All the Forbidden Things

by Jones, Lesley

  I forgot to breathe, making me sound puffed out as I said, “Wilma . . . you had a kid.”

  And he had gotten hot. And sexy. And hotter.

  I stand and reach for Layla’s bottle. Removing it from the warmer, I tilt it from side to side before testing the temperature on the back of my hand.

  “Perfect, just like you.” I smile down at her light brown eyes, which are so much like her daddy’s.

  I wander into the family room and make myself comfortable in the corner of the large leather sofa and feed Layla her bottle. Despite the comfort of the sofa, the room’s sparsely decorated and too cold-looking for my taste. The sofa’s black, the coffee, side tables, the entertainment unit, and the long narrow table are a washed grey timber.

  Layla burps once at precisely the halfway point and is asleep seconds after draining her bottle. I lift her upright so her little head is resting on my shoulder just as my phone vibrates from where I left it on the sofa beside me.

  As I reach for it, Layla both burps and farts at the same time, making me laugh then wince as a dull pain shoots through my still sore ribs.

  Glam Dan: You gonna snap me some pics of all that hotness you’re sharing your Sunday with?

  Me: Fuck. Me!

  Glam Dan: Baby gurl, we’ve had this convo! You’re gorgeous. I love you. But I love dick more!

  Me: How did I forget?

  Glam Dan: That I was gay?

  Glam Dan: That I like dick?

  Glam Dan: ???? I’m confused???

  Glam Dan: You gotta give me something to work with her princess.

  Glam Dan: You feeling ok? I think that knock to the head may be affecting your memory.

  Me: That Max Young is FAF!

  Me: FAFF!

  Glam Dan: Gurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl!

  Glam Dan: I’ve been telling you since you were 11 that man is a God! A. God!!!

  Glam Dan: Maybe that knock to your head was a good thing and finally has you seeing straight.

  Glam Dan: But wait! There’s a wife right?

  Me: It’s complicated.

  Glam Dan: Oh do tell . . .

  Glam Dan: ??????????????

  I stare at my phone, remembering the promise Kenzie and I made Max earlier.

  Me: I’ll call you later. Love you xoxo

  Glam Dan: Get hotness pics. Naked if poss! Love you too xoxo

  Max

  “That’s definitely better.” Cal nods his head in time with the music as he speaks. “Well done, Jakey boy, good call.”

  After playing his up-tempo version of the song I’d initially written as a ballad, Jake remains seated at the piano, bathing in the praise. He’d arrived at the house a few minutes after we’d left, and Mel had sent him here to find us, we’ve been working on the arrangement ever since. It feels good. So fucking good to be with the boys. Losing myself to the process of creating music.

  Jake may be a thirty-year-old man now, but in his head, he’s still the baby of the band, still the late addition, always looking for acceptance. To us, he’s an annoying little brother who we enjoy watching grow and flourish with each song we write and performance we give. To the world, Jake Wright is a player; a single, successful, musician living the rock star life. But to us, his bandmates, his brothers, he’s an insecure kid, unsure of his place in our family and always seeking affirmation and acceptance.

  “So, that’s four new songs in total?” Cal asks.

  “Yep.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  I nod. “Time on my hands. When Layla sleeps, I work.”

  “Babies don’t sleep that much forever. Have you thought about how you’re gonna cope once she’s crawling, walking? When we’re in the studio, on tour?”

  Only for about twenty-three hours a day. I’m constantly calling into question my decision to fight for full custody.

  Jake interrupts before I can respond. “Whitney will just have to help out then.”

  “I’m not leaving her with Whit while we tour, I want her with me.”

  “That’s . . .” Cal shakes his head and shrugs.

  “How? How you gonna do that? How can you be in the studio, on stage, attending meet and greets with a baby in tow?” Jake, again not holding back.

  Cal’s phone pings with a message, he passes me the joint he’d been smoking and pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Dinner’s ready,” he announces.

  My belly rumbles at the thought of one of Mel’s roasts. I pass the joint back.

  “You don’t want any?” Cal asks.

  I shake my head. “I’ve got a baby to take care of.”

  “The girls have got her covered.”

  “And later, when you all leave? I need to have my head on straight, Cal. I want full custody and can’t do anything that might fuck this up.”

  He stares at me for a few seconds. We’re both standing in the middle of my small studio, Jake still seated behind the piano watching us.

  “I get all of that, Max, but you’ve gotta take a bit of time for you. You’re taking on a lot, doing this all by yourself.”

  I instantly feel defensive.

  “There are parents all around the world raising kids single-handedly. My mum did it, so did your dad. We turned out okay.”

  “That’s debatable,” Jake quips.

  We ignore him.

  “But they don’t do the job you do or have the commitments you have. Most single parents don’t spend twelve weeks locked away in a studio for twenty hours a day. They don’t catch four planes in one day, spend twelve hours on a tour bus with fuck knows how many hairy-arsed men and all the germs and grime that entails, and—” He pauses for effect. “I’m pretty sure when they get offered help, they accept it.”

  My jaw is so tight I have pain shooting through my temple.

  “I have no problem accepting help, my mum’s here most days of the week. What I won’t entertain is Whitney having custody of my daughter while I tour, and I won’t accept a tug on a joint that might lead to me not gaining full custody of my daughter. What if there’s an emergency later, what if I need to drive her somewhere?”

  I stare my best friend in the face.

  “I’m sorry,” Cal finally shakes his head and says. “Kenz is practically an adult now and I forget how it is when they’re little and need you for every single thing, and … I’ve never had to do it on my own.”

  “You need to find some permanent help,” Jake adds.

  “I’m working on it.”

  I wasn’t. I hated the idea of leaving Layla with anyone except Mum, but I wasn’t about to admit that.

  “I mean it, Max, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how fucking hard things are for you right now, and the last thing you need is me encouraging you to do stupid shit.”

  I shrug but remain silent.

  “I’m starving.” Jake stands. “Let’s go eat. Did Mel make Yorkshires? I love her Yorkies—wait, it is a roast, right? Please tell me we’re having a roast? It’s Sunday, it’s gotta be a roast.”

  Jake heads out the door, wondering aloud what might be on his plate while Cal and I remain staring at each other.

  “Are you worried that I’m no longer committed to the band? Because I won’t give up my music, but I also won’t give up my little girl.”

  His eyebrows raise as he laughs sardonically. “Are you fucking shitting me? Obviously, it’s now your turn to say something stupid. I should smack you in the mouth for that comment.”

  Now it’s my eyebrows that raise, and I take a slight step back.

  “I’m just worried about you, that’s all. I don’t wanna see you burn out from all the pressure you’re under… I wanna help. You’re family—Layla’s family—and I wanna try and figure a way we can do this that works for you, for the band, but mostly for Layla.”

  “I know that, I just feel like everyone has suddenly become an expert on what’s best for Layla and me. I’m doing my fucking best in a really shitty situation.”

  He slaps me in the middle of my back, gentl
y guiding me towards the stairs and door. “No one’s judging you, Max, you’re doing a great fucking job, and just because we’re offering help and suggestions, it doesn’t mean we think you’re fucking up, far from it … now let’s go eat, I’m starving.”

  When we reach the house, the smell of food hits my senses, making my belly grumble again, because again, I actually don’t remember the last time I ate.

  “I’ve set all the food out on the benchtop, plates to the side, cutlery and condiments on the table, just help yourselves.”

  Joss Stone’s “4 And 20” is playing over my sound system, and I pause in the arched entryway to my kitchen. Mel is putting an apple pie in the oven, and Kenz is pouring gravy over Jake’s dinner while he holds his plate out to her and eats a Yorkshire pudding at the same time. Cal is putting food on his plate while looking over his shoulder and staring at his wife’s arse. When I look through into the family room, Billie’s holding Layla to her chest while singing and dancing to the song.

  My insides do a thing as I watch her, but I’m not sure what kind of thing it is they do. Did everything inside me just relax or pull tight? I don’t have a fucking clue.

  “You checking out my ass?” Mel laughs, and I turn in time to see her swat at her husband’s shoulder.

  “He totally was,” Jake pipes up.

  Cal glares at him while he, too, shoves a Yorkshire pudding into his mouth. “I totally was,” Cal admits around a mouthful of roasted batter.

  Mel stills, her face flushed from the heat in the kitchen. She has an oven glove hanging from one hand and flour on her cheek but still manages to look cute as she smiles at him.

  “Your tits look great in that T, so I’m probably gonna be staring at them over dinner too.”

  She shakes her head before saying, “It’s lunch.”

  “What?” Cal questions.

  “It’s only 3:00 PM. It’s Sunday lunch, not dinner.”

  He nods. “Don’t give a fuck what time it is, I’ll still be staring at your tits and arse.”

  She grins and throws the oven glove at him. Cal snatches it from the air and smiles back.

  A moment of jealousy wells in my chest . . . I’ve never had that. Whit was my wife, we were together for over a year, but we never had that. What if I never have that?

  The sound of my own voice singing a cover of First Time Ever I Saw Your Face has my gaze returning to Billie, swaying around my family room with Layla still in her arms. When my eyes land on her, she’s staring right at me. And fuck me if I don’t feel it again, that thing.

  An electrical current pulse from my chest. It reaches across the space between us then shortens, pulling me deeper into the room, closer to her.

  A shy smile plays across Billie’s lips. She kisses Layla’s head oh-so-tenderly, and I sway on my feet. What the fuck is happening to me?

  “Every time I stop moving,” Billie explains, “she gets fidgety.”

  “She’s crafty. It’s my fault; I hold her too much.”

  Billie shakes her head. “No such thing. She won’t be a baby forever, and then you’ll be chasing her for cuddles. I’d be getting as many in now as I could too.”

  “I make excuses as to why I’m picking her up again, but then I do it anyway,” I admit.

  “Nothing wrong with that, and you shouldn’t feel guilty, just enjoy every moment.”

  “Turn this shit off. This bloke’s voice is crap,” Jake calls out around a mouthful of food.

  Without turning, I flip him my middle finger and ask Billie, “You want me to take her so you can get some dinner?”

  “She seems to have gone right off now. I think she likes your voice.”

  “She prefers Ed Sheeran.”

  “The girl has good taste,” Billie states while laying Layla gently down in her crib. “His music is good, but your voice is way better.”

  She turns and faces me, and she’s too close. I’m too close. We’re too close. I can smell her: citrus and something fresh, soap powder or fabric softener. Her lips are shiny, with the remnants of a small cut on the bottom one, and I’d really like to kiss it away. That electrical current starts buzzing through me again. It wraps around my wrist, and my hand jerks, causing it to brush against hers, shocking me, shocking us both. We flinch simultaneously at the contact, but neither of us steps back.

  This is bad.

  Very. Fucking. Bad.

  “You two gonna come and eat, or just stare at the baby all afternoon?” Kenzie calls out.

  We both turn, and I watch, almost in slow motion, as Jake’s mouth quite literally falls open. Fuck me he silently mouths. My hand possessively lands at the small of Billie’s back as we move towards the kitchen. My hand feels good there. Feels right, even though I know it’s oh so fucking wrong.

  I glare at Jake as we move, hoping the look I’m giving him screams: “Take your fucking eyes off her.”

  He frowns, his eyes move around the room as if he’s trying to work out what he’s done wrong before landing back on me. His glance slices from me to Billie, and he grins, nods, and shoves a roast potato into his fat mouth.

  Billie and I stand side by side as we fill our plates. She loves cauliflower and broccoli cheese but is not a fan of pumpkin in any way shape or form. I’ve no fucking clue why I’m storing this information. I don’t know much about anything other than the fact I love that she’s piled her plate with five roast potatoes and three Yorkshire puddings. This girl has an appetite and does not care who knows it.

  We join everyone else at my large dining table and sit opposite each other.

  “I’ve decided,” announces Mel, “you are gonna have a drink, and you're gonna chill this afternoon. Layla is coming home with us.” I look up the instant she says my daughter’s name. “And you can get an entire night’s sleep. I’ll bring her back in the morning, or you can come get her.”

  “What? Why?” I’m shaking my head as I ask, my heart rate already rising at the thought of Layla not sleeping under the same roof as me.

  “You look exhausted, Max.” Mel tilts her head to the side as she watches me from across the table. “Looking after a newborn is hard enough when there are two people, I don’t even want to know how hard it is for you to do alone.”

  “Mum stays over. Besides, she’s sleeping through now. She has her last feed around midnight and doesn’t wake until six.”

  “And you sleep soundly during that time, or do you stir with every little noise she makes?” Mel asks knowingly.

  “Of course I don’t sleep soundly, I’m her dad. I’ll probably never sleep soundly again.”

  Every other conversation around the table has grown quiet, and I know without even taking my eyes from Mel that they’re all looking at me, watching, waiting on my reaction.

  “I appreciate the offer, Mel, but honestly, I’m fine.”

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do going forward?” Kenzie asks.

  “Get himself a hot Swedish Au Pair with legs up to her armpits and a massive—”

  Mel throws a napkin across the table at Jake.

  He catches it. “Massive smile. I was gonna say a massive smile.”

  “Billie’s a nanny. She’ll be looking for a job once she’s all healed up.” Kenzie very casually drops her bomb into the conversation.

  “Fuck yeah, why didn’t we think of that sooner?” Jake states.

  No. Definitely not.

  “Bill, were you still thinking of nannying, or are you done with that?” Cal asks her.

  Billie stares at her plate, poking at her food with her fork. “I honestly hadn’t thought too much about what I was gonna do, maybe look for a job at a daycare or nursery or something.” She shrugs as she responds. Finally looking up, her blue eyes sweep from my face to her brother’s. “I was actually thinking about going back to uni next year and carrying on with my degree, but I’ll have to look into whether the credits I achieved in the States could be transferred or if I’d have to start over again.”

&nb
sp; She sends a small apologetic smile my way.

  “I’m gonna need someone as a live-in anyway, and they’d also have to be willing to travel when the band’s on the road.”

  I watch as she sits up straighter, as if what I’ve just said has sparked her interest.

  “What were you studying at uni?” Jake asks her.

  “Psychology with childhood development and sociology as electives.”

  I move my jaw from side to side in an attempt at loosening it. It works until Jake asks another question, and then I feel it tighten up again.

  “What were you hoping to do with it at the end?”

  “Childhood psychology. I’d like to work with children who are victims of trauma.”

  Her tiny stature seems to grow as she answers, and it’s obvious this is something she feels passionate about.

  Pride washes over me, and I knock back the glass of red Cal poured me when I first sat down to keep from smiling. Smart and beautiful.

  “Why’d you give it up, your studies, I mean?” Again, Jake. Fucking Jake acting all interested and charming.

  Billie tilts her head to the side and sucks in her lips while considering her answer. “I don’t like all of the rules and regulations that go with the subject. There are so many set guidelines you’re supposed to adhere to, and I hated the constraints. Each case, each child, patient, whatever, is unique. I know that from first-hand experience.” She pauses and shrugs before looking between all of us. “It just wasn’t what I thought, and I don’t want to waste six or seven years of my life studying something, only to discover that’s really not what I wanna do.”

  She’s twenty-two. Just twenty-two! Only twenty-two! And yet, I’m finding her more interesting, more engaging, than most of the women over thirty I’ve come into contact with in recent years, including my wife.