FOREVER BELOVED (Billionaire Love Series) (18 page)

“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 like 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.