Breathing Wisteria

by Rose, Amali

  My heart dips a little at that and I have to fight the urge to pout, which is ridiculous, I’m well aware.

  “Well, then, that’s what you’ll do. I can’t imagine he’ll force the issue unless he wants to make things incredibly awkward.”

  Flynn watches me closely, his eyes darting over my entire face, a look of curiosity painted across his dark features.

  “You want me to talk about us?”

  “No,” I hastily reply, wondering what he could see in my face. My face that now feels as though it is on fire. “I mean, I guess it would be nice for you to confirm it? I don’t want to feel like you’re embarrassed to talk about me.”

  He pulls his hand from mine, and slides it around my shoulders, pulling me to him tighter. “It has nothing to do with being embarrassed, Cherry. But the second I talk about it, that’s like announcing open season. They’re going to take that as permission to ask about everything, no matter how personal. They’re going to use anything I say as an excuse to be as intrusive as possible.” He leans down and kisses the tip of my nose. “It’s just not worth it.”

  I listen to what he’s saying, and I understand it completely. What he is describing does sound horribly obtrusive. But I also can’t deny that the idea of your man declaring his love for you publicly is dangerously intoxicating.

  “I get it. That does sound awful, you’re right.” I force a smile and pray it doesn’t look as contrived as it feels.

  He studies me again, his eyes questioning, and I know he is about to press the issue. Fortunately, a producer picks this moment to enter and round all the guys up for their performance.

  After a quick rundown of the order of what is about to happen, she leads them out to the studio stage. Flynn pauses in the doorway, and looks back at me, his face serious.

  “I love you.”

  This time there is nothing insincere about the smile that lights up my face.

  “Love you too. Now, get your ass out there, Irish.”

  Ten minutes later, I’m close to tears as Flynn plays the final notes of the first single from his upcoming album. It’s one of the first songs he wrote after we became an official couple. Slightly tweaked and re-worked, but still the song he wrote all those years ago. Written in his basement while I painted my nails, played around on social media or just sat and watched him. It is a song of idealism and hope; the intensity of first love and the breathtaking need for another person.

  Hearing him play it after all of these years is eye-opening and I’m overwhelmed with sadness for the teenage us. The “us” that only ever wanted each other and yet, somehow, we lost it all. Those fifteen-year-olds had no idea of the tragedy that awaited them, but right now, I am filled with so much hope that we are going to make it.

  That one day the pain of our past will pale in comparison to the light of the life we are going to create together.

  I am still feeling emotional when the show returns from the ad break, and Flynn’s face fills the screen.

  An easy grin breaks across his face as he laughs at something Thomas says and I swallow down the lump in my throat, excited to be a part of this piece of his life for the first time.

  The interview is pretty standard, lots of questions about the new music and Flynn tells a story about a practical joke his drummer played during the recording of the album. There’s an easy camaraderie between the two men, and when Thomas begins to wrap up the interview, I consider that our earlier conversation was unnecessary. It seems Mr. Carlson rises above inane gossip after all.

  I shift in my seat, the leather creaking under me, and wait for the interview to finish.

  “So, it would be remiss of me not to mention the extraordinary turn of events in your love life recently.”

  Well, would you look at that? Not so much rising above after all.

  An “ah fuck” look flits across Flynn’s face and he grimaces.

  “Now, c’mon. You know I have to ask. I’d be run out of the late-night talk show hosts union if I didn’t,” Thomas jokes. “So, spill, how do you suddenly remember you have a wife?”

  The audience laughs, and Flynn shakes his head ruefully. I chew nervously on my bottom lip, although why I am nervous, I have no idea, and wait for him to offer up his answering “no comment.”

  Instead, Flynn pauses, and the entire studio falls silent.

  “Nothing sudden about it, Thomas,” he replies with an enigmatic smile.

  The host seems slightly shocked he didn’t just get blown off and he takes a moment to regroup.

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Thomas waves his hands around. “You realize this is a pretty strange situation, right? You’ve had a secret wife all of these years, one who no one ever had an inkling about, and then suddenly one day she’s all over the internet and you’re off the market. How does that work?”

  Flynn shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wiping his palms along his jeans. Apart from that small tell, he’s looking cool, calm, and collected, but I know how much he hates feeding into this side of the fame machine and I can’t figure out why he doesn’t put a stop to the discussion.

  Until it hits me. Because of me.

  My stomach drops as I realize he is doing this for me and I’m somehow simultaneously grateful and horrified.

  Flynn’s accented rasp grabs my attention and I turn back to the television.

  “I understand it’s an unusual situation, but I make no apologies for the way I live my life.” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I married the love of my life. I’ve made plenty of shit decisions since then, obviously, but that has never been one of them.”

  “Well, that’s great to hear, I’m happy for you, I really am.” Thomas turns to face the camera, holding up the cover of Flynn’s album. “Flynn Maguire’s new album, Reckless Reverie, is out on Thursday, make sure and grab your copy.” He swings back to Flynn and as the studio band starts playing, he leans over and shakes Flynn’s hand.

  My heart is jackhammering in my chest and despite the mess of emotions ricocheting through me, only one thought is really sticking.

  That man is going to get laid tonight.

  Flynn

  “You ready?” I ask distractedly, pulling my buzzing phone out of my pocket.

  “Nearly. Which shoes?” Wyatt comes out of the hotel bedroom, holding up two pairs of black boots.

  They both look the same to me, but I am not a stupid man, so I quickly point to the pair on the right. “Those ones.”

  Wyatt nods nervously, rushing back into the bedroom, leaving me alone for a moment.

  Lighting up my screen, I quickly click on the Google alert notification. Tension is thumping along my temples as I wait for the link to Giselle’s blog to load. She has posted daily bullshit stories that make me look like a first-class piece of crap, since our altercation over the weekend.

  Cam claims to be worried about the effect it might have on album downloads, but we both know that’s a load of shit. My name in the headlines, no matter the reason, will only increase the units I sell.

  No, the reason she’s doing this is to tarnish me in Wyatt’s eyes and drive a wedge between us. What she doesn’t know is that nobody is more aware of my flaws than Wyatt is, and her dredging up petty-assed stories about women I fucked or asshole comments I made, will not break us.

  If she really believes this is all it will take to send Wyatt running, she underestimates both my girl’s loyalty and my assholery.

  My shoulders relax as I skim today’s piece of shit. A re-hashed story from three years ago about a hotel room I allegedly trashed. The real story is that a drummer we brought in for one show when Jett was sick, went on a drug-fuelled bender causing thousands of dollars’ worth of damage. Money that I had to pony up for.

  But I guess me being the douchebag was a far better story, so that’s how it played out in the media.

  “Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?” Wyatt stands on her tiptoes, raises her arms, and does a little pirouette.

  My eyes rake up the line of her l
ithe body. She’s tall and slender with curves that make my fingers twitch and my cock ache. The short black dress she is wearing shows off her long legs perfectly and I look forward to having them wrapped around my waist later tonight.

  Or my head, I’m not fussy.

  “Fucking perfect.” I pocket my phone and move toward her. “The car will be here in five minutes.” I slide the thin strap of her dress aside slightly and place a kiss on her shoulder. “I wonder what we could do for the next five minutes?”

  She tilts her head up at me, a sly grin dancing along her full lips, but before she can say anything, there’s a loud knock at the door.

  “Car’s here, Flynn,” Zane’s voice disrupts us.

  My forehead falls gently against hers, a rueful smile in place.

  “We could always cancel?”

  She laughs, a soft, sultry laugh that makes my stomach clench in anticipation.

  “We are not canceling on your friends. We flew out here just to see them,” she admonishes.

  “No, we’re here for interviews. Seeing them was just an afterthought.” My mouth trails up the curve of her neck, tasting and kissing. Hopefully, convincing.

  “Lies!” She pushes me away, but her hands linger on my chest. “You set up these interviews as an excuse to come back to LA. I’m onto you, Irish.” She wags a finger at me. “It’s time to feed me and show me off. You can fuck me later.” Her fingernails scrape down my chest and she leans up and places a kiss on my throat, right next to my Adam’s apple, before she whispers in my ear, “I promise.”

  Taking a step back, she smiles at me innocently, as though she didn’t just get me harder than steel.

  “Right, let’s get this over with.” I grab her hand and drag her toward the door. The sooner we do this, the sooner we’ll be back here, and I can be inside her. Which, I’m not going to lie, is my absolute favorite place to be.

  “Wait, I need my purse!” She laughs.

  I drop her hand and race back to the bedroom and find her purse on the dresser. Snatching it up, I run back to her and resume my race out the door, her hand in mine.

  Fifteen minutes later we’re in the back seat of the SUV, having survived the media scrum. Zane and Chris are up front, the privacy screen is in place and we’re headed out to Pacific Palisades.

  “It was quieter than normal.”

  I look at Wyatt with her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and I wish that loving me didn’t mean having to deal with all of this BS.

  “That’s good right?” Her voice slightly nervous. “It means they’re getting tired of us?”

  “Yeah.” I take hold of her hand and raise it to my mouth, placing a kiss on her palm. “The story’s played out, people don’t care anymore. This is more what you can expect on a normal day.”

  Her brow furrows. “So, wait, they’re never all gone?”

  I laugh and cringe slightly when I hear the edge of bitterness it holds. “No, there is always someone there, with a camera shoved in your face. You don’t always see them, but they’re there.”

  She pulls her hand away, but only so she can trace along my jaw, her fingertips scraping through my stubble. Her eyes are serious, and I wonder if it’s finally occurring to her that I might not be worth all the sacrifices it is going to take to be with me.

  Instead, she leans in and brushes her lips across mine.

  “I guess we’ll have to make sure we give them something worth photographing then.”

  This fucking woman.

  Moving away slightly, she quirks an eyebrow at me.

  “Have you seen Giselle’s blog this week? There’s been something horrible posted about you every day.”

  I can feel the scowl settle on my face.

  “She’s a bitch, not even worth worrying about.”

  “I don’t know, it feels like more than that.” She shakes her head. “It feels almost personal. How well do you know her?”

  I square my shoulders slightly, my body tensing.

  “Oh.” She purses her lips, nodding. “Right.”

  “It was a long time ago and a huge fucking mistake.” I take her hand and place it between mine, marveling at how well it fits, despite the size difference. But that’s us all over. No matter how many differences there are between us, nobody is a better fit for me than her.

  “It’s fine, Flynn, really. We were separated, we both saw other people and neither of us did anything wrong.” She steals my move, taking hold of one of my hands and pulling it to her mouth. Her lips open slightly, and she places a kiss on the back of my hand, right below my thumb. A simple and chaste gesture, but her mouth anywhere on my body sends a frisson of electricity through me.

  Pulling away, she moves back, her body turned toward me, her face suddenly anxious.

  “So, tell me more about your friends.”

  She’s playing with a strand of her hair, the dark red a stark contrast to the bright pink of her nails and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about,” I reassure her. “Brax knows all about you. He’s been telling me to win you back since I met him, so he’s feeling pretty fucking cocky right about now. And Mel loves everyone.”

  My words were meant to be reassuring, but from the look on her face it had the opposite effect.

  “What?”

  “He knows all about me?”

  “Yeah, we might have gotten a bit drunk the night we met and told each other our biggest secrets. Remind me to tell you about his Disney obsession one day.” I snort out a laugh as I remember Brax, six foot two, heavily tattooed and mohawked at the time, confessing his love for Disney movies. The Little Mermaid is his favorite, just in case you were wondering.

  “But he must hate me!” Wyatt looks horrified and I have no fucking clue why.

  “Why would he hate you?” The confusion obvious in my voice.

  “Because I was horrible to you. God, I told you it was your fault, Flynn. Who says something like that to someone? Especially to someone they love!”

  Her entire demeanor has changed. She’s curled into herself and her eyes are full of pain.

  “Yeah, you said that.” I wrap a hand around her thigh and drag her along the seat until she’s right in front of me and then my hands slide up to cup her face. “You were in pain and you needed someone to blame. That’s what lovers do for each other. We take the hit and absorb the pain, so the person we love doesn’t have to.” I place a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I’ll always be sorry that I was too immature to realize that at the time. I did think leaving was the best thing to do for you, but it also gave me an excuse to run from my mistakes. You needed me, and I let you down.” I close my eyes and quietly inhale her vanilla scent. “I let you down the night we lost Carys, and I let you down again while you were grieving her. I have no idea why you’re giving me another chance, but I’m fucking glad you are.”

  She tilts her head up until her lips find mine, and she presses a dozen small kisses along them.

  “You didn’t let me down that night.”

  “If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have been there. You didn’t want to go, I’m the one that forced the issue.” My hands grip her hips, trying to center myself as memories of that night rush me. The fear when I saw the flames curling around the stage curtain, already out of control by the time they were noticed. The chaos of the audience all scrambling for the exits and the terrified screams that fixed themselves into my consciousness where they remain to this day.

  The immeasurable terror when I couldn’t find Wyatt, that never fully subsided because by the time I found her at the hospital, our lives were forever changed.

  Wyatt grabs my face and turns it toward her, a determined look on her face.

  “You listen to me. I was there that night because I wanted to be. That’s the only reason. We’ve spent the last ten years rewriting our story and painting ourselves as the villains.” She sighs deeply. “Nothing that happened that night was your fault. You’re not the
bad guy. I was horrible to you, and I hope you really have forgiven me for that, because I am so fucking sorry. But getting lost in my grief and lashing out doesn’t make me a bad guy either.” She slides across my lap until she is straddling me. “How about we just say that we’re human and we fucked up. But there’s still plenty of time for us to turn this around and become the heroes we need to be.” Her arms wrap around my neck and she pulls me close until we’re nose to nose. “I promise to save you if you save me.”

  I smile against her lips. “Always.”

  “More popcorn?” Brax yells from the kitchen.

  “Braxton Havenworth, inside voice!” Mel whisper-yells back. “You’ll wake up Billy.”

  “Wait, Havenworth?”

  Mel turns to Wyatt. “I know, he doesn’t look like a trust fund baby, does he? Until you live with him, that is. Then you find out exactly how spoiled his gigantic ass is.” She rolls her eyes and I fight back a laugh.

  “What’s going on?” Brax looks at us all suspiciously when he re-enters the living room.

  “You! Serenity by Havenworth!” Wyatt points an accusing finger at him. “You were the one responsible for the spa setup!”

  “Ah, that.” Brax flops down onto the sofa beside his giggling wife. “I was playing cupid and doing it pretty fucking spectacularly. You can thank me anytime.”

  “He was so damn proud of himself.” Mel laughs.

  “I don’t know why,” I huff. “It was all my idea, he was just the connection. Everyone knows I’m the romantic one.”

  “What!” Brax bolts upright, a look of outraged indignation on his face. “I am absolutely the more romantic one. Babe.” He taps Mel’s leg in the exact same way Billy does when he’s trying to get his mom’s attention. “Babe, tell them how I proposed.”

  “Baby, that story is not going to win you any points, try again.”

  “It was romantic as fuck, what are you talking about?” Brax’s eyebrows are furrowed, his mouth turned down and his eyes are screaming confusion. It’s almost enough to make you pity the guy.