Fighting For Our Forever: The Beaumont Series: Next Generation

by Heidi McLaughlin

  As she gets to me, I’m tongue-tied and my palms are sweating. I want to touch her, kiss her, and tell her how much I love her. I want to pick her up and carry her out of here to an empty room and make love to her. Mostly importantly, I want to profess my love and desire to be her husband in front of everyone so that there’s no question in anyone’s mind that this is where I belong… with her. I can’t take my eyes of hers. We stare at each other, both of us smiling, dreaming about our future. She may already be my wife, but this was how our wedding should’ve happened the first time.

  The preacher clears his throat, and everyone sits as my knees shake. They’re knocking together as if playing their own song.

  “We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Jameson Foster and Ajay Ballard. Who gives this woman to this man?”

  I look at the Sheriff and pray that he’s in a giving mood today. “Her mother and I do, happily,” he says as he kisses Whiskey on her cheek. He then places her hand in mine and helps guide her up the stairs to where I’m standing.

  “I can’t believe you did this, Ajay.”

  “Do you like it?” I look around, seeing everything more vividly now that she’s here.

  “I love it and I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I lean forward to kiss her, but Quinn pulls on my tuxedo. “Not yet,” he whispers loudly enough for his parents to hear, who start to giggle along with everyone who saw me try to sneak one. I smile and shrug.

  The preacher talks about our love story, from when we met to how we found each other again. He tells about our lives and how they blend together and what our future holds, and how our parents can’t wait for the pitter patter of baby feet. I glance at Katelyn, suspecting she might have said something. She shrugs as if to say it wasn’t her, but I know better. When he tells us it’s time for our vows, Whiskey hands her bouquet to Dhara and grips my hand.

  “Ajay, all my life you’ve been the guy who helps me up after I’ve fallen, who holds my hand in the dark, who makes sure I get the last bite of ice cream. Even though we took a detour in our lives, I know we were meant to, that we had to pass that test before we could find each other again. Our love story may not be perfect, but it’s ours and no one can take that away from us. I can’t wait to restart our lives, to raise our children, and to live happily ever after.”

  My eyes go wide at her choice of words. I want to ask her if she’s pregnant but figure this isn’t the time nor place to blurt something like that out. Instead, I clear my throat and try my hardest not to picture her with a growing belly.

  “Ja…” I stop and shake my head. “I’m sorry, I can’t say your name because to me you’ll always be my Whiskey Girl.” Everyone around us laughs. “Whiskey, from the day I met you, I knew you were always going to be in my life. You’re the one person who saw me for me and not where I was from. You never cared that I didn’t have the same things as you, and it never escaped me that you always had enough of everything to share. You’ve seen me at my worst, and baby, I’m here to say that my best is yet to come because without you, I’m only a shell of who I can be. You’re my partner and my wife, and as I stand in front of our friends and family, I swear to you that I will always be the man that deserves to be loved by you. I love you, Whiskey, and I love Evelyn, and I can’t wait to build a life with my girls.”

  Whiskey nods and a single tear falls down her cheek. I let go of her hand and wipe it away with my thumb.

  “Jameson Foster, do you take Ajay to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, until death do you part?”

  “I do,” she says with the biggest and brightest smile I’ve ever seen from her. Yeah, this day is so much better than last time.

  “Do you, Ajay, take Ja, er, Whiskey…” Everyone laughs, but I must hand it to this man as he knows what to call her, “…to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, until death do you part?”

  “Fuck yeah, I do.”

  “Ajay said a word,” Evelyn says loudly. I lean to the side and see her watching me. I beckon her to come to me and she does.

  “Ajay, what are you doing?” Whiskey asks, but I ignore her question.

  When Evelyn is standing next to her mom, I drop to my knee and pull a necklace out of my pocket. “I know your mom and I get rings and you’re probably wondering what you get, right?”

  She nods as I fumble with the necklace I had made for her. Katelyn comes over and finishes the task for me.

  “Evelyn, I’m wondering if you’ll accept me as your dad?”

  Evelyn fiddles with the heart, which is etched with our names and today’s date. She looks at her grandparents, her mom and finally at me. She shrugs. “Can I call you dad?”

  “Of course,” I tell her. “Or Ajay, whatever you want.”

  “I don’t have a daddy,” she says quietly.

  Tears form in my eyes and search for the right words. “You do now.”

  Evelyn springs forward and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “I love you, Evelyn,” I tell her in her ear before letting her go. I stand, but keep my hand on her shoulder, unwilling to let her go. When I look at Whiskey, she’s dabbing at her face and trying to smile at me.

  The preacher breaks our moment by asking for our rings. Quinn hands them over, two new ones for her and one for me. I can’t wait for her to slip the band on my finger. I’m going to wear it proudly and never take it off.

  “Repeat after me,” the preacher says as he hands Whiskey’s wedding band and engagement ring to me. So what if we’re doing things backwards? The point is, we’re doing them our way.

  Whiskey holds her hand out and I take it in mine. I repeat what the preacher says as I slip the set onto her finger. She does the same for me and we lock hands, waiting for the words that tell me she’s mine.

  “Hey, Daddy,” Evelyn says as she tugs on my jacket. “I think you’re supposed to kiss Mommy now.”

  I can’t help but laugh as the most unthinkable words come tumbling out of my mouth. “Damn straight I am.”

  It’s only when the preacher announces us as Mr. and Mrs. Ballard that I finally pull my lips away from my wife, and even then, it’s only for a minute.

  Epilogue

  Moving across country sucks. In hindsight, we should’ve left Evelyn with my parents until we were unpacked and settled in, but no, Ajay had the bright idea of bringing her with us. What should’ve been a five-day trip ended up being almost ten because we stopped at every tourist spot known to man along the way. Not a good idea, at least from where I was concerned. Honestly, I had this grand idea that Ajay and I would sow our oats in every State, like make it a game or something. A random pitstop in some unknown town, a romp in the trees along the highway, a backseat fuck in the middle of the night. Not that we’d tell people ‘Oh, yeah we screwed like rabbits in Oklahoma’, but that’s what I thought we were going to do. I get that Ajay was new to this whole parenting thing and he wanted Evelyn to love him, but I had a serious lady boner for my husband and wanted to screw his brains out every chance I could get.

  However, I wouldn’t trade those two weeks for anything because I was with Ajay and Evelyn, and every single photo I have is filled with smiles. So what, if our honeymoon was spent with a five year old sleeping between us and the only privacy we had was in the middle of the night, in a cramped bathroom, with me screaming into a towel? We were together and that’s the important part. Despite the storms we drove through, heat wave we endured and the nasty fast food we ate, Ajay made our trip perfect.

  Now that we’re settling in and enjoying California, Evelyn and I are finding a happy medium in our routine. During the day, Chandler, Evelyn and I drive my fully decked out golf cart over to the pool. I never thought I’d be the type of woman who drives a golf cart but let me tell you something: It’s the best, and I’m not the only one in the neighborhood who has one. Ajay teases me and the other ladies though, saying we need to have a drag race to determine the leader of the pack. Personally, I think he’s jealous. />
  I also never pictured myself has a subdivision mom, but that’s what I am. I attend the condo association meetings, I help with our community events, and I walk with the other stay at home wives in the early morning. But the best part is having a pool. The girls love it and are both taking swimming lessons. For me, being four months pregnant, it helps keep me from overheating. I don’t know how I did it with Evelyn and the east coast humidity, but this California sun is a killer. I don’t know how I’m going to make it another five months because right now I feel like a beached whale.

  Someone whistles and I look over at the fence where I see Ajay coming through, looking hot as fuck with his sunglasses on. He bends down and gives me a scorching kiss, almost falling into the pool with me. He left early this morning with Keane to beat the traffic into the city.

  “How’s work?” I ask, as if his job is a normal nine to five. Sometimes I wish it were, but then watching him on stage, banging on those drums, and knowing that he’s coming home with me after the show makes the long hours so worth it. I’m also very thankful for Katelyn and her eagerness to be a grandmother because she always volunteers to take Evelyn and Chandler, giving Keane a night off and allowing Ajay and I to pretend like we’re still on our honeymoon.

  “Good,” he says. He slips off his shoes and socks and sit down on the edge of the pool, his legs in the water. I stand between them and put my wet hands up the back of his shirt. He shivers but laughs it off. “The new album is almost done.”

  “Does it have a release date yet?”

  He shakes his head. “No, Elle’s working on it. Doesn’t have a title either.”

  “Know what else doesn’t have a name?”

  “Our son,” he says, placing his hand on my ever-growing mid-section.

  We found out about two weeks ago that we were having a boy. We wanted to have one of those gender reveal parties, but we didn’t tell the technician not to tell us in time and she pointed out that the baby growing inside of me had a penis. My husband — in his oh so classy way — commented with, “yeah, he does.”

  “How is my boy?” he asks.

  “Giving me butterflies. I can’t wait for you to feel him kick.”

  “It should be soon, right? That’s what the book said.”

  I nod, loving the fact that he’s taken a hands-on approach to becoming a Dad. My fear though, is that their next tour will start and he’ll miss the delivery.

  “I’ll be there,” he says, stroking my cheek.

  “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “Because I know you, Whiskey. But I promise you, I won’t miss the birth of our son. I’ll be there to hold your hand. I’m not missing this.” I lean into him, not caring that I may be getting him wet, and if he has an issue with it, he’s not saying.

  As soon as the girls are done with their lesson, they both come over. Ajay stands and prepares for Evelyn to launch herself into his arms. “Daddy, I can do the breasted stroke,” she says, causing us to laugh.

  “Breast stroke,” he corrects her in his most serious tone. “Say it with me.” They repeat the word a few times before she finally has it right. Ajay sets her down and helps me out of the pool. He walks the three of us to the lot where the line of golf carts is, shaking his head and laughing. “I feel old.”

  “Hush, the girls love it and it’s so much easier to drive this around the subdivision.” He gets in the back with Evelyn while Chandler sits next to me. She’s fiddling with the radio as Evelyn shows Ajay that she can ride without holding on. The whole drive home I’m laughing, knowing Ajay is probably having some sort of fit back there.

  At home, Chandler tells me that she’ll see me in the morning and darts across our yard to her house while Ajay, Evelyn and I head inside ours.

  “Fuck, it’s cold in here.”

  “Daddy, you owe me a quarter.”

  Ajay digs into his pocket and hands her the money for her swear jar. He tries hard but is likely putting enough away to fund her college education. It’s just a good thing no one is counting when we’re alone or he might end up broke.

  “Sorry,” I tell him. “I was hot earlier.”

  “Maybe we can keep the air conditioner at sixty-five and not fifty,” he says as he adjusts the dial to turn the AC back to normal.

  “Noted. I’m going to go take a shower.”

  I leave him and Evelyn downstairs and head to the second floor. The room that was Ajay’s band room is slowly being converted to a nursery. The walls are now a light blue and there’s a black crib in there, a gift from Harrison and Katelyn. I stand in the doorway and look at what’s becoming our son’s room.

  “I thought you were taking a shower,” Ajay whispers into my ear as he presses against me. I lean back, molding into him.

  “Just looking.”

  His hands caress my stomach. He’s been waiting to feel his son kick since I told him he’s started. I wish I could tell him when it will happen because soon doesn’t seem to cut it anymore.

  “He needs a name.”

  “I know, we’ll make a list soon. Where’s Evelyn?”

  “Downstairs, wrapped in her blanket and watching cartoons.”

  “Mhm…”

  “Does that mean what I think it does, Mrs. Ballard?”

  “Like I said, I’m going to take a shower. Maybe you care to join me.”

  “Lead me to salvation, Whiskey.”

  I turn and look at my husband, thankful that I had the keen sense to listen to my heart when my thoughts were telling me to run. There isn’t any other place I’d rather be than right here, in his arms, loving him for the rest of my life.

  The End!

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  * * *

  Continue reading for preview of SHATTERED STARS by Shari J. Ryan.

  Shattered Stars by Shari J. Ryan

  Dr. Sheila scribbles words onto a piece of paper, halting our conversation to concentrate. I’m struggling to see what she’s writing, but my train of thought stumbles when a knock raps against the chestnut wooden door.

  “Come in,” Dr. Sheila calls out, still holding her gaze on the fresh piece of white paper.

  “Your twelve o’clock is here,” a woman speaks from the corridor. I glance down at my watch, noticing the time is ten past twelve. I didn’t think our session had gone so late.

  The visible space between the door isn’t wide enough to catch who is speaking, but I suspect it’s the young receptionist from the front desk.

  “Thank you. We’re wrapping up now,” Dr. Sheila responds. A hiss embraces the conclusion of her remark, emphasizing an irritation. I wonder if Dr. Sheila doesn’t have a high tolerance for assistants, or if the woman isn’t doing her job well.

  “I didn’t realize the time was past twelve,” I offer as an apology even though Dr. Sheila was the one speaking most.

  This is only the first time I’ve met Dr. Sheila, so I’m not sure I have her figured out just yet. She seems nice enough, but I have the sense she’s all work and not much play. However, if I hadn’t already spoken to her, I might guess she’s a stick in the mud by the sheen bouncing off her glossy hair, held in with a tight knot on the top of her head. Plus, her frameless glasses, and neutral pallet of a complexion don’t offer her a fun and friendly appearance. I suppose I shouldn’t be one to judge since it’s her job to appear perfect, like nothing in her life would give her cause to be in my seat versus hers. I know it’s a myth, though because even doctors need psychiatric help sometimes.

  “It’s all right. We can check in next month around this time, but if you encounter any side-effects or new symptoms before then, please call.”

  Dr. Sheila tears the paper from the stack and places it down on the desk in front of me. “Thank you,” I reply, reaching for the prescription.

  The brief moments of our exchange feel worthless, like I’m just another patient and this is just her job. I want to tell her how lucky s
he is to leave behind all these problems at the end of the night. How she can forget about everyone’s troubles. However, despite Dr. Sheila’s cold front, I wonder if she shuts her day out that way. Although, it seems like it at this moment since she can’t seem to make eye contact.

  I slip the paper into my bag and show myself out, striding as if in a trance. I don’t know if I understand the irony of someone flushing narcotics through my body without hope of finding a solution. I’m not sure the pause button has the same effect on life as it does when watching a video or listening to a song. The inevitable is still there and part of me wonders if it will be easier once I reach that dark serenity.

  The clouds are overbearing today, casting a chill in the late summer warmth. I locate the black Grand Cherokee with the fog lights highlighting the thick air. Mr. H perks up when he spots me walking toward the car and hops out to greet me as if I have a broken leg.

  “What did she say?” he asks, hope filling his eyes just as it has every time I meet with a new doctor. I wish he wouldn’t sound so excited to find out what happened. I’ve trained myself to ignore his optimism because I’ve worked hard to adjust my state of mind and to accept what is, knowing there is no good solution.

  I reach into my purse and pull out the prescription she gave me. “Here,” I offer with a sigh, handing it to him. “This is the solution given by the ‘infamous’ Dr. Sheila.”

  Mr. H glances down at the chicken scratch and shakes his head. “What is so difficult about alternative medicine? I thought that was Dr. Sheila’s specialty? Did you press her for more advice?” I get it. He’s distraught. It’s because he feels hope.

  It’s not that I don’t have hope, I’m just a realist. I’d rather not lie to myself.

  “There are no other options,” I repeat Dr. Sheila’s words, verbatim.

  “Yeah, well, I would have had choice words for her in response,” he says.