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

by Micalea Smeltzer

  One week seems like so little time, but I haven’t gone this long without a single drink in … fuck if I know.

  My head bobs along and I feel it. I feel my passion again—the spark I’ve been missing for years. I’ve been going through the motions for so long that it began to feel real and not like I was faking it.

  It’s sad to realize I’ve been lying to myself for so long I’ve deluded myself into believing a false reality.

  Hayes’s voice enters the recording booth. “That’s great, Rush. Take a break.”

  I hop up from the stool, tucking the drumsticks into my pocket.

  As I exit the booth, Mia enters the studio with coffee.

  “Ah, yes. I love you.” I smack a kiss against her cheek and grab the one I know is mine.

  “Don’t mack on my girlfriend,” Hollis growls.

  “That’s my daughter,” Hayes warns.

  I roll my eyes. “Please, I don’t have a death wish.”

  I sit down on the couch, with my coffee, between Fox and Cannon.

  Mia passes out the rest and then Hollis tugs her down onto his lap in the chair.

  Hayes’s face tightens, but he shakes his head and it clears. I’m sure it’s tough for the man, seeing his daughter fall head over heels for Hollis, but my man Hollis is just as crazy about her. I thought he’d join me in bachelorhood forever—now look at us, him in love with the girl he never knew to hope for, and me … well, I’m tied up in knots about a girl who can never love me.

  Hayes claps his hands together. “We need to talk about things.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” I mutter, which earns me some glares.

  Clearing his throat, Hayes leans back in his swivel chair. One of these days I’m convinced he’s going to lean back too far and fall right out of it. Not gonna lie, I’ll laugh.

  “The album is coming together great, but I think we should look at a later launch. I’m leaning toward November. That way, we have time to market more and I can find you guys the best manager and PR team—people who are truly going to take care of you.”

  “Makes sense,” Cannon mutters.

  Our rise to success is ass backwards.

  We started out playing only for ourselves in Cannon’s basement. Then, as teens we moved on to performing some around our small town. Just small events, like park activities and school functions. Then we moved to L.A. and played some clubs, got a decent following with our singles, and started playing festivals. It was hardly glamorous and a lot of times we went hungry because we needed the money for gas to get to our next venue. When Hayes discovered us, it felt like a miracle. We’d had interest in the past from a few managers, and even a few studios who almost signed us, but it never went anywhere. Typically, you’d get a manager first and they’d get you signed to a company.

  But Hayes was just beginning this venture into producing with his very own studio, and he wanted us to be his first project. You don’t just say no when one of the world’s biggest rock stars and a badass guitar player believes in you.

  So, we signed, but it’s left us without some of the necessary things we need.

  “I’m looking into people, and Willow Creek’s manager is interested in you guys as well, and I, of course, trust her. But I want to entertain others, and let you guys pick who you feel you’d work best with. For the time being there are some local fairs coming up this summer. Willow Creek is booked to play—and I have you guys booked to open for us. These are usually small town affairs, not to toot my own horn,” he grins widely, “but Willow Creek brings in a huge amount of people. Fans come from all over and even if they can’t get onto the grounds, they park where they can hear the show. Once the album is wrapped, you guys will go back to L.A. and the real work will begin.”

  “When … when do you think we’ll go back to L.A.?” I ask, hesitant because all my thoughts go straight to Kira and the baby. I don’t want to be away from them. She can hate me for what I’ve done, I don’t blame her, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to be near her and my son.

  “Probably sometime in September.” My face shadows with worry, my heart thumping. “Is that a problem?” Hayes asks me, not rudely but curiously.

  “The baby is due at the end of August,” I say quietly. I can feel Mia staring a hole into the side of my face. She hasn’t said much to me, and I’m sure she knows from Kira what I did.

  “Ah.” Hayes nods. “Well, you’re not required to go back to L.A. at least not right away. But you will have to go back eventually. L.A. is a necessary evil in the music industry.”

  The thought of going back there, to a city where corruption and temptation is on every block scares the shit out of me. I’ve only been sober one week. My second AA meeting is in two days. How can I possibly get in good enough shape to be okay in a city like that? More so, how am I going to be able to prove myself worthy to Kira before I leave? I’ve already accepted she might never forgive me. It’s a fate I’ve accepted, but it doesn’t mean I won’t try to defy it.

  I know Kira and I are made of the same stuff. We’re meant to be, even if she can’t see it.

  “That’s all I have to say for now.” He claps his hands together. “Now let’s get back to work.”

  Walking out of the studio with Cannon and Fox on my heels I turn to them. “You guys head back to the hotel. There’s somewhere I want to go.”

  Cannon narrows his shrewd green eyes. “You better not be going to a fucking bar.”

  I roll my eyes. “Such little faith in me, Rhodes. No, I’m not going to a bar.”

  “We’ll come with you,” Fox pipes up.

  I shake my head. “This is something I want to do on my own.”

  Cannon sighs and looks at his watch. “Be back at the hotel in two fucking hours. If you’re not I will find your ass and you’ll regret it.”

  I exhale a heavy, world-weary breath. “Okay, father, I’ll be home then. Don’t worry. It gives you wrinkles.”

  Fox chortles at my comment.

  Cannon watches me, his look daring me to fuck up.

  “See y’all in two hours,” I emphasize, and finally part from them.

  I hear the two of them muttering behind me, but I refuse to turn around.

  I know they have every right to be worried, but I’m not up to no good.

  For once.

  Strolling down the street and a block or so over, I find myself standing outside The Paper Crane Project once more. I shove my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans, staring at my reflection in the glass.

  My blond hair is disheveled, and my cotton blue t-shirt is wrinkled from sitting for so much of today. My eyes don’t look nearly as hollow as they did, but they’re still lost. Sad. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop being sad over what I’ve lost.

  Knowing I look like a weirdo standing outside the front of the place, I force my feet in front of me, one step at a time, and open the door.

  Inside, I’m surprised to find more of the strings of cranes hanging from the ceiling. There are so many it looks like a fucking unicorn was murdered and rainbow exploded everywhere.

  With so many colors my eyes don’t seem to know where to look first. Thankfully, the walls are white, and so are the tables—though, those are lined with colored paper, just waiting to be turned into cranes.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  “Just a minute,” a male voice answers.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, because I feel awkward as fuck being here, I wait.

  A man appears, carrying a baby. A fussy little boy who wiggles insanely in his arms, squawking and reaching for something over his father’s shoulders with his chubby hands.

  “Can I help you?” the man asks.

  “Um … shit … yeah. I … uh … read about what you guys do. Thought I might like to help.”

  “Oh, thank God!” Another voice cries from the back and a tiny woman with dark hair barrels around the corner. “We’re in desperate need of more volunteers. This thing has exploded and I’m overwhel
med.” When the baby sees her, he reaches wildly for her and she takes him. “I’m Blaire,” she introduces herself to me. “This is my husband, Ryder, and this little one is Wyatt.” She bounces the baby in her arms and he blows bubbles in his spit. “People will be arriving soon, but we need to make at least one thousand today. A few of my volunteers live in Harrisonburg and they’re trying to get this going there, but we’ve found the more cranes we have left around towns the quicker it catches on.”

  “Um … so what do I do?” I ask hesitantly. “I’m Rush, by the way.”

  Handing the baby back to her husband she says, “Here, I’ll show you. It’s easy.”

  She motions for me to follow her to one of the tables. I sit down and she hands me a bright green piece of paper.

  “The gist is—write something positive and fold it up into a paper crane.” I look at her like a deer in headlights and she laughs. “I’ll show you how to make them, don’t worry.”

  “So … what do I write? You have a nice ass?”

  She snorts. “That might brighten someone’s day, but we prefer to keep it G rated, or at least PG, please.”

  I think for a moment and scrawl across the piece of paper; it gets better.

  “Good,” she tells me. She picks up a purple piece of paper, writes something down, and holds it up. “Now for the folding.”

  I follow her steps and when I’m done, I glare at the offending thing I’ve created.

  “Mine looks like a fucking turkey.”

  She laughs heartily. “It’s not bad for your first one.”

  She continues to work with me and by my tenth I can actually make a decent looking crane.

  “What brought you in here?” she asks curiously. “Truly. I find most people don’t wander in here by accident.”

  I clear my throat and look into her kind eyes. “Let’s just say, I’ve lost some things, and … because of that I’ve done things I’m ashamed of. I’m trying to atone for my mistakes, and it seems like making the world a happier, kinder place is a good point to start.”

  She smiles kindly at me, crossing her fingers together. She looks to be the same age as me, maybe a few years older, but not much.

  “Do you know why this whole thing started?” She motions to our surroundings and I shake my head. “My fiancé died,” she continues, sadness creeping into her eyes. “He died, and I was lost. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

  “That sounds like me,” I admit.

  “After I lost him, I spiraled into depression. When I found out I was pregnant with his child, it felt like I had something of him I could still hold onto, but at the same time my grief was so strong I worried I couldn’t be the kind of mother I always wanted to be. Anyway, Ben always left me these sweet notes, which he folded into paper cranes. He’d hide them in random places for me to stumble across. I kept finding them after he died, and it became something I held on tightly to. Those words became the only buoy I had holding me up while I was adrift at sea. I ended up joining a group for grief, which is how I met Ryder. He had lost his wife,” she explains. “The Paper Crane Project was born from that grief—from wanting to bring something good into the world when I was afraid only bad was left.”

  “Wow,” I breathe.

  “Sorry to dump all that on you,” she gives a small laugh, folding another piece of paper, “but I felt like it was important for you to understand this place. What it means and what it stands for. We still host grief meetings once a month.”

  My head shoots up. “You do?”

  “Yes—have you lost someone?”

  I nod reluctantly. “Yeah,” I reply. There’s no point in denying it.

  “You should come. Our next one is in two weeks. We’d love to have you.”

  “I might drop by,” I answer. Truly, I might, but by not committing I won’t feel obligated. “I think I might like to come here a lot,” I reply.

  She smiles, and there’s no sadness or pain in her eyes. It’s been eight years since I lost my parents and I’ve yet been able to shake that look from mine. “We’d be happy to have you. Stop by any time.” She stands and taps her hand against the table. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need any help feel free to ask anyone or holler for me.”

  “Thanks.”

  I glance at the time and I decide I have about an hour before I better head to the hotel or fear Cannon’s wrath. Normally, I wouldn’t care about defying him—fuck, I’d do it for fun—but I know his worry comes from a good place, and the last thing I want to do is piss off the friend I’m depending on the most.

  Cannon’s always been the rock of our group. This impenetrable force that nothing can shake. We need him far more than he does us, and while we might joke about how he’s such a dad, I don’t know what we’d do without him keeping us in line.

  I start writing my notes and making the cranes. Mine are far from the perfect ones hanging from the ceiling, but I feel like for a novice they don’t look too bad.

  Never give up on what you believe in. I write on one note.

  On another I scrawl, Life’s short. Do something epic.

  There’s something therapeutic about writing the notes, in putting good vibes out into the world. There’s far too much negative, not only inside ourselves but in the world around us. In some small way this helps balance it out.

  Checking the time, I silently curse and finish folding my yellow crane.

  I leave my pile on the table and go in search of Blaire. Other volunteers sit at tables, but pay me no mind. It’s nice not to be stared at. I feel like that’s all anybody who knows me is doing lately. Staring and wondering if I’m going to screw up.

  I find Blaire in the back and clear my throat. “Excuse me?”

  She turns around and smiles. “You heading out?”

  I nod. “I’ll be back another day. Where do you want me to put the ones I made?”

  She waves a hand. “Leave them on the table. We gather them up at the end of the day.”

  “All right, well, bye.”

  You’re an awkward fuck when you’re sober, I tell myself.

  She laughs lightly. “We’ll see you soon. Don’t be a stranger.”

  Leaving the building I feel a little lighter than I did before.

  I walk the streets back to the hotel in a few minutes and head up to our suite. Inside I find Cannon making tacos.

  It’s like a pang to my chest, seeing those fucking tacos. All because of Kira.

  “You’re back,” Cannon states. “I’m impressed.” He uses a spatula to push something around the pan.

  “’Atta boy,” Fox says from the couch, looking at one of his comics with those weird plastic blue and red 3D glasses.

  “Dinner will be ready in a few,” Cannon announces, lining up hard shell tacos.

  “You mean, you’re not going to tell me I’m not allowed to eat your dinner?” I mock gasp at him and he rolls his eyes.

  “Fucker,” he mutters. “If you don’t act like a dick, you’re welcome to a taco.”

  “They’re not my fave, but for you I’ll have one,” I joke.

  “I should punch you in the face,” he grumbles, turning his back to pull out some ingredients from the refrigerator.

  Originally I thought it was dumb as fuck to basically have a full size kitchen in a hotel suite, but now I see the benefits.

  “But you won’t,” I quip. “You love me too much. I’m like a rainbow on a rainy day.”

  He turns around and narrows his eyes on me. “No, you’re the rain.”

  “True,” I agree. “Without me, there’d be an endless drought. Look at me bringing good things to the world.”

  “Stop sassing me and help.”

  “Yes, Mother,” I salute him, and join him in assembling the tacos.

  A few minutes later the three of us sit down to eat together. Soon, it’ll be four of us when Callie arrives this weekend.

  I have no fucking idea how that’s going to work out, but right now it’s the least of my concern
s.

  Getting sober is number one, dealing with my shit is two, and proving to Kira I’m the kind of man she can rely on for herself and our son is third—it would be number one, but I know if I don’t accomplish the first two, the third will invariably come crumbling down.

  39

  Kira

  “Don’t you think we should’ve taken a more inconspicuous car?” I glance over at Mia, her hair whipping around her shoulders from the open car windows as we speed south down the interstate, heading for North Carolina. “A bright red Audi sports car seems like a target at a prison.”

  She slides her sunglasses up her nose. “The prisoners won’t be seeing my car. You usually take a shuttle from parking to the actual prison.”

  I stare at her like I don’t know her—because I’m honestly questioning that fact at the moment.

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  She shrugs and gives me a sheepish look before her eyes return to the road. “Criminal Minds, duh.”

  “You weirdo,” I snort.

  Mia is one of those beautifully gorgeous girls who is actually a total dork. I’m pretty sure if her TV broke and the only channel she could watch was National Geographic, she’d die happy.

  I look out the window, at the passing trees, and the green that has suddenly blossomed as spring hits us in full force. It’ll be May soon, and I wish I could slow down time. I feel like the closer it gets to August the faster it goes, and I’m scared.

  I’m scared of the unknown, of what’s to come, of how I can possibly handle motherhood on my own.

  My mom might’ve practically raised me, but she’s not the kind of parent anyone should look to for how to do things.

  Sometimes I envy Mia. Not for her dad’s fame, or growing up with money, but for having two parents who love each other whole-heartedly and who would do anything for their children.

  The sad thing is, I’ve learned in life there are more people like me than Mia.

  “This is fun, don’t you think?” she asks, picking up her stainless steel travel cup and taking a sip of water. I, on the other hand, have a large size Coke from the Sheetz we stopped at to get gas an hour ago. It was a bad idea, since I already have to pee.