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

by Micalea Smeltzer

  When the time comes for us to close up shop, I’m ridiculously relieved.

  Mia and I walk out to the parking lot and I halt when I notice a familiar figure leaning against my beat-up car.

  “You okay?” Mia hesitates beside me.

  I nod, a short jerk of my chin in affirmation. “I need to talk to him.”

  She nods and waves at him before heading over to her car.

  Walking up, I stop in front of Rush. He leans against my driver’s side door, barring my means of escape.

  “We need to talk,” he announces.

  “I guess we do,” I agree.

  “Can I buy you dinner?”

  I want to say no, not because I want to avoid him, but I want to get home and crash. My treacherous stomach comes to life and he chuckles. The salad I had at lunch was a pathetic excuse for food.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I agree.

  “Mind if I ride with you?” he asks.

  The idea of being so close to him in my tiny car wants to send me running in the opposite direction, but I hold my ground.

  “Where’s your truck?” It seems like an important question to pose before I answer him.

  “At the hotel,” he answers. “I walked over.”

  “Guess you’re riding with me then,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. I can feel a headache coming on.

  He cracks a grin, and for a moment it feels like it did weeks ago—easy, without this troubling complication of the fact we made a baby together.

  “I knew if I brought my truck you’d insist on driving separately and then ditch me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  I so would and he knows it.

  He laughs, not believing me at all.

  He steps away, allowing me into the driver’s seat and he climbs in the passenger. He squeezes in and then pushes the bar beneath the seat so he can roll it all the way back.

  He’s never been in my car before, any time we’ve gone somewhere together we’ve either met up or ridden in his truck, and now I know why.

  He has to duck, because his head would be curved against the low ceiling otherwise, and even with the seat all the way back his knees are still up to his chin. He leans it back and says, “Better.”

  “Really?” I question, because he still looks like a squished marshmallow—not that he’s squishy or anything. He’s delectably hard in all the right places.

  “Are you staring at my dick?” His voice is full of barely contained laugher.

  I whip my head away from him and shove the key in the ignition. The rumbling engine roars to life—sounding far mightier and angrier than a small car like mine should.

  “I’m horny,” I say in defense.

  He laughs outright. “How do you think I feel?”

  My head whips toward him so fast I feel slightly dizzy. “What do you mean?”

  He looks at me like I’m dumb. “It means I haven’t had sex. We never did call off our deal.”

  I gape at him. “You mean…”

  “I haven’t had sex with anyone since you.”

  I stare at him and the air between us grows heated.

  No words will come to me.

  In a low voice he says, “If you keep staring at me like that I’m going to fuck you in this car.”

  My breath catches and my thighs clench together. A low moan flies unbidden between my lips. He groans and reaches over, cupping my cheek in his hand.

  “You’re killing me, Kira. You have no idea what you do to me.”

  “I thought you were mad at me,” I whisper in the darkness between us.

  “I am.” His deep blue eyes meet mine and I see the hurt there—hurt of my making. “But it’s the people we care about the most, who can cause pain unlike any other.”

  His thumb brushes over my bottom lip.

  “You care about me?”

  “I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t,” he admits, and his perfect white teeth bite lightly into his full bottom lip. “I’m not asking anything from you, I’m sure you don’t expect much from me, but we’re going to be in each other’s lives from now on. There’s no changing it. We could at least try to get along and like each other.”

  “I already like you,” I admit.

  His grin is nearly blinding. Rush smiling truly is a thing of beauty. It transforms his whole face and brings a brightness to his eyes that’s normally absent.

  “Well, now that we’ve established that I guess we should get to know each other better.”

  I make a face.

  He chuckles. “I know there are things you don’t want to talk about, not yet, and I’m the same—but we can at least learn the basics, right?”

  “I guess,” I agree.

  “Good.” He rubs his hands together. “Now, let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

  Ten minutes later we’re seated at the diner for dinner—the same diner we had breakfast at the day I learned I was pregnant. I guess this place is sort of … our place. It feels weird to be back here now, post baby news.

  I play with the napkin wrapped around the utensils and Rush watches me.

  “You really hate the idea of talking about yourself, don’t you?”

  I stop messing with the napkin. “What’s there to talk about? I’m not very interesting.”

  “I beg to differ,” he reasons. “Want me to go first?”

  “Sure,” I say softly. “Tell me something about you I don’t know.”

  “I played basketball from the time I was just a little guy. If we have a son, I hope he likes basketball. I’d never force it on him, but it would be nice to share that passion with him. Teach him the drums. Shit, a girl can do both too—a daughter would be cool.”

  I choke on my own saliva at how easily he talks about a son and daughter.

  Maybe it’s strange, me being the woman and all, the one actually carrying the baby, but I haven’t once thought about it being a boy or girl, or what it would even look like—who it would look like.

  “God, our child is going to have a massive butt-chin,” I blurt.

  Rush laughs loudly, the sound genuine and carefree. “Where’d that come from?” He strokes the dip in his own chin. “You’re right, though. There’s no way our kid isn’t coming out without it.”

  I feel the dent in my chin. “Poor thing.”

  “Poor thing? It’s awesome.”

  I frown, sinking down in my chair a bit. “I’ve never liked having it.”

  “I think it’s cute.” He reaches across the table with his long arm and grazes his fingers over my chin.

  I feel my cheeks heat at his touch.

  “Sorry I’m only getting to you guys now,” our frazzled waitress says, pen poised against the pad of her notebook. “What can I get you to drink?”

  He removes his hand and sits back. I feel achingly cold from the lack of his touch.

  “A Coke, please.”

  “Water for me,” Rush replies. One of the benefits of coming to the diner—no alcohol. I don’t think Rush even knows how one drink invariably leads to ten with him. He doesn’t know when to stop.

  She turns and leaves and I feel forced to fill the silence, the imprint of his fingers still fresh against my skin.

  “Basketball, huh?”

  “Could’ve gone pro after college, I’m sure. Didn’t get that far,” he sighs, looking away.

  “What happened?”

  His head swings back to me, his normally carefree blue eyes dark and shuttered. “It’s one of those things I don’t want to talk about. You have your secrets, Kira. Let me have mine.”

  I swallow and nod. I would never force him to tell me anything he didn’t want to. I don’t want to talk about my mom, or dad, or anything from my horrid past. There are too many difficult things to explain.

  The waitress drops off our drinks and takes our order. I request a juicy cheeseburger and Rush copies my order. My mouth waters and I feel my stomach come to life.

  “You know, those are terrible for you.�
� Rush points to my Coke.

  I rip the paper off my straw and stick it into the bubbling soda. I take a dramatic sip and say, “I like it. Also, with the amount of alcohol you consume you’re one to talk.”

  His face narrows into something like irritation. “Not you, too.”

  “What?”

  He scrubs his hands over the stubble on his cheeks. “Cannon has been up my ass about my drinking.”

  “Seems like he should be,” I remark.

  “I’m not an alcoholic,” he growls defensively.

  “Whoa,” I force a laugh, “I didn’t say you were.”

  “Sorry,” he exhales heavily. “Touchy subject. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

  I tap my chin. “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Kira.”

  “Fine,” I groan in irritation. “Let me think.” I have no idea what I can possibly tell him. There’s nothing much interesting about me. I go to school, work, and before now—before him—I went to parties and usually brought a guy back to my place. “When I was in middle school I did plays—only two, but still.”

  He grins and it’s incredible the way it softens his entire face.

  “I have a hard time picturing you up on a stage.”

  “Believe it.” I take another sip of my Coke. I’ve been craving them more and more—maybe it’s my first pregnancy craving. “How are we going to do this?” I ask him on a sigh.

  “What do you mean?”

  I flick my fingers between the two of us. “You’re going to go back to L.A. eventually. My life is here. I have work, school … the baby will be with me. You say you want to be involved. How is that going to work?”

  “Do we have to go over this now?”

  “It’s something we have to discuss. Putting it off doesn’t change that.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m going to be here. I don’t know how I can be the father our kid deserves. All I know is I want to be there as much as I can.”

  I press my lips together. I don’t think he gets it at all—how big of a deal this is, what kind of commitment a child is.

  “We must be crazy,” I whisper.

  “Crazy? Why?” His brow furrows in confusion.

  “You’re going to leave. You’re going to go on tour, and play stadiums, girls will throw themselves at you,” he smirks at that, “and I’ll be here with our baby. You’ll forget about it … and me.”

  “What do you want from me, Kira? Do you want us to try to date? You know that isn’t my vibe, and you’ve always said it isn’t yours. Also, you’re getting way ahead of things. Our album isn’t even out yet.”

  “That’s not what I want. My point is you’ll be gone, and I’ll have to explain that to our kid, and then they’ll see everything you do posted all over social media and the internet. Maybe…”

  “Maybe, what?” he growls dangerously, eyes narrowed.

  “Maybe it would be better if you weren’t involved,” I say as our food is set down on the table.

  His hands close into fists on the table. “That’s fucking cruel of you to say, Kira. How fucking dare you? What if it was reversed? What if I said that to you? That our baby would be better off not knowing you?”

  I close my eyes and open them slowly. “I get your point.”

  “I’m going to be there,” he vows. “I promise you. I can do this.”

  “But can we do this?”

  He sighs, glaring down at his food. He raises his gaze to mine. “I don’t think it’ll be easy, but I know we can. It’ll take time, and learning to trust each other in ways we haven’t yet. I won’t make you false promises and declarations that mean nothing. This is a big deal, a baby is a huge unpredictable thing.” His lips twitching, he adds, “We’ll take baby steps.”

  I want to believe him. I want to trust that everything will be okay, but in my life, I’ve learned that’s rarely the case. I’ve come to accept the fact my life will never be simple or easy, but now I have a child to think about too—and I’ll do everything it takes to protect him or her, can Rush say the same?

  20

  Rush

  Sweat drips from my body as my drumsticks fly against my drums. My hair is kept back with a bandana to keep it from getting in my eyes. I feel good behind my drum kit, at peace. Peace is hard to find these days.

  I worry about Kira, about our baby, about what kind of father I can be.

  It’s not a lie when I say I want to be in my child’s life. I will be. But I’ve been selfish for so long, I wonder if I’ll truly be able to set aside my wants and desires to put my kid first.

  There are shitty parents out there who walk away from their kid every day—I don’t want to be one of them. I have to be better, the man my parents believed I was. The man I thought died in the wreck.

  I walked away from the accident changed forever. There’s probably no going back to who I was—there’s a naivety I can never get back, but there has to be a middle ground.

  “That’s great. Take a break,” Hayes says through the mic, breaking my train of thought.

  Holding my drumsticks in one hand I stand from the stool and join the others.

  Hayes pushes some buttons and it begins to replay everything I recorded.

  My head bobs along to the beat and I high five Hollis. “Damn, I’m good.”

  I still haven’t told him about the baby. I don’t know why. I think I’m afraid since he’s gone and fallen in love, he’ll tell me I need to marry Kira. I like Kira, but I don’t want to marry her. Our relationship has never been anything strong enough for me to be like, yeah, I’m going to put a ring on that. Though, if there was any woman in the world I could picture myself with long term, it would be her.

  She’s made it clear she doesn’t want that, and I’m cool with it. I’m not the relationship kind of guy, not any more, at least we’re civil with each other and I know we can find a way to co-parent our child.

  Focusing on the drumbeat playback, I grin. When we were kids and started this band, I didn’t believe we’d make it big. It’s probably shocking to everyone now, since I’m the one who ran the most wild with the moderate success we found. The other guys always seemed to know we’d get here. I always had one foot out the door, focusing on another dream. Basketball was my love, my passion. Drumming was fun, exciting, a whole different kind of outlet.

  After the accident it was my only outlet, but one I needed desperately. I came to love it even more, to realize drumming could become the spark I was missing. I still took it as a joke for a while … a long while actually, this whole being a band thing, but when Hayes signed us … I knew this was the real deal. We could do this, make something of ourselves that lasted long term.

  “I have to say, this album is going to be fucking amazing,” Hayes says, pushing another button so playback stops. “It’s going to be crunch time soon to finish up recording so we can get the album ready and out into the world.”

  “I never thought four guys from Tennessee could make it big,” I admit my thoughts out loud.

  Hayes grins. “I never thought four guys from Virginia could make it big. Look what Willow Creek has done. Are you all ready for that?”

  We exchange glances. “We’re ready,” we echo.

  “I’m knocked up, I should be excluded from all future going out plans. I know I used to love to go out, but now I fall asleep by eight o’ clock.” Kira glares at me with her hands on her slender hips, dressed in a pair of black leggings, a sweatshirt, and fuzzy slippers on her feet.

  “Kira,” I plead, clasping my hands in front of my face and mock pouting. “We’re going to get tacos. You love tacos. Put on some real shoes and come on.”

  She frowns down at her fuzzy white slippers. “What’s wrong with these?”

  “Kira,” I say slowly.

  She grins. “I was kidding. I’ll go—but only if you promise to buy me extra tacos so I can have them later—your spawn makes me hungry all the time n
ow. I eat, and eat, then I eat more. I’m going to get huge.”

  “Extra tacos I can make happen. Scout’s honor.” I cross my fingers like I’m making a promise.

  “I know there’s no way you were ever a scout—that’s not even what they do anyway.” She points to my fingers.

  “Stop arguing with me and put your shoes on.”

  “Fine.” She disappears into her apartment, leaving me on the wooden stairs outside. I wonder if she’ll ever let me back inside. She still hasn’t asked for her keys back, and I don’t know whether it’s because she’s forgotten I have them or … I don’t want to think about the alternative. Getting my hopes up sounds painful.

  It’s pathetic how I miss spending time with her—and frankly I’m desperate to get laid, but any time I think about fucking someone else I feel physically sick. I keep telling myself it’s because we haven’t broken off our deal, but I know deep down that’s not the reason at all.

  Kira appears again, this time with boots on, and closes the door behind her before locking it.

  “I’m ready,” she declares, looking up at me.

  My heart seizes when I look at her. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt for a long time.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “Let’s go.”

  “After you,” she says, motioning to the narrow stairs. “I’m not letting you look at my ass.”

  I laugh. “I so would—does that mean you want to look at mine?”

  “Ugh, you’re impossible.” She brushes past me and goes down first.

  I look at her ass just for the hell of it.

  She hops in my truck, purposely scurrying in before I can help her.

  I shake my head, slightly disappointed, but I try not to show it. What’s the point?

  Getting in the driver’s side I pull out into traffic once it’s clear, driving toward the opposite side of town to the Mexican restaurant we agreed to meet at—and by we I mean, me, the guys, and Mia.

  Clearing my throat, I ask, “How was your day?”

  What a fucking weird ass question to ask Rush? Can’t you do better?