For some reason, I’m now embarrassed by my lack of possessions. It makes me feel alone, lonely, and that’s not fair to my brother and Mel. They’ve never done anything to make me feel anything other than loved, wanted, and cherished my entire life.
“It wasn’t my own place, I couldn’t just fill it with . . .” I shrug. Bloody hell, why do I feel like I’m going to cry?
“Fill the flat with whatever you want, Bamm. If you wanna change the sofa, any of the furniture, or paint the walls, do it. The place is yours,” Max tells me, making my nose tingle and throat burn.
My brother looks from me to Max and back again.
“You okay with this? You don’t have to live-in. Your old room will always be there for you, you know that, right?”
“I know,” I tell him quietly. “It’s just, I don’t know. I just feel sad at seeing my whole life packed up into six boxes.”
“This isn’t your whole life, kid. These are just the material parts of it. Your whole life is what’s in here”—he taps my temple— “and in here.” He places his palm over my chest. “That’s where the important stuff is kept.”
I wipe at my nose with the back of my hand, tears tracking down my cheeks as my brother moves in and wraps his arms around me.
“I’m sorry, I’m just having a moment,” I croak out through my tears.
“Have all the moments you like. I’ll always be here for you, don’t ever forget that. You’ve just been through a terrifying shitty ordeal. If you need to talk, please call me. I’m worried that you’re moving too fast with all of this.”
“If I were moving anywhere else, I’d agree, but this is Max, he’s not exactly a stranger.”
“If it were anywhere else, I wouldn’t be letting you go.”
I rest my cheek against my brother’s chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart. My eyes land on Max, who’s leaning on the tailgate of the truck, watching my little meltdown.
He slides out the first box and calls out, “You got your keys, Bamm? I’ll take these straight up.”
Three hours later, my clothes are all unpacked, and Layla is lying on my bed watching the process. Max and my brother are in the studio, doing whatever it is they do when they’re in there together.
Max ordered me a coffee machine online this morning and paid for express delivery, so it should be here tomorrow. He also ordered a cot for Layla, which we’ll set up in the corner of my bedroom.
I’ve asked Max for Saturday off so I can go out and buy myself some new bedding, throw cushions, blankets, and some art for the walls. I love the tan-coloured leather sofa, the entertainment unit, and side tables, so I won’t be replacing those. But I will get a couple of lamps. The bedroom furniture is all plain white, so I can put my own mark on that with new bedding, a mirror for the wall, and maybe a vase or something pretty.
“What d’ya reckon, Miss Layla? It’s looking better, right, a bit cosier?”
Her arms and legs move randomly as she smiles up at me, and I can’t help but smile back because it looks as if she’s attempting to dance along to Lauryn Hill, singing about being killed softly over the built-in sound system.
Until my brother had said what he did, I was momentarily overwhelmed and unsure of my place in this world or where I belonged. Unfortunately, it’s a feeling that plagues me occasionally. As a child, I was confident, probably a little overly so. Being surrounded by adults will do that to a kid. I never attended school until I went to live with Cal and Mel. Until then, I’d been homeschooled by my parents. My mum took care of English and humanities, and my dad, maths and science, my lessons taught in hotel rooms, recording studios, tour buses, or wherever we happened to be in the world that day.
When my parents were killed, my life was altered beyond all recognition. Cal was my big brother, and I loved him, he was a part of my very earliest memories, but life with him and Mel was very different from what I was used to. We lived in a house all of the time, not months away in hotels and on buses. When his band toured, Mel would take us to join him for a few weeks—if it was during school holidays —but not for the extended periods I’d spent away with my mum and dad.
Just attending school in and of itself was a huge culture shock.
I was ahead of the other kids academically but way behind them socially. I just didn’t know how to interact; they all seemed so young and immature.
I got used to being a loner. I didn’t mind. Some kids were horrible anyway, most kids in fact. Being a redhead with freckles and having what’s considered a boy’s name made me a target for bullies.
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t intimidated, I stuck up for myself and could deliver a comeback that usually shut them down enough that they left me alone. It just meant I never really made friends at primary school. When I started secondary school at age eleven, I thought things might be different. But one of the other kid’s mums recognised Cal at the orientation evening, so on the first day of term, unbeknown to me, everyone knew I was Callum Wild’s sister. I just thought I was right, and that secondary school was different. Suddenly, I had friends and invites over to their houses, to the cinema, and for sleepovers. The cool kids welcomed me into their clique, and for the first time in a very long time, I felt like I belonged. That lasted for about three weeks. It was when those “friends” started pestering me to come over to my house that I should’ve worked things out. But Cal was away at the time, so I didn’t catch on. The band was all at Jay and Marnie’s place where they recorded their music. Mel, Kenzie, and I would go stay with them most weekends, so at the time, I didn’t attend any of the sleepovers I got invited to, nor did I invite anyone to stay at mine. But I eventually brought Ella Jameson and Taylah Dale home for dinner and to do homework one night, and Mel caught them in her bedroom going through her drawers. They’d taken photos on their phones of her and Cal’s bed, inside their walk-in wardrobe, and in their en suite bathroom.
She called their parents to collect them before we’d even had dinner or done any studying. The penny dropped for me then, and I returned to school the next day ignored by almost every girl in my year. They weren’t my friends; they were a bunch of shallow bitches I didn’t need in my life.
I’m a nice person, a loyal friend. So, as far as I was concerned, it was their loss, not mine. It still hurt like fuck, and I felt totally alone, but I kept telling myself I was better off without them. I’ve kept my circle tight ever since. And even though Kenzie is five years younger than I am, we’re close and grow closer the older we get.
Daniel Milliano, an older boy I’d seen around school and another loner, came and sat with me at lunch a few days after Bedroom Gate.
“So, you’re the rock star’s daughter,” he stated.
“Sister,” I corrected.
“Even better.”
“How so?” I asked between mouthfuls of my chicken and avocado wrap.
“Well, I’m going to be your new best friend, and it might get a little awkward having me perv over your dad. Your brother? Not so much.”
“Do I not get a say in the whole best friend thing? And FYI, if you’d have met my dad, you would’ve totally perved over him too.”
“No, you don’t. The fates have put us together. Next to me, you’re the most relevant person in this school.”
He held out his hand, and I held out mine, expecting him to shake it. Instead, he raised it to his mouth and brushed his lips over the back.
“You’ll soon be the princess of this place. Sorry, but the role of queen has already been taken by moi. And, yes, considering the genes you and your brother were obviously blessed with, I’m sure I would totally have gone for your dad had I met him. So, on that score, while I’m very sorry for your loss, I’m also sorry for mine.”
I liked his forwardness and honesty. After the bullshit I’d just had to deal with, I appreciated the fact he’d been upfront about knowing exactly who I was.
“I’m short, chubby, and I have red hair, a face full of freckles, and a mouth full
of metal.” I gave him a toothy smile, flashing him my braces. “I most definitely was not blessed with the same genes as my dad and brother.”
“Pffft, princess, we shall see. All of this”—he flapped his hands around in my general direction— “is the duckling, the caterpillar. Give it a couple of years, and the swan, the butterfly will emerge, mark my words.”
Daniel Milliano remains, to this day, outside of my family, my very best friend.
I shake my head before I disappear inside it again, smile down at the wriggling bundle lying on my bed, and decide to text Daniel.
Me: Fancy a retail adventure on Saturday?
It takes only seconds before I get a reply.
Glam Dan: Fuck yeah! It’s been forever.
Me: It has. We’ll make a day of it. Liquid lunch on me.
Glam Dan: I’m there with pretty pink bows on, baby girl.
Me: Coolio. I’ll message you Friday with all the deets. I have soooooo much to tell you!
Glam Dan: ?????????????
Me: Saturday, Dude. All will be revealed. Love you xoxo
Glam Dan: Bish! Love you way MORE than you deserve right now! Xoxo
Leaving him hanging like that will be driving him mad. Daniel loves to know all the gossip.
I find the whole celebrity thing exhausting, and I’m eternally grateful my brother met Mel, early on in his career and chose to settle down and not to live their lives in the public eye.
Jay is the same. He flies so far under the radar that even hard-core fans of the band often forget he’s a member. Max and Jake, not so much.
Layla’s cry interrupts my thoughts.
“And just wait till Daniel meets you, Miss Layla! He’s gonna wanna squish that gorgeous little face of yours and kiss it all over before dressing you in all of the pink and sparkly things.”
I lean in and blow a raspberry on the side of her neck. She tenses but then smiles as she grabs a fistful of my hair. I pry it from her tight little grip, and she gives another small cry of protest before shoving her fist into her mouth, legs still pumping in sync with the music. Etta James is belting out “At Last,” one of my all-time favourite songs.
I lift Layla from the bed and sing along with Etta as I dance around the room with her, losing myself in the meaning of the lyrics. One day, I think, it’ll be my turn. Because it is something I want. I want to fall in love. I want to be loved. I want marriage and kids. Something real. But, for now, I’ll just have to make do with the horny schoolgirl crush I continue to have on Max Young.
Etta is replaced by Whitney, and I join her, singing loudly about the greatest love of all but come to a halt when I hear someone clear their throat behind me.
I turn, really slowly, and find Max leaning on the frame of my bedroom door. A plain white T-shirt with a checked flannel shirt left unbuttoned over the top and jeans have never looked so good on anyone. Not a single person to walk this earth, male or female, has ever, could ever, look as good as Max Young does right now.
His arms are folded across his chest, legs crossed at the ankle, shoulder leaning against the doorframe, eyes on me.
Holding Layla against my chest, I remain motionless. He unfolds his right arm and moves his hand to his mouth, and I stare as he strokes his bottom lip between his index finger and thumb before saying, “Didn’t know you could sing like that, Bamm.”
The inside of my mouth is so dry that my lips are sticking to my teeth, so I don’t even attempt to speak. I simply stand there, taking in the view while becoming acutely aware of what feels like a pulse thrumming between my legs, making it apparent exactly where all of the moisture from my mouth has travelled to.
My internal muscles pull tight and release as I fight to contain the shudder that ripples through me. Fucking hell. He is such a fine specimen of everything a male should be, everything about a male that appeals to me, anyway.
Thoughts turn to the vibrator I unpacked earlier and placed in the top drawer of the small chest next to my bed. My eyes slide in that direction, making sure the drawer’s closed properly and nothing’s been left on show. Heat travels up my neck and smothers my cheeks. When my gaze slices back towards Max, his eyes are also on the drawers. Does he know what I have stashed in there?
No.
He can’t.
A million crazy thoughts rush through my mind. They range from hidden cameras allowing Max to spy on me in my room to me and my toys getting down and dirty with him.
Another shudder, this one I don’t hide so well. I lick my lips and continue to stare at him. Less than thirty seconds has probably passed since he spoke, but it feels like an eternity.
His gaze makes its way back to meet mine. “You gonna come over and get some dinner?”
“Is my brother still here?” I finally ask.
“Yeah, he’s going soon though.”
I nod. “I was gonna have a quick shower.”
“I’ll take Layla back; you get yourself sorted out.”
He steps into my bedroom, looks around, and says, “You’ve made it look nice. Anything else you need, just shout.”
Another nod from me before I look down at Layla. “She’s gone off to sleep.”
He picks her blanket up from the bed and moves towards me. He smells almost as good as he did this morning as he places the blanket over Layla’s head and back. Between us, we wrap her up, and he lifts her into his arms. “I’ll see you in a bit. Any preference for dinner?”
“Nup, I’m easy. Starving, but easy.”
“I’m sure Wendy’s left something in the fridge or the freezer. I’ll work it out.”
My front door closes behind him and I move down the stairs to lock it. On my way back, I grab my vibrator from my drawer and then head for the shower.
Max
Billie Wild has the voice of a fucking angel. A husky, soulfully sexy-sounding angel, and don’t even get me started on the way those hips and that arse of hers move. I feel guilty at these thoughts as I hold my daughter against me while walking into my kitchen and meeting the eyes of my best mate, and Billie’s brother, who’s sitting at my table drinking a beer.
But not as guilty as I probably should.
I hand Layla off to Cal without a word and go in search of food. Wendy usually makes a couple of meals and leaves them in the fridge or freezer. We ate the lasagna last night, but that appears to be all there was.
I close the fridge door, check the freezer, and then pull a pile of takeaway menus from the drawer.
“She doing all right?”
I turn and look at Cal, who tips his head in the general direction of Billie’s flat.
I nod. “I didn’t know she could sing.”
“Billie? Yeah, she’s sounded like a thirty-year-old, twenty-a-day smoker since she was about five. You don’t remember when she used to get on the mic in the studio?”
I do, but I probably didn’t have my cans on and didn’t pay attention. “Not sounding like that I don’t.”
I watch as his jaw moves as if he’s clenching them or chewing on the inside of his cheek. When my eyes meet his, he’s staring right at me.
“What?” I question.
“She’s grown up a lot since you last saw her, been through a lot too.”
I nod, giving away nothing.
I hope.
“She’s a great girl, she’s good with Layla, and Layla seems happy with her.” I clear my throat, attempting to sound casual and not at all like I’m thinking about Billie naked and wet in the shower across the road right now. “She’s just taking a quick shower then she’ll be over. I’m gonna order a takeaway if you want to stay.”
Still staring at me, he responds with, “Nah. I’ve gotta pick Kenzie up from the shop on my way home. Did Jay message you?”
“Yeah, you going?”
Jay and Marnie have invited us all to their place for Thanksgiving. Marnie, Mel, and Whitney are American, so they usually take turns to host the event. It was supposed to be our turn this year, but that obviously isn’
t going to happen.
I stare down at a Chinese takeaway menu, not reading a word, as I experience the horrible sinking feeling in my gut that always accompanies thoughts of Whitney. Thankfully, those thoughts have been rare the last couple of days . . . since Billie arrived, in fact, but she’ll be here by the end of next week, and there’ll be no avoiding her then. I’m already regretting my decision to offer her a room here while she convalesces and recovers from her accident. I’m also not looking forward to her reaction to the divorce papers I’m planning on serving her next month.
“Yeah, we’ll go. You?” I look up at Cal as he speaks.
“Yeah, I’m up for it.”
He nods slowly. “Jake’s coming. We can run through all of the new tracks with them both.”
“Sounds good.”
I have a feeling that Cal is finding this conversation about as dull as I am, and I’m convinced he’s conducting it for the sole purpose of watching me, studying me, and waiting for Billie to arrive so he can observe us together. It’s what Cal does, he’s a people watcher, and I wonder, does he know about the inappropriate thoughts I’ve been having of his sister? Is my guilt written all over my face?
As if I conjured her, Billie appears in my kitchen. She’s wearing a YWR hoodie, leopard-print flannel pyjama bottoms, and a pair of dusky pink UGG’s. Her face is free of any make-up, and her auburn hair is piled up on her head.
This woman almost floors me with her pure and natural beauty. She has the kind of face artists want to paint and that songs are written about. It’s not just her physical beauty, it’s the light that shines from within her. Autumn sunshine, that’s what she is.
A melody instantly starts to form in my head, and lyrics start to take form.
I stand and find one of the many pads and pencils I keep around the house precisely for this purpose then sit down at the table and start scribbling.
All the Forbidden Things Page 19