Mistake’s Melody: Unquiet Mind Book Four

by Malcom, Anne

  And then he turned and walked away.

  Wyatt

  Two Days Later

  He had almost finished his bottle of whisky when Sam and Noah came into the living room. The living room that used to be theirs until Sam got married and moved in with Gina. Wyatt wouldn’t admit it, but despite the fact there was always a small army of people in the house, a bigger crowd of groupies and roadies partying almost every night, it was fucking isolating.

  Lonely.

  And then her. The girl that he didn’t let himself want. Didn’t let himself think about wanting. The one who sometimes invaded his thoughts, his dreams. Ever since he was a fucking kid.

  She still made him feel like a fucking kid.

  Like he didn’t know how to think past his dick when he was around her. He felt like a boy because all he wanted to do was make himself into the man that deserved her.

  He’d been driving himself fucking insane since that morning almost two months ago. Something had been tugging at the corner of his mind, something to do with that smell of coconut and vanilla, something about the fact that Emma’s smiles hadn’t met her eyes that morning. How every single one of his calls since then went to voicemail. Every message unreturned. How she was always traveling. He’d become used to them keeping in touch over the years. Their calls had started being about Lexie then turned into something else. He found himself escaping Hollywood parties to snatch a few moments of her husky voice, of her sarcastic insults, of her. He’d construct reasons to do with Lexie—and he was worried about one of his best friends—but his motivations had mostly been selfish.

  And having that contact ripped away from him since the morning after, it had opened up a hole he didn’t realize he’d been filling with Emma.

  He’d always wanted her. Always fought against it. It had gotten significantly fucking harder since Lexie was shot. Since he had Emma in his bed, in his arms. He’d never slept with a woman before. Except when he was too wasted to kick them out of bed. That didn’t count.

  Emma was the only one he’d wanted in his bed for other reasons than fucking. He wanted to fuck her. Even then, when their souls were bleeding and he was choked with fear about the thought of Lexie dying—he wanted to be inside Emma, to find comfort in her. But he didn’t.

  And then we’d he’d tried to push something more between them, she’d shut down so quickly he fucking knew he’d lose her if he tried. So he was patient.

  He wasn’t chaste.

  He didn’t believe that bullshit about not touching other women while trying to figure out shit with the woman. It didn’t work that way. Not for people like him. Or people like Emma. Though the thought of some other man touching her nearly drove him insane, he knew that she was by no means modest in her sexual exploits.

  But to think he’d finally gotten inside the place he’d been dying to make his home in and he’d been too wasted to remember. It fucking killed him. What’s more was the pain Emma was trying to hide at that. It cheapened what he felt for her and he knew it fucked with her self worth. Made her think she wasn’t good enough or some shit.

  He almost took her into his arms the second he saw the pain she was trying to hide. Nearly fucked her against the wall just so he could prove to her how worthy she was. How she wasn’t just good enough, she was the best.

  But then she kept talking.

  Then she told him she was pregnant.

  Fucking pregnant.

  That hurtled him right back into a childhood that he’d gone to great lengths to escape. Avoid.

  Yeah, the thought of a child, his child coming into the world for him to look after. Protect.

  Fuck up.

  No way could he be the father that kid would deserve.

  No way could he be the man Emma deserved.

  Which was why he hadn’t done anything about his feelings for her. He didn’t love her or any of that intense shit like happened with Lexie or Sam. No, but he could. He might. If he let himself. She was intriguing. She was a mystery.

  One he wanted to figure out.

  More than fucking anything.

  But one that wasn’t his to figure out.

  Because she had shit in her past. Shit that he knew barely anything about, but enough to know she was damaged enough without him adding to that. And he would add to it. Not just with his own past. But with his present. With the fame attached to him like a barnacle. He weathered it because it was the only way to live his art. And he’d admit, it was fucking fun. Only fun when you didn’t have strings. Anyone precious in your life that could be tainted, ruined from that fame.

  Precisely what happened with Lexie. With Sam.

  They’d escaped with their lives.

  With those people that they’d found. But not without scratches.

  Fucking scars.

  Wyatt wasn’t a coward.

  He wasn’t afraid of scars. Of his own.

  But inflicting them on someone else?

  On Emma? Who was already covered in scars of her own. Ones that made her more painfully beautiful but evidence of her pain nonetheless. On a baby? His baby?

  No way would he be responsible for that.

  He regarded the bottle. Thought about how he’d walked away from Emma, the mysterious woman who carried his fucking kid inside her.

  Yeah, maybe he was a coward.

  No, he was definitely a fucking coward.

  But the only thing more cowardly than walking away was to selfishly take her and the baby like he wanted to, fucking with their lives.

  “Hey, dudes,” he greeted Sam and Noah. Sam was approaching him fast but wasn’t coming into focus thanks to the whisky.

  He’d been consuming it quite consistently for the past two days. He hadn’t left the house, hadn’t answered the phone. He was assuming Sam and Noah were here to yell at him for missing rehearsals or whatever the fuck else shit that had seemed so important until...

  “You fuck,” Sam hissed, snatching his collar and yanking him upward.

  “What the hell, man?” Wyatt struggled from his grasp. Usually he’d have the asshole, but whisky didn’t help with his reflexes. Also, he couldn’t remember the last time he ate and he wasn’t sure he could stand on his own, let alone fight Sam.

  “Yeah, what the fucking hell?” Sam hissed at him. “You’re sittin’ here drinking?” Sam scowled at the bottles surrounding them, disgusted. “After walking away from your fucking kid. From Emma. Are you serious?”

  “I didn’t want to have kids,” Wyatt said, yanking from his grasp, stumbling slightly but holding himself upright.

  “Yeah, well I didn’t want a pop star to surpass us on the Billboard Charts, but it happens,” Sam snapped. “Life fucking happens. And if you’re a man, you step up.”

  Wyatt had heard from his father many times how he wasn’t a man. It had been the fucking soundtrack of his childhood.

  “It’s not that simple,” Wyatt slurred.

  “It’s exactly that simple,” Noah said quietly, snatching Sam back from when he was trying to grab Wyatt again.

  Wyatt was disappointed about this. He wanted Sam to punch him. He deserved it. He longed for some pain that wasn’t coming from the inside.

  “Don’t know what fucked up reasoning’s got you here.” Noah nodded to the bottles. “Know you’re not a bad person, so you obviously think you’re doin’ the right thing. Your dad was an asshole, know that too. Different to how mine was, or Sam’s. But that doesn’t mean shit when you line it up. Line up the fact that you and Emma have been dancing around each other for fucking years, since you were kids.”

  Wyatt was surprised Noah saw it. But then again, Noah saw fucking everything. And he wasn’t done.

  “We all knew you both weren’t ready for that shit, for each other. But we knew it’d happen eventually. You fucking knew,” Noah spat. “And now because it’s too real and scary for you, you’re makin’ decisions that could define the rest of your life? Could fuckin’ ruin the rest of your life.” Noah raised his brow. �
��That’s the wrong play, brother.”

  “And what’s the right one?” Wyatt hissed. “Bringing a child up in this world that’s fuckin’ fabulous when we only have ourselves to worry about, when we get to live our art and we deal with the other shit. But Emma didn’t choose this. She doesn’t deserve what she’ll get if it comes out that I’m the father. That fuckin’ kid doesn’t deserve that.”

  “You’re such a fucking asshole,” Sam clipped, lurching forward until Noah’s grip stopped him.

  “Nah, he’s bein’ a coward,” Noah said, regarding him coldly.

  That gaze sobered Wyatt up more than anything else could’ve. Noah’s respect meant a lot to him. Meant fucking everything. Because Noah was a soulful fuck. He saw shit, he lived shit, made him look at things different. He didn’t see black and white. Usually gave most people the benefit of the doubt, ‘cause he saw the demons they fought.

  The disappointment on his brother’s face hit him square in the gut, harder than Sam’s fist could’ve.

  And it was a fist to the gut when two of his best friends turned their backs and walked away from him.

  Chapter Six

  Emma

  My illegitimate pregnancy was top secret for obvious reasons.

  And, obviously, Mia was on my doorstep the morning after I arrived at Killian and Lexie’s. I’d done exactly what I did the morning after conception. I ran away, unable to face an empty apartment, and an empty, bleeding heart. Killian and Lexie had done what they’d done the first time, let the fucking mess of a human being I was seek asylum in their home.

  Mia had a basket in her hand, which she all but shoved at my chest as she barged through the door and damn near ran inside.

  “I had to be up at six to deal with the spawn and then run around to get all this. I need coffee,” she yelled to my back, heading toward the kitchen.

  Despite my nausea and overall sense of heartbreak, I grinned and followed her.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, sipping from a coffee she’d poured faster than I thought possible. The Spencer girls defied the laws of gravity and physics when it came to caffeine. And their husbands defied the laws of the universe with general hotness and badassery.

  I knew from the pity on her face and the fact that I could see through the clear wrapping that the basket I was holding had a book in it titled ‘The Girlfriends’ Guide to Pregnancy or Everything Your Doctor Won’t Tell You,’ that Lexie had obviously told her about the baby.

  “It’s okay, I’m dealing with coming to terms with being a single mother, especially since I’ve got a kickass role model,” I said, laying the wrapped basket on the counter and starting to unwrap it.

  “Firstly, I’m not sorry about you having to be a single mother—well, I am, that shit is hard, but I meant about having to drink decaffeinated coffee for the next six or so months. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” Mia shuddered. “Secondly, don’t call me a role model, just call me a runway model and we’ll be good.”

  The worst thing was, she was joking. But despite it being early in the morning, her having two toddlers that made fully grown men—Sam—cry and approaching her late thirties, she looked like a fucking model. I shook my head and pulled the first item out of the basket. “Hemorrhoid cream? Oh, you shouldn’t have,” I said dryly.

  “When you first get pregnant, everyone gives you useless crap like socks and breast pumps. They’re all well and good for after the baby is born, but no one tells you about the secret horrible pregnancy things like hemorrhoids, constipation, heartburn, to name a few,” she said cheerfully.

  I groaned. “Of course. Because vomiting up water until noon is just a walk in the park, let’s add...” I picked up an item from the basket at random. “Lack of bladder control to the mix,” I said, gaping at the adult diapers. “You’re fucking kidding me?”

  Mia grinned behind her coffee cup in response.

  “It gets easier after I’ve had the baby, right?”

  Mia didn’t hide her smile, mostly because she was full on laughing. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye after a full minute. “Good one.”

  I scowled. “If I become one of those mothers that wears Lululemon, does Zumba and talks about the dangers of gluten on the regular, please shoot me.”

  “Oh, I don’t do killing.” Mia held up her red painted nails. “Too messy. But I’ll surely get my husband to do it for me.” She winked. “He commits all my murders for me. Though he has limits. He wouldn’t even punch the person who said matcha was the new coffee.” She rolled her eyes. “Men.”

  I hated that I had the thought, that it curled up and settled uncomfortably in my stomach. That jealousy of Mia having a husband who would—and had—kill for her. Who was dedicated to her with an intensity that was honestly a little disturbing. But then again, Bull, the huge, almost mute, tattooed and menacing biker was a little disturbing in general. But not with Mia. Or Lexie. Or his sons.

  No.

  He fucked melted for them.

  In his own way at least.

  The same way that Killian did for Lexie.

  Fuck, the same way that Sam did for Gina.

  I had always been of the opinion that having a partner didn’t define your life, and not having one didn’t mean your life was lacking. But seeing what my friends had, my family had...it showed me just how lacking my life was.

  How lacking I was.

  Because what they had was different.

  They weren’t marriages that turned boring and stale until they eventually watched TV in different rooms and barely spoke to each other except to yell about who was picking up the kids from soccer. No, Mia and Bull had been married for years now and he still looked at her like she was the only thing tethering him to this earth. No way would he willingly be in another room than her. I’d witnessed him—and Sam and Killian—make sure that his wife was attached to his side as soon as she was in touching distance.

  This wasn’t something that would go stale because it was something rare. Special.

  Something I’d never get. Because I wasn’t special.

  “Yeah,” I whispered. “Men.”

  Mia’s eyes softened and I fucking hated the pity that filled them. She squeezed my hand. “I can rectify my non-murdering stance to kill Wyatt if you like.” She paused. “Well, I need Lexie to keep being famous, so I’ve got a kid to brag about. My boys are likely going to be hellions I need to apologize for for the rest of my life, so Lexie’s evening the scales with the whole rock star thing and Wyatt’s a part of that.” Her eyes brightened. “I can maim him for you if you like.”

  I smiled. “I have considered it, but it’s not necessary. I didn’t give him a choice in this, it was my decision to keep the baby. He has a right not to want it.”

  Not to want me, was what went unsaid.

  Mia’s face darkened. “No, he does not have a flipping right,” she snapped. “He’s just acting like a big idiot. And once he realizes that, he’ll come around.”

  “Yeah right,” I muttered.

  What I wouldn’t say was that I was hoping for that too.

  Three Weeks Later

  I needed to sleep. I knew that. My entire body was going into power saving mode, switching off all faculties it didn’t deem necessary. That’s why my limbs were lead. That’s why my eyes were watery, bloodshot. That’s why my soul was tattered and broken, trailing around behind me.

  But I also had to work.

  I had to figure out a way to feed, clothe, educate and house a baby that it looked like I was going to be raising alone.

  Well, not alone. Mia had been my ‘pregnancy spirit guide’ since the morning in Lexie’s kitchen. Killian and Lexie hadn’t blinked when it seemed I’d all but moved in with them, not having mentioned how long I was staying.

  And everyone was trying to hide it, because they knew it would piss me off, but they were handling me with care. Because of the second breakdown I had in Lexie’s kitchen the day I arrived.

  Not once, through all
the things that had happened to me, had I let on I was breaking inside. Not when my mother locked me in my room without feeding me for three days. Not when my father offered me to a pimp as payment for a gambling debt. Not when we lost Ava and Steve, or even when I thought I was going to lose Lexie, well not to anyone but Wyatt at least.

  Twenty-four years and I’d done well at keeping my nightmare of a life look like it just bounced off my iron and indifferent—some might say crazy—façade.

  In the space of three months, I’d had two different breakdowns.

  Centered around one man.

  It was pathetic.

  What was more pathetic was after turning up on Lexie’s doorstep, I couldn’t leave. The girl who lived through abuse, poverty and near homelessness, couldn’t handle getting knocked up with a rock star’s illegitimate baby when something like that almost seemed like the natural order of things in my fucked-up life.

  But I was never one to react or act in predictable ways.

  So the thought of having to go back to my apartment, alone, rejected and pregnant, in the same city as Wyatt was unfathomable.

  It was bad enough being on the same planet as him.

  Luckily my pride was saved by Killian and his badass powers.

  He’d been witness to this breakdown yet again. But he didn’t run from tears or a hysterical woman, no he was a true badass and he even braved that. And when I was done, he didn’t judge me or even threaten to kill Wyatt as he had before.

  “You’re stayin’ here,” he declared.

  I blinked, my eyes gritty and swollen from the fact I couldn’t stop my sorrow from leaking out of my eyes.

  Lexie burrowed farther into his side.

  “What?”

  “Me and Lex have to go to L.A. tomorrow, for a rehearsal,” he said. “We’re gonna stop by your apartment after we bury Wyatt, that is, she’ll get the shit you need and you’ll stay with us,” he decided. “I’m assumin’ they don’t expect you in the office regularly.”

  It wasn’t a question. Because Killian was perceptive as shit and he’d known me for years now.