My Kind of Forever (Beaumont 5)

“Josie,” I call out, as I start climbing the stairs. I pull my shirt off and throw it over my shoulder before moving my hand to my belt buckle. As much as I love my girl, the lack of emotion there is between us when we’re together lately is really starting to bother me. I’ll never pass up a chance to be with Jojo, but our lives have become more about calculations and less about feelings.

Our bedroom is dark and much to my surprise she’s not laid out on the bed waiting. There’s a light coming from under the bathroom door and I immediately feel like a shit for assuming she needed me to come home for sex, not because she’s obviously sick. I knock on the door and twist the knob before she tells me to enter. We’re long past bathroom pleasantries. I’ve held her hair many times when she’s been throwing up.

This time, though, it’s different and I drop to my knees to hold my sobbing wife in my arms. She clutches my chest, her nails digging into my skin. I hold her tightly to me and cradle her head as her tears wet my chest.

“What’s wrong, Jojo?”

She doesn’t answer, just shakes her head and sobs harder. I scan the bathroom floor, looking for any signs that she’s sick or hurt, but all I see are the dozens of boxes and white sticks littering the floor of our master bath

. I may be a guy, but I definitely know what a pregnancy test looks like and from the sounds coming from my wife, I’m willing to bet she’s not pregnant.

A string of profanities run rampant through my mind. I can’t say them out loud because it’ll make things worse. Her doctor said no stress, so my feelings really don’t factor into this mess. I’ve been tested, had to perform for a cup while a crap ass porno played, only for them to tell us that my sperm are strong. Josie went through her own battery of tests, all to come out normal. The diagnosis – it’ll happen. Apparently not today, judging by the way Josie is right now.

We stay on the bathroom floor for an hour or more. I can’t look at my watch or even pull my phone out of my back pocket to answer it. I refuse to let her go. Nothing is more important than her right now. Seeing her like this kills me. I don’t know what to do to fix this… to fix us. Trying to conceive a baby has consumed us, both physically and mentally. We need a break from this entire baby making crap so we can get back to us. The problem is I’m not going to be the one to suggest it. If I do, I’ll be accused of not wanting another child or not finding her attractive enough. Both couldn’t be farther from the truth. I just don’t want to see her like this anymore.

The day I found Josie like that was the day we decided to stop trying. That was three months ago. It was her decision, which she made after talking to her mom for hours. When she came to bed that night she asked me if I was willing to look into adoption. She had found so many different websites about adopting and within an hour we decided that adoption was for us, and we’d adopt toddlers and siblings if necessary. A newborn wasn’t a requirement for us; we just wanted to open our home to children who needed to be loved.

And now, in a few short weeks, we’re going to be parents to a newborn. I’ll be waking up at midnight and two a.m. to change diapers and rock my son back to sleep. I’m doing it all because I have to make up for lost time. Josie should’ve never had to take care of Noah by herself and even though the second time doesn’t make up for everything I’ve missed, it’s a start.

With the band’s mail under my arm, I walk through my quiet house and down my back stairs. Harrison and JD are in the office working. 4225 West has hit a rough patch. Our sales on our recent album have dropped dramatically and our manager says it’s because we aren’t in Los Angeles networking with the rest of the music industry. JD is all for moving back, especially since Jenna doesn’t have any ties other than us in Beaumont, but I can’t uproot Noah. He’s establishing himself here as an elite athlete. I also have a feeling that Harrison would forgo his position as our drummer if we decided to relocate. I know Katelyn has no desire to leave.

“Sup?” I say as I sit down at my desk. I’m running out of space in my basement and had to convert Katelyn’s old office to a space for the three of us. Our wives were all yelling us at respectively, with all the scrap pieces of paper we were leaving around the house. Or me yelling when I’d leave papers on the table that somehow ended up in the garbage. The last time it happened, I yelled and yelled and Josie stood there with her hands on her hips reminding me that my untouchable space was in the basement. When I started working down here, so did Harrison and JD. Now we have two long tables, one on each wall, a computer and notes taped everywhere.

They don’t answer me and I’m okay with that. We see each other every day and often at night. We’re a family. Our wives are best friends and our kids play together... well, Noah and Quinn do. Elle and Peyton entertain Eden when I’m not holding her.

I thought I’d be upset if we weren’t having a girl, but I’m not. It’s almost like I’m getting a second chance to raise a son, not that I’d change Noah, but sometimes I still question myself with him. And the fact that he’s close with Nick still gives me an uneasy feeling. I feel like I toe the line when it comes to punishment because I’m afraid that Noah will blurt out that he’s going to go live with Nick. I wouldn’t let him, but I’m not sure I could stop him.

I rummage through the mail and rip open the large manila envelope. It’s a series of images taken by some paparazzi; I shake my head as I flip through each one.

“How was L.A.?” I ask Harrison. He and Katelyn had taken the kids to his beach house for a week for spring break. I was jealous until now.

Harrison sighs, turning to face me. “Things are good. I saw Trixie and played a few sets for the house band.” My mouth drops open and he shrugs as if it’s no big deal that he went back to the bar that gave us our start. “What’s that?” he asks nodding to the pictures in my hand.

I swallow to push away the dryness in my throat. Laid out before me are images of Harrison and Katelyn. The headline is unfavorable, saying: Harrison James of 4225 West wanders. I know that’s the furthest thing from the truth, but the pictures tell a different story. While Katelyn watches the game, Harrison is watching the cheerleader in front of him. His eyes are dead center on her ass. One of the images shows him shrugging as Katelyn stares him down.

“Nice spread,” I say as I toss the images down onto the table much to Harrison’s displeasure. JD snickers behind him, causing Harrison to turn an ugly, embarrassing shade of red.

He shakes his head and covers the photos with a piece of paper. “Katelyn was so pissed but I couldn’t help but look when they’re shaking their asses in my face.”

“You look, but you don’t get caught,” JD adds because he’s the master of looking without detection.

Harrison cuffs him upside his head and glares at him. “Anyway, we need to discuss Metro.”

“Why?” I ask, sorting through the rest of our mail. Most of it is fan letters, in which one of us will respond. We take turns answering them, knowing how much it means to our fans when we reply personally. Each letter receives a signed photo from the three of us. Cheesy, I know, but it helps sales. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Trixie’s closing Metro. With the surge of online videos and social media, playing gigs to get noticed isn’t the thing anymore. Like I said, I played a couple sets, but most of the bands brought their laptops in and used electronic music as a backup. Trixie is losing money, the bar is run down, and I didn’t see one agent while I was there.”

Metro is the place where my grandfather was discovered, the place where Harrison and I developed as musicians, and the place where I met Sam. That place paved my way, and I almost gave up on music until Trixie called that fateful night and gave me the coveted “headline” spot. If she hadn’t, I would’ve come home and begged for forgiveness. That’s something I’ve never told Josie.

“When’s she closing?”

“Two months. She’s hoping to find a buyer before then, but no one wants to invest in a bar these days. It’s old, not the ‘hot spot’ anymore and in need of some serious repairs.”

“We should so something for her,” JD adds. I forget that he played there too. We have ties to Metro and owe Trixie a lot, but we’ve never thanked her. Hell, once we signed with Moreno Entertainment we never went back.

“There’s another thing you should know,” Harrison says, but this time his expression is grim.

My insides turn, preparing for more bad news. “What’s that?”