Page 112 of All the Forbidden Things
“I’m thirty-eight, I’m in my fucking prime.”
He unties my bathrobe and slides his hands inside, pulling my naked body flush against his clothed one. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he kisses my mouth gently.
“We’ll work it out. Whatever the outcome, we’ll deal with it, so stop worrying.”
“Max . . . what if I’m pregnant?”
“Then I hope it’s another girl with red hair exactly like yours—”
“Max—”
“Bamm . . .”
I stare at him, mouth open, brows raised.
“You said you want lots of kids. If you’re pregnant, we’ll deal. We’ve got one, what’s one more gonna matter?”
I have no words.
“Don’t look at me like that. Layla’s almost as muchyoursas she is mine and definitely more than she’s ever been Whitney’s. This is the beginning of ourus. Layla’s a part of that, and if another baby is too, then so be it.” He kisses my nose while I remain speechless. “I need to go take a shower. I’ll get clean clothes for Layla and make up some bottles. Shouldn’t be more than half-hour. Have a think about what you wanna do for the rest of the day . . . and food, I’m starving, we need to organise some food, there’s absolutely fuck all in your fridge or cupboards. I’ll see what I can find in mine and bring it over.”
He says all of this while walking backwards towards the top of the stairs. He kisses the pads of his middle two fingers, holds them up in a peace sign, and says, “Thank you for having us, Billie Wild, it was great being in you.” He winks.
I clench and squirm and do all those other things females do when hot rock stars make them horny.
“Fantastic show tonight. Peace out people, we love you.” He strums an air guitar a couple of times, turns, and with his arms in the air, runs down the stairs making a noise I assume is supposed to resemble the sound of a crowd roaring.
When my front door slams, I look across to Layla lying on my bed and smile at her. “You’re dad’s a nutter, Miss Layla, but I think I’m falling in love with him anyway.”
She responds by sucking on her tiny fist while I just stand and smile. Thisusis new and scary and sexy and swoony. It’sallof the things. I’m both terrified and excited to rush in and discoverallit might become.
I go to the large built-in wardrobe and stand and stare as I try and decide what to put on. I want to look good for Max, but at the same time I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, and if we’re just going to chill today, I want to keep my outfit comfy and casual.
I settle on boy shorts and a crop-top style sports bra under black sweats and another of my slash-necked loose-fitting sweatshirts. This one is plum-coloured, my choice inspired by Max’s little display earlier, having the two-fingered sign of peace on the front with the phrase “Hippie Chick” written around it. I’m just pulling on a pair of pink fluffy bed socks when I hear the crunch of gravel on the drive.
When I look out of the window, I catch the back end of a white car circling the drive to the front of the house, followed by a small black car. I don’t recognise either, but for some reason, my intuitive heart begins to thrum in my chest.
Layla is swaddled in a blanket and sleeping soundly in the middle of my bed. I’m watching her, wondering whether I should wait here or take her to the main house when my phone sounds with a text. I almost jump out of my skin and hold my hand against my erratic heart while searching for where the sound came from. When I find it on the coffee table, I open the text with a frown.
Max: LOCK YOUR FRONT DOOR. DO NOT LET ANYONE IN. CALL AARON. TELL HIM IT’S URGENT. I NEED HIM HERE ASAP. THE POLICE ARE AT THE DOOR.
My head swims, my skin heats, the blood in my veins runs cold, and I know from experience I’m in the early stages of a panic attack. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I breathe deeply, in and out through my nose, and drop my head down low between my knees, while attempting to process what his text message means and why the police would be here. I come up with nothing, so when my breathing evens out, despite my every instinct urging me to text or call Max back, my shaking finger presses Aaron’s number.
“Billie?”
With a calmness I pluck from an unknown place inside me, I explain the situation, quickly. “Aaron, I have no clue what’s going on, but Max is over at the main house, and he’s just text and told me to lock my doors, let no one in, and call you because the police are here.”
“Where’s Layla?”
“With me.”
“Stay put, I’m on my way. Do as he says and talk to no one. Call me back if you need to. I’ll be about twenty minutes.”
He ends the call without another word. Within seconds there’s a loud banging at my front door. I haven’t had time to go down and lock it since Max’s message. Before I can react, feet are pounding up the stairs, and my living room is being filled by police officers.
I don’t move. I can’t. Absolute blind panic has me rooted to the spot.
“Billie Wild?” A female police officer approaches and asks from the other side of my open bedroom doorway.
