Mistake’s Melody: Unquiet Mind Book Four

by Malcom, Anne

  Plus, my space was still sacred to me, and I was more delicate than ever, I didn’t want people I didn’t trust traipsing through it.

  And I was pretty sure that the baby was fine since she was kicking up a storm when I woke up in a pool of my own blood.

  I’d hit the tile with my head, not my stomach. It was still bleeding, but I had a towel pressed to it and I knew head wounds bled like a bitch. I’d managed to move myself to a sitting position and snatch my phone to call Noah, though I’d barely been able to speak coherently through my splitting headache.

  I planned on him picking me up off the floor, saving my modesty, and driving me to the doctor. Because even though I was pretty sure the baby was okay, I was taking no chances. I was also pretty sure I’d need stitches, I at least had a concussion. I’d gotten through all sorts of deadly situations all over the world without a scratch. But I’d opened up my fucking skull getting out of the bath.

  The door opened and closed and someone roared “Emma!” with a desperation that cut through my headache.

  A someone that wasn’t Noah.

  Wyatt burst into the bathroom, eyes frantic and focusing on me, the bloody towel and he was across the room in seconds.

  “Holy fuck, Emma.” His voice was laced with concern. No, terror.

  He laid his hand on my naked belly. It was shaking. “Are you okay? Is she okay?”

  His other hand went underneath me as he lifted me off the floor, not waiting for me to answer.

  I winced as the movement sent sharp pain through my head.

  He froze.

  “She’s fine...I’m pretty sure,” I said, black spots dancing in my eyes. “I called Noah, not you.”

  He strode across the bathroom. “You’re covered in fuckin’ blood and you’re really tryin’ to start an argument with me?” he hissed, laying me gently on the bed and snatching my robe off the door.

  I let him shrug me into it. “I’ll be on my deathbed and be arguing with you,” I retorted.

  He frowned at me, and at my head. “You’re scarin’ the shit outta me right now,” he said, honestly. “And the only thing that’s saving me is the fact you’re arguing right now.” He lifted me into his arms again once he’d tied my robe above the swell in my stomach.

  “Where are we going?” I demanded.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? My pregnant woman is bleeding from the head, we’re going to the fucking hospital.”

  “I’m not your woman,” I argued.

  “Keep arguing, baby, it’s keepin’ me sane right now,” he said.

  My heart clenched. So I did argue with him.

  All the way to the hospital.

  And it kept me sane too.

  * * *

  We’d been checked in and rushed through the hospital, Mark having called ahead to one of the private emergency rooms. Yes, they had private emergency rooms.

  All tests were run quickly and efficiently, with only three orderlies required to get Wyatt to leave my side.

  But I was back in my plush room after having my head stitched up and Wyatt was back beside me. He’d done that thing where he’d exhaled my name the second he’d burst into the room, hand brushing my hair from my uninjured side of my head to lay his lips gently on it.

  I relaxed into his touch, despite the pounding in my skull.

  But relief was temporary with me and Wyatt.

  He straightened, eyes running over every inch of me, lingering on my stomach before he focused on the stitches on my forehead.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” he demanded.

  “Because I’m not talking to you,” I said.

  “Jesus Emma!” he bellowed. “That shit means exactly shit when you need me. When you’re hurt. I don’t give a fuck if you’re mad at me. Something happens like you hurting yourself and our baby, you call me. You need anything, no matter what’s going on with us, you call me. I’m there. No matter fucking what.”

  I gritted my teeth against the way the words hit the air. I didn’t have time to respond because he still wasn’t done.

  “It’s settled. We’re canceling the show in Chicago and I’m moving in.”

  “You can’t cancel the show in Chicago, that’s a publicity and logistical nightmare,” I told him evenly.

  He grinned. “You’ve been spending too much fucking time with Mark.” Then he looked to my head and the stitches holding the aching cut together and he lost his grin. “And Sam’s made it quite apparent that Unquiet Mind gives no fucks about publicity nightmares. I’m not flying to the other side of the country with the memory of you on the bathroom floor surrounded by your own blood so fucking fresh in my mind. I’m stayin’ here, getting my shit together and moving in with you.”

  My stomach dipped with his words.

  “I slipped getting out of the bath,” I snapped. “It’s the first and last bath I’ll ever have. This isn’t something I’m going to make a habit out of. And it’s certainly not something that you’re going to use as leverage to move in.”

  Wyatt looked like he was about to argue—of course he was about to argue, but we were interrupted.

  The doctor chose that moment to come in, and Wyatt gave her every ounce of his attention, one hand on my stomach the other grasping mine. He held it too tight for me to rip it away. But then again, sudden fear at what Dr. Adams held in her hand, and what I could’ve done to my baby had me desperate for Wyatt’s hand to keep me from running away with my fear.

  “Is she okay?” Wyatt demanded.

  She smiled kindly. “The baby is fine.”

  Both of us exhaled at the same time.

  “But...”

  We both tensed again.

  “The fall was actually a good thing, because otherwise we might not have caught the pre-eclampsia until you were in some serious trouble.”

  My stomach turned and I squeezed Wyatt’s hand hard enough to break bones. He didn’t protest. Or even flinch.

  I’d done my research and I already knew about preeclampsia, since Mia suffered from it—since she almost fucking died from it. It only happened in eight percent of pregnancies, I was always a magnet for the worst-case scenario.

  “They’re going to be okay, though. You’re going to treat it.” Wyatt didn’t structure this as a question, this was a demand.

  “Had we not caught it earlier, it could’ve meant some serious trouble for both Emma and the baby,” she said. She smiled at me. “But thankfully you decided to take a bath tonight, because we did catch it and you’re only another month away from delivery, we can manage it and can reduce the danger.”

  “I want you to eliminate the fucking danger,” Wyatt demanded.

  I scowled at him. “Don’t swear at my favorite doctor,” I hissed. “She’s the only one I like, and I don’t want you to scare her away with your fucking rock star demands.”

  “And I’m not going to have you or my daughter in any fucking danger,” he countered.

  “It’s okay, I treat mostly celebrities and the elite, I’ve heard much worse,” Dr. Adams interrupted a fight that likely would’ve gone on for quite some time. “And unfortunately, Wyatt, the cure to preeclampsia is delivery.”

  She gave him a patient and soft look. She was used to dealing with children, after all. “We can’t completely eliminate the danger until the baby is born.” She glanced to the chart. “The good thing is, Emma’s only a month away from delivery and her bloodwork looks promising. We’ll monitor her closely, of course, I’ll need you to come in for check-ups regularly.” She focused on me. “I know that you’re gonna hate to hear this, but I’m going to recommend almost complete bed rest.”

  I grinned. “Are you kidding me? I’m not hating that. I can binge watch Netflix and enjoy my last month of peace before my daughter ruins it, because it doesn’t matter if she takes after her mother or father, she’s going to be chaos.”

  She smiled. “Babies are always chaos. Of the most beautiful kind. So complete bed rest means you need someone with you a lot to
help look for the warning signs of a stroke or blood clot.”

  “She could have a fucking stroke?” Wyatt said, squeezing my hand, face pale.

  “In rare cases that eclampsia develops, yes,” Dr. Adams replied. “But if we keep Emma’s activity and stress level low for the next month then we shouldn’t have to worry about it.” Her phone buzzed and she glanced down. “I’m going to keep you for another few hours as a precaution, but then you’re free to go home.”

  And then she turned and left, and the weight of her diagnosis settled on my chest.

  The room echoed with the words ‘stroke’ and ‘blood clot’ and their meanings. Death. My own, I wasn’t afraid of. I didn’t want to die, not at all, but there was no way I’d live if my baby was lost. No fucking way.

  “That settles it, I’m moving in,” Wyatt said after a long silence.

  I turned my head to him. “She literally just said no stress, and you’re still going to make me argue with you on this?” I snapped.

  His face was hard. “She also said you need someone to monitor you. Nothing is happening to you or the baby, Emma. I won’t fucking let it. So no, you’re not going to argue about me moving in to make sure the two most precious things in my life are going to be kept safe.”

  I bit my lip. He had a point. And beyond that, I missed him. The weeks holding onto my anger and pain hadn’t insulated me against the bone-deep fucking need I had for him. Which was exactly what I was afraid of. Getting used to Wyatt only to have him yanked away from me.

  “Well, you can visit. Regularly,” I conceded.

  “Nope,” Wyatt gritted out.

  Shit.

  “I’ll get Noah to move in,” I said.

  “Noah isn’t the father of the fucking baby, and Noah isn’t me. I’m moving in, stop arguing,” Wyatt bit out.

  “No, I’ll won’t stop arguing because my space is sacred to me. And maybe before you broke my trust, I would’ve been able to let this happen, but I don’t trust you in my space. Plus, I have weird habits.”

  Wyatt’s mouth turned up slightly, but his eyes were still hard. “I’m well aware of your weird habits. I happen to love them.”

  I gritted my teeth. “No, you’re not.” I searched for examples. “Sometimes I don’t shower for three days. Other times I’ll eat cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner because the thought of having to think of something to cook is utterly boring. I watch vapid reality shows. I’m always leaving questionable yogurt in the refrigerator and I don’t recycle. I enjoy having these habits, and not being judged by them. One of the many reasons I’ve never had a roommate and I don’t want one. I don’t need you knowing all my dirty secrets.”

  He shrugged. “I’m gonna know them regardless. Once we get married.”

  I inhaled sharply. “What the actual fuck? We’re not getting married.”

  He glanced pointedly at my hospital gown. “Not right now.”

  “Not right ever,” I all but yelled.

  He kissed my jaw. “No stress, remember?”

  “Having you as the father of my baby is a guarantee that I’m always going to be stressed,” I shot back.

  “So that’s a yes?”

  I gritted my teeth. “That’s not a fucking yes.”

  * * *

  I was discharged from the hospital after a few hours.

  Not without Wyatt demanding Dr. Adams make house calls every day for the next month.

  Yes, every day.

  I’d lost the energy to argue.

  By the time we got to my apartment—after having to go through a horde of photographers at the gates—Wyatt’s stuff was already there. Along with Mark, Jenna, Noah, Lexie, Killian, Sam, and Gina.

  “By all means, everyone let yourselves in,” I muttered. But I had to say, I was happy to sink into Lexie’s embrace as she rushed at me.

  Wyatt’s jaw was hard as he seemed reluctant to relinquish me.

  “Oh my god, your head,” Lexie said after hugging me.

  I grinned. “I know, I’m going to have a really cool scar, like Harry Potter or something.”

  “Mark, Jenna, what the fuck are we doing about the vermin who are camped out at the gates?” Wyatt demanded. His eyes went to me. “If we were at the beach house, we wouldn’t have to deal with that.”

  I scowled at him. “And if we were in a parallel universe where you actually got to have a say in things like where I live, I’d be in Hogwarts in Slytherin, because that’s where all the cool kids were.”

  “Gryffindor is the best,” Lexie cut in.

  “For goody-goodies like you, maybe,” I said. “But us dark ones need a little more mischief in our lives.” I winked at her.

  Lexie put her hand on my stomach. “Well, maybe not too much mischief from now until when the baby is born, huh?” Her eyes went misty. “You scared the shit out of us. Mom was hysterical.”

  I grinned. “I know, she sent me like twelve hundred texts. I called her on the way back from the hospital. She’s calmed down now.” I considered it. “Well, her version of calm.”

  “Emma, would you for fuck’s sake, sit the fuck down,” Wyatt snapped, glaring at me.

  “Wyatt, would you for fuck’s sake, stop ordering me around like you have some kind of right?” I replied.

  “Yep, she’s gonna be fine,” Sam cut in. “I feel like Wyatt’s definitely the one in danger here.”

  Everyone laughed.

  But Sam was wrong. With Wyatt, I was always in danger.

  * * *

  “You can sleep on the sofa,” I said to Wyatt after everyone left and he made it glaringly obvious he wouldn’t be leaving unless I ejected him bodily.

  Not only did I not have the physical strength to do so, I didn’t have the mental strength.

  “I’m sleeping with you,” he told me, like me getting a concussion and being put on bed rest erased this past month.

  My spine straightened. “No way in fuck are you sleeping with me. How do you even think that’s an option? Even if I wasn’t getting close to the size of a whale and tossed and turn for hours to get comfortable, you seem to be forgetting the fact that you forfeited the right to be in my bed the second you lied to me,” I hissed.

  Wyatt narrowed his eyes. “No, that right is gonna be mine forever,” he countered. “You want me to continue to be the asshole rock star that walked away from you, right?” he hissed. “Despite the fact I came back. Despite the fact I’m not going anywhere, now, or ever. It’s easier for you to be mad at me, hate me, because if you accept that I’m not leaving, then you have to accept you love me.”

  I blinked at him. “I don’t love you,” the lie was out of my mouth before I could think. Before I realized it was impossible to lie to Wyatt.

  “That’s a fucking lie, Emma.”

  I didn’t argue with him on that score. What was the point? But I couldn’t get myself to stop arguing. “It’s a violent world, Wyatt. And the most violent act of all? Loving someone. I won’t hurt you, or more importantly, myself by doing that.”

  He glared at me. “It’s too fucking late for that, Emma.”

  The words hit the air with a way only the truth could. I pushed myself off the sofa, ignoring the way Wyatt tried to rush and help me as I did so.

  I scuttled back as quickly as I could being almost eight months pregnant and having a head injury.

  “That’s exactly why I can’t forgive you, Wyatt,” I said, my voice only slightly above a whisper. “Because I loved you when I knew it was a bad idea. And I knew that it would end in pain. But I did it anyway. I don’t blame you for breaking my heart, Wyatt. I blame myself for letting you.”

  To my horror, tears started to stream down my cheeks and Wyatt looked like I’d hit him.

  I turned and fled the room before I could expose any more of myself.

  * * *

  He entered the room quietly, the mute TV illuminating his silhouette.

  I didn’t say anything when he lurked in the doorway for a second. And he took my silence
for what it was—permission.

  He had crossed the room and entered my bed for the time it took me to blink a few times. And then I was in his arms. I’d been tossing and turning for hours since I’d decided to try and sleep. Since I got bigger, it was damn near impossible to find a spot that worked to help me sleep.

  If I was honest, it was since the day I walked out on Wyatt.

  But he maneuvered me in his arms, and I sank into comfort the second he stilled. He smelled of the ocean. Of Wyatt. Of home.

  His hand settled on my stomach and he rubbed at it, exhaling as he did so.

  We didn’t speak for a long time.

  “What if I love her the wrong way?” I whispered my worst fear into the darkness.

  His hand paused at my stomach. “There’s no wrong way to love someone.”

  “You know there is,” I said, voice shaking.

  “No I don’t,” he argued. “I know what it feels like to be loved by you, and I know for a fact that it’s the farthest thing from wrong. Fuck, it’s the only right thing in this fucked-up world. And that love you have for me, it’s conditional. The love you have for our daughter is unconditional. It’s wired into your DNA. So she’s gonna be loved exactly the right amount, the right way.” He kissed my head. “Now go to sleep.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and did as I was told for once, in case I uttered a truth that I wasn’t ready for. That my love for him wasn’t conditional.

  Chapter Nineteen

  One Month Later

  “Here?” Wyatt said, biceps bulging as he held the sizeable canvas up slightly to the left of where I’d had him place it moments ago.

  I tilted my head, pretending to consider the placement when really I was perving at the way his shirt rode up to expose his tattooed and muscled skin.

  “Hmm, can you put it back to where it was before?” I asked.