But Connor just scowled. His lip thin, he uttered an aggravated, “It’s nothing. Just messing around.”
My brows rose at his attitude. He was clearly not happy at me having found what he was working on. “You wrote sixteen full-length songs. That’s not messing around. That’s an album.”
His scoff was derisive. “Stop.”
“Are you telling me you just wrote a whole bunch of songs for nothing?”
He walked over to where I sat and shut the lid of his laptop. “No. It’s just—” He hesitated. “It’s just that sometimes I feel like I work through my feelings better if I have an outlet.”
Oh.
My smile was small. “Okay. So, what are you calling this album?”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s not an album.”
My smile grew as he moved to walk away. “You could call it Feelings.”
“Ugh. God,” was the disgusted response I received as he left the room.
I gasped out loud, “Ooh, I know. You could call it Therapy!”
“Leave it alone, Emmy,” his booming voice came from the hall.
I laughed to myself.
We both knew this wasn’t the end of this conversation.
Eleven months later…
“And the Grammy for best album goes to,” The two ladies opened the envelope, looked at each other with a knowing smile and spoke into the microphone. “Connor Clash, Therapy.”
Applause sounded throughout the amphitheater but it sounded muted in my ears. My face slack, I turned to Connor and when his eyes met mine, all I saw there was confusion. And damned if it didn’t make me love him that little bit more.
Heart racing, I grabbed onto Connor’s shoulders and shook him a little. “Connor,” I tried to speak over the mounting cheers. A wide smile stretched at my cheeks, I chuckled, “You won.” My chuckle turned into laughter. “You won, sweetie.” I pushed at his shoulders. “Get up there!”
Baffled, Connor stood and walked forward, approaching the stage, taking the steps two at a time. The woman handed him his statuette and hugged him lightly. The crowd hushed and Connor looked down at the award a long time before he took to the podium, speaking into the microphone. “I don’t know what to say.” He thought about it. “I didn’t write a speech because I didn’t plan on winning. So—” He huffed out a surprised laugh, “—I guess I’m wingin’ it.”
Connor took a moment and when he spoke again, I listened intently. “I have to dedicate this to my wife, Emmy.” He pointed right at me and my heart skipped a beat. “There she is. The goddess in white” His grin was wide. “Look at that hottie. Be jealous. That’s all mine.” The crowd chuckled at his display. Meanwhile, I flushed feverishly.
Bright lights covered me and I lifted my hand in a small wave while whispering to myself, “Oh no. You’re going to pay, Clash.”
For a second, he spoke directly to me. “I’d like to thank you, baby, for gently bullying me into believing in myself. Yes, I’m probably the first person in the world to admit that my wife’s nagging paid off.”
I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.
Things took a serious turn as he then spoke to the crowd. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for that woman.” He took pause. “I did some awful things and even though I hurt her, she looked after me. I regret so much and, baby, I’m sorry for how we started.” He looked straight at me. “But I’m not sorry where we ended up.” He spoke fondly, meaningfully, and I felt my throat tighten.
Each word was a balm on my very soul.
Music began to play and Connor’s time was up. He quickly added, “I also want to thank Left Turn, the sickest band in the world, Tombstone Records and all our fans. Micah, I love you, man.” He moved away from the podium but shot back to the microphone and stated, “Wife for life, yo!”
As he walked away, he looked back and shouted, “I love you, Emmy!”
Lost in the moment, I stood and called back, “I love you too, baby!”
He blew me a kiss and then he was gone, disappearing behind the curtain.
I didn’t care that we’d be on the news with our open exhibition. I freaking adored that man and I wanted everybody to know that he meant the world to me.
Sitting, I took in a shaky breath as though it just hit me.
Connor Clash was mine, heart and soul.
How strange that the final piece of the puzzle that completed me was jagged and rough, and something I never even knew I wanted.
Later that evening, Connor and I were cornered by a bunch of correspondents as we left and when one of the reporters asked, “Connor, you seem very much in love. What is it about Emily that you admire?”
With his arm around my waist, Connor thought about it, speaking seriously. “There’s too many things to name.” He waved an arm out to me, “I mean, look at her. She’s gorgeous. But I think the best thing about Emmy is that when I’m really good,” he leant in and winked at the journalist, “she lets me see her naked.”
My gut dipped and I fought a laugh. My cheeks flushed pink and I bit my lip, rubbing my brow in an attempt to avoid the cameras.
Connor walked us away and when we got out of hearing distance, I spoke through gritted teeth. “You’re dead.”
“Naw,” he drawled, stopping to look down at me. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulled me close. His words were softly spoken. “I’ve never felt more alive.”
It was all I ever wanted for him.
My love for this man knew no bounds.
We kissed in the darkness of the shadows and my only thought was how I was going to tell him we were expecting without freaking him out.
As we left the theatre, people screamed for our attention. Hand-in-hand, we walked down the strip towards our waiting limousine, a familiar voice carried over the din. Connor seemed to have heard it at the very same time I had and when we both turned to look, there she was.
Becky Amour, calling out to us as if we were old friends.
So, when Connor pulled me over in that direction, I didn’t let myself show any emotion whatsoever. Amber would have been proud of my resting bitch face.
I watched Connor sign album covers, t-shirts and take selfies for a full minute, and when Becky watched everyone around her get their items signed, I could see she got what was happening. Connor began to walk away and she called out to him.
In a move that will forever be burned into my brain, my husband turned to her and said loud enough for all to hear, “I’m sorry, I don’t have any spare change.”
In awe, I kept my tender eyes on him as he led me to the limo.
Maybe it was petty but I couldn’t help myself. I laughed the entire way home.
Two days later, the perfect opportunity presented itself.
“Can you believe this shit?” Connor slapped down the magazine on the island between us.
I picked it up and studied it. The headline read, “Pink, Blue, or Violet? Is The Violet Dame pregnant?”
My heart stuttered.
I mean, sure, it wasn’t the first time they’d speculated about my being pregnant. Every other time, they had been wrong, of course.
Connor was pissed. I heard the fridge door slam then returned with a bottle of water. “They said you looked poofy.” He opened the bottle and sipped from it. “You’re not poofy. You’re perfect.”
My eyes crinkled in the corners. God forbid anybody speak ill of The Violet Dame. “And what if I was poofy?”
“But you’re not,” Connor replied emphatically.
Okay then. This was going to be harder than I thought.
“But, what if, just as an example, I did get poofy?” He looked at me. “Around the middle.” I used my arms to indicate a giant belly. “Like this.”
Connor’s face screwed up and he took the three steps over to me. He put a cold hand to my forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
Ugh.
“Actually, I’m a little warm,” I hinted, fluttering
my lashes at my sweet but clueless husband. “Comes part and parcel with my condition.”
Suddenly, Connor’s face turned lusty. “Oh yeah? Now that you mention it, I’m a little warm too.” He took my hand and placed it on his semi-hard cock. “Especially here.”
I couldn’t help myself. I died of laughter.
“Hey, easy,” Connor dropped my hand, a little miffed, “Way to kill the mood, Emmy.”
“I’m sorry,” I wheezed out. When I finally got myself under control, I said through a wide smile, “I’m trying to tell you something important.”
“Okay,” I could sense his confusion but he tried to concentrate on what I was saying.
I thought about all the possible clichés I could. “Are there any buns in the oven?”
“You’re hungry?” he drawled before throwing his thumb back over his shoulder. “I can whip you up something real quick.”
“No, I—” I shook my head. This wasn’t working. Okay. “Connor,” Time to shoot my shot. I stepped up to him, placing a gentle hand on his chest then spoke very slowly, “You’re going to be a daddy.”
I watched a range of emotions pass over his face. First, puzzlement. Then, realization. And finally, understanding.
He blinked down at me a solid minute before he put his hand to my stomach and whispered, “You’re poofy?”
A choked laugh shot out of me. I nodded, smiling. “I’m poofy.”
“How long have you been… poofy?” he asked and I didn’t miss the way his voice shook.
“About eight weeks.”
Another range of emotions washed over him.
First, shock. Then, apprehension. And finally, anxiety.
His eyes widened and he reached up to hold onto his head as if it might just explode if he didn’t. “You’re eight weeks poofy?”
Wow. He was taking this worse than I thought.
And just like that, my joy subsided. Smile falling to the floor with a splat, I took a step back and let out a small and unsure, “You’re not happy?”
Immediately, Connor’s hands fell to his sides. He stalked over to me and he gripped my upper arms tightly. The intensity of his gaze was almost frightening. “Never in my life did I think I could feel as happy as I do now. But,” Oh no. There was a but. “But it’s just now that I realize I’m really fucking underqualified for the whole father gig. And, baby,” his eyes softened, “that scares the shit out of me.”
Aw. My heart.
“I mean, what if I mess up? What if I screw this kid up? I didn’t exactly have the best role models when it comes to parenting, you know?”
Ugh. Stahp.
He was killing me.
Not many people got to see this side of Connor. The insecure, vulnerable Connor. It was an honor to be among the trusted few who got this part of him, as irrational as his fear was.
Reaching up, I cupped his jaw and ran my thumbs over his cheeks softly. “Stop.”
“But,” he started.
I cut him off. “Stop it.” I hated to admit it but the fear he felt was matched in my own. “I’m scared too.”
The admission had Connor letting out a deep breath. The weight on his shoulders was now halved as I helped him carry the load.
“You’re going to be a great dad,” I told him, smiling up into his face. “No doubt.”
His struggle receded momentarily as he rested his hands on my hips and squeezed. So much said without saying a thing at all.
Winding my arms around his neck, I asked lightly, “You up for another adventure?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“With you?” He lowered his face to mine and kissed me in a way that melted every worry to vapor. “Always.”
Epilogue
Your Song.
“Something’s wrong,” Connor muttered as he walked into the kitchen carrying our little girl, Faye, high on his hip.
As he approached, she reached for me and I took her eagerly with a wide smile. “Nothing is wrong.”
He frowned down at our daughter. “I did this to her.”
“You did not,” I laughed softly before placing a gentle kiss to her sweet-smelling forehead.
But he was nodding. He was also looking more than miserable. “It has to be me.” He continued to nod. “You’re perfect so it definitely wasn’t you.”
Connor Clash, you stop that.
My heart could only take so much.
“Honey, please stop worrying. She’s just taking her time.”
“Taking her time?” He blinked at me. “She’s eighteen months old and hasn’t said a single word, baby.” Ugh. Here we go. “In all the books I’ve read they say girls normally start talking before boys.” I rolled my eyes as he put his hands on his hips and stated, “I think we should take her to Doctor Bergstein.”
“Ugh,” I started with a low groan, “Not this again.”
He pointed at me. “Book the appointment.”
I realized he was going through something so I tried to be patient. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Also, Doctor Bergstein might have—kind of—asked me to never bring you back to her practice. She called you a schmendrick, whatever that means.”
Connor’s brow furrowed and, quite suddenly, he looked defeated. “What if something’s wrong?”
Placing our beautiful daughter in her high chair, I buckled her in and took the two steps over to him. “Faye is in perfect health. She’s growing exactly the way she should. Ten fingers. Ten toes. All that jazz.” With a gentle hand to his chest, I pasted on a muted smile. “She’s just a late bloomer. That’s all. Okay?”
His hands came up to my shoulders and he unconsciously kneaded them while staring at our baby. “Okay,” he replied petulantly.
“Doctor Bergstein’s the best. When she’s worried, I’ll be worried.”
Connor nodded and I turned, leaning back against him.
My God, she was beautiful. A blend of both of us. Faye had Connor’s light curl but my mousy brown hair. She had Connor’s smile but my nose. Her eyes were the same warm caramel brown as her daddy’s but she was clumsy like her mama.
And she was perfect in every which way.
Yes, I was worried she would never speak but something told me she was simply biding her time and when the right moment came along, she would open her mouth and be heard.
Soon enough, that’s exactly what she did.
It was Connor’s birthday. He didn’t like to make a big deal about it yet somehow, every year on his birthday, our friends made their way over for what Noah called our annual pizza night. He said the fact that it landed on Connor’s birthday was purely coincidental.
Amber and Micah were the last of them to arrive and as soon as their son, Thomas, spotted Faye, he ran over to her. The moment she saw him, she let out a delighted giggle and hugged him.
As I readied plates and napkins to take to the table, I couldn’t help but look around. Connor, Lee and Noah were gathered around Jim, talking and laughing as the old man recounted one story or another.
Ricky and Pearl sat on the floor with the kids. Placing her hand over Faye’s, Pearl showed her how to draw a flower. When Faye attempted it on her own and didn’t do a bad job, Pearl clapped and cheered, “Yay!”
When Amber, Micah, Ettie and Beth were caught in conversation and from the seriousness of their tones, I knew it had business related.
Cherry and Hell were speaking softly by the dining kitchen counter and I didn’t miss the way Hell reached out and tucked a stray hair behind Cherry’s ear.
The way I felt watching these people interact was something. It bloomed from deep within my belly and warmth filled my chest, threatening to spill out of me.
When the intercom rang, I called out to Connor, “Pizza’s here,” and everyone made their way to the large dining table. I sat at one end of the table while Connor dumped the pizzas onto the table then sat opposite me.
It was funny watching the dynamic. Everyo
ne moved so seamlessly. Ricky barely stopped talking with Lee as he pulled out my chair for me, the gentleman he was. Cherry filled a glass with lemonade and placed it in front of me. Beth took two slices of pepperoni, put them on a plate then handed it to me without a word.
We were like a finely oiled machine.
But it was the little angel seated next to Connor that got my attention. As Connor cut up a slice of cheese pizza into bite-sized pieces, Faye was not impressed that her Uncle Noah was distracting him from his task. She stretched out for Connor, trying in vain to get his attention but he was just out of reach. When her chin started wobbling, I moved to stand.
And then it happened.
“Dadi.”
Ricky gasped and the entire table stilled.
But Connor was caught up in whatever he was telling Noah about must’ve seemed important at the time because without a backwards glance, he uttered, “Just a sec, baby,” and continued talking.
It wasn’t until Noah hadn’t responded that Connor noticed the entire table was eerily silent. And just as he frowned and said, “Uh, what’s up?” it hit him.
A look of stunned disbelief settled over his face, he looked directly across the table at me and asked a quiet, “Did she just…?”
Smiling so hard it hurt, I nodded quickly.
Just as Connor turned to face our daughter, she reached out for her pizza. She stretched her little fingers towards her plate, face bunched in concentration as she let out an annoyed, “Dadi.”
No one said a damned word.
Jim broke the silence when he began to chuckle.
Ettie soon muttered an awe-filled, “Oh my God.”
“She spoke.” A slow grin stretched at Hell’s mouth. “I can’t believe it. She actually spoke.”
It took a moment but chaotic conversation erupted amongst us all and while Cherry hugged me, laughing in the excitement I’m sure we all felt, I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off Connor.
Without a word, he stood, smoothly placed the pizza down in front our daughter and gently kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath that told me his relief was palpable.
Clash Page 39
