FOREVER BELOVED (Billionaire Love Series)

by Jessa Eden

  My version of the break-up with Marla was crumbling like the Berlin Wall in 1989. What he was saying about my dad couldn’t be true. It wasn’t possible that I was robbed of twenty-two years with the woman I loved.

  “While you’re here, I want to show you something,” Charly announced as I stewed in my thoughts.

  I shook my head as I replayed everything that happened so long ago. “I’m not interested, Pops. I’ve got too much on my mind.”

  “Trust me, you want to see this.” He stared at me until I gave in and reluctantly followed him back to one of the guest rooms.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, annoyed he wanted to play show and tell instead of dealing with the serious issue at hand.

  He walked over to the mirrored closet door and threw it open. Inside, were several office boxes.

  “Take a look,” he said, pointing to the top box.

  I was curious enough to pull it out, place it on the bed, and throw off the lid.

  “Where did you get these?” I questioned, glancing inside the box, which was loaded with bundles of letters, VHS tapes, and DVD’s. I could see one tape marked Charlie’s birthdays in black permanent marker.

  “I’ve had them for a long time. Years.”

  “Why am I seeing these just now?”

  “Because you were too busy running yourself into the ground and running from everyone you love.”

  “Well, that’s because I got my heart stamped out.”

  “Bubba, that was over twenty years ago. You’re not the only one who was hurt or suffered in the situation. It may have been hard on you, but Marla was left to raise a baby on her own. You want to punish her, to make her pay. But she’s been payin’ the same price as you have all these years.”

  I didn’t like hearing that. “Damn it, Pops. I don’t know what to do with any of this.” I pointed to the closet filled with boxes.

  “Take them home. Look at the letters and tapes. You have twenty-two years to catch up on.”

  *****

  I begrudgingly loaded up the boxes into my car and took off for my place. Nothing was making sense anymore. It was as if I was unplugging from the matrix, about to find out the truth about everything I believed for the last twenty years.

  Could I really be wrong about Marla?

  Was my dad really involved in this whole fucked up situation?

  I knew it was possible, but I didn’t want to believe it.

  I drove home and sat in the garage for a minute, wondering if I should bring the boxes in. I wasn’t ready to face the past yet. I decided to leave them in the trunk of my Mustang for the time being.

  For the rest of the evening, I pretended those boxes didn’t exist and I ignored my curiosity as Charlie and I ate dinner.

  “You seem distracted,” Charlie pointed out between bites of pizza.

  “I am. I just found out your mom kept some photos and things for me.”

  “She’s good like that.”

  I wasn’t ready to discuss the past with my kid, so I changed the subject. “How are you feeling about the situation with your mom?”

  He sighed, setting down his pepperoni pizza. “I’ve calmed down. I feel bad, though. I really hurt her this morning.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m gonna sleep on it, but I’ll go home tomorrow and talk to her.”

  “Is she good about all that emotional kind of stuff?”

  “Oh, yeah. She can usually talk me down from anything, but this time was different. I think I really scared her.”

  *****

  Even as I went to bed, those boxes called to me. I finally fell asleep around one a.m., but woke up an hour later hungry to dig into Charlie’s past.

  I raced to my private elevator and took it down to the garage. I grabbed three boxes and headed back up to the penthouse. Once I was in the great room, I dumped the entire contents of the first box on the rug as letters, pictures, video tapes, and DVD’s scattered across the hardwood floor.

  I tried to take a deep breath and approach this calmly and objectively, but I was too damn excited and I ripped open a letter, anxious to read about Charlie.

  It was a note written on light blue stationary addressed to me.

  It read:

  Dear Beau,

  It has been three weeks and three long days since I last saw you. My heart is shattered. I live in agony knowing I hurt you and no longer have you in my life.

  What have I done, Beau? How will I ever survive without you?

  Marla

  Sweet Jesus.

  I didn’t know what to make of that.

  Marla sounded so sad, as if she really meant it.

  But how could she, when she had kicked me out of her life?

  I let the letter flutter to the floor, trying to forget her words as I anxiously grabbed another one:

  Dear Beau,

  I haven’t heard from you in over a year. But I think about you constantly. Here’s a picture of our little boy. He’s about three months old now. His skin is so soft and he has the cutest little giggle.

  I can’t believe we have a baby together.

  I will always tell him he was made with the most love any two people can have. You will always be the love of my life. I love you with every breath, every heartbeat...

  Fuck me.

  She was serious.

  She still loved me a year after our break-up.

  While she was putting together love letters and raising a baby, I was numbing myself with alcohol and women.

  Fuck! I didn’t like the way that felt.

  I glanced at the picture that had fallen out of the second letter. It was Charlie as a baby, lying on a soft, blue blanket. He was a beautiful child...round, pudgy, and bright-eyed.

  Fuckin’ adorable with his shiny baby curls.

  I caressed the picture with my finger, lost in how new and beautiful my kid was. I could almost imagine holding him in my arms as a pang went through my heart.

  I had missed his birth.

  My own kid’s arrival into the world.

  I managed to swallow back the tears as I searched the pile of pictures spread out on the hardwood, looking for the beginning of Charlie’s life. It didn’t take long before I found a couple of photos that blew me away.

  The first one was Marla standing in a loose purple dress, very pregnant in a profile shot, her hands underneath her big belly as she glanced down lovingly.

  So beautiful.

  I ran my fingertip along the line of her swollen belly, wondering what it would have been like to witness each step of her pregnancy, preparing to be a dad alongside her.

  It would have been awesome. Another fierce ache exploded in my chest as I grabbed the next shot of Marla at the hospital, lying in bed as she held Charlie in her arms, flushed with life.

  Her glance was bittersweet. She looked relieved and exhausted, but also sad, almost heartbroken.

  She missed me.

  She goddamn missed me at the birth of our son.

  I should’ve been there with her.

  I should’ve known she was having my baby.

  Fuck!

  The pain twisted in my gut, as if someone rammed his fist into my stomach. Raw grief threatened to tear out of my soul, but I didn’t want to give into it.

  Instead, I cracked open a baby book full of Charlie’s milestones. Marla’s clear cursive writing was on every page, detailing Charlie’s life. I glanced at a few things, still stinging from the image of Marla in the hospital.

  His first word: nana (for banana)

  His first step: happened as I was folding laundry. He pulled himself up on the couch and took a step as I squealed in excitement.

  His first day of Kindergarten: He said, “I got it, Mom. You can go.” Just about broke my heart as I watched him go in with his class. I sobbed all the way home, but I was so proud of him.

  She had put our baby in school all alone.

  I didn’t like it.

  I didn’t l
ike it one bit.

  The ache grew stronger as I tried to resist the ball of emotion welling up inside me. I tried to put it to the side as I pressed forward, determined to witness all of Charlie’s childhood.

  I moved onto the tapes, popping one in to the VCR/DVD player. The screen came to life as the camera focused on Marla in a pink nightgown swaying from side to side, with baby Charlie in her arms.

  “Hi, Emma,” she called softly, glancing at the camera.

  “How’s Charlie?” Emma’s young voice called from behind the video recorder.

  “He’s good right now. He’s almost asleep,” Marla whispered, humming a familiar song as she rocked, gently cradling the baby’s head, and patting his back.

  “What are you singing?”

  “‘Are You Gonna Go My Way.’ Charlie loves it.”

  Marla knew that was one of my favorite songs. I had played the tape constantly in my Mustang anytime we went somewhere.

  As the video continued to roll, Marla closed her eyes and gently rocked the baby to sleep. She was so loving and gentle. I couldn’t help but be caught up in her, tenderly nurturing our son as he slept.

  It was too sweet.

  Too real.

  I lost it as the dam of emotion I’d been holding back broke inside me and big tears rolled down my cheeks.

  I had missed so much.

  So goddamn much.

  Huge sobs erupted out of my throat as sorrow consumed me and I grieved for the past I wasn’t a part of.

  I wanted to be there.

  I should have been there.

  But I wasn’t.

  And that was the bitch of the situation.

  Undone, I watched Marla rock our sleeping baby until the picture faded out. I sat there as raw emotion continued to plow through me. I was beyond moved and hungry to know everything about my son’s life.

  After that video, I devoured each box, making multiple trips to my car. Every picture and word was a revelation I never expected to experience.

  Our beautiful boy lost his first tooth today. It wiggled and wiggled and finally came loose while he ate some popcorn. He was thrilled the tooth fairy brought him fifty cents...

  Right now, all Charlie eats is cereal. Just like his daddy. Barney has become a fixture in our little home and the purple dinosaur is on every afternoon in full stereo as he sings at the top of his lungs. He’s tone deaf. I wonder if he gets that from you.

  Charlie came home with a black eye. He said he wasn’t going to stand for people picking on his friends. He was so proud, Beau. I wish you were here to see that fierce look of pride on his face...you should be here. I miss you...

  Our son is determined to drag me out to every miniature golf course in the city of Baltimore. I think we’ve been to seven courses, in three weeks. I hope this obsession ends soon...

  Lord, almighty. I’ve been teaching our boy how to drive. Not easy. Maybe you would have more patience with him as he takes corners like he’s racing on the Daytona racetrack. I’m not sure if either of us is going to survive this...

  I got lost in Charlie’s life, absorbing each detail as I read the anecdotes Marla shared about our son. She captured them so perfectly and I could see both of us in him as he careened his way through childhood.

  I loaded up another DVD as a birthday party came to life on screen. Several little boys were sitting around a kitchen table, wearing masks tied around their faces.

  “Today is Charlie’s tenth birthday and we are celebrating Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle style!” Marla said, zooming in on Charlie devouring a piece of chocolate cake.

  “Cowabunga!” he yelled at the camera as he leapt up from the table with his orange mask on.

  “Who are you today, Charlie?”

  “Michelangelo!”

  “Which one is he?”

  “He’s the fun one!” he exclaimed as he grabbed a pair of orange foam nunchucks off the floor.

  Another little boy came into the frame as he picked up a sword and faced off with boy wonder.

  “Let’s fight, dude!” Charlie called out, swinging the nunchucks wildly around his body.

  They began to tussle as the other kids joined them in the living room, pitting their skills against one another.

  “This is a bunch of boys, high on cake and ice cream, battling it out for sewer supremacy,” Marla narrated as the camera zeroed in on Charlie crashing to the ground.

  “Uh-oh, turtle down,” she announced.

  “He got me, Mom,” Charlie cried, writhing across the carpet, as he died a hero’s death.

  “Oh, no! What are you gonna do?” Marla asked dramatically.

  He popped back up with a lopsided smile. “Get up and live to fight another day!”

  “That’s my boy! Never give up!” Marla encouraged as Charlie got back into the fray of boys fighting it out.

  I chuckled as I sat on the floor, taking in Charlie’s antics. That kid was such a mix of goofball and heart.

  The birthday party ended as the scene switched to Charlie attempting some kind of skateboarding maneuver at a skate park. He looked to be about ten or eleven, ready to take on the world.

  “Watch me, Mom!” he called, poised at the top of a basin with a skateboard jutting out over the lip.

  “Love you, baby! Make sure your helmet is on tight and be careful!” Marla called from behind the camera.

  “Ah, Mom,” Charlie let out as he shook his head, but he dutifully checked his chinstrap before he headed down the ramp.

  Without hesitation, he took off in a blaze of speed as Marla inhaled sharply, holding her breath until he sailed up to the other side safely.

  “I did it, Mom!” he cried excitedly.

  “Whoo-hoo! Yes, you did! Way to go, sweetie!” Marla cheered as Charlie threw up his hands in victory.

  Atta boy.

  Pride filled my chest as I watched the scene over again.

  It told me so much about my kid.

  He was fearless, taking on daunting challenges that would make other boys tremble. Marla had fostered that confidence, making him embrace life.

  She was a great mom to our son.

  I would have to thank her for that.

  But for the moment, I wanted to see what was in the small white box, sitting to the left of me. Opening it up, I found a small navy hockey jersey. I held it up, picturing Charlie in hockey gear, playing peewee league for the first time. He was number ninety-two, just like me.

  He must’ve been hell on skates. I would have paid good money to see that. I dug through the pile of pictures until I found one of little Charlie on the ice, stick planted, barely able to skate.

  My heart warmed, thinking about my boy taking after his old man. This time I didn’t hold back the tears that welled up. I just let them fall.

  My boy.

  My sweet boy.

  It was all too much as I let out a shuddery sigh and wiped my eyes.

  Glancing around at the years of memories, I couldn’t get over the staggering evidence Marla had left for me.

  She had put herself out there, daring to share every aspect of Charlie’s life with me. Her generous deed cracked my shell open in a way I never anticipated as the ache gave way to a tenderness I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  All of this was a total act of love.

  One I couldn’t deny.

  The tears rose again as I sat surrounded by Charlie’s life.

  I had a son.

  A real-life son, who deserved to know his father.

  “What’s going on out here?” Charlie asked as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes and shuffled into the great room in grey sweats.

  I wiped at my eyes again. “Did you know your mom put all this together?” I asked, pointing to the letters and memorabilia strewn across the room.

  He surveyed the contents of his life. “Oh yeah, she was always in my face with a camera or a video recorder.”

  “I see that.”

  He sat down next to me on the floor and picked up a few pictures. �
��Oh, I remember that.” He pointed to an image of his ten-year-old self with his arm in a cast.

  “How did you break your arm?”

  “I fell off the jungle gym after taking a friend’s dare to fly. I was in a cast for like six weeks. But it was worth it, though,” he answered proudly.

  “You’re a risk taker, huh?”

  He gave me a familiar lopsided grin. “Yeah, from time to time.”

  “That’s cool.”

  I studied his young, earnest face, so much like my own.

  It seemed so simple. So right to reach out and hug him.

  “I’m your dad,” I said brokenly, owning the words as he returned my embrace.

  “Is that news to you?” he asked into my shoulder.

  “Yeah, it kind of is.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Marla:

  Driving away from the pier, I thought about Charly and Beau. By now, Beau had probably been dragged down the hall to witness the unveiling of the treasure in the closet. I almost chuckled, thinking of the look on his face when he realized what I had done.

  But fear held me back. It clutched in my chest as I thought about how easy it would be for him to reject the years of memories and letters I had pulled together for him.

  It was out of my hands now. I could only pray Beau was ready.

  As I pulled into the driveway, I had hoped to see Charlie’s Honda parked in its usual spot, but it wasn’t there.

  My heart sank. He was really mad at me.

  I checked my phone again and found a cryptic text from him.

  @Beau’s. NOT coming home tonight.

  Not what I wanted to hear, but I breathed a sigh of relief; at least I knew he was safe.