Cougar

by M. A. Foster

  “Cameron has a secret,” she teased in a singsong type of tone, giggling as she snatched it from my hand and hopped up from my bed.

  One thing Jules hadn’t learned since she moved to the States was boundaries.

  “Seriously, Jules, give it back.” I climbed off my bed and attempted to retrieve it.

  “Let me see.” She turned her back to me. “Oh, she is pretty, Cameron.” She eyed me over her shoulder with a puzzled expression. “You have a girlfriend?” Of course she would be confused since I’d never mentioned a girlfriend in the time we’d known each other.

  “No. It’s an old picture.” I dropped down on the edge of my bed. “That’s Emerson.”

  “Emerson?” She frowned.

  “Liam’s sister.”

  “And why do you have it?”

  I shrugged like it was no big deal and dropped my gaze to the floor. “I found it in a box of Lizzie’s high school stuff.” I’d been playing hide-and-seek with my nephews. While I was hiding in the closet of my sister’s old room, I found a box of her stuff from high school. Emerson’s picture was at the top.

  Jules moved to sit beside me on the bed and bumped her shoulder against mine. “And?”

  “You can’t say anything, Jules,” I warned. “Not to my parents, and especially not to Liam.”

  Jules shifted to face me and placed her hand on my back. “Cameron, we are friends, no?”

  I answered with a single nod. “It’s just a crush. She’s a grown woman with a family. And she’s married to a rock star.” I huffed out a laugh, embarrassed. “It’s crazy, but every time I see her or even hear her name, I get this weird feeling in my stomach.”

  “Butterflies.”

  “Huh?” I looked over at her, confused.

  “That feeling. It’s called butterflies.”

  I scoffed. “Butterflies are for girls.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, Cam. Your secret is safe with me.” Then she whispered, “I have a secret, too.”

  Turned out Mr. Sterling was overly fond of Jules, and his leering looks made her extremely uncomfortable. I spent a lot of my free time at the Sterlings’ during my senior year. Jules and I became best friends, and we even dated off and on for a few years in college. We’ve had a lot of fun over the years, and although we didn’t work out romantically, we’re still good friends. Good friends who sometimes have sex. Good friends who keep each other’s secrets.

  Emerson

  “To my daughter, Jayla Mackenzie King, I leave the sum of—”

  “Mom.”

  “I also leave the villa in St. Thomas, the penthouse apartment in New York City, half the Malibu beach house and the home in Heritage Bay, Florida—”

  “Mom.”

  “—percent of King Records.”

  “Emerson.”

  “—and last but not least, The Jaybird.”

  “What’s The Jaybird?”

  “An early birthday gift from your father,” our attorney informed her.

  “Which is?”

  “An airplane.”

  Her brows dipped in confusion. “Why do I need a plane when King Records has two? It’s not like we travel all over the world or anything.”

  The attorney’s gaze shifted to me. I turned in my chair to fully face her and exhaled. “Jayla, we’re leaving California. Indefinitely.”

  “Mom!”

  My body jerks and my eyes pop open. “What?” I mumble as I blink myself awake to find Jay standing over me with a smile on her face.

  “We’re here.”

  Gathering my wits and my oversized bag from the floor, I make my way to the exit, thanking the pilot before stepping off the plane.

  When I told Jay we were moving to Heritage Bay, she was reluctant at first, just like I knew she would be. But once she realized she was getting the chance to be a normal teenager, she embraced the idea of going to school and making new friends.

  Max pulls me into a hug. “Welcome home, Emerson.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue that Heritage Bay isn’t my home, but I know how much it means to my family to have us here, and Max looks genuinely excited.

  Alex walks over and throws his arms around me.

  “Hey, stranger,” I chirp. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” he replies. “I’m so glad you guys are finally here. The building is finished and it looks amazing.” He can barely contain his excitement. “I can’t wait for Monday.”

  I just hope Jay is as excited about this as he is.

  After our luggage is loaded up in the two SUVs, Bass slips behind the wheel of the new Denali he ordered weeks ago. Jay hops into the passenger seat, and Grace and I climb into the back.

  Bass exits the highway, cuts through downtown Heritage, and over the short two-lane drawbridge to the island of Heritage Bay, home to some of the wealthiest families, from athletes to politicians.

  I was here briefly a couple of years ago after Willow was born, but I never bothered to notice how much the island had changed. Probably because my anxiety of being back here was off the charts and I knew we wouldn’t be staying. The brick-paved roads are now lined with newly built townhomes, boutiques, markets, bistros, and coffee shops with apartments above them.

  My grandfather owned a lot of property on this island many, many years ago before he died and left it to my mother, who then sold a lot of it to commercial and residential builders.

  Bass passes the Heritage Bay Golf Club and Beach Resort, Heritage Bay Athletic Club and Spa, and the Heritage Bay Hotel. And of course, the Heritage Bay Medical Center, founded by my father, who is still on the board.

  We pass a few neighborhoods, some old and some new but all gated, before we finally stop beside a guardhouse situated in front of a pair of wrought iron gates with “Heritage Lake Estates” scrolled across the front in a gold font.

  Two men dressed in black cargo pants, black T-shirts with “Security” written in bright yellow stretched across their muscular torsos, and combat boots step outside the door of the small guardhouse. Bass jerks his chin before he climbs out of the car and follows them back inside the guardhouse. The security is extremely tight on the island, this neighborhood especially.

  “Well, hellooooo, Joes,” Jay jokes, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Take it easy there, tiger,” I say, shaking my head as Grace chuckles beside me.

  A few moments later, Bass comes out of the guardhouse and climbs back behind the wheel. The gate opens and the guards wave us through.

  “Is this a neighborhood or a military base?” Jay asks, grinning.

  I catch Bass smiling in the rearview mirror before he tells her, “The security company is owned and operated by former military. Some of the guards are active in the reserves. You’ll be safer here than on any base.”

  She tilts her head to ponder his admission. “Good to know, but I’m still just the daughter of a totally awesome rock star, not the President.” She twists around in the front seat. “Is my life in danger or something? Why all the security?”

  I shoot her a “don’t be ridiculous” look. “This was all your father’s doing. Your safety and protection was and still is always a priority. And no, your life isn’t in danger, but I have been getting emails and phone calls ever since the magazine came out.”

  Jay had finally sat down with Miles Townsend and given her interview. While the interview went quite well, it was the cover that I wasn’t happy with. Rhythm & Riffs always features the faces of the new artists on the cover. Since we’re keeping Jay’s anonymity for as long as possible, I asked Miles to switch it up and do something cartoonish. Considering her age, Miles thought it was a great idea. However, the cover came out a little sexier than I was happy with, and because there was no time to replace the image, they ran with it. Since then, I’ve been getting emails and phone calls nonstop from media outlets to fashion designers and even a few PAs to some very high-profile celebrities wanting to spend time with Jay. My response? “I’m her m
other, not her pimp, and she’s only seventeen. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “No threats or anything,” I continue, “but still, you can never be too careful. Your fan base is building, and sometimes fans can be a little overzealous. You’re much safer here on this island than you’ll ever be in LA. I can promise you that.”

  “But no one knows who I am.”

  And I’m hoping it stays that way, at least until she graduates.

  “No, but they will eventually. For now, we live our lives the way everyone else does. There are a lot of important people who live on this island. Famous people. The residents here respect each other’s privacy, but like I said, there are still the overzealous fans and shit-stirrers with their cell phones ready. Conduct yourself in public the way I taught you, as if there’s a camera on you at all times. Don’t give anyone anything worth selling down the road. But for now, you don’t have to worry about the paparazzi popping out of the bushes. If you leave the island, Bass goes with you. Be polite. Be kind. Be you.”

  She nods in understanding and turns her head to stare out the passenger window. Grace reaches over to squeeze my hand, and Bass shoots me a wink in the rearview.

  The SUV rolls to a stop in front of another set of tall black wrought-iron gates and rolls down the window before tapping the code into the call box. The gate swings open, and he continues up the driveway.

  When the house comes into view, I suck in a sharp breath. It’s almost exactly like the photo he’d pulled from her Pinterest board.

  “Every princess should live in a castle,” Bass singsongs.

  “What do you think?” Marcus asked before he turned his iPad around to show me a picture of a massive estate home.

  I frowned. “What’s that?”

  “I got it from Jaybird’s Pinterest board.”

  I raised my brows. Jayla wasn’t allowed on any social media platforms without our permission. “I didn’t know she had a Pinterest account.”

  Brows furrowed, lips pursed, he pushed out a “Hmm” and said, “It’s fine. She made me an account, too, so I can see everything she pins. Including this”—he gestured to the screen—“‘Hot Guys’ board, which she will be deleting immediately.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Marcus chuckled before directing my attention back to the picture of the estate-style mansion.

  I nodded. “I think she has good taste.”

  I step through the front door and into the grand foyer. The house is beautiful and spacious with dark espresso wood floors, white walls and hints of color splashed throughout.

  To the right of the foyer is a sweeping staircase leading to the second floor and just beyond the stairs is the dining room. To the left is a formal living room.

  Just past the foyer is the kitchen. This overlooks the great room, which is decorated with long sofas and a large flat-screen on the wall over a uniquely carved wooden entertainment unit. A wall of windows stretches along the entire back wall, and an expansive pool deck runs the length of the house and wraps around the pool.

  “There’s a lake, a dock, and a boathouse just over there.” Max points toward a paved walkway flanked by lights and leading down toward what I assume is the lake.

  I look over at him with wide eyes. “Are there gators in there?”

  Max chuckles and shakes his head. “No. It’s man-made.” I don’t believe him. This is Florida. If there’s water, then there are gators. “There might be some fish in there, but you should see it in the daytime. It’s actually quite beautiful. The water is light blue, almost clear.”

  On the other side of the kitchen is another staircase, a laundry/mudroom, small guest bathroom, a gym, and a door that leads to the garage.

  There are two master suites. Mine is on the bottom floor, just beyond the formal living room, and Jay’s suite is on the second floor, along with five guest rooms, plus an extra entrance to Bass’s apartment. And on the third floor is a media/game room and an additional suite for Grace.

  After a quick tour of the house, Max and the boys take off. Jay heads back to her room to shower, and Grace bids us a good night before heading upstairs.

  Frowning, I turn to Bass. “I don’t like that she has to climb two flights of stairs to get to her room.”

  Bass jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s an elevator on the other side of the kitchen.”

  I roll my eyes. “This is all a bit much.” I wave my hands around. “Don’t you think?”

  Our home in Malibu was a simple two-story, Italian-inspired beach house. It was the first thing Marcus bought when he signed with his first record label. I love that house.

  Bass shrugs, and then I remember something. “Crap, B.” Rushing back to the foyer, I grab my bag off the floor and slip my hand inside the side pocket. Pulling the sealed envelope from my bag, I drop it back to the floor and rush up the stairs to Jay’s room.

  Her bathroom door is closed, the shower running, when I step inside her bedroom and carefully place the envelope on her nightstand.

  “Em,” Marcus called out from the office. I stopped inside the doorway with raised brows and watched as he dug through his desk drawers.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Remember those little stationery sets we bought a while back? Do you know where we put them?”

  I moved over to the credenza behind the desk and opened a drawer, plucking out the package of white card stock with matching envelopes and holding it out. “These?”

  “Yes.” He took the package from my hands and opened it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want to write some letters to Jay.”

  I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Emerson, I’m not going to live long enough to see my daughter’s eighteenth birthday.” He closed his eyes briefly as the harsh reality of his words sank in. “I’m going to miss so many important milestones in her life, but I want her to know that even though I’m not there physically, I’m still there. Where should I start?”

  “Marcus,” I breathed as tears pooled in my eyes. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but I sympathized with his fear. Who was I to deny a dying man his wishes? “Okay, my love.” I smiled. “What can I do to help?”

  Emerson

  A gentle brush against my cheek stirs me from a restless sleep. “Marcus?” I whisper, eyes still closed.

  “No, honey,” my mother’s voice replies sadly.

  Blinking the sleep from my eyes, my gaze falls on my mother perched on the edge of my bed, and it takes a moment to remember where I am.

  “Welcome home, Emi bear,” she whispers, brushing my hair from my face like she’s done since I was a little girl. I don’t know where “Emi bear” came from, but it’s been my father’s nickname for me since as far back as I can remember. Her eyes flick over my face and the corners of her mouth dip down. “Did you not sleep well?”

  That’s an understatement. It’s been months since I’ve cried for Marcus, but last night I lost it. Being in an unfamiliar house, sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, was a cold, harsh slap to the face. A reminder that my life has forever changed and my husband is gone. I was tempted to go upstairs and sleep with Jay, but I didn’t want her to see me falling apart.

  “Not really,” I answer softly.

  With a nod of understanding, she says, “I know the choice to come back wasn’t yours, and you didn’t make the decision lightly, but Heritage Bay is still your home. Just promise me you’ll try before you hightail it back to California.”

  I exhale a heavy sigh. “I’m not going to hightail it back to California. Whether I want to be here or not, we’re here for Jay.”

  She tilts her head, brows furrowed. “Emerson, every move, every decision Marcus made was for both of you.”

  “I just need some time to adjust to the change.” I huff out a humorless laugh. “I’ve become quite good at adjusting to the changes in my life.”

  “Emerson,” she breathes, her expression sad. “If you nee
d me to come stay here with you for a while, I’m happy to.”

  I truly have the most amazing mother in the world. “Thank you, Mom.” I place my hand on top of hers and sigh. “I’ll be fine. I promise. What time is it, anyway?”

  She looks down at her watch. “It’s just after eight.”

  I roll over, putting my back to her. “Why are you here so early?”

  She lets out a soft laugh. “You’re still on rock star time.”

  “Pacific time,” I correct her.

  “Well that’s gonna change in a few days when Jay starts school,” she argues.

  My only response is an “ugh” muffled by the pillow.

  “All right.” She stands from the bed. “I’m gonna go have coffee with Grace.”

  I lift my head from the pillow. “She’s up?”

  “You’re not the only one having trouble adjusting.”

  I roll my eyes and drop my head back on the pillow.

  My eyes open at the sound of Jay and my mother whispering as they enter my bedroom. “This is nice,” Jay says as she scans the room.

  It is nice. It’s different from the bedroom Marcus and I shared. A little plain, even, but it’s exactly what I would’ve chosen for myself.

  The walls are a dark gray, and there are three large silver-framed black-and-white photos centered over the cream-colored silk headboard with its matching bed linen. Silver accents complement the room, adding a little flair.

  Jay turns toward the bed, and I notice she’s wearing sunglasses.

  My brows pinched, I’m curious as to why she’s wearing them in the house.

  “Your mom has never been much of a girly girl,” my mother tells her, shrugging a shoulder.

  It’s true. I wasn’t all that girly as a kid, but I wasn’t exactly a tomboy either. I cheered competitively. I liked being outdoors, especially on the beach. I didn’t care for neon colors or even pastels like most girls my age, unless they were part of the sunset. I still hate neon colors, but pink eventually grew on me. It’s not like I had a choice, considering I had a daughter and pink was her favorite color until she was ten years old.