Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

  She covered his hand with hers. “I don’t know what to do,” she said on a whisper that barely rose above the crash of the waves behind him. “We’re so not ready for this.”

  “This is what has you so…today. What made you so distant?”

  She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, holding his hand flat to her middle. “I was lying there with you this morning and all I could think about was how crazy the last few days had been.”

  His fingertips widened as he splayed his entire hand along the slight indent of her belly.

  “Food has tasted off for days. I just thought it was me. Strawberries were out of season. That’s why they tasted like…nothing. No taste at all. Then we went and had all that greasy food. You know I love smothered fries. How many times have we gone to the diner near the new house?”

  He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t stop her mouth from motoring on.

  “The sex. I mean, God, we love sex. Obviously, we love the love part of all of this. But I’ve been a complete maniac. We’re on our honeymoon. It’s supposed to be hot sex all the time. That’s not supposed to be anything different, right?”

  “Except that you were so…mindless. We’re usually different. Connected.”

  She stepped closer to him, until their joined hands were pressed between his belt and her belly. “Not the whole time. I love making love to you. Every moment of our honeymoon has been amazing.”

  His voice was raspy. “And you just assumed pregnant?”

  “No. I had a strong feeling. I looked at my…at the app I have to keep track of my period. We’re so busy, so many different things going on between the band, the house, and my job.”

  “So this app just says—boom, pregnant?”

  “No.” She stood on her tiptoes, but he didn’t lean down to her.

  He was stiff and unyielding in her arms.

  “I went to find DJ. I needed to know. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You went to DJ.” His voice was flat.

  She rushed on. She had to make him understand. “Yes. I went straight to the bar. I didn’t know what else to do. She knows this area. I hoped I could get a test. That I could confirm it.”

  “With DJ.”

  “Yes. I have them. The tests, I mean. I swear it’s true.” Panic overrode her need to soothe him. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him.

  Maybe she should have just gone to the clinic and taken care of it. Deacon didn’t ever have to know. DJ was right. She should have just kept it to herself.

  She didn’t have to burden him with it. She could have taken care of it.

  “Harper, you woke up next to me. Frightened, right?”

  Dread coated her throat and mouth. She swallowed, shaking her head. Realizing it was pitch dark, she whispered, “Yes.”

  “I was right there. And you went to DJ.”

  “Deacon, I didn’t want to worry you if it was false.”

  He stalked away from her, and the moonlight was as stark as the sun. He covered his face with his hand, dragging his fingers up and into his long hair before returning to her. Again, all in shadow. But it was too late. She’d seen the pain and shock on his face. “You thought it was something to shield me from?”

  “I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Why would you cut me out of this?”

  His voice broke, and right then she wished for more than that flash of moonlight. Sunlight, pure and clear, would be perfect right about now. Deacon didn’t break.

  Until this.

  She stepped forward, placing her hands on his chest. God, his heartbeat was so fast. Or was that her own pounding in her ears? “Deacon, we’re not ready for this. We barely have enough strength to take care of our own issues. We’re both buried.”

  “This isn’t an issue. This is a baby.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Our baby. You and me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t tell if it was the baby he was upset about or her not telling him. It had only been a few hours. The news wasn’t the pretty kind where you put a baby rattle on a plate, for fuck’s sake.

  They hadn’t even discussed kids.

  Kind of an important question to ask before marriage, Harper Lee.

  “Deacon. Talk to me.”

  He curled his fingers around hers against his chest. “Pregnant?”

  “I know. I don’t know how. I’m always so careful about my pill.”

  “Wow.” His voice was gentle now. Shellshocked.

  Harper took a shaky breath. “I never even asked you if you wanted kids.”

  “Do you want kids?”

  “I-I…” She lost the ability to breathe. She still didn’t know. “I don’t know. It was never something I thought of. I’m twenty-three.”

  He hauled her against him, his cheek resting on top of her head. His heartbeat was the same as when he’d just come back from a run. Fast and steady.

  Always steady. That was Deacon at his most basic.

  But why did everything have to be so fast?

  This was so fast.

  She gripped the back of his shirt. “Deacon, you didn’t answer me.”

  “I don’t want to make you do anything you’re not ready for.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I don’t have an answer yet. You’ve got a couple of hours on me to digest this.”

  She gripped him tighter. “I understand.” The tears tracked down her cheeks. She didn’t know what she’d expected.

  “I just wish you’d come to me first.” His voice was quiet and even again yet she could still scent the pain on the air.

  “I wanted to be sure.”

  “That’s the problem, Harper. You don’t have to do things alone anymore.”

  She drew back from him. “You knew who you were marrying. I’ve done everything on my own.” He stroked down her hair. The familiarity of the act tightened her chest. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.” His voice was tired and deeper than usual. “C’mon, let’s get you out of the cold.”

  Not willing to argue now, she let him lead her down the pier to the street. She’d lost her shoes sometime between the climbing of the pier and the beach. Once they got under the street lamp, he looked down at her and lifted her up.

  “Deacon.”

  “C’mon, Lawless. Let me do this, all right?”

  She wrapped her arm around his neck and ignored the people on the street that stared at them. It didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. Right now, it was about Deacon and letting him get a handle on things.

  When he got to the car, he tucked her in and slid the seatbelt across her chest. For a moment, he hovered over her middle. His wide palm gently lowered to her belly before he curled his fingers in and withdrew.

  She slumped back against the headrest, turning her face toward the window.

  Ten

  Connection

  Deacon turned the ignition on the car and pulled out into the heavy traffic of the main strip. He didn’t have any choice but to pay attention to where he was going. To focus on the street signs and the lights. To the people around him.

  Anything to block out the tears he’d heard in her voice.

  The panic. God, so much panic and fear.

  He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel and made himself look around. Made himself take the left, then the right that lead to their cottage.

  Their destination was right there. The cozy place with the solar lights and wrought iron fixtures. The large purple door and the stone. The sweet little place that was supposed to be their escape.

  He pulled to a stop at the top of the driveway and let his hands fall to his lap. Harper’s forehead was tipped to the glass, her breathing regular. Had she fallen asleep?

  Or was she just hiding?

  Again.

  He climbed out of the car and rounded the hood. When he opened her door, the dome light cast harsh shadows on her face. The bruises under her eyes and the streaks of makeu
p down her cheeks ripped at him.

  Crouching in front of her, he smoothed a lock of hair out of her face. She instinctively moved into his touch, her eyelids twitched, but she didn’t stir. As much as he wanted to shake her awake and talk, part of him was happy she was asleep.

  He didn’t know what to say.

  Didn’t know how to make this not become a fight. His hands trembled with anger and worry for her. For them.

  After the word pregnant, the only thing he’d heard was we’re not ready.

  Over and over again, she’d said it. In a dozen different ways.

  His worst nightmare unfolding in front of his eyes.

  A woman who may never want to have his child. That was closed off even to the thought of a child in their lives. But he didn’t know if she never wanted one, or if it was just because they were still so new.

  And he couldn’t blame her for the thoughts. That was the part that hit him hardest. Because, no, this was so far from the best timing to have a baby.

  But the idea of Harper being uninvolved with the baby if they did have it?

  He lowered his head.

  He’d never bring a child into that kind of life.

  Harper had been an independent spirit since her early teens, but at least her parents had wanted her around. She’d created a family on the road with Mitch and her brother for those times that she needed it. She’d finally let him in.

  He didn’t know his father. And his mother had only worried about what man would take them in, take care of her. He’d been an afterthought for as long as he could remember.

  That would never be his kid’s life. He or she would never wonder if he was coming home, or if he’d remember to feed them.

  Deacon slid his arm under her knees and gathered Harper into his chest. His heart squeezed when she wrapped around him. Her face turned into his hair, her warm breath on his neck. The solid weight of her was real and whole.

  She murmured his name in her sleep, her arms tightening on his neck.

  He’d loved her for only a few months, but the idea of her not in his life was so terrifying. Why did this have to come up now? Just when they’d finally found a little peace and they were starting to actually make this marriage thing work.

  He skipped the front door, not wanting to jostle her awake to get to the lock and his keys. Instead, he followed the path to the back porch. The privacy of the beach and their little cottage let them grow complacent. Locking doors was a rarity. In fact, most of the time the door was open as were the windows to let the cool ocean air in.

  Slipping inside, he set her down on the bed. She rolled into the pillows with a soft sigh. He slipped off her jewelry, drew down the straps of the dress, easing the material over her ribs and down her hips. Tanned skin glowed in the low light from the bedside lamp they’d left on. She tucked her knees up against her body and wrapped herself around a pillow.

  God, she was so beautiful. Her hair a tangle of sunshine streaks over honey. His eyes drifted lower to the curve of her breast and hip. Flesh colored lace hugged her ass, luring him in. He needed to hold her.

  Needed to hope that they could make this work.

  Intellectually, he knew she’d been scared. She’d needed proof to start to process the thought of a baby in their lives. Or…not. Ultimately, it was her body. And he’d abide by her wishes.

  But the idea of losing something they’d made together sliced him down the middle. They could have children later. Women had a choice for a reason. He believed in that choice.

  But could he live with it?

  He turned away from her. As much as he wanted to curl around her and tell her everything would be all right, he didn’t believe it.

  Not yet.

  Maybe not ever.

  He crossed to the bathroom and shucked his clothes, stepping under the rain hood at the center of the shower. He closed his eyes and turned the water up as hot as he could stand. He reached out to the tiled wall and leaned forward, letting the water drill into his back. Until the muscles there would stop seizing up.

  Behind his eyelids he couldn’t help but see a little girl with blonde hair and summer sky eyes. He fisted his hands in hair and squeezed his eyes tight.

  The word pregnant was staggering and scared him shitless.

  But the next word that screamed in his head was mine.

  My baby.

  Harper’s baby.

  Their baby.

  He slapped the controls to the shower off, stepped out, and toweled off. He returned to Harper, needing the scent of her around him. He slid in beside her, gathered her close, replacing himself with the pillow she held so tightly.

  Like a vine, she slid her leg between his, plastered herself to his chest, and settled her nose into the crook of his neck. And still she didn’t wake.

  Right now, he wished he could lose himself in the oblivion of sleep. But he stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows slide longer as the moon traveled through the sky. Heard the seagulls cry and the crash of the tide as night faded into day.

  All the while, he tried to quiet the endless record of what-ifs that spun through his head.

  What if they had the baby?

  Could he support them?

  Did they stay in the house with the band or get their own place?

  If they didn’t have the baby—could he get past that?

  When he couldn’t stand the noise in his head any longer, he detangled himself and dragged on his running gear. He stopped at the door to the back patio and turned to watch her. White sheets and sunshine. But under the sleep was a restless frown and white knuckled grip on the sheet.

  They had to talk. But first he’d take his time, as she’d taken hers. He stretched out the stiffness from staying still, holding her for hours. Forced himself to walk just long enough to warm his muscles, and then he pounded sand.

  Early morning sun, spray from the shore, and the endorphin rush mixed enough that he could turn everything off. Regulating his breathing, his heart rate, his stride, all of it centered him. He ran until his lungs screamed, then he ran faster, praying for an answer or at least the hope of one. He ran until he didn’t recognize the beach any longer.

  Still it wasn’t enough.

  He turned around, aimed himself at the cottage. Aimed himself at Harper. Aimed himself to the one thing that was his peace. When he spotted the hammock and the porch, he slowed.

  Then he saw her there, leaning on the sturdy post of the pergola. Her hair was down and still wet from a shower and she was wearing one of his shirts. The white Led Zeppelin one.

  The familiarity of her, of the little things that made her his Harper drew him forward. He climbed the small dune to the porch and went to her. Lifting her off her feet, he closed his mouth over hers.

  He felt the tears, tasted them as she gripped his shoulders, her nails digging for purchase as she shuddered through a sob.

  You need to talk to her.

  He pushed the voice away. He needed to connect to her again. How was he supposed to have any hope of bringing this mess to any sort of conclusion if he felt like he was moored on the other side of a sea of confusion between them?

  She seemed to feel the same way because her legs came up around his hips, her ankles crossed tight to his spine. He fisted his hand in her hair, tasting every part of her mouth, branding her with everything that was inside him.

  He shouldered his way inside, kicked the door shut, and kneeled on the bed with her wrapped around him. She pushed at his shorts with the heels of her feet, drawing them down as her quick fingers grasped him tight. She knew how he liked her to touch him. He groaned, wishing for even an ounce of discipline when it came to Harper. But for once, he followed his body’s craving without remorse. They needed this. He needed this.

  He dragged his teeth down her neck to her shoulder, biting the skin there until she trembled for him before he gently swiped his tongue over the same spot.

  Dragging at the shirt—his shirt—he pushed and pulled until it wa
s off and they were skin to skin. Then there were no barriers and he was there, inside of her. The heat of her welcoming body calmed pieces of him. Her hands bracketed his face and her eyes on his took him the rest of the way.

  The intensity faded, and they became a slow thrust and retreat of slick flesh. She kissed him gently. Words of love and sorrow rolled between them, tripping on their tongues in between sighs of pleasure. He braced himself over her, his palm under her head to hold her close, his other hand drifting down to pull one knee up over his hip to get closer. Deeper.

  Sweat coated both of them by the time he felt the first tremors of her coming for him. She curled around him until there was no room for air between them. He reared back and stared down at her as she arched up to keep the skin on skin connection.

  Her eyes flew open and his name was a gasp of ragged breath. He shoved his arms under her, surrounding her as she surrounded him and buried himself deep. When her nails bit into his back, he finally let go.

  When the roar in his brain stopped, he tried to move off her and she brought her legs up.

  “Don’t go.”

  “I—I don’t want to crush you or…” Could he hurt her?

  She cupped his face. “I want you right here. This is where you belong.”

  He touched his forehead to hers, moved the bulk of his weight off of her then slid down to rest his cheek against her chest. “Last night sucked.”

  “I know. And I’m the reason for it. I’m sorry, big guy. I handled everything wrong.” She threaded her fingers through his hair with long strokes and just the tease of nails.

  He couldn’t help the groan. They knew everything about each other’s bodies, but still hadn’t caught up with the important things like communication. He dragged the back of his knuckles up her arm, catching a glint of his wedding ring. They still had their marriage training wheels on.

  “We handled everything wrong.” Unable to think about anything but crushing her or…Christ. Baby. It’s a word. Say it, asshat. He rolled them until she was splayed across him, their legs tangled.

  “I got worried when I woke up and you were gone. I’m sorry I fell asleep last night. Before we…” She laced their fingers, squeezing tight. “Before we could talk.”