All the Forbidden Things

by Jones, Lesley

  “That your little sister?” Lennon leans past me and asks Cal quietly.

  “Yep,” Cal responds, popping his lips at the end of the word.

  “She grew up,” Len continues with a smirk.

  “Funny, I thought the same when I saw Paige in that perfume ad that’s on my telly nearly every night.”

  The ad Cal’s on about stars Len’s daughter, rolling around on a bed with a male model and nothing but a few strategically placed wispy chiffon scarves covering her naked body.

  “Oh, you’re a funny fucker, Wild. Maybe you should give up music and become a comedian.”

  “Just saying,” Cal responds.

  “All I meant was that she was a little girl the last time I saw her.” He turns his attention back to Billie. “Hey, Billie, I’m Lennon. We have met before, but you were just—”

  “A little girl. Yeah, I remember,” Billie interrupts him.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I hand Layla over to Cal as I pull it out to answer. Lennon instantly swoops in and takes Layla from him.

  “Wendy, what’s up?” I answer.

  “Where are you? I’ve just got to the house, but there’s only her Ladyship and her entourage here.”

  “We’re over at the flat, hang on.”

  “Anyone want a bacon sarnie? Wendy’s here. I’ll get her to knock us something up.”

  It’s a resounding yes from everyone in the room.

  “Would you do us a favour and make enough bacon sandwiches for five of us? I’ll send Billie over for them.”

  “Yep, no worries. Your Tesco delivery just arrived, so I should have everything I need. What’s the go with Lady Muck, do I have to DoFor for her?”

  I smile at Wendy’s reference to Whitney. She’s another person who cares about me but has never been a fan of Whit’s. Apparently, everyone except me could see her for what she is.

  “Only if you want to.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then just pretend she’s not there.”

  “If only she wasn’t. So, if any of them ask me for anything, am I allowed to tell them to do one?”

  “You can tell them exactly what you like, Wend.”

  “Thank you. Good to see you’ve finally grown some where she’s concerned, and you’re not still being led around by your dick. I also still think you must want your brains testing for letting her come back here after what she’s done.”

  “Don’t hold back, will ya? Just tell me what you really think.”

  “What I think is that you’re a good man who’s been shit on by a conniving bitch, and when I get the chance, I’ll let her know that.”

  “Go for it.”

  “Oh, I will. Talk to you in a bit.”

  She hangs up before I can say any more. After Billie hands out coffees, she heads over to the house to help Wendy.

  “Right.” Lennon claps his hands together loudly and says, “I have it on good authority that your missus tipped off the press that she’d be leaving the place you had her in and was coming here this morning.”

  “She’s un-fucking-believable,” Cal says from beside me.

  I let out a long breath and allow the horrible, gut-churning, sinking sensation that Whitney always evokes to engulf me for a few long moments.

  “How the fuck did you ever get tied up with a bird like her in the first place, Max?” Len asks.

  “I was a horrible person in my last life, she’s my punishment,” I reply.

  “Speaking as your lawyer, you haven’t exactly been a pillar of society in this life, but we won’t go there right now,” Aaron states while reading something on his phone.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” He finally looks up and gives me a facetious smile.

  “Anyway, what’s the plan, what are we gonna do about this mess? I’m a busy man, places to be, people to see, I only dropped in because I was in the area, and I need to know it’s being handled.” Len states.

  “I’m happy to tell her I’ll be serving her with divorce papers right now and fuck her off out of it,” I tell him.

  “That’s definitely not what we’re doing,” he responds.

  “Why? I’m done. I’ve changed my mind. I don't want her in my house, and I don't want her around the baby.”

  “How’s it gonna look, Max? The press were out in force this morning to witness your wife arriving here in a wheelchair, and the next thing they report is that you’re planning on divorcing her? You’ve got an album and a tour coming up. We need to think about the fallout from all of this.”

  I shrug. I’m so fucking over it. I don’t care.

  “There were no reporters here when she arrived, they turned up later.”

  “Sorry, mate, they were here.” He turns his phone towards me, and sure enough, there’s Whitney being wheeled out of the car she arrived in. Looking thoroughly pissed off in the background is me. He slides the image, and next up is Billie walking across my driveway, holding Layla against her. The caption reads: “Max Young Cheats on Crippled Wife”

  “What the actual fuck?” Cal and I ask in unison.

  “Yeah, it don’t look good, so here’s what I’m proposing . . .” Len takes a sip of his coffee and grimaces. “I think you might be right, Al, that coffee definitely breaches some kind of human rights act.”

  “I’ve ordered her a coffee machine; it’ll be here sometime today . . . if the driver can get past the press party happening at my gate.”

  “That’s precisely what our problem is, the press know she’s here, they’ve seen her arriving in a wheelchair. She set that up, Max. She’s probably half-expecting you to serve her and has done that so she’ll get some sympathy.”

  “I’ll tell them about Gardener,” I argue.

  “You can tell them what you like, but I can guarantee all that’ll get reported is that you’re divorcing your crippled wife and possibly fuc—having an affair with your nanny.”

  “This has nothing to do with Billie,” I bite out.

  “What the fuck?” Cal adds at the same time.

  “I’m sorry, but I know how these fuckers work. The rock star and the nanny, you won’t be the first and you won’t be the last. The public will lap it up, and then The Sisterhood will start a hate campaign, demanding that your songs be banned from the radio and for people to boycott your concerts. And that is not something we want to happen. So, what are we gonna do? Al, what you got for me?”

  Aaron blows out a breath so hard his lips rattle together. “We need to buy some time. Just a few weeks so we can show that Max has tried. Then we proceed as planned—”

  “A week,” I interrupt. “I want her gone in a week.”

  “We’re going to Jay’s in two weeks, so it won’t matter if she’s here or not for a bit longer. You won’t be,” Cal states

  “You’re going to Jay’s?” Lennon’s eyes slide between Cal and me.

  “For Thanksgiving,” Cal says, “Since all our wives are American, it’s a thing they like to do.”

  Lennon pulls his brows down into a frown. “Why are you all married to Americans? What’s wrong with a nice English bird?”

  “Well, if you didn’t always send us to the States, we might've ended up with English birds, but back when I met Mel, we were always over there.”

  Len turns to me. “What’s your excuse?”

  “Too many drugs.” I shrug and tell him honestly. “They obviously distorted my perception of reality and made me think Whitney was good wife material.”

  “Well, she certainly makes beautiful babies.” He looks down at Layla and says, “At least you got one good thing out of all this. She’s perfect, Max, a little cracker.”

  My chest feels tight, and my throat constricts as I nod in agreement.

  “Is anyone interested in my advice . . . as your legal rep? It is kinda what I’m here for, what you pay me to do, after all,” Aaron asks after a few seconds of silence.

  “Go for it,” I tell him.

  “Wel
l, I think you should play nice for the next few weeks. Whitney’s sly, devious, and knows exactly the right stunts to pull to get the press and the public on her side, so we don’t want to give her any clues, not an inkling of what’s coming.”

  Cal’s eyes have been burning a path in my direction since Len’s nanny fucking comment. I’ve made a point of not looking in his direction, when I do, he shakes his head at me.

  “We still have five weeks until we can file. During that time, I’d like you to avoid her as much as you can, act pleasantly towards her when you can’t . . .” Aaron trails off. His eyes dart between Cal and me. “What? Why are you looking at him like that?” he asks Cal. “What’ve you done, Max?” Aaron’s narrowed eyes settle on me.

  I scratch at my beard, my head, and then go back to my beard before answering. “I may have lost my temper earlier and said some things—”

  “What things?”

  “I might have mentioned that I hate her and that I know Gardener was high when he crashed—”

  “For fuck's sake,” Lennon interrupts. “Tell her nothing. Not a word.”

  “If you can’t control your temper around her, then we need to get her out—” Aaron pauses, taps his lips with his index finger and then asks, “What if you get away?”

  My eyes move from Aaron to Len, then to Cal before I ask, “Me?”

  “Yeah. What if you stay at Jay’s for the next few weeks until we can file. It’ll keep you away from Whitney and the press.”

  “I can’t see it being a problem,” I tell him with a shrug. “I can only ask. Their place is huge, and they have a cottage next door to the studio too. Do I have any other commitments coming up?” I ask Lennon.

  “Nope,” he replies. “I checked earlier in case there was anything we needed to discuss or cancel, but you requested everything be cancelled until after Christmas, remember?”

  I do remember. I thought I’d be spending the time celebrating the birth of our daughter with my wife, not planning our divorce and filing for custody.

  “This is how it’s going to play out then. We’ll file the divorce petition on the morning of your anniversary, and I’d like you to return from Jay’s that day—”

  Cal interrupts with a long whistle before adding, “Harsh. I like your work.”

  “And?” I question Aaron.

  “And I want you to keep things sweet with Whitney.”

  Again, Cal interrupts. “She’s gonna think you’ve come home because it’s your anniversary. Instead, boom, you’re gonna drop the divorce petition in her lap.”

  Cal’s grinning. Len, Aaron, and I are not.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying the demise of my marriage so much.”

  “Max, what she’s done to you is despicable. The way she’s treated Layla is callous beyond belief. So, yeah, dude, I will be celebrating the day you start the process of getting shot of her.”

  I look to Lennon, who raises his brow, shrugs, and holds out his hands palm up. “I’ve got nothing.”

  I raise my brows and aim a questioning look at Aaron.

  “I’m here as your legal representative, and in that capacity, I’d like to explain the steps we’ll take on the day the petition is filed. But, as your friend, I’d just like to add, Whitney, your marriage, the way you rushed into it, is possibly the biggest fuck up of all the biggest fuck ups you’ve made, and I sincerely hope, both as your friend and lawyer, and for both you and Layla, I hope you learn from this.”

  “And what is it exactly you want me to learn?” I snap, feeling defensive.

  Aaron sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t rush into doing something because you think it’s the right thing to do. Do what makes you happy and what will make Layla happy.” He pauses for a moment and smiles. “You’re like a son to me, all of you boys. I love you like my own, and all I want is for you to be happy. All . . . all any of us want is for you to be happy.”

  The room’s silent. Four grown men and a two-month-old baby, and not a sound. Len clears his throat, but before we move things along, there’s something I need to say.

  “Thanks, Al. All of you, thanks. For all your support, your words of wisdom, and just for being there for me and Layla.” I swallow the big fat ball of feels sitting in my throat and look to Aaron. “And just so you know, all I want is for me to be happy.”

  He nods, claps his hands loudly together, making Layla start, before continuing. “Right, as I was saying before we all started catching the feels, if you stay away until your anniversary, I’ll get things put in place so we can file and serve on the same day. Once you’re home, we can either arrange a meeting at Morgan and Crane, who’ll be representing you, or, I can get Diksha to come here. She’ll sit down with the pair of you and explain that you’re divorcing her on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. I’m hoping that she’ll still be oblivious to the fact you’ve already petitioned for full custody of Layla.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but Aaron holds up a finger to quiet me. “She’ll likely be served with the divorce papers first, and while she’s losing her shit over that, we’ll tell her about Layla. If she objects, makes any kind of threats to counterclaim for custody, she’ll be presented with the evidence we have as to why that wouldn’t be a good idea.” His phone vibrates. He glances at it and gives a small smile before continuing. “We have the tox reports on her and Gardener proving she had coke and MDMA in her system at the time of the accident. We also have witness statements, as well as the motorway camera images, which suggest Whitney was giving Gardener a blowie when their car veered off the road and crossed the central reservation into oncoming traffic.” Aaron’s dark blue eyes look around the once again silent room, taking in each of us. “On top of that, there are witness statements suggesting Whitney is an occasional drug user, something that can be corroborated by the tox reports. Your team will make it abundantly clear to her that, if she’s noncompliant in any way concerning the divorce or the custody of Layla, then we will go public with everything that we have. But we need more, she could argue that she’s clean now, learned her lesson and reformed. I’ve spoken to Diksha, who’ll be heading up your team, and they’re looking to see if she has any previous charges outside of this country, which would really help our case.

  “You need to be prepared because, once the divorce is filed, it’s out there. That information becomes available to the public. Like I said, I’ll put measures in place so we can file and serve the same day, so she hopefully won’t see it coming. And then we sit back and wait for her reaction.”

  My gut churns as I consider what that reaction might be.

  “To keep things as amicable as possible, we offer her an alternative place to stay until she can go back State side. Considering her financial situation, I think she’ll be needing that time.”

  Feeling drained, I rake my fingers through my hair and stare out the window to the white building Billie’s window overlooks. It houses my pool. I’ve not swam in a while, maybe a few laps are what I need to do to unwind. Between the stress Whitney’s causing me, and the sexual tension bubbling between me and Billie, I’m not sure which is going to explode first, my head or my dick.

  My stomach rumbles loudly as a waft of bacon hits my senses.

  “Look out, foods arrived,” Lennon states as Billie appears at the top of the stairs.

  My eyes meet her wide smile, and she says, “my coffee machine arrived. I won’t have to sue you now.”

  After a long, mentally draining day, I’m on my way up the stairs to bed at the rock-star time of 9:00 PM. Billie and I went to Cal and Mel’s for dinner, but today has taken a toll on us both, and we were yawning in unison at the table. When we arrived back home, Billie went straight over to her place, and I put Layla directly to bed. I’ve just come down to lock up the house, when I find Deana making herself a drink. As much as I hate the intrusion, I can’t really tell her she can’t use my kitchen while she’s here. Not wanting to talk to her, I decide to use the time to stick my head in Whitney’s r
oom and feign interest in her wellbeing.

  When I pause in her open doorway, I find her lying back in her bed, watching something on the telly. “You got everything you need?” I ask.

  Her brows rise in surprise at my voice as her eyes slide my way. “Max, yeah, thank you.” She pushes herself up into a sitting position. “Come in, please. Can we talk?”

  I shake my head. “Whit, it’s been a long day. I’m tired. Can it wait?”

  “No. Please, Max, I won’t keep you, I promise.”

  I raise my eyebrows now, ready to say something pissy about Whitney’s promises, but I decide that she just isn’t worth the effort.

  “I know things got a little heated earlier, and I’m really sorry about that. I don’t expect you to believe anything I say after the way I’ve behaved, but I genuinely am sorry, Max. For all of it. For what I did to you, to Layla. And I want you to know how truly grateful I am for the way you’re helping me out.”

  I feel nothing as I stare at her face, which is still beautiful and a lot less gaunt than when I saw her in the hospital. Still, it stirs nothing in me. I listen to her words and, nothing.

  “I fucked up. I’ve thrown away the best things in my life, and I know I’ll never get them back. I knew it when I was doing it, and I know it now. I also understand that we can never be friends, but please Max, can we just try and get along for however long I’m here?”

  “I thought you said it’d just be a week or so?”

  I watch as she rubs each of her fingertips over the pads of her thumbs, something I know she does when she’s stressed.

  “Well, yeah, that’s kinda one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

  I lift my chin when her eyes meet mine. “What?”

  “Although I was released from the rehab facility early, it wasn’t because of the progress I was making, it was because I’ve managed to get my pain under control and no longer need to be hooked up to the IV.”

  “So, what progress have you made, what’s the prognosis?”

  She blows out a breath, and her green eyes fill with tears. “Progress has been slow. They’re still hopeful that I’ll regain full use of my legs, but the longer . . . the longer . . .”