My Unexpected Love: The Beaumont Series: Next Generation

by Heidi McLaughlin

  I startle at the sound of my phone ringing. It’s her ringtone, a song designated just for her and one she chose for herself. I do not attempt to answer it, and instead, I stare at the dark ceiling, wondering what she has to tell me at three in the morning. My hand scrubs harshly over my face as the ringing starts again. I shouldn’t answer it, but I know I’m going to. I always do even though lately I’ve felt like I’ve been nothing more than a stepping stone for her, a place for her to dump her problems. The door of friendship stops there. When it’s my turn, she’s busy, indisposed or doing who knows what and with whom. Peyton tells me this is a phase; her sister will snap out of it when Elle realizes she has feelings for me.

  Peyton says I should ask Elle directly if she has feelings for me, but I’m afraid. I’m fearful of what she might tell me. To hear the words she’s in love with someone who isn’t me will be earth-shattering, and yet I’ve done nothing to prepare myself for it. My brother says I’m weak, and he’s right, but love does that to a man.

  However, she could tell me she’s in love with me and expects to live a life of wedded bliss. I can’t win with my heart and brain. It’s an endless battle, and I have no one to blame but myself. Over the years, I’ve had ample opportunity to tell her how I feel, but the words have never come easy for me. Sure, I can say them in the mirror, behind her back when she’s walking away, or after she’s hung up, but to utter the words that will inevitably change our relationship to her face? I know it’s something I will fail at.

  The ringing stops, giving me a reprieve from the sound of the chime. I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to Elle, and yet I do nothing to change the situation. I suppose, in a way, I only have myself to blame for letting her get the best of me for so many years. I finally roll over and close my eyes, only to have her beautiful face appear and for her ringtone to fill my room once more.

  “Let it go,” I say into the darkness. “Let it go. Let it go. Let her go.” The word her causes me to spring from my bed. I rub my hands over my face, pushing away the immediate sense of dread I feel before reaching for my phone. It starts ringing again and the picture of us that I took last week fills my screen. It’s as if she knew I was about to call her. Only I don’t accept her call right away. My mind is foggy and unsure. Why would I tell myself to let her go when I’m in love with her? I don’t believe saying “let her go” was a slip of the tongue.

  I finally roll over when the ringing continues. Elle’s the only one who has no qualms about calling me in the middle of the night or this case, the wee hours of the morning. Given my earlier conversation with Quinn, I know why she’s calling. I’m hesitant to pick up the phone, afraid of what she might say to me on the other end. With Elle, I can never be too sure.

  Still, I press the button to open our line of communication because I’d hate myself if I didn’t. “Are you hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pride doesn’t count, Elle.”

  “You’re supposed to have my back, Ben.”

  I brush my hand over my face and sigh. “I do, and I always will, but I happen to agree with your family. You’ve changed.”

  “Death does that to someone.”

  “No one died. Peyton is alive and well, and likely sitting in some class right now oblivious to your meltdown.”

  “That’s rude.”

  “It’s nearly four in the morning. I’m allowed to be a bit discourteous.”

  “Do you want me to let you go?”

  Yes. “Never, Elle. You know I’ll always be here for you.”

  “Why is life so hard, Ben?”

  With no choice, I sit up and groan. My back presses into the hardwood of my headboard at an awkward angle. I quickly adjust, adding a pillow behind my back and get comfortable. “Life is what we make it, Elle. Right now, you’re struggling emotionally, and the coping mechanisms you’ve chosen aren’t healthy.”

  “You sound like Quinn. I want you to sound like Ben, my best friend.”

  I sigh. “I am your best friend, but I’m worried about you.”

  “Do you worry when you’re with me?”

  “I do, Elle. Every moment.”

  She sniffles and I want nothing more than to comfort her, but Quinn’s right. We have to stand our ground and let her know she can’t continue the way she is.

  * * *

  I never thought I’d live in California, but here I am, following the girl of my dreams. I suppose it’s not all bad considering my brother moved here shortly after I started at UCLA and had given me a place to escape my reality.

  For the ten, eleventh or maybe it’s the twelfth time I’ve yawned during class, garnering the attention of my professor. Admittedly, I’m not the only one who can’t seem to stay awake during his lecture, but it seems I’m the one he’s chosen to send death glares too. Had I known he would be here today instead of his assistant, I would’ve taken a sleeping aid or gone to bed early enough to be alert. The likelihood I would’ve done this is slim. I had to agonize over Elle all night, and I could’ve easily ignored her call, but the truth is, I never will.

  She’s my weakness.

  My demise.

  My professor moves to his podium signaling the end of his lecture and class. I start to gather my things as another yawn strikes. This time it’s long and drawn out and as much as I try to hide it, my professor’s eyes land on mine. Great.

  “Mr. Miller, if you could please meet me in my office.” He looks directly at me, so there’s no mistaking it’s me he wants to see, even though I look at the other students. Most are packing up their belongings, and only a few are looking at me. Their expressions tell me everything I need to know. I’m busted. For what, I don’t know, but it seems I’ve done something to upset my teacher.

  Like a child being scolded, I walk as slowly as possible down the hall of the building until I reach Professor Jacobs’ door. I knock twice and wait for him to tell me to enter. His voice is loud as he beckons me in. My palms are sweaty, making it a bit tricky to turn the doorknob. It takes me a few tries before it finally opens.

  I clear my throat when I enter. It’s ridiculous because he already knows I’m here, but at least I’m not yawning. Being here makes me wonder if he wants to know whether his lecture was boring or if I’m not prepared for his class. Unfortunately, neither question has a positive answer.

  “Mr. Miller, do you know why I called you here?” Clearly not, since I'm freaking out on the inside. If I did, I imagine I’d walk in with more confidence instead of preparing myself for a butt chewing.

  “No, sir.” Other than the fact I almost fell asleep in your class and had to fight to stay awake.

  Jacobs slides a sheet of paper to the end of his desk and motions for me to take it. I do, waiting for the words to register in my mind. It’s a letter addressed to me, from my dream agency in New York City. The agency I’ve always pictured working at, the one Elle used to tease me about because I would carry-on about their corporate information, studying and memorizing every bit.

  “Dear Mr. Miller…” My words trail off as soon as my eyes land on the word internship.

  “Do you want it? It’s a great opportunity,” Jacobs asks. Inside, I’m screaming yes, but my head is shaking no. “Why not, Mr. Miller?”

  My hand falls, but I refuse to let go of the paper. Why don’t I want this opportunity to intern at the most prestigious advertising firm in New York? Elle. She’s the reason. Yet, I can’t find the words to tell my professor I’m going to turn this down because of a girl.

  “Take some time to think about it.”

  “Thank you; I will.” I turn and head toward his office door, stumbling my way through a mental fog. I’d be stupid to leave, but a complete fool to stay.

  3

  Elle

  It doesn’t matter how many times I look at the calendar, the dates aren’t changing in my favor. I have four classes a week and three of my end of the quarter exams are on the same day. Some would say this is a twisted form of karma, but as far as I
know, I haven’t wronged anyone or the universe to deserve this sort of agony. Yet, here I sit with my study guides spread across the picnic table, watching my classmates as they do everything but study, wondering why I’m sitting here when I could be lounging under the shade tree or playing Frisbee with the guys from the baseball team. Surely, I can’t be the only one who slacked off this quarter and is now in a mad rush to cram.

  The truth of the matter is, I probably am, but honestly, no one has gone through what I have in the past year or so. I almost lost my sister, my twin no less. Something of that magnitude really screws with your psyche. Quinn’s right though, I’m not taking my life seriously. Thing is, I’m not sure I want to.

  Life is supposed to be about living. Peyton’s accident has shown me that. I don’t want to spend countless hours combing through the material I’ll likely never use again. I’ve seen the memes about any form of math ending in ‘try” and can easily say the only one my profession will require is adding and subtracting, and the occasional percentage. Being a music manager has been my dream for as long as I can remember. The horrors my dad and uncles went through are things I never want my brother or any other musician to experience. This is the route my parents encouraged, but I think a well-placed internship might be a better angle for me. For one, there would no tests and no one telling me how to act. I’d be learning from the best and thrown into the mix right away instead of writing fifteen-page papers on how country music has shaped America, which in my mind is subjective.

  However, I’m already facing academic probation and can’t afford another screw-up. Since the other night when Quinn had a self-imposed intervention, I’ve done everything I can to avoid my parents. I was already giving them the cold shoulder, but now it’s worse. For the most part, I’ve kept my phone off, turning it on only to see if Peyton or Ben has texted me, but even talking to Peyton right now is hard. She’s harping on at me as well, but doing so in a sisterly fashion. I know she cares about me, she loves me, but enough is enough. My life is what it is right now, and I’m enjoying myself. As for my parents, I know my time is limited with them until one or either drive up and ream me a new one. I’m biding my time and failing grades this quarter will undoubtedly have my dad towering over me with his finger pointing in my face, screaming about how I’m throwing my life away, that I’m entitled and in need of help.

  According to everyone except Peyton, I’m on a downward spiral, heading toward the bottom of the gutter, destined to piss my life away because I like to have fun and party. Quinn says there are unflattering pictures and videos of me online, but I’ve searched my friends’ accounts and have come up empty. I wouldn’t put it past my dad’s publicist or legal team to make sure the pictures have been removed. He’s always prided himself on keeping a squeaky clean image, and God forbid the less perfect of the twins do anything to tarnish his reputation.

  A small breeze rolls over me, and I close my eyes, imagining it’s my father. He’s here, holding my hand, guiding me to make the right decisions. I don’t remember him. I don’t know his laugh or the way he would say my name. If it weren’t for pictures and random home videos, I’d know nothing about my father other than what my mom or Uncle Liam have told me. My memories feel empty. There are times when I wish my father were still alive. Of course, it means I wouldn’t have my dad and I’m not so sure I could live without him either. It’s a hard line to tow, wanting both men in your life, but knowing if one is there, then the other could be hurting.

  Chatter from my fellow classmates has me opening my eyes. They’re hollering at each other, laughing and enjoying each other’s company while I stress over the situation I’ve put myself in. It’d be so easy to quit. To throw my hands up in the air and say I’m done. In fact, the thought appeals to me. There would be no more early morning classes. I could do what I want and when. There would be no one to report to, telling me what to do or looking down on me because I messed up. I could start my own business. Sign some talent and get started on their careers. I know the ins and outs. I’ve been around the scene long enough to know how everything works. I have connections, a network built by the band from the many parties I’ve attended with them.

  “That’s what I’m going to do.” As soon as I say the words aloud, the pressure I’ve been feeling starts to dissipate.

  “What’re you doing?” The voice behind me belongs to Quinn. I turn to find him standing there, looking every bit like our dad with his combat boots, baggy shorts, and the beanie… always with the beanie. The only thing missing is the tattoos. While our dad is covered, Quinn has opted to stay ink-free. If there were ever to be a movie about the band, Quinn would have the lead for Harrison James, drummer extraordinaire.

  He doesn’t wait for me to respond as he walks around the table and takes a seat opposite of me. I start to pick up my papers, and he helps. Stacking them nicely and handing me the small pile he’s created.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. You were gone before I woke up this morning. It’s unlike you.”

  “Long day. Finals are coming up.”

  “Are you prepared?”

  I shake my head and feel my throat tighten. As much as I want to be angry with him, I’m not. He means well, even if it’s underhanded and a bit demeaning. I’m an adult and can take care of myself.

  “Would you like me to help you study?”

  “I think I’m going to drop out.” The way Quinn’s eyes widen, you would think I dropped a bomb on him. I suppose, in a sense, I have. “I’m behind, and my focus isn’t on school.”

  “It’s on the social scene.”

  “No, I'm focused on life and what I want to do.”

  “And what’s that, Elle?”

  I lean forward, almost as if I’m telling him the best-kept secret. “Music. It’s my passion. My desire to make musicians like you feel appreciated in an industry which is hell-bent on destroying peoples’ dreams.”

  Quinn looks around, turning his head from side to side. He does this often, especially before he’s about to sing or when he wakes up. He says it’s to loosen the muscles around his throat. I think it’s a nervous tick, but who am I to argue.

  “Let me get this straight.” Quinn leans forward, bowing his head so only I can hear him. “You’re planning on dropping out, days after I told you Mom and Dad aren’t happy with you, to pursue a managerial role in music with no one currently signed under your company? Do I understand you correctly?”

  I nod. I smile. My heart drops when I see Quinn’s expression change from contempt to annoyance, maybe even anger.

  “What?”

  Quinn shakes his head and throws his hands up in the air. “What part of this makes sense to you, Elle? From day one, our parents have pushed our educations on us, making sure we had a backup plan. Pushing us to be better than them at everything we do so we’ll never have to struggle.”

  “Are you serious right now? We have trust funds, Quinn.”

  “And you think the money will last forever?”

  “No, but—”

  “There are no buts, Elle. This is real life, and right now, I think you're a coward. You messed up, and instead of fixing it you want to quit. You want to throw in the towel and have a pity party for one.”

  “Two,” I counter. “Ben will back me up.”

  “You don’t get it.”

  “I do, Quinn. I’m supposed to be perfect like Peyton. I’m supposed to be this good little girl who never steps out of line.”

  “Peyton isn’t perfect. Neither am I. No one has ever said we have to be perfect. Yes, our parents have expectations, but whose don’t? You know what, don’t answer that. I’m sure your friends’ parents don’t care what they’re children do. Ours do, and I feel like I’m beating a dead horse.”

  “Well, stop.”

  He nods. His lips form a fine line. I know I’ve won this battle. “You’re right, but since you’re going to be a college dropout, I’m not comfortable with you taking on the role of m
y manager, so… yeah.” My mouth opens as Quinn stands, avoiding all eye contact with me.

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “I am, Elle. There’s a reason you followed me here. It’s because of the education and what you’re learning. Having a network already bodes well in your favor, but being business smart makes a manager more attractive in my opinion. I want someone who is going to protect me, and right now, you’re a bit self-absorbed for my liking.”

  Quinn walks away before I have a chance to form a comeback. He’s wrong on so many levels. I don’t need a college education to be a good manager. My compassion should be enough. My love for music and knowledge of the scene should be the driving force behind any musicians or bands’ desire to work with me. However, I was relying on Quinn to be my first client, to be my flagship star. Together, I expected us to move mountains.

  Digging my cell phone out of my bag, I turn it on. As soon as it comes to life, messages roll in. Most of them are from my friends, or the people Quinn says are using me. One message catches my attention. It’s from Peyton, asking me what I’m doing for Ben’s birthday. Quickly, I go to my calendar because surely I haven’t forgotten my best friend’s birthday. The date, today, glares at me, mocking me for being so lost in my own world I’ve completely spaced off his most important day. I have to fix this because Ben deserves better.

  I type my reply to Peyton: Super short notice. Finals have me cray. Surprise party on Friday. Can you come?

  Yes. Noah says we’ll be there. We’ll stay at Mom and Dad’s though.

  Thank you! Party of the century!!

  Oh, Ben will love this… not!

  She’s almost right. Ben will love having a birthday party, but it’ll be low key and our close friends and family. I’ll force Quinn to be there if I have to, but having Peyton and Noah come to town will make Ben’s day. It’s important to me he’s happy. I know I don’t always show him how much I care or what our friendship means, but he was my rock when Peyton had her accident. If it weren’t for Ben, I don’t know how I would’ve made it through the ordeal. There were countless nights I cried myself to sleep with his arms wrapped around me, holding me. His words were comforting, reassuring and hopeful. Ben is every bit my best friend, and I’d be lost without him.