My Kind of Forever (Beaumont 5)

I kick the book out of my way and move to the sink. Turning the cold water on, I rinse out my mouth and splash my face. The act is not refreshing, but needed. Two words are on repeat in my brain: Los Angeles. I should ignore them and this book. It should become bonfire material.

Resting against the sink, I stare at the book. As if there is an imaginary force pulling me toward it, I can’t stop myself from bending forward to pick it up. The cover is black and red, the same as the 4225 West logo. I inspect it before I crack the binding. There are pictures – pictures that I’m sure I don’t want to see and will need to skip through when I get there.

I open the book and find that it’s been personalized to me.

Dear Josephine,

To all the ones before, during and after.

Calista Jones

Who the hell is Calista Jones? Is she trying to tell me in not so many words that my husband is cheating on me? That thought alone sends me back to praying to the porcelain gods, but nothing is coming out except sobs. I cry out from the pain destroying my stomach and the sharp knife being jabbed into my heart. Everything in me is yelling that Sam did this, but she’s gone. The only way she could’ve done this is if she wrote it before she died. Unless the crazy bitch isn’t dead and everyone has been lying.

I sit back on my legs, realizing I never let go of the book when I was trying to throw up. As much as I don’t want to read it, I have to. I have lingering questions and this may provide me with the answers.

It may also destroy my marriage, my life and everything that I hold close to my heart. He didn’t tell me not to read it.

My brain is saying burn it but my heart is telling me to turn the page...

So I do.

Layla Richards looks around the club, probably recalling similar memories as I had when we played here. I follow her to one of the high top tables and sit down across from her. She is nothing like I remember with her red hair, wild make-up and questionable clothing all gone. In their place is chin-length hair, which is now dark and considerably toned down make-up. The barely there clothes she used to wear have been replaced with what I consider normal attire. The one thing that hasn’t changed is the color of her eyes, which are in complete contrast to her hair. Looking at her now, you wouldn’t believe she was the lead singer of a rock group.

“It’s so good to see you,” she says as she grabs for my hands. I let her because it’s harmless and Layla is just a friend.

“You, too. I hate that we didn’t keep in touch. What have you been up to?”

“Oh gosh,” she says as she falls back into her chair. “When was the last time I saw you?”

The last time I saw Layla is a night I wish I could forget. I’d love to go back and make sure it never happened¸ make it so I never crossed the line with Sam. I was lonely and for a brief moment thought that Layla and I could revisit things and even though Harrison had warned me, I still liked Layla.

I rub my chin and drag my thumb over my lip. “The last time I saw you some fucker popped me in the face.”

Layla’s eyes go wide as she covers her mouth in shock. “Oh my god,” she says, but it sounds more like ohmygob because her hand is covering her mouth. “Holy shit, I remember that.”

“Your husband, if I remember correctly?”

She waves her hands as if to dismiss what I’m saying.

“What a nightmare he was.”

“Was?” I ask, inviting more conversation. I’ll take her whole damn story if it gets me out of cleaning the club. I’m sure Layla isn’t here to clean either.

“Let’s get something to drink first,” she says as she heads toward the bar. I watch as she moves around with ease, making herself a drink. “Do you want something?”

“Sure, why not?” The why not should be because it’s before noon, and I shouldn’t be drinking. The sure is because I’m here and what else am I going to do? It’s pretty much all a lame excuse on my part.

After a few minutes she returns with two glasses of some orange and pink looking drink. I’m either a hard liquor or beer type of guy. Fruity shit and I do not get along. When she places it down in front of me, I try not to roll my eyes. I hesitantly pick it up and take a sip and surprisingly don’t gag, but am wondering what the hell it is that I’m drinking.

“I think you forgot the Vodka.”

She shakes her head and takes a long drink of her concoction. “I don’t drink, smoke or do any of the stupid shit I used to do.”

It takes me a moment realize she’s talking about drugs. The first night we met, she offered me something, and I took it, no questions asked. I had just been told via voicemail that I had ruined Josie’s life and I needed to feel numb. I needed to forget about the lives that I had ruined when I left mine behind and Layla was the answer to that – in more ways than one.

“Good for you. What made you change?”

“Took some ecstasy, had a one night stand and ended up pregnant.”