Wild Flame (The Wild: A Rock Star Romance Book 2)

by Micalea Smeltzer

  Cannon shakes his head. “Leave him alone.”

  “Nah, it’s fine,” Hollis says. “She’s with Kira.” He pauses, gauging my reaction to his words.

  I blink, stone-faced, refusing to act like her name means anything to me.

  I almost come back with, “Who’s that?” But then he’d know how bothered I am by her radio silence. The best course of action for me is to act like it doesn’t matter, because, honestly, it doesn’t. I’ll get over it. I’m a big boy.

  “I hope they’re having fun,” is all I say, before turning my attention back to my food.

  Hollis shakes his head, not believing my bravado, but I don’t give a shit.

  Kira’s not my concern anymore. She doesn’t want to be.

  Conversation dissolves into talk of music, like it always invariably does. We seem to have a hard time forgetting not to work, since it’s what we love. It’s always on our minds in some way.

  Fox and I clean up from the meal—I actually don’t mind washing dishes, it was always my chore growing up—and Hollis eventually leaves.

  Cannon and Fox head to their rooms to go to bed and I fill my glass to the brink of spilling over, and sink onto the couch, grabbing the remote. I settle on Ghost Adventures—I love paranormal shit.

  My focus isn’t on the show like it normally is, no matter how hard I try to make it so.

  Finally, I give in to my desire and pick up my phone. I bring up all my text messages to Kira, the last few read but unanswered. Anger surges through me, and I click onto her contact, my finger hovering over the delete button.

  I stare at it for a full minute, willing myself to push it.

  But I don’t.

  I throw back the rest of my drink and go to bed angry.

  17

  Kira

  I stare at my phone, at the text message Rush sent this morning.

  The waiting room of the doctor’s office is packed, and I’m already nervous about this appointment, so his text doesn’t help matters.

  Rush: I don’t know what the fuck I did to you, but I deserve more than this. Normally I’d be happy to go quietly away and fuck someone else, but not this time. You’re going to give me an explanation to my face. Tonight. Either give me a time to come by or I’ll just show up. I still have a key.

  I haven’t responded, I don’t know what to say or do, not until this appointment is over.

  I’m sure he’s fuming at the fact I haven’t responded yet, but he’ll have to remain angry until this is over, and my vagina has been thoroughly probed—and not in the fun way.

  The door to the office opens and I look up, breathing a sigh of relief when I see it’s Mia.

  “How are you doing?” she asks, sitting down and placing her purse in her lap.

  “I’m freaking out,” I admit. It’s pretty obvious though, considering how jittery I am.

  She takes my hand in hers, still slightly chilled from the cold outside.

  “You’re not alone in this,” she reminds me. “I’m here for you, always.”

  My lower lip wobbles, and I dam back my tears. I hate crying, and I refuse to let this situation lower me to such barbaric needs.

  “Thank you,” I say, choked up. Mia truly is the best friend I could ever ask for. She puts up with all my shit and always remains calm, cool, and collected.

  “You’re going to be okay,” she sooths. “I wouldn’t tell you that if I didn’t believe it.”

  I reach over and give her an awkward hug. I’m not the hugging type, but right now I need it, and I think she does too.

  She squeezes me back.

  “Kira Marsh?”

  I look at her with wide panicked eyes and she squeezes my hand.

  “Here goes nothing, I guess,” I breathe out.

  She stands with me and we follow the nurse back to a room.

  “So, it says here you got a positive pregnancy test result?”

  I nod. “I did.”

  “When was the date of your last period?”

  “Um…” I bite my lower lip. “I’m not sure exactly.”

  She writes something down.

  “Were you trying to conceive?”

  “No.”

  “You were still taking your birth control then?”

  “Yes—I stopped it after I got the positive result, I haven’t been sexually active since, and we always used condoms. It has to be a fluke, right?”

  She shrugs. “These things happen no matter how careful you are. A false negative is far more common than a false positive, but I’ll send the doctor in to check things. You can take your pants off and drape this over you.” She grabs a sheet from the cabinet and hands it to me. “You’ll be fine,” she adds, sensing my nerves.

  I let out a breath as she closes the door behind her.

  Hopping off the table I take off my scrub pants and underwear, not caring at all that Mia’s in here with me. She’s seen me naked, and now’s not the time for decency.

  I sit back down, draping the sheet over my bottom half.

  I look at Mia, letting out a nervous breath as my heart roars in my chest. I don’t think my heart has ever beat so fast. It’s possible I’ll faint, but hopefully I don’t.

  “Breathe,” she says in a quiet and calm tone. “Freaking out doesn’t solve anything. It only makes it worse.”

  She’s right, I know she is, and yet I can’t stop freaking out.

  I want a miracle. I want the doctor to tell me I’m not pregnant.

  But I am.

  I know it as sure as I know my own name. I feel it in my soul.

  There’s a soft knock on the door and then Dr. Wren’s kind face appears, framed by hair a deeper shade of red than Mia’s.

  “How are you, Kira?” she asks, closing the door behind her and pumping some Germ-X on her hands.

  “Knocked up, apparently,” I reply in a dry tone.

  She gives a small laugh. She’s younger, in her forties I’d assume, and I’ve always really liked her. Today, not so much—simply because of my reason for being here.

  She sits down on the stool and rolls up to me. “Are you doing okay?” she asks, true concern in her eyes.

  I nod. “I’ll be fine.”

  I will be. One day at a time.

  She claps her hands together. “Well, let’s take a look.”

  Minutes later there’s a small black and white graphic of a bean-sized baby on the screen—not the blip I expected to look more alien than anything.

  My baby.

  Rush’s baby.

  Our baby.

  “It’s … so big,” I murmur in awe.

  She gives a laugh and Mia leans over me, getting a better look at the screen.

  “It looks like you conceived in early December—”

  “Early December?” I shriek. “It’s the first week of March! How could I not know?”

  She shakes her head. “It happens more than you’d think.”

  She clicks some buttons. “I’d say you’re about nine weeks along and due around the end of August … the twenty-seventh the way the baby is measuring.”

  By the end of the summer I’m going to have a baby in my arms. It’s possibly the craziest shit I’ve ever heard.

  She pushes another button and a booming sound fills the small room.

  “What’s that?” I ask stupidly. Something about this appointment has sent all my smarts soaring out the window. “Is that the heartbeat?”

  “It is,” she replies with a kind smile, like she understands how freaked out I am by all this, but at the same time in complete awe.

  “Wow,” Mia breathes, her lips parted in wonder. “That’s amazing.”

  “It is,” I say, choked up, looking at the tiny wriggling form.

  The thing I was so afraid of doesn’t seem so frightening now.

  “I’ll get some of these printed for you,” my doctor says.

  Thirty minutes later I’m walking out of the office with several ultrasound photos of my baby and my next appointm
ent scheduled.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually having a baby,” Mia says, walking with me to the elevator. I get to head home now, which I’m thankful for. There’s no way I could work the rest of the day, my focus is elsewhere. “I mean, I was there when you took the test, but it never really sank in.”

  “It’s happening,” I say as much for my benefit as hers. “I’m going to be a mom.”

  The doors slide open with a merry chime and we step inside.

  Pushing the button for the main floor, Mia says, “I’m going to be the best auntie ever—rest assured, we might not be related by blood, but we’re family and I’m this kid’s aunt.”

  “Thank you for coming with me.” I mean it too. I couldn’t have done this without her. I probably would’ve fainted before they even called my name.

  “No problem.” She smiles at me, the kindness in her eyes nearly making me cry.

  Fuck, look at me. This baby is already turning me into a pathetic weeping mess.

  Not cool, little one. Not cool.

  The doors open to the lobby of the hospital and I hug her tight before she heads out the main doors and I turn to my right to head for the garage.

  A few minutes later I slide behind the wheel of my car. I turn it on, but I don’t leave. Digging my phone out again I bring up my text messages from Rush.

  Me: Come by around 5. Does that work for you?

  Seconds later his reply appears.

  Rush: I’ll be there.

  I bustle around my tiny kitchen like a crazy person.

  I’ve lost my ever-loving mind. I rarely cook—unless pouring cereal into a bowl and adding milk counts, but here I am trying to make dinner for Rush, because I feel bad for ignoring him and also because…

  Well, I have to tell him he’s my baby daddy and that sounds about as fun as having nails driven into my eyes.

  But by making dinner, at least it shows I’ve put in some effort for this, right?

  God, what am I thinking?

  Granted, grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables is nothing extravagant, but considering I’m the one cooking it’s a five-star meal.

  I’m overthinking this way too much, and I’ve never been an over thinker. I couldn’t be. I’ve had to put things behind me and move on, to live without a care.

  Have you really been living without a care, or letting your past define every decision you make?

  “God,” I groan, shoving my fingers through my already messy hair and blowing out a disgruntled breath.

  Rush is going to be here any minute and I look a mess.

  I tie my hair back in a ponytail and rush to the bathroom, adding some color to my lips and swiping mascara on my lashes. It’s not like I’m trying to impress him, but I know I’ll feel a hell of a lot more confident with some makeup on. Something about dressing up and doing my makeup makes me feel like I can conquer the world.

  Dashing back out to the kitchen I fix everything onto plates and set them on the coffee table. I turn the TV on, but keep the volume soft, because as much as I don’t want to, Rush and I do have to talk.

  I step back, looking everything over. It doesn’t look horrible, in my opinion, definitely edible and not burnt. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans there’s a soft knock on the door.

  “Showtime,” I mutter to myself, my heart racing.

  I feel entirely silly for being this nervous, but then again this is huge, life changing, news. I’ve had several weeks to get used to it and accept it.

  This will be the first Rush is hearing of it.

  I open the door and my breath catches, because it’s honestly unfair how good-looking he is.

  His blond hair is still damp from a shower, the strands on top shorter than they were the last time I saw him, and the sides freshly buzzed—not to the scalp, but shorter than the hair on top. His earring catches the light and makes him look rakish.

  The heavy stubble on his cheeks adds to his handsome features and his blue eyes are so dark I think I could drown in them.

  “Are you going to stare at me all night or let me inside?” He says the words lightly, but there’s no joking lift to his lips like usual or a twinkle in his eyes. After ignoring him I deserve much worse.

  I shake my head. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” I step aside and let him in.

  He shrugs off his navy coat and hangs it on my pathetic coat rack by the door. My eyes can’t help but stray to his ass, looking way too delectable in the pair of jeans he wears.

  Fuck, it’s been way too long since I got laid. I’m certifiable.

  He turns to face me and I have to suppress a moan, because his shirt is taut against his muscles and he’s rolled the sleeves up, exposing the tattoos on his forearms.

  God, how I’ve missed those tattoos, and him … yeah, him too.

  As much as I don’t want to admit it, I have missed him. Maybe I haven’t sheltered my heart as well as I believed.

  “I … uh … made dinner,” I say awkwardly.

  I don’t like this new side of me. I’m used to being confident, truly confident and not faking it, but getting pregnant has shaken me up and as the sand settles, it’s shaped differently than it was before. Now, I have to puzzle out exactly what this means for who I am—because I’m not sure I’m who I’ve always believed. I think I’ve been wearing a mask, one I made to protect myself from the people who were supposed to love me no matter what, but did nothing but hurt me instead.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks me over. “I didn’t come here for dinner.”

  “I know,” I sigh heavily. “I’ll explain, I swear, but this might take a while. Let’s just sit down and eat.”

  “Fine,” he agrees, and moves by me. His arm brushes mine and I inhale the scent of his cologne like a greedy high school girl.

  I’m practically certifiable at this point. Where’s the straight jacket?

  I grab a beer for him and a Coke for me from the refrigerator. It’s pathetic how empty it is otherwise. I guess I’ll have to change that now that I’m growing a tiny human.

  I sit down beside him and hold out the beer.

  “Thanks,” he mumbles, popping the cap off.

  The can of Coke hisses as I crack it open and take a sip of the bubbly soda.

  There’s not a lot of space between us, simply because my couch is small and Rush is huge, but I can tell he’s making an effort not to touch me and I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt. I’m being stupid, I know. I’m the one who ignored him. I’m not denying that I’ve done this, put this distance between us, but it still sucks. I could barely process the fact I’m pregnant, let alone tell him.

  I set my drink on the coffee table and pick up my plate. I’m not hungry. Eating is the last thing on my mind actually.

  “So, what the fuck happened?” Rush asks, cutting into the piece of chicken. He brings the fork to his mouth and pauses, assessing me. “Did I do something to piss you off? Is it because I consider you a friend? If that’s the case, then you’re not my fucking friend anymore. It’s fine with me.”

  I shake my head. “It wasn’t that.”

  “Then what?” he asks, exasperated, his tone short. “You completely ignored me. Normally I’d say whatever and go on my merry way, but this was different.” He flicks his fingers between the two of us. “I know we set out for it to be sex, nothing else, and it was at first. But then,” he pauses, gathering himself, “it became something more. If it scared you, fine, but you should’ve fucking said something. I would’ve backed off. Given you your space.”

  “Rush,” I breathe, biting my lip as I feel the tears beginning to form.

  Don’t cry, Kira. Tears are for the weak and pathetic and you’re neither.

  “Maybe you met someone else,” he muses softly. “Decided you actually wanted something serious, something I can’t give you.”

  “Rush,” I say his name firmer this time.

  He looks at me fully, his eyes confused and hurt. “Just tell me what it is I did, K
ira. I’m used to fucking everything up. I’m too loud. Too drunk. Too crazy. I’m too everything. I can handle whatever the fuck it is.”

  I shake my head back and forth, my throat closed up.

  “Jesus Christ,” he pleads, “tell me.”

  I force myself to look him in the eyes.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  I barely hear the sound of his plate hitting the floor. It doesn’t even break from the short drop, but food goes everywhere, spraying across both our feet.

  He looks at me, stunned and confused. “What did you say?”

  “Please, don’t make me say it again,” I beg, my eyes closing.

  “I need to hear it,” he pleads, turning to face me. His knees brush mine and I force my eyes open.

  “I’m pregnant,” I say again. “You’re going to be a dad.”

  He rubs his hands over his face, and stands, pacing the small length of the living room.

  “Rush?” I ask hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

  It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room and I’m struggling, gasping desperately for air.

  He pauses and lets out a breath. “How’d this happen? We were careful.”

  I shrug, dipping my chin down. I can’t quite meet his gaze right now. It makes me feel too much, hurt too much. “We won the lottery, but in reverse.”

  He shakes his head. I can tell he’s stunned, confused, probably questioning everything the same way I did.

  “I’m not ready to be a dad,” he breathes. “How can I take care of and provide for someone when I’m a fucking mess myself?”

  “I’m not expecting anything from you,” I promise him. “Once I decided to keep the baby, I knew for certain I’d be okay doing this on my own. I don’t expect you to be a parent. You didn’t ask for this.”

  He stops his pacing and faces me, anger simmering beneath the surface of his whole body.

  “Once you decided to keep the baby,” he repeats in an icy tone. “And you didn’t think to include me in these important decisions?”

  “Rush … I …” I don’t know how to explain myself to him. “I knew this responsibility was mine to bear. As the father you’re free to walk away in a way I’m not.”