The Firsts Series Box Set

by M. J. Fields

  “Heartstrings to angel wings, Ashley.” London smiles as she steps away from Mom, then leans down and kisses her nose, like Robert seems to always do, and repeats, “Heartstrings to angel wings.”

  I close the book and hold it to my chest. Then I walk to the front of the bed, pausing to kiss Logan’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, Logan.”

  He wraps his arms around me and stands, hugging me tighter than ever before. “Me too, Ava, me too.”

  Together, we walk to where our mother lies, arms linked, tears flowing. “On three?”

  He sniffs as he nods. “Yeah.”

  I start, “One.”

  “Two.”

  We both bend down as I say the final, “Three.”

  And we kiss our mother, together, for the last time.

  Logan whispers, “Until we meet again.” And I feel an odd sense of peace wash over me.

  “We love you, Mom.”

  And love lives on

  Logan

  I’ve seen grief, felt it, watched it kick people’s asses, people I love, people who are part of my inner circle. I survived, so did they.

  The closest to me, my innermost circle, has lived it, and she survived.

  My wife, my best friend, my biggest weakness and the greatest source of strength when she reminds me how strong I truly am. The reason I will always fight to be strong.

  London.

  Watching her make my mother beautiful, the way she talked to her, the way she cared for her like she was still alive, was awe-inspiring. Caring for a person when they are no longer living, fulfilling a promise when they may or may not ever know whether or not you truly kept it, all that London did spoke to the character of my wife. Even in my grief, I vowed I would always do the same as she did that day.

  When she whispered, “Heartstrings to angel wings,” I visibly pictured still being connected to my mother, and that is part of what gets me through each and every day.

  Nothing in my life has been as difficult as losing Mom.

  Nothing.

  Saying goodbye to her with everyone there was hard, but until I spent moments alone, it never fully sank in. Luckily, I had London and a constant reminder that I don’t have to be strong all the time. I have forgotten the hard years, or at least I try to because when I think about how much time I wasted being angry at her, it brings me to my knees.

  That’s where my wife found me at three o’clock one morning, on my knees in the bathroom. Where she wrapped herself around me and forced it out of me. Then she shared her story, of the years she despised her dad for his drinking, and how it was still hard when she allowed herself to go to that place.

  We both decided long before then to love them anyway because we had forgiven them, and ourselves, so why allow it back now, when everything was resolved.

  Because grief does that shit to you. But we decided, we’d not allow it to do that to us.

  Feeling like a total shit, I reminded her there were still unresolved issues with her dad. Keeka… Brooklyn, her sister, that she only recently found out about. It didn’t hit me until after I lost Mom how hard that must still be for her.

  What did my everything say? “It’s a blessing, and I won’t question them, just keep counting them.”

  It also was a smack in the face when I remembered Emma had survived cancer and I didn’t think about it until after Mom died. I vowed to myself then that I would never be that husband again. Ever.

  London told me she never brought it up because Emma is here and healthy, and she didn’t want me to have false hope.

  To get through the harder times, we look at pictures or watch videos of the good times, as they would want us to. And so many of them have a little London and a very annoyed Logan in them.

  How long have I loved her? It seems like forever. And it definitely will be.

  As in love as I am, there’s still a threat to that happiness.

  Guilt.

  Guilt… that’s been the hardest part of losing Mom, well, until out of the blue you’re looking around and that emptiness grows, and you literally feel lost and alone. That’s when I call Ava, and that’s also when I realize I’m not the lone fucking wolf, billions of people share in this feeling, the feeling of a child who’s lost a parent.

  When people acknowledge your loss, it’s an affirmation of that love, and acknowledgment that a part of you is gone. London warned me that it stops after a year, and that was when it was the hardest for her, her as a little girl… I held her so tight that night, and not one part of me craved anything deeper than holding that lost little girl.

  It hurt that my children will never be held in Mom’s arms, that every milestone I used to get pissed over her missing was for a much different reason than I assumed, and I needed to embrace the fact she wouldn’t be there, not physically. But I am now a believer in angels. Because there isn’t any other explanation for literally feeling her there when my heart is aching because I miss her so damn much. But she’s there, inside it.

  Heartstrings to angel wings.

  It’s been just over a month since Mom left the Earth to join the angels. It’s also our first anniversary, and I don’t think London remembers.

  We have so much going on around us, her back at school, me bugging the fuck out of Robert about the business, and when I’m not, Dad is prodding me to. And I know it’s because he feels bad for him. Doesn’t want Robert to think we aren’t there if he needs us.

  I have more respect for Dad than ever before. And that’s huge. The fucking man is a rock. Someone I aspire to be like. And I have a hell of a shot, because of him… and Mom.

  I finish up in the bathroom, actually putting on real clothes, a suit as a matter a fact, to take my wife out to remind her I am first and foremost her husband, emotionally fucked up or not. I’m here, and she is definitely my priority.

  My phone vibrates on the counter with a message from her.

  I hit the button and read it.

  It’s an address, and a meet me here ASAP.

  I panic, of course, I fucking panic, she’s supposed to be home, and now she’s telling me to meet her at some fucking address that I know isn’t in the best section of town, and she’s gonna fuck up date night, in a big ass way.

  I hit call, and it disconnects. I lose my shit and call again.

  I get voicemail.

  “You have reached London Links, she is super busy right now and trying to get her hot husbutt to meet her somewhere, but he keeps calling and, well, he’s going to ruin my surprise because he doesn’t know how to just relax anymore.”

  I realize it’s not voicemail. “London, where the hell are you?”

  “If this is said husbutt, please bring yourself to the address I messaged you and stop asking questions. I love you. Beep.”

  Before I can say a thing, she hangs up.

  I hit redial as I grab her dress and shove my feet in a pair of loafers.

  “You have reached London Links, again.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you, but if we’re playing a game here, attempt to make it more realistic by actually giving me time to replay after the beep.”

  I hear her giggle then she says, “Oh my God, I love him,” and then she must speak into the receiver because it’s louder when she says, “Beep.”

  And yep, she hangs up the phone… again.

  It takes no time to get to the shady address she gave me, and I’m ready to raise some hell when I jump out of Betty 2 and see Maddox leaning against a window with a neon sign that says, Tattoo.

  “Has she lost her fucking mind?” I ask him.

  He shrugs and opens the door. “She’s just being London. After you.”

  When I walk in, she squeals and jumps up, holding her arm. “Just wait until you see what I did.”

  “No, no, you didn’t.” I look at the man covered in ink next to her and size him up, I can take him.

  “I totally did, and it hurt like a mother, too.” She’s practically dancing.

  “Have you been d
rinking?”

  “Nope, but I have to pee, really bad.”

  “Bathroom’s that way.” The tattoo artist fucking smiles at her. “You must be husbutt. Have a seat.”

  “I’m not having a fucking seat,” I snap. “And I’m not—”

  He looks away and talks over me, “Thought you said he was cool, Hines.”

  Maddox shrugs and smiles.

  He continues, “You also told me she was tough, and yet she cried.”

  “She, what!”

  “She’s on a high.” Maddox walks over and sits next to whoever the fuck Tattoo Man is.

  I point at both of them. “She fucking better not be high.”

  “Adrenaline high.” Maddox rubs the bridge of his nose to hide the fact that he’s pretty fucking amused by this. “She thinks she’s a badass now.”

  “I am a total badass,” she announces coming out of the bathroom.

  “Dozer, I think you’re the best tattoo artist in the world.” She hugs him, and he chuckles… Both don’t sit well with me.

  She stops and cocks her head, looking me up and down. “Huh, you’re in a suit.”

  “Huh,” I mimic her. “I made plans for us tonight.”

  “Anything to do with the missing links?” Dozer chuckles. I glare at him. “Your old lady talks a whole lot when she’s trying to be a badass.”

  “Trying? I got two tattoos in one sitting, I am a—’

  “You, what?”

  When she turns and appears to be ready to moon me, my fucking blood boils.

  Maddox sighs, “Christ, London, could you have started with the other?”

  “He’s gonna love this one.”

  “I’m thinking I’m not going to.” I stop when I see the fucking thing.

  Property of Links #42, is tattooed on my wife. “Huh.”

  She looks back and smiles. “You love it, don’t you?”

  I wanna tell her no, but that would be a lie. “You got a tramp stamp.”

  Still looking back, she huffs, “No, it’s not, that would be straight across, not three lines.”

  I look at Maddox, who is still trying not to laugh.

  “What’s the other?”

  “Logan, tell me you think it’s pretty.”

  “I think it’s something on my wife’s body permanently.”

  “Which makes me a badass.”

  Dozer and Maddox laugh and, of course, London feeds off of that shit. “Say. Bad. Ass.”

  “The other.” I cross my arms over my chest as she fixes her pants and turns around. I see her checking out my forearm.

  When she walks over and touches it, she’s grinning like the loon she actually is right now.

  “Come on, can’t we do yours first?” She pouts. Before I can tell her fuck no, she turns. “Show him, Dozer.”

  When he holds up a sketch of an angel wing, I take in a deep breath. London walks back, turns, and leans against me. She takes my arms and wraps them around her and lays hers over mine.

  “Look down.” She smiles up at me.

  On her arm is a keyboard with a ukulele laying across it, the strings have dainty hearts on each end of the instrument.

  “Heartstrings,” I sigh.

  “Now you need to go get the angel wing.”

  I look at her, making every attempt to mask the fact that I absolutely love it, and fail.

  “You love it. You love both of them.”

  “I love you,” I sigh. “And yeah, I do, but-.”

  “No buts, I surprised you!” She turns and jumps as she claps excitedly.

  “You did, I love you, I love them, but,” I say firmly, “Can we discuss this kind of thing first next time?”

  “No, not if it ruins a surprise.”

  She’s dead fucking serious.

  She pushes up my chin. “You’re super surprised, huh?”

  Now she’s laughing at me. And then so do they.

  “You would have been more surprised if I said, Hey Logan, I’m pregnant, right?”

  Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. “You, you, you’re on the pill.”

  “Actually—”

  Maddox interrupts, “London, please reword.”

  She’s pregnant, and Maddox knows.

  “You were on the pill. I missed one, gave it to you instead of your pain pill.”

  Maddox guides her, “London, get to the point before your husband passes out.”

  “I thought I was. I’m not. But you need to wrap it until—”

  “Fuuuuuck,” I finally breath out.

  She puts her hand on her hips and scowls, “Hey, would it have been that bad?”

  “Hell, yes, it would.” I run my hand up and down my face. “London, you need to finish school. You have a dream and—”

  “So, I can work and have babies, Links, this isn’t the stone age.”

  Maddox steps in, “I think what he was saying, London, is he wants to make sure you chase your dreams.”

  I look at Maddox, “I know what she was saying, and I know she’s a huge pain in the ass. I also know that this is an anniversary surprise, which I love.” I look at London, as I take off my coat and toss it on the chair, then loosen my tie, unbutton my shirt, and take them both off. “So, while I do this, maybe Maddox can go get your dress out of the truck, and you can change because we’re going to be late for my surprise now.” I sit in the chair and look at Dozer. “Please don’t fuck this up, but also, please hurry. I have an hour before my wife, and I are supposed to be at the Crown, where our families are waiting, her sister Lexington will be very disappointed if she’s late for the wedding she and I planned.”

  “Wait, what?” London gasps.

  I look over my shoulder. “We’re getting married,” I smile. “On our anniversary and you’re wearing the same dress.”

  She smiles and shakes her head.

  I nod, and she grins. “Pretty, go make yourself up while I get tattooed, so we can get married on our anniversary.”

  “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “Yeah, Pretty, I do.”

  Epilogue

  Three years later

  London

  “This is really happening?”

  Logan beams with pride as he looks at me. “It sure is.”

  “Pinch me.”

  He frowns, “I’m not pinching you.”

  Sometimes I say things to provoke him, like now. “Then I’ll get someone else to.”

  “Like hell you will.” His eyes narrow.

  “I’m not sure I can do this.” I cover my face and don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “London,” he takes my hands and pulls them away from my face, “You’re going to shine.”

  “But—”

  “But, nothing, this is your dream, when it’s time, you’ll get your ass out there and kill it.”

  I nod. “Have my parents texted?”

  “Ten minutes ago, they’ll be here.”

  “Yours?”

  He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, which I have, I know they’re all coming together. “Sorry.”

  “Breathe, Pretty.”

  “What if I forget the lines, the songs, the—”

  “Well then, I’ll put on the blue dress and apron, go out there and do the best I can, and obviously, I’d nail it.”

  “What?” I laugh.

  “Pretty, if I know every word to every song, it’s not because I secretly eat Halo Top on the couch with a heating pad over my stomach, and binge watch it on YouTube. It’s because I listen to you sing it every day.”

  “I sing Jenna’s part. I know Jenna’s part. What happens if I start singing over her?”

  His nose scrunches up. “It’s a bad idea.”

  “Oh no, you didn’t just jinx me by putting that song in my head.” I try to be stern, but it is kind of adorable.

  My husband knows every song to the first musical we ever went to together, which happened to be the day everything fell apart, but in the aftermath of that devastation, we became one.


  The silver lining.

  After Mom found out about our secret wedding and Ashley’s cancer, she didn’t personalize the fact that the little girl who once told her everything had hidden something that immense. She told me something that terrified me, and at the same time gave me hope, going through it together would make us stronger as one.

  She was so right.

  As I stare at Logan, I see past the absolute perfection that he is, the things that would normally draw a girl to a boy, a woman to a man, and although it is divine to look at, I am the lucky one who gets to see inside of him, which is even more beautiful than the outside.

  He grips my shoulder, shakes me once, and narrows his eyes. “You’re acting like this is the first time you’ve been onstage.”

  Back to reality, I think to myself. “It is.”

  “London,” he sighs.

  “As a lead, it’s my first time on stage as a lead.” I realize I squealed when his eyes light with amusement. “And what if I do that?”

  “You won’t.” He pulls me into a big old Logan Links hug. “You know the game, the plays, and there is no competition, go out and have fun.”

  “Oh, there’s competition, I’m competing against everything that comes next. I’m competing against myself, Logan. My. Self.”

  Lips to the top of my head, he chuckles, “Then go kick your ass.”

  I fall into his hug and sigh.

  He whispers, “You deserve this, Pretty, put all your heart into it and you’ll win a fucking Oscar.”

  I sigh, “A Tony.”

  “That too,” he laughs.

  Logan

  It sucked leaving her backstage, my fear was that she would get in her head too much and not truly enjoy the spotlight. Hell, I’m not even sure it’s the spotlight she craves, but the escape it brings.

  She’s been swing; a theatre term for a person in the company who understudies several dance and musical numbers. She turned down understudy, saying she wouldn’t want to secretly wish the lead fall off stage or get ill, so she could fill the role. In addition, she’d rather be on stage, doing what she loves in any capacity and ‘swing’, gives her a better chance to do so. But as she told me the understudy was also ill, and she was given the opportunity to ‘swing’ for a lead.