Wild Flame (The Wild: A Rock Star Romance Book 2)

by Micalea Smeltzer

  “He’s so mad at me,” I whisper, my voice choked.

  “Give him space. He’s … he’s not doing well,” she admits solemnly. “He’s not what you need right now. Rush needs to fix himself, and you need to fix you. Then maybe the two of you could talk and work things out. But it’s obvious you both need to work through your pasts, deal with things, before you try to pursue something more. You’ll be nothing but toxic to each other unless y’all finally cope. What are you going to do? Huh? Are you going to focus on school, mope around, and let every shitty thing your parents ever did or said hold you back? When will it become enough for you? When will you reclaim your life?”

  A sob escapes and I cover my face. Water splashes as Mia steps out of the bathtub. I feel a towel brush my arm and once she’s wrapped tightly, she hugs me.

  “I love you, Kira. Like a sister. You’re my best friend. I want you to be happy. I’m tired of seeing you throw your life away because of what those horrible people did to you. Confront them if that’s what you need to do. See a therapist. Just scream if that’s what will make you feel better.” She bends down and moves my hands away, taking my face between hers like a mother would a child. “This is your life,” she reminds me. “It’s yours to make something of. Until you let them go, they’ll always be chaining you to the past.”

  I nod and hug her again.

  She’s right. I have to change. I have to let go. There’s no sense in me holding on to those toxic people. I don’t see them, I don’t speak to them, but they’re still constantly there, a heavy burden on my shoulders.

  She shivers and stands up. “I’m going to put my pjs on before I freeze to death. You go pick out a movie or something to watch—and you’re staying the night. No objections. Hollis can sleep on the couch.”

  I bust out laughing, which is comical since I’m still crying. “I’m sure he’ll love that.”

  She grins and winks. “He does what I say.”

  I shake my head and laugh around my tears. “Got him wrapped around your finger, huh?”

  “Obviously.” She saunters out of the bathroom, making sure to flip her hair over her shoulder for good measure.

  I roll off some toilet paper and use it to dry my eyes.

  Dropping the paper into the trashcan I stand and assess my appearance in the mirror. My eyes are bloodshot with dark circles purpling the skin beneath them. My cheeks hollow. I look tired and not healthy at all, which is bad since I’m pregnant. I haven’t been eating enough the last week and I’ve barely been sleeping. It’s clearly taken its toll.

  With a groan I turn away from the mirror.

  Mia has already pulled on her pajama bottoms and top, and sits down, yanking on some knee-high socks with donuts on them.

  “I’ll go pick a movie now,” I tell her.

  She gives me a sad look. I know she wishes she could make this all better for me, but she’s right. It’s time for me to deal with my shit. The end of August will be here before I know it, and with it, this baby. It deserves a good, decent mother, one who isn’t bogged down by the demons of her past. I want to be the parent my child deserves, the one I know in my heart I can be.

  Sitting down on the black leather couch I curl my legs under me and pick up the remote. I find The Wedding Planner and select it. I’ve always loved that movie. It’s probably surprising to some, knowing my personality, that I love chick flicks.

  Maybe it’s because I think I’ll never have a simple, fun love like that, that attracts me to them.

  Mia pads into the room and over to her kitchen area. “Want something to drink?”

  “I’d say Coke, but I better have some water.”

  She laughs. “One water coming right up.” She grabs two bottles and joins me. She holds one out and I take it, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip to dampen my parched throat.

  Leaning over she grabs a blanket out of the wire basket beside her couch and tosses it to me before grabbing one for herself.

  I cover up with the blanket decorated with dancing penguins. I draw it up to my chin, trying to disappear with a whisper of fabric, as the movie plays.

  We’re at the part where she’s saved from the rogue dumpster when Hollis comes back.

  “You’re the best,” I tell him, as he sets the grocery bags on the counter.

  “Thanks, babe.” Mia gives him a look that says he’ll definitely be rewarded heavily for this at a later time.

  I glance at her and mock gag. “Stop giving your boyfriend sex eyes while I’m sitting right here. It’s gross.”

  She laughs. “He’s hot. I can’t help it.”

  “Later.” He winks at her.

  I throw the blanket off. “I’m gonna go now.”

  Mia grabs my arm and pulls me back down on the couch. “Nope, you’re not going anywhere.”

  “I didn’t buy all this shit for nothing,” Hollis says, and tosses the bag of white cheddar popcorn at me.

  I throw my hands up and manage to catch it. “Fine, I guess I can stay for the snacks.” I sit back down and fix the blanket over my legs.

  I open the popcorn bag and a small cloud of white cheese powder floats up.

  Setting the bag between the two of us I grab a handful, while in the kitchen Hollis puts the ice cream away.

  “Thank you,” I say to both of them. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

  “You’re always welcome here.” Mia wraps her arm around me, hugging me from the side.

  “Yeah, Kira. You’re family,” Hollis adds, looking up from where he’s crouched over the bottom door freezer.

  I start to tear up again, because coming from Hollis it means a lot. He could hate me for what I’ve done to Rush, but he doesn’t, because he gets it.

  Rush and I aren’t ready to love each other. Not yet. Not until we can love ourselves first.

  30

  Rush

  “What do you guys think of this for your logo?” Hayes asks, with the four of us huddled behind him in his back office at the studio, staring at a computer screen.

  “Dude, that’s fucking awesome,” I blurt.

  “Yeah, that’s insane,” Hollis pipes in.

  “I like it,” Cannon adds.

  “I like the colors,” is the only input Fox gives.

  “I thought it went well with your band name,” Hayes explains. “I’m pleased with it, but it’s your band’s logo. You four get the final say on this.”

  The geometric lion, with multi-colored hues is amazing, better than anything I’m sure the four of us would’ve come up with on our own.

  Our band’s name is scrawled across the bottom in a cobalt blue color with a hint of pink glowing behind it.

  It’s unique. I’ve never seen another fucking band logo like it.

  “Should I tell the designer you’re pleased with it?”

  “Hells yeah,” I say, clapping a hand on Hayes’s shoulder. “Wrap it up, my man. Can we get this shit on shirts or something?”

  On Hayes’s other side Cannon glares at me.

  I give him a look that says what?

  He gives me a look back that says you know what.

  I blink innocently, trying to look like the sweet little angel I’m not.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks me.

  Hayes looks between the two of us. “Everything okay?”

  “Just fine,” Cannon tells him with a fake smile. When his eyes fall on me once more, he looks like he wants to kill me.

  “Go on,” Hayes tells us, waving his fingers in dismissal.

  Cannon makes sure I head out of the room in front of him. He closes the door behind us and then urges me further down the hall.

  “What is it?” I snap at him.

  He grabs my shirt in his hands and shoves me into the wall.

  “What the fuck, man?” I look at him in shock. “What’s your problem?”

  “My problem,” he spits with venom, “is the fact we’re here to work and you’re fucking plastered.”

 
; “I’m not,” I defend vehemently, but my tone falls flat.

  His eyes flash with anger. “I’m not stupid, Rush. I’ve seen you at all stages of drunkenness and I’m surprised you’re not flat on your face.”

  “I’m fine,” I snap, shoving him off of me.

  He grabs me again, holding me against the wall with one strong hand. He’s the fucking Hulk or some shit.

  “Let. Me. Go.” I bite out the words in a dangerous tone.

  “No.” He jerks me slightly. “What you’re doing … you’re throwing everything away.”

  “Hollis fell in love with Mia and everything was fine. Hayes isn’t going to lose his shit because I’ve had a few drinks.”

  His eyes turn lethal, his top lip curling. “You think I’m mad because of what this could do to our band? I’m pissed, because you’re practically a brother to me and you’re throwing your Goddamn life away. Do you have any fucking idea what it’s like to watch someone you love completely give up on everything?”

  I shake him off of me again, this time taking a few steps away from him. My jaw clenches and I glare at him. “I’m not your problem.”

  He lets out a breath and glances upwards, like he’s waiting for something or someone to give him the answers to the world.

  “You have to help yourself,” he tells me, sounding completely and utterly defeated.

  “I am. I’m fine … I’m … happy.”

  “Are you?” He stares at me, waiting for a response he won’t get. “You’re a fucking coward, Rush. Your parents died, it’s sad, it’ll always be sad—but you won’t fucking deal with it. Kira rejects you, it sucks, but again you won’t fucking deal with it.”

  “I AM DEALING WITH IT!” I shout so loud, I’m surprised the others don’t come bursting out of the room down the hall.

  Cannon shakes his head back and forth. “You’re a boy pretending to be a man. Grow the fuck up, Rush.”

  He turns and heads back down the hall, opening and closing the door to the office.

  I stand there for a few seconds longer, debating what to do.

  In the end, I do what I do best.

  I leave.

  The glass dangles from my fingers as I sit sprawled in the black leather chair in the private room of the club. I don’t even know what drink the bartender made for me. All I asked was for it to knock me out.

  For eight years I’ve had ups and downs with my alcohol use. I’ve never, not once, believed I was an alcoholic. Now, I’m even beginning to question that. I feel certain I could stop if I wanted—but I don’t want to. I like this feeling. I like the numbness. When I’m sober all I can think about is things I’d rather not.

  When I’m in this state I’m free, floating on a cloud where nothing bad exists.

  Music blares and my head throbs, but I don’t care. With this much pain echoing through my skull I can’t think of much else. Though, the ass shaking in front of me is nice to look at.

  The girl lifts her dark hair up and gives me a flirtatious look over her shoulder. Her eyes are full of mischief.

  I like mischief.

  I drop my glass where it shatters on the ground. Nobody notices.

  I stand and wrap my arms around the girl. She grinds her ass into my dick, rolling her hips to the beat of the song.

  My hands slide down to her bare thighs, my fingers inching up her skirt and stopping there—for the moment at least.

  Her laughter is a soft vibration against me.

  She reaches one arm behind me, her fingers grazing my hair. Tilting her head back to look at me over her shoulder she says, “You can touch me.”

  I close my eyes, at war with myself.

  I’ve never felt this feeling before.

  Confliction.

  I’m confused.

  But the girl I love doesn’t love me back, never will, so what’s the point.

  My hands move back to her hips and I spin her around until she’s facing me. She’s pretty, with dark hair, tan skin, full lips and brown eyes. They’re not the warm brown of Kira’s. Darker, more like black.

  Kira.

  NO!

  I shove all thoughts of her out of my mind. Before I can talk myself out of it, or think twice, I kiss her.

  She kisses me back with fervor, her tongue finding mine. She’s a good kisser, but she doesn’t taste right. Not bad, but just … not what I was expecting.

  We kiss wildly, with no beginning and no end. There’s no control to it. It’s a frantic clash of lips and teeth. Before I know it, we’re stumbling down a hall.

  My mind yells at me to stop, but I don’t.

  I just want to lose myself for a moment.

  My back pushes into the restroom door and we stumble inside. Some guys cheer, but I pay them no mind, dragging her into a stall.

  She tears my shirt over my head, her fingers raking over my abs. “You’re so fucking hot,” she purrs.

  “Shut up.” I kiss her again to silence her.

  I don’t want her to talk. It ruins the illusion.

  I pick her up and her legs wrap around my waist. Her skin-tight, already too short dress slides higher up until her lacy black thong is exposed. I growl low in my throat at the sight of it and yank my lips from hers. She gasps as I pull down the top of her dress, exposing her pert bare breasts. They’re large, naturally so—I can tell—and I bend my head taking a nipple into my mouth.

  She throws her head back, and grips the hair at the base of my skull. “Yes,” she cries. “Oh God, please.”

  “Don’t talk,” I plead with her. When she speaks it ruins the illusion. I swirl my tongue around her other nipple, my tongue leaving behind a trail of wetness.

  “Put me down then.”

  I let her down, expecting her to slap me or leave, but instead she drops to her knees in the bathroom stall.

  She makes quick work of the buckle on my belt and slides the zipper down on my jeans. She yanks them down, along with my boxer-briefs, and takes my length in her hand.

  “Oh fuck,” I blurt when she wraps her mouth around me. She’s fucking skilled at giving head, but…

  But.

  BUT.

  I shove her away and she falls back on her ass, her tits bouncing. “What the fuck?”

  She looks at me with surprise in her dark eyes.

  “Go,” I growl. The one word is both a warning and a plea. I’m already putting myself away and redoing my pants. When she doesn’t move I raise my voice. “Leave! Just fucking leave!”

  She stands, teetering in her heels. She pauses, righting her dress and maybe waiting to see if I change my mind.

  “Go,” I say again, this time deadly calm.

  “Asshole,” she mutters under her breath, unlocking the stall and walking out.

  “I’d fuck you, baby,” some jerk says.

  “Leave her alone,” I tell the man I can’t see as I lock the stall door back.

  I drop to the floor, my ass colliding with the hard, dirty tile. I lean my back against the wall, drawing my knees up. Resting my elbows on my knees I bury face in my hands, yanking on my hair so hard a few strands pull free.

  A scream tears out of my throat. It’s filled with anguish, pain, self-loathing—too many fucking emotions.

  “What have I done?” I sob, my chest shaking. My face is wet with tears, and I have no fucking idea when I started crying.

  I want desperately to go back to twenty minutes prior—to before I ever stood up from the chair.

  “What have I done?” I repeat. Thrashing my legs and tugging on my hair I scream those words over and over again.

  I’ve completely lost my shit.

  Cannon warned me one day I would reach rock bottom.

  I didn’t believe him—and if I had I would’ve never imagined it’d be like this.

  Kira might not love me, but I love her. I fucking do. This is a betrayal to her.

  I was … I was going to fuck that woman.

  I was going to fuck a woman that’s not her.

  I c
an barely catch my breath. I’ve never felt like this before, this mix of fear, pain, hatred.

  My stomach rolls and in the blink of an eye I’m over the toilet and emptying every bit of alcohol from my body.

  I’m not sick from the drinks. I’m sick from what I’ve done.

  “I never meant for things to end up like this,” I whisper to myself.

  “Buddy, stop talking to yourself. It’s weird,” someone says from the next stall.

  “Shut up,” I mutter, as I resume my former position, wiping my mouth off with the back of my hand and letting out a groan.

  I don’t know what to fucking do. I can’t change what I’ve done, or what I planned to do.

  I’ve been living on borrowed time.

  For eight fucking years I’ve been spiraling further and further down into this.

  Things were better at first when I came to Virginia, but even that was borrowed time too, a small reprieve from the inevitable.

  Cannon’s known this was going to happen for a long while. I was too fucking blind to see it, and too stupid to believe it.

  I always thought I could win at everything.

  I believed I could beat my grief—that if I ignored it long enough it would go away.

  Wrong.

  Now, here I am, with the pain just as raw and fresh as it was the moment I was pulled away from the wreckage.

  I hear my mom’s voice in my head saying, “You can run, but you can’t hide,” in her playful sing-song voice as we played tag when I was a small boy.

  Her words were true then, and they’re true now.

  Like a coward I’ve been running from my issues, drinking to dull the pain, fucking to fill the ache. I felt like I was safe as long as I kept my mind far enough away.

  I’ve never been safe.

  Now, I’ve really gone and fucked everything up.

  When I look back at that naïve eighteen-year-old boy I was then, I’m nothing like him now. That version of me would be appalled at all the things I’ve done, but especially at what just transpired and how it taints the love I have for one special woman.

  How could I do that to her? To myself? How do I make this right?