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

by Micalea Smeltzer

  “You don’t want to open the crib?” he asks in a confused tone, his brows furrowing.

  I shake my head. “He’ll sleep with me or in a bassinet to start. I figure it’ll be easier when I move if it’s still in the box.”

  “You’re moving?” He doesn’t sound surprised, but it’s not like I’ve made it a secret I don’t want to keep living in this dump with a baby.

  “Eventually. My lease is up in November, and the baby won’t be in a crib by then. I … uh … my dad passed away and I came into some money through him and that’s how I’m affording it.” I don’t know why I feel the need to explain, I just do.

  Rush moves over to the pile of parts for the stroller. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Don’t be. He was an asshole,” I sigh.

  He looks over at me with those deep blue ocean eyes of his that leave me breathless. “Then I guess I’m sorry for what should’ve been.”

  He bends down and picks up a part, looking it over before addressing the directions. Glancing over his shoulder at me he says, “Sit down. Please. There’s a lot we need to talk about. I … I want to tell you everything. I think we’ve both kept a lot of secrets from each other, because we were trying to protect ourselves. I realize now I was never protecting myself. I only brought myself more pain and I hurt those around me because of it.”

  I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and sit down on the floor beside him, curling my legs under me. Placing the shake beside me, I face him.

  “We’re a lot alike,” I state, letting out a breath I’d been holding and didn’t even realize.

  “We are,” he agrees.

  He grows quiet, reading the directions and looking at the parts.

  Once he starts putting it together, he speaks again. “Nine years ago now, I was involved in a car accident,” he begins softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicker to mine, like he’s hesitant to make eye contact, but knows he needs to. “A driver hit our car, and my parents were killed instantly. I sustained some injuries, none of them life threatening, but it killed my chance at playing basketball.”

  He screws some pieces together and doesn’t speak for a minute or two.

  “My parents and I were close. I’m an only child, and I only had them. They were older when they had me and didn’t have any family themselves. Losing them … it was like losing a vital part of what made me who I am. I didn’t want to live without them, and I spiraled down a dark hole. I started doing things I had never done before. I drank an insane amount, I partied, even tried some drugs at one point but discovered that was too far even for me, and I fucked. My friends tried to be there for me, but I didn’t want to listen to reason. Once we headed for L.A., I fit right into that lifestyle. It was exactly what I craved. Hollis had always been a partier, so he was right there with me, Fox isn’t much of a drinker but he likes the scene, and Cannon … well, Cannon thinks he has to take care of all of us.”

  The stroller starts coming together and he focuses on it while I sit there sipping the chocolate malt. I smile around the straw, because I don’t know of any guy who would take care of me the way Rush has. Even when we weren’t anything but fuck buddies, he wanted to do things for me, much to my chagrin.

  I stay quiet, giving him time to sort through things, because it’s obvious he has more to say and I want him to have the chance to say what he needs to.

  “I don’t feel angry like I used to,” he murmurs, pausing to look at me. “All day, every day I used to be angry—that they were gone, that the asshole hit us that day.”

  “I don’t feel angry anymore either,” I admit. “Mostly just sad at times, for what could’ve been, what should’ve been.” I place my hand on my round stomach. “At least with him I have the chance to make it right—to be a good mom.”

  His lips lift in a small closed-mouth smile. “You’ll be the best mom.”

  “I’ve been going to therapy,” I confess, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “It’s helped me to see things clearly where my parents are concerned and … I’m letting it all go. My life is mine, and I shouldn’t live holding onto something that’s done nothing but drag me down. I won’t be drowned by someone else’s mistakes anymore.”

  “You shouldn’t,” he agrees, adding the wheels to the stroller.

  “It’s progress I should’ve made a long time ago,” I admit, clearing my throat. I lean my back against the couch, spreading my legs.

  “Yeah,” he sighs. “Same here.” He looks at me with sad eyes. “Do you think we would’ve ever bothered to fix ourselves if we’d never met each other?”

  I nibble on my lip, picking a piece of lint off my dress. “I’d like to think so, but I don’t know. We never will know for sure.”

  “You gave me something to fight for.” He stares into my eyes. I can’t help but see so much in their depths. I feel it too. An infinite amount of thoughts and emotions can be conveyed in one simple glance. “And I have to thank you, because in fighting for you, I finally fought for myself.”

  “I’m happy for you, Rush.” I mean it wholeheartedly. On one hand we’re the same two people we’ve always been, on the other we’re not. Healing changes you, it makes you better, but it can also make you a stranger, and in a way that’s what we feel like now.

  The baby starts to kick and I let out a laugh.

  “What is it?” he asks, his head flying up at the sound of my laughter.

  I scoot over to him and grab his hand, another one of the stroller wheels falling to the ground, and press it to my stomach.

  “Do you feel that?”

  The baby kicks again.

  His lips part and his eyes widen in surprise, lifting to meet mine.

  “That’s him?”

  “Mhmm,” I hum. “He likes to kick all the time—but mostly at night. I think he’s giving me a heads up that I’m never sleeping again.”

  He grins crookedly. “That’s amazing.” He places both hands against my stomach, gazing down with a look of wonder. “Such a miracle,” he murmurs softly. Raising his head to look at me he asks, “Does he have a name?”

  I shake my head. “It’s scary naming a baby. Whatever we pick … it’s his name forever.”

  “We?” He grins, his eyes lightening.

  I smile back with a shrug. “We’ll see. You better come up with something good. I have veto power if it sucks.”

  He sobers, moving his hand over my stomach as he follows our son’s kicks. “I’ll come up with the best name ever. You just wait and see.” Dropping his hands, he sits back and meets my eyes. “I would like to be there—in the delivery room, if you’re okay with it.”

  I press my lips together, thinking. I had planned for only Mia to be with me.

  “Can I think about it?” I ask him. “I’ll let you know.”

  His shoulder sag in defeat, but he nods anyway. “That’s fine.”

  Silence descends upon us as he finishes putting together the stroller and moves on to the car seat, making sure it fits in the base and everything is connected. When the last of my chocolate malt is gone, I help him, he orders me not to but it’s pointless—I do what I want.

  There’s something almost therapeutic about working together.

  “We’re like a team,” I blurt, and he glances at me with a questioning gaze. “We … we work well together,” I explain awkwardly.

  He smiles back. It’s a soft, hesitant smile—not at all like the cocky one I grew used to. “Yeah, we do.”

  Being around him like this fills me with warmth and gives me hope for what could be. I’ve missed him, sure, but I don’t want to invite him back into my life fully until I feel confident we’re both on the right track.

  It would crush me to give us a chance and Rush start drinking again. I need someone I can rely on, a steady rock to cling to, a shield against the darkness and storms.

  I haven’t decided yet if he’s the rock or the storm.

  But I know what I hope for.

  It tak
es several hours for the two of us to finish putting everything together, but I enjoy the time spent with him, especially as we loosen up and begin to laugh and joke. It’s different between us than it was before, but I can still feel the attraction and chemistry thrumming between us and I’m grateful it hasn’t gone away with all the other changes.

  I walk Rush to the door and the urge to get on my tiptoes and kiss him is strong, but I know we’re not ready for that. If we have any chance of making this work it means taking things slow and I’m happy he’s on the same page. I might have forgiven him, but it doesn’t mean we need to rush things, and after the way I hurt him he needs time as well to see if things between us are salvageable.

  “You should come to my appointment on Friday,” I tell him suddenly. “The baby looks like an actual human being now. He’s huge. He’s measuring really long, I think he’s going to be tall like you.”

  Rush’s face warms and his genuine smile nearly knocks me off my feet. “I’d love that. I’ll pick you up.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Please?”

  I don’t think Rush has ever said please to me over anything and somehow, I find I can’t deny the request.

  “Okay.” I nod slowly. “My appointment is at eleven in the morning so pick me up at ten-thirty.”

  “I’ll be here,” he promises.

  “Thank you for helping today with all of this stuff.” I motion inside my apartment. “You really didn’t have to buy all of it.”

  “I wanted to. I’ll see you Friday, I guess.”

  “Friday,” I echo. It’s Sunday now, which makes Friday feel like a lifetime away, but the point of taking things slow is to not spend every waking moment together now that we’ve made contact again.

  He nods and jogs down the steps, hopping in his truck a moment later.

  He looks up at me through the truck’s window with hope in his eyes and it nearly knocks me to my knees.

  I lift my hand in a wave, and he mimics it then gives two sharp honks on this truck’s horn before pulling away.

  Stepping inside, I close and lock the door before leaning against it.

  Slowly, I raise my hand to my chest and feel the pattering of my heart beating against my palm. Color floods my cheeks and I let out a squeal.

  I, Kira Marsh, have a full-blown crush on Rush Daniels.

  I guess there’s a first time for everything.

  48

  Rush

  I pull my truck up outside Kira’s apartment and shoot her text to let her know I’m here. A moment later she comes down wearing a loose dress like she had on the other day, a pair of red Converse, with her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her face is free of makeup and she looks … happy.

  I think she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  She opens the passenger door and glares at me and I have to suppress a laugh, because I’ve fucking missed her pissed off looks.

  “How do you expect my heavily pregnant ass to haul myself into this massive beast of a truck?” She sticks her hands on her hips, staring me down.

  “I can help you.”

  I hop out of the truck before she can retort and meet her at the passenger side.

  “My equilibrium is way off thanks to this thing.” She points to her stomach.

  “I think it’s perfect.”

  Her eyes sparkle at that. “Stop trying to woo me with sweet words and help me in here, or else we’ll be taking my car.”

  I give her my hand and she takes it. With my other at her waist I help her climb into the truck.

  “This truck is not baby friendly,” she scolds me. “You need a minivan.”

  I snort. “I’m never driving a minivan, Kira. Don’t even start.”

  “Good luck trying to put a car seat in the back. I’m just saying.” She raises her hands innocently, smiling at me. I don’t know a time when we’ve ever been like this, joking and light-hearted.

  “It’s a good thing I’m six-foot-six then. I’ll be fine.”

  “Whatever you say.” She gives a small shrug. “We better get going.”

  “Right,” I agree, closing her door.

  Luckily, the hospital where her doctor is happens to be a ten-minute drive tops, so we should still be early.

  Once I’ve pulled into traffic, I clear my throat. “I thought maybe we could get lunch after your appointment … if you want.”

  I’ve never sounded this idiotic in my entire life. My voice even squeaks like a prepubescent boy. I’ve always been unapologetically confident, even before the accident, but Kira has me feeling all kinds of vulnerable.

  “That’d be nice.”

  “Your choice,” I tell her.

  “Cheeseburgers,” she sighs dreamily.

  I shake my head. “Have you craved them the whole time?”

  “Yes,” she admits. “Those and Coke. I’ve probably gained twenty pounds because of those two things alone. I hope these cravings go away as soon as he’s out, I miss my tacos.”

  “I miss your taco.” I grin at her, waggling my brows.

  Her only response is an exhaled sigh of disbelief.

  I turn into the hospital and loop around, searching for the right parking lot section.

  “It’s that one.” She points it out and then it becomes a game to find a parking space.

  Eventually we find one and hurry inside before she ends up late to her appointment. So much for being early.

  We step onto the elevator and it’s the just the two of us, standing side by side. My arm brushes hers and I lower my head to study her.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispers, tilting her chin up as she raises her eyes to meet mine.

  “Because I want to memorize every detail of you.”

  Her lips part, but anything she’s about to say gets cut off as the doors open and we step off the elevator. We walk side by side into her doctor’s office and I sit down while she signs in.

  I can’t help thinking of all the appointments she’s come to without me. It stings, but I also know we’ve needed this time apart to grow as individuals.

  She plops into the chair beside me, holding her purse on her lap protectively like a paranoid ninety-year-old named Barbara.

  “I hate doctors offices,” she mutters under her breath. “They all look so depressing.”

  I chuckle. “And you’d think one like this would be a little happier.”

  “I guess they don’t want us to feel too comfortable,” she reasons, wiggling in her chair.

  “Kira?” A nurse calls out and the two of us stand.

  We’re led back and down a hallway where the nurse takes Kira’s weight and blood pressure before putting us in a room.

  Kira hops up on the table and I sit in the chair beside her.

  She wraps her arms around her belly and tilts her head in my direction. “I’m a whale.”

  I roll my eyes. “No, you’re not. You’re beautiful.”

  I’m not lying, either. She’s more gorgeous than she’s ever been, and I can’t quite understand the pride I feel knowing she’s round with my child.

  Her cheeks redden. “Thank you, but I don’t feel that way. I’m tired all the time, my feet hurt, and I burp like a redneck competing in a burping contest.”

  “Your body is growing a human, you’re bound to have side effects,” I reason, clasping my hands together. I lean forward slightly in the chair. My nerves are far worse today than the first time I came with her.

  “It’s hard sometimes, not feeling like me.” Her eyes sadden and she nibbles on her bottom lip nervously. “I didn’t want this baby to start with,” she admits, which is nothing new to me. “But now … I can’t wait to hold him and see him. I already love him so much and I didn’t know it was possible to feel something so powerful for a person you haven’t even met.”

  “He’s your child—our child—it’s a love that transcends everything.”

  “You love him too already, don’t you? I’ve
heard sometimes the dad doesn’t connect with the baby until it’s here. It’s different for the mother since you’re growing it. And since you haven’t been able to be around…” She trails off.

  “I do,” I admit. “That doesn’t mean I’m not scared or worried, but I do love him. He’s a piece of you and me, and that’s … well, it’s a real kind of magic that exists in the world, isn’t it?”

  She grins at me. “When did you become so philosophical?”

  “I’ve always been this way. The alcohol made me a loon.” I wink at her.

  I’m definitely much more serious not drinking. Don’t get me wrong, I still laugh, joke, and have the amazing talent of turning practically anything into a dirty conversation, but I’m subdued. I don’t have this unchained wildness constantly needing to be released to keep me sane—and I’m not sure if I can blame that entirely on the alcohol. Not coping with the loss of my parents led to a lot of built up thoughts and emotions and they needed to get out in some way.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks softly, hesitantly like she’s afraid to voice it. “Is … is it weird to be sober?”

  “In a way, yes—mostly because I truly believed I was sober the majority of the time. I thought there was nothing wrong with liking to let go and drink until I lost all control. Now, I see what a disaster I’ve made of things because I refused to accept I’m an alcoholic. I feel better without it, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a part of my brain telling me I’m fine and I can have a beer if I want. It’s lying to me, and I have to ignore that voice so I don’t lose myself again. It’s been difficult doing this once, I can’t imagine doing this again, but a lot of people do,” I exhale a sigh. “I want to be strong enough to never pick up a bottle again, but I’m not naïve enough to think it won’t be difficult—especially with what I do. When we go on tour … alcohol will be everywhere, in easy reach, and I’ll have to fight that voice even harder.”

  She reaches out, touching her fingers to my cheek and I place my hand over hers.

  “You can do it. I believe in you.”

  I take her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingertips before letting go.