Forget (Changing Colors Book 1)

by Alcorn, N. A.

  We’re lips and tongues and groping hands. And I’m about ten seconds away from losing myself completely until voices within the bar bring me back to my senses. We’re far too intimate for our current location.

  A tender press against her lips ends the kiss.

  My arms hug her tightly as I whisper into her ear, “I only stopped because your buddy Jim-bo was watching us like we’re his favorite porno.”

  She presses her face into my chest. Her lungs let out a deep exhale.

  “How about we get another beer?” I ask, leaning back to look at her. “I think I need something to help cool off.”

  “It’s like you read my mind,” she agrees. “Ladies room?”

  I point towards the back hallway.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I settle back onto my barstool. My eyes watch Brooke’s sexy ass until she’s no longer in sight.

  “Bruno.” I motion towards the empty glasses.

  Lightning-quick, he sets two fresh pints in front of me. “When should I make last call?”

  One glance at the clock, and I realize it’s nearing three. I’d prefer to keep Brooke out as long as physically possible, but my father would be pissed if I lost his liquor license.

  “Last call!” I shout over my shoulder.

  Bruno chuckles. “I guess it’s settled then.”

  “Hey, thanks for hanging around so late. I appreciate it.”

  “Anytime.” He pours two shots of Jack, sliding one in front of me.

  “Hold up,” Lindsay chimes in, sitting beside me. “I’ll take one of those.”

  Bruno grins, passes her his shot and pours himself another. I start to tell Jesse to get his ass over here, but see he’s talking to one of my father’s best friends, probably answering a million questions about our band. Better him than me.

  “What are we toasting?” I ask.

  “To beautiful women who can draw quite the crowd,” she suggests.

  I smile into my shot glass, downing the hard liquor in one quick swallow. Bruno makes quick work of cleaning up our glasses and proceeds to start serving up last call to the rest of the bar.

  “So you and my Brookie were looking quite cozy just a minute ago.” Lindsay flashes a knowing smile.

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  “Tonight, I got to see a side of Brooke that I haven’t seen in a long time. Spontaneous, relaxed, and quick-witted.”

  “Beautiful . . . irresistible . . .” I add a few more.

  Lindsay’s smile gets brighter. “The one you saw tonight? That’s the Brooke I know. Can you level with me here for a moment? Because I’m not really one to beat around the bush.”

  “Of course.”

  “That girl is carrying around a world of pain on her shoulders, and not all of it is hers. She’s got the biggest heart, but sometimes, that heart is her weakness too. When she loves someone, she’ll do just about anything for them, even if it means sacrificing her own happiness. Brooke isn’t just someone, she’s everything.

  “She’s the girl who dropped everything to help her baby sister when a boyfriend left her pregnant and alone. She’s the girl that took the red-eye so she wouldn’t miss my first runway show, only to head back home a few hours later. She’s the girl who held her grandmother’s hand during her battle with cancer. She never left her side, took her to every appointment, and changed her entire life around to make sure Mille wasn’t alone.” Lindsay’s speech is a little slurred, but the love in her voice trumps any doubt I’d have that she’s merely engaging in drunken rambling. She means every single word.

  And each word does more than she intends. I know she’s probably warning me off, telling me not to hurt her best friend, but all she’s doing is pushing me closer towards falling.

  “The Brooke you saw tonight? That’s the Brooke I really know. She’s letting her guard down for you. She’s living in the moment because of you. But I need you to promise me something.” Her eyes have turned serious.

  “When it comes to Brooke, I’ll promise anything.”

  “Promise me you’ll never hurt her.”

  I nod, a little taken aback by the seriousness of her words. “Lindsay, I’ve got a feeling if anyone walks away from this torn up, it’ll be me.”

  “Good,” she says with a giant grin. “No offense, but better you than her.”

  “None taken,” I reassure, even though I know Lindsay is the type of girl who could give two fucks on whether or not she’s offended someone.

  “Anyway, if you broke her heart, I’d literally have to tear your dick off and sell it on the black market. Not sure what the going rate is for a cock, but word on the street is that you’re packing. I’d say the bigger the cock, the higher the profit.”

  “Huh?” I choke on a laugh.

  “Girls talk just as much as guys.” Lindsay stands up, patting me on the shoulder. “Brooke isn’t much of a talker, but I am fabulous at asking the right questions. Even though she might not answer those questions, the girl has a horrible poker face.” She winks, and strides back towards my baby brother.

  Horrible poker face? I make a mental note to use that to my advantage.

  I get up to piss and find Brooke standing in the darkened hallway that leads to the bathrooms. Her back is to me, phone pressed to her ear. I give her privacy, choosing to head straight to the toilets instead of bugging her.

  I don’t intend to eavesdrop on her conversation, but it’s kind of hard to ignore her voice through the thin walls. I can literally hear every word she’s saying while I’m standing in front of the urinal.

  “No, everything is great. Yes, I’m a little drunk, but not too drunk to comprehend a serious conversation. Just fucking tell me the good news, Jamie.” She starts to giggle and then stops. “Wait, who said they’d follow us when we go off on our own?”

  “This is huge! Oh my God! This is huge!”

  “What about the non-compete clause? How are you going to get around that?”

  “I think the real question is, are you sure you’re ready for this? Your dad isn’t going to back down. He’ll do everything he can to fuck you over once everything is out in the open.”

  “Don’t even start that shit with me. I’m in this for the long haul. We’re in this together. Always.”

  “Okay, sounds good. I love you too.” Her voice drifts away as I’m washing my hands.

  I STAYED BY MILLIE’S side while she battled lung cancer for three tortuous years.

  Two months after she was diagnosed, I moved back into her Laurel Canyon home. Between the side effects of the chemotherapy and the endless doctors’ appointments, I knew she needed me. She insisted everything was fine, but I ignored her, packing up my Santa Monica apartment and returning home.

  It wasn’t a chore, living with Millie. She was the best—a free spirit who lived her life to the fullest. She was the kind of woman who made you want to be a better person, and hands down, one of my favorite people in the entire world. And if it wasn’t for her, I honestly don’t know what would have happened to Ember and me.

  Once Millie’s health started to decline, we turned her first-floor guest bedroom into a hospice, and frequent visits from nurses were part of the routine. I hated watching it, watching her slowly lose herself as cancer ravaged her body. It was mocking that someone who was as healthy and active as my eighty-year-old grandmother was diagnosed with lung cancer. She didn’t even smoke. The last time she picked up a cigarette she was a fresh-faced, twenty-year-old girl living in Paris with an entire life ahead of her.

  I loved hearing her recount stories of her younger days, especially the Parisian ones. I had a feeling I would miss those the most.

  In three months, Millie’s health had declined at a steady pace. Her lungs struggled to complete the simple task of inhaling and exhaling. Each breath she took was a Goddamn chore. Painful. Agonizing. I could spout an endless list of words, but none encompassed the reality.

  My grandmother was a fighter and lived we
ll past the six to twelve months her physician initially gave her. In the end, the true irony of the situation was that the chemotherapy used to kill the tumors would be the final straw. Her body couldn’t handle the toxic drugs pushed into her veins, and pneumonia had taken over, filling her lungs with an infection she couldn’t fight off.

  Millie’s lucid moments had become few and far between. My sister Ember and I stayed vigil by her bedside, hoping for just a few hours . . . minutes . . . seconds . . . any sliver of time to hear her voice, her laughter, her never-ending sarcasm. That’s one of the things I loved about her, the woman never held anything back. She told it like it was, without apology.

  Ember leaned over Millie’s hospice bed, placing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I love you so much,” she whispered into our grandmother’s ear. She mopped at her face, brushing a lone tear from her cheek.

  I hated this. It was a constant battle against the tears for both of us. I looked away, not wanting to let the water works take over. Not yet, I kept telling myself. Not yet.

  After a few deep breaths, my sister pulled herself together. “Hey, I’m going to see what Teddy is doing and try to get him to take a nap, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “And when I get back, I want you to take a break.”

  I shook my head.

  “Brooke.” She practically growled my name. “You have to leave this house, even if it’s just for five minutes.”

  I glared at her.

  She returned the glare.

  “Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll make a coffee run after you check on Teddy.” I gave in. It wasn’t worth a fight with my bull-headed sister. “And if my adorable little nephew refuses to nap, I’ll take him with me.” If there was one person, who could make me smile it was my sister’s little boy, Teddy. He had just turned four, and his mouth spouted the most ridiculous, laugh-inducing things.

  Ember walked over to me and kissed the top of my head. “I’m sure he’ll love that plan.”

  And then she left the room, shutting the door with a quiet click.

  I opened the window facing the garden. The soft breezes that frequented Laurel Canyon in May made it perfect window weather. It wasn’t too hot, it wasn’t too cold, and nice drafts passed by at just the right speed.

  The white lace curtains billowed from the gentle morning winds. The scent of lilacs filled the room. A large oak tree stood watch over the guest bedroom, filtering softened sunlight. It was Millie’s favorite tree, and during the spring, she loved to sit in the shade of its massive branches. She used to spend hours just sitting there reading, writing, or resting her eyes.

  I stood in front of that window, staring at the empty Adirondack chair. Her chair. My lip trembled. I bit back the tears. Stay strong. She needs you to stay strong.

  “Hey,” a raspy voice croaked behind me.

  I turned and found Millie staring back at me. The oxygen mask was pushed away from her face and her eyes looked too big. She had lost so much weight over the past three months, and her prominent cheekbones were accented by too many wrinkles. Five years ago, everyone would have told you she wasn’t a day over fifty, but that was before cancer had taken control. My grandmother looked every bit of her eighty-two years.

  “Hi.” It’s all my throat could manage. I swallowed past the burn, forcing the liquid emotion down. I sat on the edge of her bed, grasping her hand in mine. “Je t’aime,” I whispered. “Je te aime tellement.” I love you. I love you so much.

  Her weak mouth turned up at the corners. “I love you, too, Lilah Belle. I love you more than you could ever know.”

  “Always one-upping me, huh?” I teased, hating the tears blurring my vision.

  “It’s my job to be a pain in your ass.” Her throat sounded dry.

  I grabbed the glass on the nightstand, holding the straw to her lips. She sipped slowly, managing only a drop or two of water into her mouth. It was the most I’d seen her drink in over twenty-four hours.

  “We’ve got a lot to talk about, and I’m not gonna lie, I wish you would have taken my French lessons more seriously when you were younger.”

  An unexpected laugh barked from my lungs. “And why is that?”

  My inability to become fluent in French might have been her biggest letdown. God, I would miss her relentless teasing laced with unfiltered comments.

  “Everything sounds better in French, Lilah Belle,” she added with a smirk. “Even conversations like these, mocked by the asshole tumors clogging my lungs.”

  “I really have a hard time believing that.”

  “Believe it. I would die to hear a sexy Frenchman whispering sweet-nothings into my ear.” Her honey eyes glimmered. “Hell, I’d probably enjoy hearing a hot Parisian reading a pamphlet about herpes at this point.”

  I pointed my index finger in her direction. “Don’t even ask. I can promise you I don’t know any gorgeous men, fluent in French, who are available to read STD brochures to you. And even if I did, no way in hell would I arrange it.”

  “Buzz-kill,” she groaned. “You’re ruining my morphine high.”

  I leaned forward, resting my head on our entwined hands. My body shook with silent laughter. Only Millie would be talking about sexy French men and STD pamphlets on her deathbed. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to keep her forever.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” I said. My lips touched her hand.

  “You’re going to be just fine, Lilah Belle.” Her other hand, the one I hadn’t commandeered, brushed a few strands of hair behind my ear. “I’ll be with you, always.”

  I lifted my eyes to hers.

  “I will, honey. I promise I will. When you’re kicking ass in the studio? I’ll be there. When you finally to go Paris? I’ll be there.” She stopped, taking a few shallow breaths. I picked up the discarded oxygen mask on the bed, holding it to her face. She gave her lungs a small break and then nudged it away.

  “And when you fall in love . . .” Her eyes flashed a pointed look. “I mean, the really-in-love kind of love, the type that only comes around once in a lifetime, the type of love that literally takes your breath away and changes you forever. When you give into that kind of love, I’ll be there. I’ll be there, and my heart will be smiling.” She stopped again, gasping air into her lungs.

  Before I could tell her to take a break, she continued, “And because I know you’re a smart girl, and you won’t let that kind of love go. When you walk down the aisle and marry that perfect man—who hopefully whispers beautiful French words in your ear—I’ll be there.”

  I laughed. Of course, she’d add the whole French bit. The woman had been convinced since I was sixteen years old that I’d find the man of my dreams in Paris and have a million of his beret-wearing babies.

  She gripped my hand, her fingers felt too weak against my skin. “And when you have my second great-grand-baby? Because we both know Teddy needs a cousin, I’ll be there. Our bond is unbreakable, Lilah Belle—even death can’t stand in our way.”

  I’m shocked by her words. “You say the falling in love part like I’m not already in love.”

  Her eyes were tender as she held my questioning gaze. “You’re not in love, Brooke. Yes, you love Jamie, but you’re not in love with him.”

  “Yes, I am,” I tried to say with conviction, but it lacked strength.

  “Brooke, you don’t have to pretend with me. I’ve known since you were fifteen years old.”

  I should have known Millie knew more than she let on. “I can’t keep any secrets from you, can I?”

  She shook her head in three soft movements.

  “How much do you know?” I asked, anxiety creeping into my voice.

  “It doesn’t matter, I just know, okay? That’s all that needs to be said.” She was always so intuitive, always knew when to press for information, and when to let things go.

  “Are you mad at me for lying?”

  The soft sunlight filtering past the oak tree made her eyes sparkle. “No,
honey, I couldn’t be anything but proud of you. Jamie is lucky he’s got you on his side.”

  I didn’t want to let go of her. I needed her.

  A shaky breath punched at my lungs. “I hate that I’m going to lose you.” My voice cracked. It was too much, too fucking much.

  “You’re not losing me. I promise I’ll come back and bug the shit out of you when you’re being an idiot.”

  I forced a smile against my tears.

  “And, maybe, I’ll even . . .”

  “Lord, help me,” I groaned. “If there is some crazy after-life where God lets you come back and visit, you’d better not screw with me.”

  Her mischievous grin consumed her face. “Such a spoilsport.”

  Even though tears dripped from my lids, I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Our heartfelt conversation had turned into Millie mocking my chicken-shit tendencies. I hated anything scary—horror movies, haunted house, pretty much everything relating to the paranormal.

  God, I was going to miss her.

  I doubted anyone or anything would be able to fill the aching void that had taken up residence in my chest. She was my Millie, the woman who raised me since I was ten. She had kept my ass in line while simultaneously giving me the freedom to spread my wings. Put up with me during my teenage years. Helped me with my homework. Made home-cooked meals, and taught my sister and me the importance of making time for the ones you love.

  And she did it during a period of her life where raising kids should have been something that was already checked off her list. My grandmother filled the shoes my parents were incapable of filling. She gave us a home, a real home that was stable and safe from the ugliness I had seen. Millie gave us unconditional love, and because of that, our lives were drastically changed for the better. She was my angel.

  Life was about to change again. Millie wasn’t going to be just a phone call away. She wouldn’t send me funny text messages. I wouldn’t get to drive her around town, listening to her tell stories about old Hollywood actors that she schmoozed with when she was young. I wouldn’t get to hear her ramble about her love for Paris. I wouldn’t get to hear her witty comebacks and have our Thursday night dinners. And I wouldn’t get to run to her when my life was a wreck, desperately needing her wise words.