and took a sip of my drink in an effort to calm the hell down and have a normal conversation with her.

  “Boring till now.” She winked.

  Yep, she was definitely flirting.

  When the party was over, I crashed in the guest room. A few minutes later, Reagan came in and crawled in the bed beside me. We talked for a little while about nothing important. Then she leaned over and kissed me.

  I won’t lie. I kissed her back.

  I’d always wanted to kiss her.

  But then guilt settled in the pit of my stomach, forcing me to pull away.

  Jayla.

  I couldn’t tell Reagan the reason we had to stop was because I was in love with my best friend’s cousin and risk Cole finding out what happened in St. Thomas. Instead, I told Reagan I didn’t have a condom. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. The next morning, I woke with a feeling of dread. I felt sick with guilt, like somehow I’d betrayed Jay. I needed to clear my conscience, so I called Jay to come clean about what happened with Reagan, but every one of my calls went straight to voicemail, and my texts went unanswered. This continued for two weeks straight. Until I realized all my texts were undelivered.

  She’d blocked me.

  Not just from her phone but from her life, as if I didn’t exist. As if nothing had ever happened between us. I told her I loved her, and she said she loved me, too. If we were nothing else, I thought we were at least friends. But instead, she crushed me, and broke my damn heart. I know I sound like a little bitch, whining over a girl, but she isn’t just some girl. She’s supposed to be my girl.

  Football season had started, and, surprisingly, Reagan was still interested. I wasn’t. I hadn’t touched her since that night at Brad’s. I was too messed up over Jay, wondering what went wrong, and why the hell she blew me off. When Labor Day weekend finally came, I still secretly held out hope that Jay would show up.

  She didn’t.

  The following weekend, Reagan and I hooked up. And we continued to hook up for months. I wasn’t sure I wanted more with her. She was cool and good at sex, but she was a flirt and a little self-centered. I find that to be the norm with most girls, but I didn’t trust her. Maybe it wasn’t just her I didn’t trust.

  Maybe it was all girls.

  I blame Jay.

  Either way, my heart was off-limits.

  If that makes me an asshole, well….

  Reagan was fine with it. “It is what it is. It works for us.” Her words.

  “Wear something sexy for me,” Justin says to Chelsea with a wink. Chelsea rolls her eyes, brushing him off. Justin’s been chasing after Chelsea for years, but either she doesn’t realize it or she doesn’t care. I offered to talk to her, but Justin said, “No, I want her to figure it out on her own.” Justin’s a good dude, so, hopefully, Chelsea will figure it out before it’s too late.

  “You and your brothers are only throwing this party as an excuse to gawk at tits and asses all night,” Lexi chides, narrowing her eyes.

  “Will yours be there?” Justin asks, jerking his eyebrows up and down.

  “Watch it, Phillips,” our friend, Evan, and Lexi’s boyfriend, warns, picking up a french fry from his tray and chucking it at Justin’s head.

  THE PHILLIPS BROTHERS’ annual “CEOs and High-class Hoes” Valentine’s Day party is basically a Halloween party on Valentine’s Day, with a slutty theme. It’s just another excuse to throw a party. And like Lexi said, to gawk at tits and asses all night.

  The house is littered with dudes in half-buttoned dress shirts and loosened ties, alongside girls dressed in anything from short dresses to skimpy lingerie.

  Reagan looks hot in her pink and black lace corset top, paired with a short black miniskirt that shows off her thigh-highs and pink and black lace garter belt. She had to change in my car because Judge Vaughn would die if he saw his little girl in this getup.

  Reagan grabs my arm, and I bend down so she can speak into my ear over the loud music. “I’m gonna go find Ashton,” she tells me before she disappears into the crowd.

  Evan and Lexi are in the media room watching a car commercial on the TV. If there’s a TV on somewhere, that’s where I’ll find Lexi, and Evan by default, because they’re attached at the hip. Lexi is obsessed with the entertainment channels. I’m sure it’s has something to do with her mom being some big-time movie star.

  I make my way to the sofa and drop down on the end. “What are we watching?”

  “Entertainment News,” Lexi tells me. “Marcus King died.”

  “What?” I knew it was coming but I feel like someone just reached into my chest and squeezed my heart. I could cry. Poor Jay. And Cole. I can still picture the devastation on his face the day he left for California.

  Lexi nods to the television, picking up the remote, and turning up the volume.

  Video footage of Marcus King performing during a Royal Mayhem concert plays on the TV, as a male voice filled with sadness filters in over the sound of the video. The words “I can’t believe he’s gone” pop up on the screen, the person speaking noted as entertainment attorney Jack Reynolds.

  The female correspondent opens with her typical dramatic drawl. “Heartbreaking news tonight for Royal Mayhem and America’s Voice fans. Forty-five-year-old Marcus Alexander King has died. A representative for the family, Attorney Jack Reynolds, confirmed that the singer, and America’s favorite judge on the reality TV show America’s Voice, passed away peacefully this morning at his Malibu home with his family by his side. The details surrounding King’s cause of death are still unknown at this time, but a source tells us that he had been battling cancer for over a year. While we are all shocked and saddened by the news, our hearts and prayers go out to King’s family, friends, and, of course, his fans. The King family also released a statement: ‘It is with great sadness that we announce the passing of our beloved son, husband, father, brother, and friend, Marcus Alexander King. On behalf of the family, we would like to thank everyone for their love, support, and prayers. We also ask that you respect our privacy during our time of grief.’”

  “TODAY WE GATHER to celebrate the life of Marcus Alexander King,” Pastor Solomon begins.

  “I’m sorry,” my dad said through a shaky breath. I was curled up beside him in his bed with my head on his chest. His arm wrapped around me while he stroked my hair with his free hand.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Since the day you were born, I’ve done everything I can to protect you from anything that might hurt you, but I can’t protect you from this.”

  “It’s not your fault. I don’t want you to leave me, Daddy, because I won’t be able move on from this.”

  “You will, baby girl. You’re a King. You’re strong.”

  “I love you so much, Daddy.” I tightened my hold on him.

  “I love you too, Jaybird.” He squeezed me gently and kissed the top of my head. “Do you remember what I told you?”

  I nodded. “To trust my gut, follow my heart, and never, ever settle for anything less than I deserve.”

  “Always.”

  Lucas gives my hand a gentle squeeze, bringing me back to the present, and I turn to look at him. He jerks his chin to the large screen on the wall behind the pastor displaying photos of my dad. “Marcus was…” Pastor Solomon continues as I take in each picture.

  Dad with Andrew when they were teenagers. Andrew in a faded black Motley Crue T-shirt with his arm draped over Dad’s shoulder, a pair of drumsticks in his hand. Dad in a gray Guns N’ Roses T-shirt with his arm draped over Andrew’s shoulder. Both wore wide grins. So young and innocent, completely clueless to what fate had planned for them.

  “How did you know you wanted to be a rock star?” I asked him.

  “Music was my first love, my true lo
ve, and, at certain times of my life, my only friend,” he said. “Music was my escape from the reality that was my crappy childhood and parents who barely remembered I existed. They didn’t abuse me physically—they just didn’t take care of me. We moved around a lot and never stayed in one place long enough for me to make any friends. I had this little Walkman with headphones that I took with me everywhere. Every time we moved, my Walkman was the first thing I grabbed. My parents didn’t mind because it kept me out of their way. Sometimes they’d hook me up with a cassette tape or batteries or a new pair of headphones.”

  A photo of my parents on their wedding day appears. Just the way they’re looking at each other, you can feel their love.

  “How did you guys meet?” I asked my parents one night, out of the blue, after we had just finished watching a movie about soul mates. Mom’s eyes darted to Dad and she blushed.

  “We met on the airplane the day your mom left Heritage for California,” my dad answered with a knowing smile. He’d always claimed that he fell in love with her from the first moment she turned her emerald-green eyes on him. “We’ve been together ever since.”

  The next picture is one of my favorites of my dad and me. A black-and-white from when I was about five years old. I was sitting on his lap. His arms wrapped around me from behind, and he was pressing a kiss to my cheek while smiling. My eyes were closed tight, my nose scrunched up because I was giggling.

  I’m still lost in my memories when Pastor Solomon calls my name. I jerk my head up to see him smiling down at me. With a nod, he says, “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Evangeline squeezes my hand and whispers, “I love you, JJ,” while Lucas squeezes the other and kisses the side of my head. Evangeline, Lucas, and I have had our share of arguments and fights over the years, because that’s what siblings do. And though we’re not related by blood, they’re my family.

  Right now, in this moment, they’re my strength.

  Taking a deep breath, I stand, and make my way up to the stage. Pastor Solomon wraps me in a hug, then moves to the side, as I stand in front of the podium. I’m a little stunned when I look out to see so many sympathetic faces blinking up at me. Hundreds. Maybe a thousand. I didn’t realize so many people were here, and it warms my heart to know that so many people cared about my dad. Mom wouldn’t allow them to be here if she didn’t believe they did.

  The front row is filled with the most important people in my life—in my parents’ life—my family. And, of course, Dr. Ramos, the woman who made it possible for me to stand up here in front of all these people and talk about my dad.

  I clear the lump from my throat and begin. “Thank you all for coming this morning, and for your continued love and support throughout the last few months. It means a lot to me and my family.

  “I could stand up here for hours and talk about Marcus King, the incredibly talented musician, singer, songwriter, producer, and headstrong business man. But if you’re here today, then you already know those things about him.

  “So, instead I want to tell you about Marcus King, my dad.” A smile pulls at my lips as so many memories come to mind. “Before he passed, my dad said to me, ‘People come into our lives for a reason, no matter how long they stay. It’s fate.’ Now, I’m not going to lie. I’m upset with God for taking him away from me—from us—but I’m also thankful to God for choosing Marcus to be my father, and I’m grateful for every single day he was in my life. I’d give anything for one more day, one more minute, but that’s not how God works. I ask God every day, ‘Why him?’ It’s not fair, but the saying is true. ‘Life isn’t fair.’ I’m sure every one of you has had those thoughts if you’ve lost someone you love. Sometimes I feel like this is all just a bad dream that, any moment now, I’ll wake up to the sound of him strumming his guitar. I keep expecting to find him in the kitchen, dancing in his boxers, and singing about making pancakes and bacon.” A mixture of laughter and sniffles drifts from the pews. “He was funny and entertaining. He was always happy. Music was his remedy for everything. If I was sleepy, he’d grab his guitar and sing me a rock-a-by. That was his version of a lullaby. If I was moody, he’d crank up the music, grab me by the hands, and we’d dance until we were breathless and laughing. There was never a dull moment in the King house. I still remember the day I wrote my first song. I’ll never forget the prideful look in his eyes, or the smile that stretched across his face when I performed it for him and my mom. That look inspired me to embrace my talent. And, in return, I was rewarded with that look often.” I pause to breathe through the knot tightening in my chest.

  Movement in the back of the church draws my attention. A woman is leaning over to speak to the man beside her, but it isn’t her I’m focused on. It’s the glimpse of dark blond hair slightly curled at the ends. My chest tightens at the thought of the boy who broke my heart nearly seven months ago. That can’t be him.

  My gaze moves to Dr. Ramos because she’s my anchor. When I look to the back once more, the woman has righted herself in her seat, and I can no longer see the person behind her. The person who looks a lot like Zach.

  I take a breath and continue. “Marcus King was just a man who loved his family. Music was his life, but family was his everything. He was an amazing father and husband. I can only hope that one day I’ll be lucky enough to have a man love me as much as my dad loved my mom. What I’ve learned from this experience, this loss is, that at the end of the day, we’re all human. Our titles, our social status, our money—none of that stuff matters when it’s our time to go.” Understanding crosses some of the faces staring back at me.

  “I know he’s in a better place, and he’s at peace. I’m relieved that he no longer feels pain. Call me selfish, but that doesn’t make me miss him any less, nor does it dull the pain I feel of having to let him go. A pain so fierce it hurts to breathe because my heart is broken.” I feel the first tear roll down my cheek and pool between my lips. Soon, there are more. I don’t care.

  Dr. Ramos stands from her seat and moves to the steps, but I give her a slight shake of my head and turn to my mom. I can barely see her through the tears in my eyes. I struggle to swallow past the lump in my throat, my chest heaving as I fight to catch my breath. “I speak for my mom as well when I tell you that my dad was the moon in the night sky. The sun on a cloudy day. He was our life. Our world. He was our everything. I’ll miss you, Daddy,” I choke out the last words, and Dr. Ramos is immediately at my side, wrapping her arm around my shoulders, and guiding me back to my seat.

  “That was beautiful, Jayla,” she whispers in my ear. “I have no doubt that your father is very proud of you, because I know I am.”

  “THAT WAS THE saddest thing I’ve ever seen,” I say to my dad as we enter our hotel room. Tossing my suit jacket, I loosen my tie before falling back on the sofa and propping my feet up on the coffee table.

  “I know.” My dad sighs, making his way over to the mini bar and pulling out two beers. “I think we both could use one of these, don’t you?”

  “I think yes.” He passes me a beer before dropping down on the sofa beside me and propping his feet up, mimicking my pose.

  Before today, I can’t remember the last time I cried. I’m not ashamed to admit Jay’s eulogy shredded me. I doubt there was a dry eye in that church by the time she was done. I’m surprised she was able to speak and even more surprised that she held it together for as long as she did. There’s no way I could get up in front of all those people and talk about losing one of my parents. When she went on about being heartbroken and described her pain as “so fierce it hurts to breathe,” that’s when I lost it. That kind of heartbreak is a whole different kind of pain.

  I feel like a giant douche for whining like a little bitch, for the past six months, over my own heartbreak. It feels so insignificant compared to hers. Just the thought of losing someone I love makes me tear up all over again.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “About what?”

  “Whatever’s on you
r mind.”

  Exhaling deeply through my nose, I say, “I feel so bad for her. For the whole family. The Kings. The Mackenzies. Grandma and Pop. Uncle Cam. They were all close to him. We should’ve been sitting up front with our family, showing our support. Mom, too. Whatever her issues are with Emerson, they should’ve been set aside long enough to pay her respects.”

  “I agree, but it isn’t up to us to decide that.”

  “Have you ever met Marcus King before?” I ask.

  He nods. “Once.”

  I raise my brows, intrigued. “Really? When?”

  “A few years ago. He had a friend who needed some legal advice, so Mimi sent him to me.”

  “What was he like?”

  “He was exactly the way Jayla described him. He was a great guy. Laid-back, kind, genuine. And he loved the hell out of his girls.”

  “I think Jay hates me,” I blurt out. Shit. Why did I say that?

  “Why’s that?” He chuckles.

  I shrug, picking at the label on the beer bottle.

  “Look at me, Zach,” he commands. I do. “Why do you think she hates you?” He raises his eyebrows. “Did something happen?”

  I turn my focus back to the label. “Yeah,” I breathe.

  “Did you—”

  “Yes,” I answer honestly, before turning to look at him. “Please don’t say anything to Mom.”

  “I won’t.” He nods slowly. “But why do you think she hates you?”

  “Because she hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts since we got back from St. Thomas. Then she blocked me.”

  His brows shoot up to his hairline. “Wow. Sounds like she does hate you,” he says with a laugh. “What did you do?”

  I drop my head back against the sofa and blow out a breath. “I have no idea. That’s what pisses me off the most. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Jay’s not the type to let something go without having her say. If I did something, she would’ve called me up and told me what I did and given me the chance to make it right.”