Rockstar Untamed: A Single Dad Virgin Romance

by Michelle Love

  Tom smiled and nodded to the chair. “That’s my new best friend.”

  Bay sighed. “No, you need to go home and get some sleep. Hello, again.” She looked up as Shae Groves came back into the room. She smiled at the couple apologetically.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I forgot this.” She picked up a chart left at the end of Bay’s bed.

  “Maybe you can help me persuade this Sasquatch to go home and get some sleep.” Bay grinned up at Tom, who shook his head.

  “I’m fine, Bay. I’m not leaving you.”

  “If you like, I can stay with Bay for a few hours. I’m supposed to fly back to Portland tomorrow night and we’ve done everything surgically that we can for now. If you don’t mind my company.” She smiled at Bay.

  “Not at all. Look, honey, please. Everyone has disrupted their lives enough for me. Go home, grab a shower, and get some sleep. I’ll be fine.”

  Between them, they eventually wore Tom down, and after he’d left, Shae sat down in the chair Tom had claimed as his own. Bay grinned at her.

  “So, you’re from Portland?”

  Shae nodded. “I am. I moved to Tennessee a few years ago. Nashville, then L.A. Now I feel at home again. I love Oregon.”

  “West Coast, Best Coast.”

  “You bet your ass. You a native?”

  “Seattle, born and bred. Are you seeing anyone? Sorry,” Bay smiled ruefully. “I’m being nosy because I’m trying to distract myself from the pain.”

  Shae frowned and checked Bay’s drip. “Is it still that bad, even after the morphine?”

  Bay nodded. “I feel like I was hit by a truck.”

  Shae sighed. “I’m so sorry, Bay. You’re maxed out on meds now, so I can’t give you anything else. The only thing I can do is make sure you have something to help you sleep later.”

  “That’s okay.” Bay tried to smile. “Just distract me.” She grinned at the other woman. “What do you really think of Otis?”

  Shae glanced at her watch. Two a.m. She looked over at Bay, asleep finally. Even asleep, though, Shae could see the pain etched across her face. Oh, you poor little thing. In the hours that they had spent together, Shae had grown very fond of the petite brunette. How could anyone do this to you? She stroked a hand over Bay’s forehead. It was a little hot; she hoped that didn’t mean Bay had an infection. Shae cursed the person who had shot this lovely young woman.

  She stood up and stretched. She was hungry and tired. The hospital was silent, only the beeps of the machinery making any sound. Shae checked that Bay was really asleep, then slipped out of the room. There was both a coffee and snack machine in the residents lounge and she sipped the hot liquid gratefully, scarfing down a power bar with it. She’d gotten used to this lounge in the last week—would even miss it a little. She already felt more at home here in this hospital than in Portland. The thought made her depressed. Where the hell do I belong?

  In the last few days, seeing Bay, Tom, Emily, Dash, and Otis, she found herself warming to them all. They were so different from the music industry types she had met when she was with Jason. They were kind, funny, warm, and inclusive. They were a family. She had felt both enchanted and yet incredibly lonely. For the love of god, you’re a grown woman and you still ache to be in with the popular gang? She blew out her cheeks. Well, if I’m honest, yes. She felt slightly awed by that particular gang’s genuine love for each other.

  Screwing up the power bar wrapper, she drained the plastic cup of coffee and went back to Bay’s floor. As she approached the young woman’s room, her heart started to beat. A figure was leaning over her …a male who was not nearly tall enough to be Tom or Otis and not nearly elegant enough to be Dash. Her pace quickened. There was no one at the nurses’ station and Shae cursed herself …shit, what if it was the guy who tried to kill Bay? No, no, no …she wanted to scream. Instead, she ran, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.

  A light flashed and she realized. Paparazzi. Motherfucker. She heard Bay cry out in alarm, fear, and shock. Shae threw herself at the guy, slamming him against the wall. Her five-foot-ten frame, strengthened by running, was enough to scare the guy—a doughy-faced, middle-aged white man with a pock-marked face and bad breath.

  “Get the fuck out of here before I call security,” Shae growled, her anger a burning thing. She grabbed the guy’s digital camera.

  “Hey!”

  But she threw it to the ground and stomped on it, taking all the rage she felt out on his camera rather than his smug little face. He bared his ratty teeth at her in a snarl.

  “I’ll sue.”

  “And I’ll have you arrested for trespassing, stalking, and assault.”

  “I didn’t touch her!”

  Shae smiled grimly. “That’s not what the judge will hear from me. Who do think she’ll believe? A doctor or a fetid urinal cake like you? Get the fuck out of here.”

  The paparazzo got the fuck out of there. Shae watched him leave, then whirled around to check on Bay. The young singer was huddled up in her bed, trembling, tears swimming in her eyes. Shae sat beside her.

  “I’m so sorry, Bay. I shouldn’t have left. I went to get some coffee.”

  It took a few moments for Bay to speak, still reeling from the rude awakening. “It’s not your fault.” Her voice was gruff and shaky. “Scumbags like that …god …” Then she groaned.

  Shae frowned. “What?”

  “His camera …was it a camera phone?”

  Shae studied the smashed pieces. “Looks like it.”

  Bay sighed and dropped back onto her pillows, her face creasing with pain. “Then those pictures have gone to the cloud. Damn it.”

  Shae cursed. “Shit …I should have guessed.” She gave a wry grin. “Huh …I guess what goes around comes around.”

  Bay looked confused and Shae smiled. “I caught my husband in bed with another woman. I took his photo and crowed that that photo too was in the cloud. Guess that came back to bite me in the ass. Or, rather, you. Sorry.”

  Bay looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry that he was idiot enough to cheat on you. Did the photo help with the divorce? It’ll make me feel better.” She grinned at Shae and Shae felt such a rush of warmth for the other woman. She slipped her hand into hers.

  “It did. Or, rather, I still have it in my back pocket. He’s dragging his feet on the divorce, but he’ll change his tune before he’ll risk his reputation.”

  Bay looked intrigued. “Is he in the public eye?”

  “You could say that. He’s Jason Kline.”

  Bay’s astonished face was such a picture that Shae laughed. “Holy smokes.”

  “Yup. Anyway, enough about him.” Shae checked her watch. “How’ the pain?”

  “Okay,” but Bay’s expression told Shae otherwise.

  “I’ll get you some more morphine and a sedative. You need to rest, Bay. You may feel reasonably okay now, but you’ve had a major trauma.” She headed to the door, only turning when Bay called her name. She turned, smiling.

  “Yes, honey?”

  Bay smiled softly. “Thank you.”

  Otis was far less impressed. “Why the fuck were you leaving her alone?”

  Shae flushed angrily. “Excuse me, Doctor Ford, but if you were so concerned with Bay’s safety you would have asked security or the police to send a guard. I had been gone for less than ten minutes. I have no idea how the scumbag got in, but I dealt with it.”

  Otis held up the newspaper. “This is dealing with it?” The paper, a rag, showed the picture of Bay asleep, her lovely face riddled with pain. Shae winced. Otis noticed. “Oh, it gets worse inside.”

  He flipped the paper open and gave it to her. Shae blanched. “Oh my god …”

  Somehow, the photographer had managed to get shots of the heavy bandaging on Bay’s stomach—lifting her gown without her waking to get the shots. Shae guessed it must have been when she had awoken and screamed.

  “Oh, god, poor Bay …” What a violation. What an intrusion. As if Bay hadn
’t been through enough. Shae felt sick, and Otis, studying her, relented a little.

  “I know it’s not your fault that this is the kind of world we live in, but did either of you think to call Emily or Dash to try and get this stopped?”

  Shae rubbed her face. “No is the simple answer to that. I don’t know how this stuff works, and Bay …Otis, I think she’s hiding how much pain she’s in. She tries to deflect you by being, well, as lovely as she is, but I can tell.”

  Otis’ shoulders slumped and he sat down heavily in his chair. “I know. I’ve thought that too.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. She studied her boss. He looked drawn and tired. “Otis, what’s your plan for her? I mean, eventually, you’ll have to go back to Portland …”

  Otis gave her a wry smile. “Not ’eventually’—today. I have another patient I have to check in with. I think when Bay’s a little better, when the shock and trauma of the shooting are alleviated to a certain extent, I’ll have her come to Portland to rehab. She’ll need physiotherapy—help with her movement. I think we’ll need to work together to come up with a regime that suits us and her. She’s young, so that’s one big thing in her favor. It’s the psychological factor that worries me.”

  Shae nodded. “I agree. She puts on a brave face, but I cannot even imagine what it must have been like.”

  “Me either. I cringe whenever the words shot, bullets, or attempted murder come up.”

  Shae studied him. “Maybe it’s not only Bay who may need some therapy.”

  Otis smiled. “If I only had the time …”

  Shae didn’t know why his admission and openness surprised her. There’s another story there, she thought. “Are we flying back to Portland today?”

  Otis nodded. “I realize you’ve had a strange induction into my rotation.”

  “Hey, at least it hasn’t been boring.” Shae wanted to scream at herself as soon as the words came out. How freaking insensitive do you want to be, you idiot?

  Otis looked away from her and she knew she’d hurt him. “God, Otis, I …”

  “Forget it. I’ll see you at four, downstairs. A town car will take you to the airport.”

  And just like that, she was dismissed. As she left the room, she had the terrible feeling that the brief moment of crassness on her part would come back to bite her. What comes around goes around, she said to herself, sighing. Damn. Damn.

  Damn.

  Emily Moore moaned as she read through the article. “Fucking piece of shit rag!” She crunched it up and hurled it across Dash Hamilton’s kitchen. He watched it sail past his head and land in his fruit bowl.

  “Okay, then,” he said evenly. “I haven’t seen the Moore Rage Monster for a while.”

  Emily’s mouth jerked up in a reluctant smile. “Don’t try and make me laugh, Dashiell. I need to be mad.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s my natural charm.”

  She did laugh then and sighed. “God, what a fucking nightmare.” She rubbed her eyes. “Poor Bay. What a shitty thing to happen. Someday soon we’re going to have some good news, yes?”

  Roman Ford, who had been sitting silently on the couch watching the two of them grumble and growl over the newspaper article, got up. “The police have nothing on Lawson or Kym. If Kym’s even still alive.”

  Emily noticed how Roman almost spat the woman’s name. She got up and went to sit next to him. “Roman …please try not to see Kym as a villain in this. Do you really think, given what’s happened, that if she could go back in time, she would report Stu to the police the first time? In a million years, she could never have imagined Stu would have done what he did.”

  Roman’s expression was blank. “Has Bay mentioned Kym?”

  “Of course.” Dash came over to sit with them. “She’s worried sick, which has gotten Tom worried sick about Bay, because stress is not good for her recovery.”

  “Jesus.” Roman rubbed his brows with his thumbs. “I feel so useless—everyone else is doing something to help. In the meantime, I’m …”

  “Our rock, Roman.” Dash’s voice was soft but fervent. “Every single one of us would crumble without you.”

  “This isn’t about me, though.”

  “It’s about all of us. We are family,” Emily stressed then, glancing at Dash. “Even if we piss each other off occasionally.” Dash looked up and held her gaze.

  “Okay,” Roman stood, rolling his shoulders, “I’ll be at the office. Let me know if you guys need anything else. I’m going to get some more detectives sent out. I’ll find them if it kills me.”

  After he’d gone, Emily slumped back on the couch. “Okay, so …the picture’s out and we can’t change that. Even if we get them to withdraw, it’ll be on the internet forever. So what do we do now?”

  Dash shrugged. “I don’t know if there is anything we can do. Just put out a very brief statement—this was a disgraceful invasion of privacy which could have had serious implications for Bay Tambe’s recovery. We are seeking legal advice at this time.”

  “Sounds so cold.”

  “Not cold, graceful. What we don’t want to do is paint Bay as a victim. The shooting did that. We don’t want to foster that image of her. Bay would hate that.”

  “Got it. Okay, we release that statement, but then—“

  “I’m sorry.”

  Emily blinked. “What?”

  Dash looked at her, his eyes showing endless sorrow. “I said I’m sorry. I can’t sit here with you and not tell you that I’m in love with you, that whatever I’ve done before, however stupid I have been, I love you. That I was only trying to make things better and I screwed up big time. To ask you to give me another chance.”

  Emily stared at him, this beautiful, young, reckless man, and felt her heart thud with sadness. She reasoned with herself. He had only been trying to help when he tried to bribe Paige with a record contract, and if she was being fair …Paige had turned him down in favor of caring for Henry. It had proved that her sister had been serious about putting Henry first.

  But Emily couldn’t stop thinking what would have happened if Paige had taken the bait. But she didn’t, a small voice inside her said. And Henry is happy. And god, Emily loved Dash Hamilton so, so much. Be happy, the voice told her. Time is too precious to be wasted. An image of Tom finding Bay dying flashed in her head. She could not fathom what that had felt like for the big man.

  “Em?”

  She got up and went to him. Dash, surprised, tentatively put his arms around her waist. Emily looked up at him. “Don’t do it again …”

  The way Dash’s eyes filled with joy was something she’d never forget. “Oh, god, Ems, I promise. I promise …”

  When their lips met and their arms tightened around each other, for the first time in days, Emily thought everything might be okay.

  Shae was exhausted. A week after coming back to Portland, she had worked sixteen hour days under Otis’ tutelage and she had loved every minute of it. Otis had been polite, but distant, their sense of camaraderie dissolved into the ether, but he was an excellent teacher, a hard task master, and at every moment he had encouraged her to think beyond her training and to use her instincts. Shae had thrived, eager to learn more and stretch herself. Yes, he was still an arrogant jackass, but her admiration for him had grown as she witnessed his expertise.

  His relationships with his patients surprised her too. If she thought his warm bedside manner had been reserved for Bay, his friend, then she was wrong. He talked to his patients clearly, told the truth, and listened to their opinions. Never did he do this more so than when Otis was dealing with Pat and Sue-Lin Morita, a couple in their eighties. Otis had diagnosed Sue-Lin with a malignant spinal cord tumor and was going to operate to remove it. Shae took diligent notes during his consultation, and after their rounds had finished, Otis would ask her to come back to the office and go through the cases with him. Shae loved these sessions; she had learned so much from him already.

  Then there were the moments wh
en their hands would brush, their eyes would lock., and Shae would feel her heart banging against her ribs. In a flash, the moment would be over, but it left her body singing.

  Shit. You’re crazy about him.

  Shae distracted herself with work, and when, a month after the shooting, Tom brought Bay to Portland; she was delighted to see her friend. Bay was looking a lot better. Her lovely honey skin was—if not glowing—at least no longer that horrific gray color. Shae watched her and Tom together as they settled her into her room, saw how in love they were, and felt that sharp pang of loneliness again.

  Otis called her to his office. “Shae, I’m going to assign you to Bay’s rehabilitation. I want you to discuss with me your treatment plans, of course, but I trust you. Don’t push her too hard. Keep it in your head that she is still only a month into this. Her abdominal muscles need gentle exercise and she’ll probably find it painful.”

  So now, as Shae rolled Bay in a wheelchair down to the rehab rooms, she felt a certain gratitude to Otis. He placed enough trust in her to help his friend. She wheeled Bay into the physio room.

  “We’re not going to do a lot today—just see what your range of motion is so I can gauge what we have to do. How’s your pain?”

  Bay tried to smile. “It’s a little bad today, I have to admit. I didn’t sleep so well.”

  Shae sat down opposite her and studied her. “Was it the pain keeping you up?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  Bay sighed. “I keep …reliving it. The shooting. I close my eyes and I can see Stu with that gun.” Her hands were trembling. “He was so cold. He came there with the intention of not just taking Kym, but of killing me. I just don’t know how to deal with that.” Bay dashed away a tear impatiently. “I hate feeling like this.”

  Shae took her hands. “Anyone would feel like that. Have they set up some time with the psychiatric service?”

  Bay nodded, looking exhausted. Shae frowned. “We can wait for a couple of days if you’d prefer?”

  Bay shook her head. “No, please, let’s get it started. Something positive will help.”