by M. A. Foster
Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I lean over and pull him in for a hug. “You’re such a dick, but I love you.”
Cole huffs. “Yeah, well, you can be a butthole sometimes too.”
I snort a laugh and pull back. “Butthole? What are you, five?”
He smiles. “I’m trying to curb my language. Willow repeats every fucking thing I say.”
“And ‘butthole’ is an acceptable word for a toddler?” I ask through another laugh. “Oh, my God. Can you imagine her saying ‘butthole’ in that cute little voice?”
“No.” He laughs, standing up from the bed and holding out his hand. “Come on, Pez dispenser.”
I slap his hand away.
“With tits,” Lucas adds from the doorway. He ducks, laughing when I chuck my pillow at his head.
Falling back on my bed, I poke out my bottom lip. “You guys are so mean.”
“It’s called tough love,” Cole says, grabbing one of my arms. “Bobblehead.”
I snort. “I hate you both.”
“You’re still beautiful, Jay,” Lucas says, reaching for my foot. Together they pull me from the bed. “Now come on,” Cole adds. “Everyone’s waiting on you and I’m starving.”
“I still think you’re both mean, but I’ll admit that was a good one. Expect payback, butthole,” I drawl, following them from the room. “Hey, Willow—”
“Don’t you freaking dare, Jay.”
“JAY,” LUCAS WHISPERS.
“Hmm?” I hum into my pillow.
“Come on, little sis, you need to wake up and move around. You’ve been in this bed for a week.” A week? “Get up. Grace brought you something to eat.”
“Not hungry,” I mumble. “Too tired.”
“Come on, Jay.”
I hear the blinds being drawn before sunlight floods the room, making me wince, as the comforter is yanked away from my warm body.
Someone gasps.
“Oh baby girl, what have you done to yourself?” my mom cries, cupping my face in her hands. “Oh, my God. This is all my fault.”
“It’s not your fault, Em,” Bass whispers.
“It is! She’s my daughter. I should’ve been paying attention. Goddammit! I’m calling Dr. Ramos.”
“Princess?” Bass pulls me into his lap and brushes my hair from my face. “I need you to open your eyes and look at me.”
“No, B, it hurts,” I whimper.
“What hurts, Princess?”
“Everything.”
Trust your gut
Follow your heart
And never, ever settle
for anything less than you deserve
I TRAIL MY fingers over the words tattooed on my ribs. They’re delicate but rough to the touch. The tattoo hasn’t quite healed yet, but then again, neither have I. It’s been three months since my dad passed and each day has been a struggle. But I’m getting there one day at a time. Thanks to Dr. Ramos.
Dropping my arms to my sides, I take in my reflection. I can proudly say that the girl staring back at me no longer looks like the walking dead.
Or a Pez dispenser with tits, as Cole and Lucas so kindly put it before.
Jerks.
But they were right. I wasn’t taking care of myself.
I pretended to be okay, but after everyone had gone back to their lives, I went back to my grief.
To the pain.
I couldn’t move on. I missed him so damn much that it made me sick.
I stayed in bed, shutting out the world and everyone in it. My thoughts were consumed with the ‘whys,’ ‘hows’ and ‘what-ifs.’
All I wanted to do was sleep because being awake made everything real.
I cried a lot.
The grief had taken over completely, forcing me into a dark place.
Days turned into a week.
I lost control.
And before I knew it, I became someone even I didn’t recognize. A skeleton version of myself.
I was in so much pain, I just didn’t care anymore.
That’s how I ended up at the Wellness Center with Dr. Ramos for six weeks while I recovered both mentally and physically. Talking with Dr. Ramos, I discovered a lot about myself. Not just as Marcus King’s Jaybird but as myself, Jayla King. The seventeen-year-old girl who doesn’t know who she is without her father or how to move on.
My dad’s career was our life. But I was happy to be a part of it because it’s who he was. I can write a song and sing with the best of them, but I’m struggling. Now I can’t decide if I was doing it for him or for me. Was it because I craved his attention? Maybe. Did I think he’d love me less if I wasn’t interested in a music career? No.
I needed to take a step back and work these things out for myself. Set goals. Try new things.
“Baby steps” is what Dr. Ramos told me. “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself to be what you think others expect. Just be you.”
I set some personal goals. Started exercising and eating more. No skipping meals.
I wasn’t trying to hurt myself on purpose or starve myself to death. I have no problem with food. I love to eat. I’ve always been tall and thin, so I welcome the extra weight. Luckily, I inherited my mom’s boobs and ass, which evens out my slimmer body. I’m proud to say that I’ve gained back twelve of the eighteen pounds I lost.
Bass and I have started working out daily, starting with a morning run. Bass even got me one of those punching bags, which I love and now refer to as a “session”—like a therapy session.
Dr. Ramos got a laugh out of that one.
The punching bag helps me clear my head and ease my anxiety. It’s also great for relieving aggression, whenever I feel the need to punch the shit out of someone—I mean something. But mostly it helps me focus. To think clearly.
I’d also like to start writing music again. I haven’t touched an instrument or written anything since the day I flew back from St. Thomas.
That was August of last year.
I STEP INTO the beautiful floor-length gown. The gown is amazing, the bodice an intricate gold threading which flows down the shimmery bronze skirt and floats around me like it’s made of air. My dark hair is pulled back from my face into a high sleek ponytail. My makeup is minimal, a smoky eye highlighting my light eyes and a nude gloss on my lips. I keep my jewelry simple, just my Cartier diamond studs in my ears, the matching two-carat pendant around my neck and the gold and diamond love bracelet on my wrist. All three pieces were given to me by my parents on my sixteenth birthday.
Evangeline’s reflection appears behind me in the mirror, moving closer to zip my dress before taking a step back. Tilting her head, she says, “Wow, Va-jay-jay, you look absolutely stunning.”
“Thank you.” I do a little twirl before turning back to the mirror to swipe on some lip gloss.
Turning away from the mirror, I say, “You look gorgeous, but, of course, you always do.” Evangeline looks gorgeous whether she’s in a gown or yoga pants and a T-shirt. Hell, she could rock a burlap sack and call it couture.
“Thank you,” she replies with a wink. “Are you sure you don’t want to model? I know people.”
I shake my head. “Nope, that’s all you.” Evangeline is in high demand these days as one of the hottest supermodels on the runway. She’s been on the cover of every fashion magazine—some twice—over the last year. She’s got the charm and the right attitude to make the runway her bitch.
“Drummer boy is gonna cream in his skinny jeans when he sees you,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows and I burst out laughing.
“You’re so crude, Weenie.”
“Drummer boy” is Ace Matthews, the drummer for LAW, who Lucas has repeatedly warned me to stay away from. Ace is hella hot and we’ve been hanging out a little over the past few weeks. Lucas is not happy about it, of course, but Ace is fun and he makes me laugh. As I’ve said before, I have no intentions on getting involved with a rock star and I meant it. Right now, it’s what I need. This is me figuring things out for my
self.
I need more friends in my life besides Evangeline and Lucas.
Evangeline has Alex.
Lucas has his band and girlfriends all over the place.
I’ve got Bass and my frickin’ iPad.
I need a life.
“Eva? Jay?”
“We’re in here,” I call out to Alex from inside my closet as Evangeline walks out to greet him. Grabbing my cell and the tube of lip gloss, I drop them into my clutch and head into my bedroom.
Alex is standing just inside the doorway dressed in a tuxedo, looking like he just stepped out of a photo shoot for GQ with his perfectly styled dark brown hair and bright eyes. The man is seriously hot. I watch the way he looks at Evangeline as she makes her way over to him, a knowing smile curling one corner of his mouth.
Ugh! I know that look.
“All right you two, stop it,” I joke. “Don’t make me get the hose.”
Alex’s gaze shifts from Evangeline to me, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise as a low whistle escapes through his teeth. “Wow. You look beautiful, Jay.”
“Thank you.” I do another twirl.
“She does,” Evangeline agrees as her eyes well up with tears. “And she looks healthy.”
Here we go.
“Hey. What’s with the tears? I’m fine,” I reassure her. “I promise. Now stop it before Mom sees you.”
Evangeline rolls her eyes as she wipes the tears away from the corners. Schooling her expression, she says, in her best Emerson impression, “Tears aren’t for the public eye, Eva. It shows weakness. If you need to cry, do it in private.”
The three of us burst out laughing.
Yep. That’s my mom.
“Jayla, Eva, and Alex, let’s go.” Speak of the devil. “The car’s here.”
The three of us file out of my room and head for the stairs. “We’re coming!”
I pause halfway down the stairs when I see my cousin Cole waiting for me at the bottom, dressed in a tuxedo and looking as gorgeous as ever.
“Look at you, hot stuff,” I wink as I reach the bottom and pull him into a hug. He’s my cousin, but he’s a good-looking sonofabitch. He’s tall and muscular from years of playing football. His black hair is short on the sides, longer on the top and styled to perfection—because Cole wouldn’t have it any other way. He takes his hair very seriously. No joke, I think he takes longer to do his hair than most girls. And he has those bright green eyes that Mimi likes to refer to as the Mackenzie family jewels.
The guy’s got swagger.
“Thanks,” he says. “You look really good. Pretty.”
“You mean I don’t look like a Pez dispenser anymore? Or a bobblehead?” I tease.
He chuckles. “No. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I was trying to get you out of bed.”
“It’s fine.” I wave him off. “Thanks for coming out and being my date. I just feel bad that you’re missing your junior prom.”
Tonight is the first charity dinner for the Mayhem Foundation. The charity focuses on putting music back into schools and giving scholarships to kids who want and deserve a higher education but can’t afford it. My dad was still in the beginning phase of putting together the foundation when his cancer was discovered. With all his other projects in the works, he was too tired to put any time into the foundation. Mom tried several times to talk him into turning the charity over to more capable hands, but my dad was a hands-on kind of guy; he liked things done a certain way and he liked to be involved in everything. Unfortunately, he didn’t get to see it through. Mom and her assistant, Lilly, took over and hired a few people to get things moving.
Cole holds out his hands, palms up as if he’s weighing his options. “Hmm. Let’s see.” He raises one hand higher than the other. “Junior prom with people I see every day?” He lifts the other hand and wiggles his eyebrows. “Or support my favorite uncle’s charity with my favorite cousin, an open bar, and hot celebrities?”
I laugh and smack him playfully on the arm. “Behave yourself tonight.”
“I’m not making any promises,” he states, holding out his arm for me.
“Let’s go!” Mom hollers from outside.
“Wow, she’s wound up tight tonight,” I murmur. Cole chuckles as he escorts me to the limo idling in the driveway. “Someone put a muzzle on that woman,” I yell and laughter rings out from inside the limo.
“THERE’S MY FAVORITE girl,” Liam coos, curling his arm around my shoulders and pulling me in for a side hug, kissing me on the temple before he reaches for my mom. “And my favorite sister.”
“I’m your only sister,” Mom says, accepting his hug.
“That makes me the luckiest guy in the world,” Liam replies.
I turn and smile before hugging Liam’s date. “Hi, Dr. Ramos.”
“Good to see you, Jayla,” she says before taking a step back to admire my dress. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you. You, too.”
Dr. Ramos is a beautiful woman, tall and thin, mid-to-late thirties. Her raven-colored hair cut is in a sharp, shoulder-length angled bob with long bangs sweeping over her left eye and she has the most fascinating violet eyes, fringed with long, thick black lashes.
She’s the opposite of the women Liam normally dates.
And I use the term dates loosely.
“Hello, my gorgeous girls,” Cam says to me and my mom, taking my hand and pulling me in for a hug. Cameron “Cam” Parker is not only Zach’s uncle, he’s also my Uncle Liam’s best friend and former teammate from the LA Heat. “How are you doing?” he asks close to my ear. He pulls back to look down at me and I see the concern in his eyes.
“I’m doing really well,” I tell him as I wrap my arms around his middle and give a little squeeze. “How’s Florida?” Cam left the LA Heat to pitch for the Tampa Bay Tornadoes just before my dad passed. I miss having him around, and I know Liam misses being on a team with him.
“I miss my boy…” He means Liam. “…and my teammates, but I love being back home and close to my family. Have you been keeping in touch with Zach?”
“Um… no,” I say, realizing he just gave me an opening, but before I can ask about Zach, I catch the sight of a familiar face over Cam’s shoulder. Pasting on the smile that I’ve perfected over the years, I say, “Hi, Lauren,” catching the attention of everyone in our group.
Cam immediately goes rigid in my arms and turns his head to the side to look over his shoulder. Evangeline scoffs as Alex wraps an arm around her waist—most likely to keep her from lunging at Lauren. Liam curses under his breath, Mom rolls her eyes, Cole chuckles and Dr. Ramos looks confused.
Lauren is a model and Cam’s ex. The breakup was nasty from what I’ve heard from Mom and Liam, which is why I’m surprised to see her here. I don’t recall seeing her name on the guest list and I’m positive my mother didn’t invite her.
Like the rest of us, my mom isn’t a fan. So, in true Emerson King fashion, she plasters on her perfected fake smile, says her hellos, and then excuses herself to go find Evangeline’s parents.
“It’s so good to see you, Jayla.” Lauren leans in to give me an air kiss. “I hear you’re going to be working with Anna Sizemore. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Evangeline,” Lauren sneers.
Evangeline rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Whatever,” she says in a bored tone, and turns to Cam. “I thought you got rid of her.”
Cam sputters, spit-spraying his drink all over the front Lauren’s dress.
“Cameron!” Lauren huffs, wiping at her dress before storming off in the direction of the bathrooms.
“Babe,” Alex whispers the gentle warning, pressing his lips to the side of her head while attempting to hide his own smile.
Evangeline gives an unapologetic shrug before shifting her gaze to me and winking.
Told you she can be a bitch, but she’s my bitch.
“Well, that’s one way to get rid of her,” I quip.
“What
is she doing here?” Liam snaps at his best friend, as if Lauren being here is ruining his night.
Cam scowls. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?”
I roll my eyes. Men. “I’ll check with the coordinator and see who she came with. I don’t need her starting any drama tonight.”
“If she’s here, there will be drama,” Evangeline adds. Something behind me catches her attention and she narrows her eyes. “Just when we got rid of one asshole, another pops up.”
I turn around to see Tyge Reynolds, the new hotshot pitcher for the LA Heat, walking into the ballroom with his date. I guess you could say Tyge is a family friend. I’ve known him since I was a kid. His father, Jack Reynolds, is one of the top entertainment lawyers in LA and one of my dad’s good friends. I’ve always thought Tyge was good-looking but too old for me and he’s kind of a cocky asshole.
Tyge scans the room before he notices our group and begins making his way over.
“You look beautiful, Jayla,” he says. “You legal yet?” He winks.
And, yes, he really did just say that.
In front of his date.
I snort a laugh as Liam’s, Cam’s, and Alex’s eyebrows go up. “You wanna keep that pitching arm, Reynolds?” Liam asks in warning.
Tyge laughs. “I’m kidding, Mackenzie. I’ve known her since she was like eight.”
After Tyge introduces everyone to his date, I snake my arm through Cole’s and say, “Excuse me. I need to go find my mom and check on the Lauren situation.” Turning away, I drag Cole along beside me.
“Reynolds is kind of a dick,” Cole says with a soft laugh. “He makes me look like an angel.”
I pat him on the arm and smirk. “Keep telling yourself that, Cole.”
THE REST OF the night goes by without any snags. Turns out Lauren came with one of Cam’s former—and Liam’s current—teammates. I caught her several times eyeing Cam like a hawk, but she kept her distance.
“Jayla!” Chandler Skye waves me over to one of the round tables where he’s sitting with our attorney, Jack Reynolds, and Nikki Fox.