by Kat T. Masen
I know what Mama said is true. We are all aging, and life just flies by. She will always be my mama, but I need to make my own decisions now. I need to think about what is best for me, what I want because in the end, I will never get this time back.
And so, it leads to the night that changed everything.
Two bottles of cheap wine, three best friends in a run-down pub the next town over, and one drunken slur of a dream.
“I’ve always wanted to attend Oktoberfest,” Liam slurred, drunken smile following. “Get it on with some German maid in those hot little outfits with the hair-type things dangling.”
“Let’s do it.” Phoebe jumps off her stool, swaying and unable to stand straight. “The three of us. Thirty days backpacking through Europe.”
“Phoebs…” I hiccupped, consuming one glass of red and stopping there as my head was already feeling light. “Slow down the drinking. Thirty days, you backpacking? You do realize that you won’t be able to shower every day and when you do, you’re sharing a bathroom with strangers.”
“Yeah, so what? C’mon guys, look at us. Liam, you’re still living in your parents’ basement probably jerking off to some German porn with hairy muffs. Milly, you’re just depressing with your post break-up blues. And look at me? I’m twenty-six and work at the local library sorting out books with ladies old enough to be my great-grandmother. This can’t be it, guys. This can’t be how we spend the rest of our lives.”
We made a pact then and there, drunk on cheap wine. Our bucket list was written on a napkin we found on the countertop near the bowl of dirty peanuts.
We had no care in the world that night. The next morning, after we nursed the hangover from hell, we realized that our drunken slurs were not just foolish dreams, they were bold and true. They were the thoughts that consumed us, and it was either we let them continue to do so or follow our dreams.
The three of us would do it all, push ourselves beyond our comfort levels and start the journey to find ourselves.
From the moment I returned home, Liam welcomed me back with open arms. It wasn’t romantic, and yes, we talked about our relationship and how we want to move forward. His brief stint with Sienna after our disastrous break-up turned him off to relationships. It’s the first time in many years that he enjoys being single, and I can’t be any prouder as his friend. We laugh like old times, maybe more so relaxed in each other’s presence, and Phoebe, our former third wheel, makes our tight circle even tighter.
And so here we are, both Phoebe’s and my bucket-list item checked off. We are the von Trapp family, if only for this moment, and Liam having never watched The Sound Of Music laughs as he watches us belt out the tunes without a care in the world.
I never imagined this feeling of wanderlust, traveling with my two best friends and much-needed soul searching. I have learned so much about myself during the quick days spent here. Each one of us pushes each other. We know our limits but enough that we get the best of what we need.
And even though I find myself on this soul-searching journey, it’s not without the memories of what pushed me here in the first place.
I just can’t say his name.
And I refuse to close my eyes and remember his face.
The pain of everything that happened between us in such a short time is still too raw. An exposed wound which, on the surface appears healed, but beneath the skin, the ache burns.
The desperation to rid him from my thoughts pushes me here.
It makes it harder that he is, in many ways, impossible to ignore. Even across the pond, the news-stands feature magazines with his face splashed all over it. That’s his life—not mine. Thank God the paparazzi stopped following me the moment I left Los Angeles. There is some controversy going on back in the states, but I don’t want to know. Despite the bitter ending between us, I love him and that feeling doesn’t just disappear no matter how much of a distance I create between us.
Wesley won the game he was playing, and made me fall hopelessly in love with him only to hurt me in the end. Not only me, but my family.
I can’t forgive him, not now, maybe never.
“Okay, are we done with the re-enactments? We’ve got to hit Munich before six if we want to make the concert,” Liam reminds us.
Phoebe groans. “I hope that’s where I find my prince. So far, the men we’ve encountered don’t fit my checklist of men I want to run away with.”
With my backpack safely secured on, I lean over to help Phoebe with hers.
“Your list involves your prince owning a castle. C’mon, like can you at least tone it down? You’re getting pickier with old age. When we were kids, you were willing to marry that kid Thomas what’s-his-face who walked around picking his nose in the schoolyard.”
“Firstly, Thomas is now a successful doctor… of feet or something gross like that. Second, look around you? There are castles everywhere. We’re not back in Kansas, Toto.”
I refuse to waste another minute of this trip arguing about Phoebe’s expensive taste in men, motioning for the two of them to haul ass so we don’t miss our next adventure.
***
Our bus has been waiting at the bus stop, blinkers on and ready to leave us behind. We made it, running with no time to spare, and much like many of the other buses we rode, it’s full of passengers traveling to different destinations.
Liam is sitting next to a milkmaid. It’s enough to make us chuckle in the seat behind him as he casually tries to strike up a conversation with her broken English about milking cows. You can’t ignore her cute outfit—tunic-style dress in cornflower blue. Her breasts are huge. I’m certain it’s the reason why Liam chose that seat and not the one on the left of us which sits an elderly lady knitting what looks like a giant scarf.
It’s good to see him being a regular guy, and in just a short time, our relationship has evolved. It’s weird for me to say I’m proud of him for trying to pick up a milkmaid, but I truly am.
“Are you okay, Mils?” Phoebe pulls a granola bar out of her pocket and offers me half.
I take the piece, not realizing how hungry I am. “Thanks, and yeah, why not?”
“You’ve been quieter today… like something’s bothering you, and I think I know what but I realize we made that stupid pact not to talk about it. Just letting you know I’m happy to break that pact.”
The pact was to avoid talking about him. I can’t even say his name to myself.
“No,” I remind her sternly, “No breaking of the pact. I’m just anxious to see Flynn tonight. It’s like the stars aligned. We’re here, and Flynn’s new band is on this worldwide tour. That drummer going to rehab and breaking his contract was the perfect chance for Flynn. I mean, they’re massive right now, and thankfully, Flynn was able to learn the songs and join them in such a short time. Mama is so darn proud of him. You should have seen her face when he FaceTimed us with the news. It made me so happy seeing her happy. I kind of get it now.”
Phoebe chews loudly on her bar. “Get what?”
“What makes her happy is seeing us live our lives. We’re both doing something for ourselves, and if that makes her happy, then I’ll continue to do that.”
Phoebe places her hand on mine. “Milly, I’m glad you finally see that. She’s so settled watching the two of you live your lives. I know she’s still unwell but just know that she’s getting the best help she can.”
“I know.” I smile, finally. “She has the best care and people around her. In three weeks, we’ll be back home, and hopefully, she and I can take some small road trips when she’s feeling better.”
Leaning my head against the window, I stare outside and admire the beautiful scenery. With the sun shining through the glass and caressing my face with its warmth, I begin to doze off, barely able to keep my eyes open.
***
Three hours later, our feet land on the pavement with our trusty map out trying to locate the place where we’re staying. Part of our journey, we made a pact to leave cells behind. We h
ave a GoPro and our paper maps which Phoebe hates, so she left it up to Liam and me to navigate.
“We’re located just over there.” He points to a building with a questionable neon sign telling us it’s the hostel we booked. Liam pulls me aside as Phoebe bends down, mumbling to herself as she ties her shoelace. “Mills, the milkmaid gave me her number.”
“She has a phone?”
“Yes, no. She’s staying with an aunt.”
I laugh. “And you’re telling me because?”
“She, um… kinda wants to catch up tonight for a drink.”
“Of milk?”
He lets out a frustrated groan. “Would you be serious? No, a drink, like in a bar.”
“I’m serious. You’re telling me you’re going to have a drink at a bar with a milkmaid.”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with it?”
“Okay with what?” Phoebe butts in.
“Liam’s getting laid by the milkmaid tonight.”
“Oh, Jesus, Mills!” Liam bows his head, his messy, long hair falling over his eyes as he raises his hands to cover them. “The whole town heard that.”
“Listen, I’m okay, all right?” I try my best to reassure him, feeling slightly annoyed that everyone fusses over my mental state as if I’m some broken bird. “This trip is all about us finding ourselves. If you find yourself inside a milkmaid, then props to you.”
“At least you know she’ll be good at the tugging,” Phoebe adds, jabbing Liam in the ribs which he absolutely hates.
Scowling, I push her aside and begin walking to the hostel.
The hostel is the same as the others we’ve stayed in, clean and nothing inside too nasty.
We quickly dump our stuff, take turns having a shower, then head to a local eatery for a quick bite before walking toward the venue where Flynn will perform.
Flynn has given us backstage passes. With a million security checks cleared, we finally make it backstage and follow the security guard toward where Flynn is getting ready.
The security dude knocks on the dressing room door and is greeted by Flynn. I jump to him, wrapping my arms around his waist so tight and not letting go.
“Missed me, huh?”
“I did, you goof.” I pull away, staring at his face with the proudest grin, my cheeks beginning to hurt from how much I’m smiling.
He has a beard. It’s darker than the shade of his hair, and it’s thick around his normally baby face. It makes him look older.
There’s another piercing on his eyebrow but all in all, he’s still my baby brother through and through. “Flynn, I’m so proud of you.”
“I know, Milly, but I kinda gotta tell you something, maybe in private…”
The door swings open. A woman, dressed all in black with fierce brows and carrying a clipboard, yells orders at Flynn, giving him one minute to get out of here before leaving the room.
“Geez, rude much? Who is she?”
“My manager. She’s doing my head in. You want her job? I swear, Milly, she’s a beast and doesn’t get me. Okay, listen, I need to rush but what I want to say is… Milly, he’s really hurting.”
I remain dead silent.
“He’s not in good shape. You leaving him, it killed him. And I know what you’re thinking… look, I asked him for that pill, okay? I had such bad anxiety and didn’t know what else to do.”
“You could have asked me for help,” I uttered, playing with my bracelet, nervously.
“You had your own thing going on. Listen, I’m just saying that back home, there’s a man broken because you left him. We’re aren’t all perfect, Mill’s. Just think about it, okay?”
His manager barrels through the door again, “Flynn! Now.”
Frustrated as he rolls his eyes, kisses me quickly on the forehead then runs out, leaving the three of us in the room.
“You’d make a great manager, Milly. You’re organized, and you’d get to travel… not too shabby.” Phoebe winks.
“And you can be my assistant. We can tour the world together.” I laugh, the thought of us two doing such a thing seems ridiculous.
Phoebe giggles. “What about milk-boy over here?”
“That’s it, I’m done with you two. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to grab some beers and enjoy myself.”
With Flynn leaving the room, Phoebe throws in one more joke, standing in the doorway and yelling down the hall, “Drink up, she’s gonna milk you till the cows come… sorry, excuse me… cum home.”
We both burst out laughing, in stitches, barely able to catch a breath as we hold hands and exit the room.
As we walk down the hall, the conversation with Flynn replays in my head.
Think about what, I question in my thoughts.
How I supposedly broke him?
How I should easily forgive and forget?
Checkmate, buddy.
He hurt me more than I can ever have imagined a man could hurt me, and especially one who professes he loves me.
Love.
A word that holds so much depth and evokes an incredible amount of pain at just the mere thought of it. Although the pain runs deep and scarred me in ways which seem irreparable, I miss him like fucking crazy.
But that’s no reason to go back.
Not now, and not ever.
This time in my life is all about me.
And I’m going to make damn sure it stays that way.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wesley
Bang. Bang. Bang.
My eyelids drooping and leaden with sleep, snap open, violently, the loud banging against the front door waking me up.
Several door chimes sound throughout the house, each pitch equally as annoying as the one that proceeds.
Who the fuck would be here in the middle of the night? It better not be Troy, the fucker got his payment last month.
My head is spinning and out of control, and I look over to my phone. The light is harsh, and I can barely make out the numbers. Five in the morning.
There’s an irritating snore beside me. I turn over, the mattress sinking yet the movement doesn’t wake her. Felicity, Farrah’s younger sister, is sprawled out across my bed, her naked torso laying on top of the white sheets.
She still has traces of coke on her chest, and the more I looked at Felicity, the greater she disgusts me.
Don’t remember her face.
Don’t remember the way she felt beneath you.
Remember she left you for him.
And that wound is fucking closed. I made sure of it.
I grab my pistol from my nightstand, throwing on my navy robe as I make my way to the door. The banging doesn’t stop, my name being called by someone familiar. The voice resonates, but I can’t seem to connect it to a face.
Turning the lights on, the glass doors leave nothing for anonymity. It’s Flynn, standing with a large duffel bag beside him.
“What the fuck are you doing here at this hour?”
He’s out of breath, panicked, and his hair wildly messy. I haven’t seen him for months, and the last time we spoke, he told me not to ask about her. He was pissed at me, and the small piece of information he did tell me was that she’s doing really well and traveling through Europe.
I know he’s hit it big, signed up by Platinum Records and currently world-touring. Hollywood agents were desperate to sign him up. Flynn Beats—his new stage name—is killing it in his career.
“You need to clean your shit up,” he barks.
I’m stunned at his forwardness, yet confused by my ‘shit’ needing to be cleaned up.
“What are you talking about?”
He bends down, reaching behind the duffel bag, and lifts a dark carrier by the handle. I stare, close my eyes, then open them again to finally figure out it’s a baby carrier.
“She’s yours.”
There’s a baby inside. Small, wrinkly, and wrapped in a white blanket. The baby looks like some alien from outer space.
What the hell did
he just say to me?
“She’s yours.”
“She’s yours.”
“She’s yours.”
“Dude, are you fucking listening to me?”
Inside, my brain is a mess and refusing to compute the information. Closing my eyes, momentarily, I try to slowly process this information and ignore the heat trapped underneath my robe, causing me to hyperventilate.
There’s a baby—yes.
And Flynn is telling me it’s mine.
Not possible.
“I said, are you listening to me?” Flynn repeats, harshly.
“I’m listening,” I yell back. “But what the hell do you mean she’s mine?”
“Yours.” Flynn lowers his gaze toward the baby, quiet and non-responsive. Moments later, through a thickening voice, he explains, “Milly gave birth three weeks ago. The baby came early or something. I thought she was doing okay, but she’s just ran off. Came to visit me yesterday. It’s because Mom’s not doing the best, and it’s all fucked up.” He begins to sob, panicked and gasping for air. Watching a grown man brought to tears is enough to hold my attention, but I don’t know how to comfort him.
“If I don’t show up for Coachella today, I’m fucked. I can’t take care of this baby.”
It’s like someone switched on the information overload. My mind can’t keep up, spitting out random questions in order to piece together this fucked-up puzzle.
“What? What do you mean Milana is gone?”
“Gone. Exactly that. She wrote me a letter…” He grabs a scrunched-up paper from his pocket but doesn’t read it out loud. “Take care of her, please. I can’t cope… my sister… my mom… I don’t know how to take care of a baby.” He pushes the carrier into my chest, and with quick thinking, I grab onto the handle before he lets go. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just take her, I need to go. I’ll be back tonight, and we can talk more.”
I stare down at the baby again. My stomach is churning from the sheer panic of taking care of this baby that’s supposedly mine.