Forever My Girl
Authors: Heidi McLaughlin
Tags: #General Fiction, #Adult Contemporary, #rockstar, #romance, #music, #lost love
Table of Contents
HEIDI MCLAUGHLIN
FOREVER
MY
GIRL
THE BEAUMONT SERIES
BOOK ONE
Copyright 2012 by Heidi McLaughlin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form of by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The song
Painkillers
provided exclusively by Eric Heatherly.
Flower Mound, TX
Edited by Fallon Clark at SnowEditing.com
Cover Designed by Sarah Hansen at OkayCreations.net
ISBN:
978-0-9850086-9-7
FOR
MADISON
&
KASSIDY
CHAPTER 1
LIAM
A light snore reminds me that I’m not alone. The heaviness of a body sprawled out, sets me off immediately. The stale smell of day old perfume lingers in the air and on my sheets.
The curtains are pulled back, the sun shining through the large window which affords me the best view and privacy.
Rolling over, there’s a face I don’t remember. A face that holds no name in my recollection or any vivid memory of how she ended up in my hotel room let alone my bed.
The bed part I can probably figure out.
The blonde hair tells me that I didn’t bother to get her name or ask her what her favorite drink was. Guaranteed our conversation was eyes, hands and lips only. There is one hair color that can make my heart beat and blonde isn’t it.
Neither is red.
Eyes too.
Never blue.
They have to be brown or green, never blue.
This isn’t a downward spiral or some drug induced moment. I don’t do drugs, never have, but I may drink excessively on occasions like last night. This is me coping with my mistakes and failures. I may be successful when I’m on stage, but at night I’m alone.
And so freaking scared of dying alone.
I reach for my phone to check the time. Instead I pull up the gallery that holds her image, my thumb hovering over her face. I’ll see her when I go home and I don’t know what I’ll say.
I know she hates me.
I hate me.
I ruined her life. That is what her voice message said. The one I’ve saved for the past ten years. The one I’ve transferred from phone to phone just so I could hear her voice when I’m at my lowest. I can recite every hateful word she said to me when I was too busy to answer and never found the time to call her back.
Never found one second to call and explain to her what I had done to us. She was my best friend and I let her slip through my fingers just to save myself from the heartache of hearing she didn’t want me anymore.
I had dreams too.
And my dreams included her, but she would never have gone for it. I’m not living her American Dream. I'm living my own.
My decision destroyed everything.
My nameless bed cohabitant reaches out and strokes my arm. I move away quickly. Now that I’m sober, I have no desire to be anything to this person.
“Liam,” she says through her seductive tone that sounds like a baby. It makes my skin crawl when women talk like this. Don’t they see that it makes them sound ridiculous? No man worth his nuts likes this sort of thing. It’s not sexy.
Wrapping the sheet around my waist I sit up and swing my legs over the edge, away from her and her wandering hand. My back tenses when I feel the bed shift. Standing, I pull the sheet tighter to keep myself somewhat covered. I shouldn’t care, but I do. She’s seen me in the dark, but I’m not affording her or her camera another look.
“I’m busy.” My voice is strict, a well-practiced monotone. “Jorge, the concierge, will make sure you get a cab home.”
I sleep purposefully facing the bathroom so I never have to look at them when I tell them to leave. It’s easier that way, no emotions. I don’t have to look at their faces and see the hope fade. Each one hopes they will be the one to tame me, to make me commit.
I haven’t had a steady girlfriend since I entered the industry and a one night stand isn’t about to change that. These girls don’t mean anything and never will. I could change. I could settle down and marry.
Have a kid or two.
But why?
My manager, Sam, would love it, especially if it was her. She’s my only repeat lay. The first time was an error in judgment, a lonely night on the road mistake. Now she wants more. I don’t.
When she told me she was pregnant I wanted to jump off a cliff. I didn’t want kids, at least not with her. When I think about having a wife, she’s tall and brunette. She’s toned from years of cheerleading and her daily five-mile run. She’s not a power hungry executive in the music industry who spoke of hiring nannies before a doctor could confirm her pregnancy.
She suggested marriage; I freaked and flew to Australia to learn to surf.
She miscarried two months in. I made a vow that we’d keep things professional from that point on and that is when I started my one night stand routine. Despite everything, she still loves me, and is waiting for me to change my mind.
“You know,” the barfly from last night starts to say in between shuffling and her huffed breathing as she puts on her clothes. “I heard you were a dick, but I didn’t believe it. I thought we had something special.”
I laugh and shake my head. I’ve heard it all, each one thinks we have something special because of the most amazing night they’ve ever had.
“I didn’t pick you for your brains.” I walk into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it for good measure.
Leaning against the door I bang my head against the solid wood. Each time I tell myself I’m going to stop, and I think I have until something makes me want to forget. My hands rake over my face in pure frustration.
I’m not looking forward to going home.
The reason for returning is staring at me from my bathroom counter. The page-long article of the guy I used to call my best friend. Picking up the paper, I read over the words that I have memorized.
Mason Powell, father of two, was killed tragically when the car he was driving was rear-ended by an eighteen wheeler.
Dead.
Gone.
And I wasn’t there.
I left like a coward when I didn’t say goodbye.
I changed my cell phone number because
she
wouldn’t stop calling. I had to make a clean break and Mason was part of that.
She
and Katelyn were best friends and he’d tell her where I was and what I was doing. It was better this way.
I was only meant to be gone a year. I told myself I’d return home after twelve months, make everything right and show her that I wasn’t the same person she fell in love with. She’d see that and thank me, move on and marry a yuppie business man, one who wakes up every day and puts on a crisp dress shirt and pleated slacks that she'd iron in their
Leave it to Beaver
household.
I squeeze the paper in my hands and think about everything I’ve missed. I don’t regret it, I can’t. I did this for me and did it the only way I knew how. I just didn’t think I’d care so much about missing everything.
I missed the day he asked Katelyn to marry him. Something I knew he wanted to do since we were sixteen.
I missed his wedding and the birth of his twins. He was a father and a husband. He had three people who depended on him and now he’s gone. He’ll never see his children grow up and do the things that we did when we were younger. All the things we said our kids would do together. I missed this because I had something to prove to myself. I gave up on their dream and the life we had all planned out.
And now I’m heading home to face the music.
CHAPTER 2
JOSIE
The words become a blur the longer I stare at them.
The paper wet from my tears. Tears that haven’t stopped falling since I received
the
phone call. Now I’m holding an order form with his name on it. The casket spray to be done in our high school colors – red and gold. The standing spray to be done in their wedding colors, our college colors, green and white. This is what Katelyn wants.
Katelyn is going to bury her husband in a few short days and yet she’s sound enough to make decisions on what kind of flowers are going to drape over her husband’s coffin.
Me? I can’t even make it through reading the order form.
When Katelyn called and asked me to do the flowers it took everything in me to say yes when I really wanted to say no. I don’t want to do this. I don’t even want to believe that Mason is gone. I’ve known him since first grade and now he’s gone. He won’t be stopping in on Monday for his usual pick-up. Katelyn won’t be getting her weekly dozen of roses, something she’s been getting since he started proposing at seventeen.
They were the lucky ones, having it all figured out in high school and sticking with it. I thought I had that too, but I was blindsided my first semester in college. My life was turned upside down with just a few short words and a door slam, creating a wall between me and the love of my life.
I stand on shaky legs, wipe away my tears and make my way over to the door to flip the
Closed
sign to
Open
. I don’t want to open today, but I have to. There is a wedding, homecoming and Mason’s funeral in the next few days and I’m the lucky one doing all their flowers.