by Malcom, Anne
I leaned into the sex in his voice before I snapped myself back. “Don’t distract me. I need to know this.” I paused. “I’ll call Duke. Get him to investigate.”
Wyatt’s mouth was a hard line. “You’re not calling Duke.”
He hadn’t exactly gotten over the whole me and Duke having sex thing. Duke was my official security for when I had to go places alone, but we had yet to use him since I was never alone. I was either with Noah, or Sam and Gina. Gina had taken over the baby preparation since Lexie and Killian had gone back to Amber. I was mostly with Wyatt, though. I wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to be with me or because he didn’t want me to have to be alone with Duke.
I rolled my eyes. “We fucked. Once. It didn’t mean anything. You know sex doesn’t mean anything with me.”
His jaw was marble. “No, Emma. I know you pretend it doesn’t. Because it means fuckin’ something.”
“He’s not the one who impregnated me,” I said. “That’s way more effective than pissing a circle around me. So he’s not a threat. He’s your friend, remember? And a professional, so I’m calling him no matter how much you glare or grind your teeth. That’s your dentist’s problem, not mine.”
He rounded the counter and snatched my wrist as I reached for my phone. “You don’t need to call Duke to find out how it got out.”
I glared at him. “You know who leaked it and you let me go on that whole tirade?”
He smirked. “I quite enjoy your tirades.”
“Well they don’t come cheap and I expect tips,” I snapped. “Now who the fuck leaked it?”
There was a long silence before he answered, his eyes running over me with an intensity I still hadn’t gotten used to.
“I did.”
The two words bounced around the beach house that used to be so peaceful.
I stared at him for a long time. “What?” I asked quietly.
He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I leaked it. I was sick of always bein’ expectant of someone findin’ out, of keeping it a secret. I don’t want it to be a secret. It was gonna come out sooner or later, so I chose sooner.”
I let his words sink in.
“You lied to me,” I said, voice still quiet.
His face changed. “I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you.”
“Don’t fucking try and tell me omission isn’t lying, Wyatt,” I snapped. “You lied and you manipulated me so you could...what?”
“Jesus, Em. I didn’t manipulate you.” He tried to move forward, touch me, but I leaped out of my chair and away from his grasp.
“You saw me freaking out about it,” I hissed. “You watched all of it, what it did to me. I told you I wasn’t strong enough to handle it. You lied straight to my fucking face and told me you’d wait until I was ready. You leaked the story, knowing how I felt. And instead of telling me the truth, you fucked me to distract me. You took advantage of the fact I trusted you.”
He glared at the distance between us with frustration, with desperation. “Emma. I was trying to protect you.”
I laughed. “By lying to me? That’s not a way to protect anyone. And just so you know, I don’t want to be protected. I don’t need to be. It’s far too late for that.”
“Baby—”
I held up my hand. “I’m. Not. Done,” I seethed. “Now I hate to play into the part of cliché and oh so vapid twenty-something and quote Marilyn Monroe—but I’ve actually seen all her movies and I feel like I’ve got more of a right. She said, ‘a wise girl kisses but doesn’t love, listens but doesn’t believe, and leaves before she is left.’”
I stared at him. “I lived by that mantra, even before I’d heard it. Because she was a fucking kickass broad, she was beautiful, loved by the world but also knew the score. But with you, you fucked it all up. I loved you before I’d kissed you. I believed you before you began speaking, and I let you leave me without knowing I should’ve left first. Without wanting to leave first. And now I’ll rectify that. You are allowed to be in the baby’s life. You can play the father if you like. I’ll let you come to the appointments, do all the shit that is connected to our daughter. But you and me, whatever we had, it’s done.”
He paled. “You had your walls up, Emma. Even when you said the three most beautiful words I’ve ever heard comin’ out of your mouth, you were still hiding behind them. Bracing. I wanted to find a way around them.”
A rogue tear trailed down my cheek and I wiped it away angrily. “You already had found a way around them,” I whispered. “I was giving you everything I was capable of. Everything I could. You knew how weak I was underneath it all, promised you’d take care of me, but then you smashed it all to shit because you wanted more. Fuck you, Wyatt. You want more? Now you’ve got it all. But you don’t have me.”
And I turned on my heel and walked out, more tears streaming down my face as I did so.
* * *
One Month Later
I was in the bath. I didn’t like baths.
The idea of sitting in my own filth with nothing but my thoughts to surround me while my skin wrinkled like a prune.
Yeah, no thanks.
My apartment had an impressive one that Lexie had oohed and aahed about and then proceeded to buy me all sorts of salts and bombs for it that had sat in my drawers unused until now.
I was giving the whole bath and candle and soft music thing a go. It would’ve been much better with wine, but I had to settle with water.
The bath was partly because my lower back was aching, along with my body in general and I couldn’t dose myself up on painkillers like I would’ve if I wasn’t pregnant so I reasoned a soak might help.
And baths seemed to be the things that women had when they were going through some sort of emotional crisis. Like bubbles and salts and candles could clear things up or cure something or I didn’t know.
All I knew was that it wasn’t fucking working.
The bath was too hot when I got in and I was pretty sure I had third-degree burns on my ass cheeks. The air had gotten thick and misty and uncomfortable. Sweat beaded on my forehead because of my too hot bath, I was beginning to feel vaguely sick.
And nothing had been cleared up or cured in regard to my feelings.
My back was feeling slightly better.
But the emptiness of my apartment seemed to somehow be magnified by the swishing of the water bouncing off the walls.
And then I started hearing things that I didn’t want to hear.
Then I started hearing him.
“Haven’t you heard? We’re all somebody’s fool. And I’m yours.”
“You’re more like a raven. Valiant, sleek, mysterious. Something everyone misunderstands, including you.”
I didn’t think baths had magical powers, but this one sure as shit made me contemplate the past eight months. Think about everything Wyatt had done to prove to me about his permanence in my life. I glanced down to where my stomach was protruding out of the water.
Our lives, I corrected.
Because I had to think of all of that, I had to dwell on what I’d done, constantly pushed him away, made myself miserable and him, by proxy.
That was the thing about memories. Making them with someone was more dangerous than people let on. People talked about never getting matching tattoos, like making memories with someone wasn’t more permanent than ink on your skin. Tattoos can be lasered off, covered over. Memories. Those were the things that lasted forever.
Memories were all I had this past month, because I’d straight up refused to see him. He’d turned up at my apartment multiple times. Called me constantly. Texted. Emailed.
I was petty and ignored all of it.
No, I wasn’t petty, I was weak.
Because I knew if I answered those calls, saw him in person, I’d forgive him. Instantly. I’d forget about the betrayal and let him hurt me all over again.
Everyone was used to this show between Wyatt and me, it was becoming the norm. No one took si
des this time, but no one mentioned Wyatt to me. I was thankful for that, but Lexie pointed out that my stomach was a ticking time bomb on the silent treatment.
“He’s not going to let anything stop him from being around for the birth, you know that, right?” she asked.
And she was right. He was barely handling one month of this. I knew because in the paparazzi photos he was constantly scowling, swearing, yelling at them.
He had been intent on being part of every bit of my pregnancy before this, so I knew I had a limited amount of time left before it became impossible to avoid him.
And I stopped wanting to avoid him.
I yearned for him.
Even though I had Noah, Lexie, Mia, Gina, even Sam, supporting me, in between their tour dates I still felt lonely. You could have everyone around you but the one person who mattered and still be lonely for them.
Wyatt’s actions were bullshit. And he’d gone about everything the wrong way, but I understood him wanting to control one thing about this insane life. I knew to my bones he wouldn’t do anything to put me in pain, he’d been doing what he thought he could to protect me.
“This is bullshit,” I muttered.
I heaved myself up quickly, eager to get out of the bath and away from the truths it was making me face.
It was only when I was stepping out, did I realize just how lightheaded I was from the heat and from the truth and when my foot found the floor, my knee wobbled underneath the weight of my expanse and I wobbled.
I tried to catch myself as I went down, but my movements were sluggish and there was too much fucking mist. So I fell. Head first. Into tile.
I tried my best to save my stomach from the brunt of the impact and that, along with blinding pain was the last thing I remembered before everything went black.
Wyatt
“You’re seriously going to propose to her now?”
Wyatt took the water that Noah offered him and scowled at the words he’d uttered.
“Now is as good of a time than ever,” he said, downing the water in one go. They’d just finished more sound checks. They were only back in L.A. for a few days before they headed to New York for another tour date. He fucking hated being away from Emma, even when she refused to speak to him. That’s why he’d insisted they come back to L.A. between every tour date—which was a total bitch and a logistical nightmare according to Mark. But the band didn’t hesitate.
Since the news broke of him and Emma and the baby, the press had been a fucking nightmare. Shit went crazy with Lexie when she had her stalker, and then when Sam and Gina got together, so they were used to the circus, Wyatt was used to it. And he was fine with it, shrugged it off as part of the gig, but he saw what Sam and Killian went through when their women had to deal with it, and he’d felt for them. He’d been pissed too.
But nothing could prepare him for seeing Emma’s face plastered through the filthy rags people tried to sell as news. The fucking lies that went with him had him on the phone to his lawyer and demanding they sue every magazine that printed them.
“Everyone? That’s not financially smart, Wyatt. We likely wouldn’t win—”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he interrupted. “Do it.”
He didn’t care about the money, he had plenty to spare, he cared about feeling fucking helpless at the world saying that shit about Emma. About the fact that she now needed full-time security because everywhere she went there were paps following her. He hated that it was Duke. Because jealousy burned like acid reflux in his throat. Constantly.
Duke was his friend. He’d assured him that nothing would ever happen with Emma. Wyatt believed him. The man was true to his word. And the best in the business.
Which was why he was on Emma. Wyatt knew that he’d protect her with his life.
But it killed him, the knowledge of them together.
Fucking drove him crazy seeing the pap pics of them together, of Emma laughing at something he said as he walked down the street with her.
She could laugh with him. He got that fucking beauty. Where all Wyatt got was silence.
He’d thought that leaking the story was the best thing, that it would give him control of the story, and that it would bring him and Emma closer together. What an epic fuckup that was.
He knew she had walls. Knew that she wasn’t gonna be easy to love, or accept his without a fight. But when she’d said it at her father’s funeral, of all places, it filled him up in places he didn’t even think he had. It made a lifetime of not easy worth it. He would do anything and everything in his power for Emma to say those words to him again. Every fucking day of his life.
And she was pissed because she thought he betrayed her. Because that’s what she expected from people she loved. Hurt and betrayal. And fuck if he wanted to find a way to bring her father back to life just so he could kill the piece of shit.
He knew that the silent treatment wasn’t gonna last forever. He knew it was gonna last for a fuck of a lot longer than it would with a regular woman. Because Emma wasn’t a regular woman, and she was stubborn as fuck.
But he was impatient. Because she refused to go on the rest of the tour with him. And he missed waking up with her every morning. Feeling their baby move underneath his hands. Being inside her. Smelling her. Cataloging every difference that came with every new day. The way her face was a little bit rounder, the way her eyes were a little lighter, their baby growing, turning her into an even more beautiful version of herself.
She might’ve grumbled about all the uncomfortable things about the pregnancy, and he hated that she was going through all that shit, but fuck did it suit her.
And he was missing that beauty because he was a fucking idiot.
So he was doing something.
Something being walking around with a Cartier box in his pocket.
“She’s not talking to you,” Noah said. “How do you think that’s a great time to propose?”
“Because she’s Emma, she’s always gonna be mad at me about something,” Wyatt replied. “And because I love her.”
Fuck did he love her.
“It’s a bad idea to do it right now,” Noah replied.
“Why?” He knew Noah was with Emma every time he was back in L.A. He was jealous as fuck, and he’d all but pounce on the fucker to get as much information as he could. How did she look? Was she still getting sick? Had her headaches stopped?
Noah dutifully relayed all information, patiently and without teasing him. Mostly because everyone was mindful of the tenuous grip Wyatt had on his temper right now. Even Sam was holding back.
“Because Emma’s fucked up,” Noah said. “Her parents did a number on her. Continually told her she wasn’t good enough, seared that lie into her soul. And though she’s the most confident, outspoken, and stubborn person on the outside, inside she’s still certain she’s never going to be wanted. That her life is never gonna be good. Because when all you’ve had is shit, there’s only so much good you can stomach until you make your life shit just because for some people, pain is more comfortable than happiness.”
Wyatt blinked at him. “Jesus, bro,” he said, hating that Noah was right. Hating that Emma had all that fucking poison inside her. He knew what it was like, because a version of that same shit flowed through his veins, but apart from the funeral, she hadn’t said shit about it. They didn’t talk about their past demons. She’d never asked about his parents’ reactions to being grandparents, because she knew there was shit there. Wyatt hadn’t spoken to his parents since the night of the phone call. Since the night his daughter was conceived. Honestly, he didn’t want them having anything to do with his kid. They’d fucked him up enough, fuck if they’d even get to glimpse their grandchild. Wyatt would tell Emma the reality of it, eventually. When she was ready, when they were strong enough.
“You need to treat her with care, bro,” Noah continued. “The world hasn’t. And she hasn’t. And I know it’s not in your nature, but you gotta be patient. Let her come to you.
Let her fight her own battles against her past. She doesn’t want you to be a hero and to promise to fight them for her.”
Wyatt scowled, hating and loving that about her at the same time. “Yeah, I fucking know that.”
Noah chuckled. “It’s character building for you to be with a strong woman who doesn’t need you to be a strong alpha male.” His phone buzzed and he glanced down at it. “Ah, speak of the devil.”
Wyatt felt a stab of jealousy. Emma was calling Noah, not him. Giving him the gift of her attention. The calls they’d shared over the years had gotten him through shit. Phone calls with Emma were his little slice of paradise. Even when she was swearing at him or insulting him—which was what most of their phone calls were.
Before she’d answered his calls, no matter where in the world she was, what she was doing, she’d pause it for him. He hadn’t realized what that meant until now. What a fucking gift that was until now.
“Em, I’m just talking to the father of your baby, you still mad—” Noah’s eyes were twinkling when he answered the phone, voice teasing. But something hardened them, something cut him off. Something that turned Wyatt’s stomach.
“Babe, did you call an ambulance?” Noah’s tone was urgent.
Wyatt tasted bile. “What the fuck is going on? Is she okay?” he demanded, resisting the urge to snatch the phone from Noah’s hands.
“I’ll be there in ten,” Noah said into the phone.
Wyatt snatched his shoulders. “Is she okay? The baby?” he demanded, voice shaking, terror ice in his veins.
Noah was pale. “She’s speaking, so I think so, but she had some kind of accident tryin’ to get out of the bath—”
Wyatt didn’t let him finish, he was already sprinting out the door.
Chapter Eighteen
Emma
I called Noah first because I was in a kind of shock, and also didn’t want strangers picking me up from my bathroom floor while naked. Strangers that likely knew my name, who had seen me splashed over the news. Yeah, they were professionals, but I didn’t trust anyone. This was L.A., where there was a price tag on a photo of a newborn baby, and any photos of the mother leading up to the birth. I was under no illusions that paramedics weren’t adverse to making extra on the side. Everyone had to eat.