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

by Micalea Smeltzer

  I laugh around my sniffles.

  “Thank you.” I let my feet drop from the other chair and lean forward to hug her. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

  Not many people are lucky enough to have a best friend that’s practically like a sister. I don’t know what I would do without Mia, without her family too.

  When you’re not good enough for your own flesh and blood, it’s nice to know there are other people in the world who love and accept you for who you are. I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not.

  This is my family now.

  “We better get back to work. You know Chester can’t handle the front on his own.” She rolls her eyes, talking about the new guy who was hired about a month ago who is still fucking clueless.

  I snort. “You’re right. Yesterday he asked me if he was holding turkey—it was Canadian bacon.”

  She shakes her head in disbelief.

  “That boy,” she mutters.

  I stand and stretch before following her out. Thanks to her, I feel a little lighter than I did before.

  Sitting down on my couch with my plate of dinner, I look at the textbooks spread around me. I have a quiz coming up this week and I need to be prepared. I expect to get an A and nothing less.

  Grabbing my notebook from the coffee table I balance it on my knee and take a bite of the chicken I made. It’s not bad, but I’m not hungry—I just know I need to eat for me and the baby. I flip a page in the textbook on my right and jot down some notes in my notebook.

  I start to yawn and I silently curse myself.

  Pregnancy makes me not only incredibly tired, but sleepy too, and I have no time for sleep at the moment.

  Finishing up my dinner I get comfortable—well as comfortable as I can—to finish studying for the evening.

  When the words blur together on the page, and nothing I read makes sense I decide to call it a night. I close my textbooks and stack them on the coffee table along with my notebook.

  I grab my phone from the table and then a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

  My phone rings in my hand, startling me and I drop the bottle.

  Shaking my head I reach down and grab it before answering the call.

  “Hello?” I rest the phone in the crook between my ear and shoulder, with my head tilted to hold it in place as my feet pad across the floor, back to my room where my bed is calling my name.

  “Kira?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  It’s late, so I don’t know why I’m getting a call right now—the only logical explanation is telemarketer.

  I open my mouth to tell the person I’m not interested in what they’re selling when they exhale a sigh of relief.

  “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you, but every phone number I had for you was disconnected.

  I plop my ass on the end of my bed, my brows furrow in confusion.

  “Who are you?”

  “Mitchell Williamson—I’m Quinton Marsh’s lawyer.”

  My heartbeat pounds in my ears.

  “W-What?” I stutter. “Why are you contacting me?” I practically yell into the phone.

  “I’m terribly sorry for reaching you at such a late hour—but as time is limited, I—”

  “Spit it out, Mitch,” I snap.

  “Your father … he’s sick. Cancer. He has only a week, two tops, left, and all he wants is to see you before he dies.”

  “Tell him I’ll see him in hell.”

  I press end on the call.

  36

  Rush

  I walk into the quiet studio the Monday after my first AA meeting.

  Everything looks different somehow, and I find my eyes scanning every item, every picture like it might be the last time I ever see it.

  I don’t know what Hayes is going to say when I lay my sins out before him. He might decide I’m not good enough to stay a part of the band—that I’m too much baggage.

  It doesn’t matter if I’ve been there from the start, I won’t let my actions weigh down my friends’ hopes and dreams. I won’t be the reason they don’t reach the stars.

  I asked them to come in a half hour later—to give me time to face Hayes alone.

  Their support would be nice, sure, but I know I need to do this on my own.

  I have to face my reality head on, and part of that includes telling my boss, and mentor, that I’ve hit rock bottom.

  Following the sounds of movement, I find him in the studio, tweaking with things on the soundboard and muttering to himself.

  I pause for a moment, unsure of the right way to announce myself.

  Do I speak? Or knock? Or—Jesus fuck I’m out of my mind.

  Running my fingers through my hair nervously, I clear my throat.

  Hayes turns around and raises a brow in surprise. “You’re here early.”

  He starts to turn back to the board, but I say, “I needed to talk to you.”

  “To me?” he asks, in disbelief and sits down in the swivel chair, facing me. “About what?”

  His tone conveys how he seriously doubts I could have anything of importance to share with him.

  I lick my lips looking around awkwardly.

  “Sit down,” he tells me.

  I’m not one for taking commands, but this time I do. I need some sort of direction in this moment.

  I sit down on the couch and he spins the chair to face me.

  Behind him, the recording booth is lit up, our equipment waiting for us. I itch to get behind my drum set—to lose myself in the music and beat.

  “Well?” Hayes prompts in a tone that says he’s waiting.

  Hayes is a decent guy, he really is, but he doesn’t like to think his time is being wasted.

  I wring my hands together, gathering myself. This hasn’t been an easy thing to admit to myself, let alone someone like Hayes.

  “I … I attended my first AA meeting this weekend.” I blurt out the words quickly, like ripping a Band-Aid off and sit up straight, squaring my shoulders. Hayes’s face shows his surprise, so I continue before he can say anything. “My friends, and I’m sure you have too, have noticed how my drinking can get out of hand at times. I always believed I had it under control. I never thought I was an alcoholic. I could stop if I wanted, it’s a lie I told myself and one I believed wholeheartedly. Until I did something unforgiveable.”

  His eyes narrow on me. “And what is this unforgiveable thing you did?”

  “I hurt the woman I love in a way I can’t change or take back. I’m afraid I’ve done irreparable damage to any chance I might have had of having a life with her.”

  “With Kira?” he clarifies.

  I nod solemnly. “She said she could never love me, but I think she lied—”

  “Why would she lie?” He butts in.

  “Because she’s scared, I guess. Isn’t that why most people lie? Because it’s easier to live in fear than to step out on a limb?”

  He shrugs. “You’re right. What exactly did you do that you think you can’t take back?”

  I wince. This is the last conversation in the entire world I want to be having with Joshua Hayes of all people.

  “Something unforgivable.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I need more details than that if I’m going to give you advice.”

  I jolt back in shock. “You want to give me advice?”

  He shrugs, raising his hands. “You said you love her—is that true?”

  “Yes,” I answer without a moment of hesitation.

  “Then level with me and be honest, then we’ll go from there.”

  I wince. “It’s bad.”

  He sighs heavily, rolling his eyes. “I’ve done things in my past I regret and wish I could take back. Life isn’t rainbows and sunshine, son. It’s constantly falling down and picking yourself back up—learning from your mistakes. Now tell me before you irritate me too much and I decide not to help you.”

  Taking a breath, I tell him all of it—about how I’ve been falling for he
r for a while, but was terrified to admit it to myself. About the trip to New York and how I finally confessed my feelings and what she said. As much as it makes me ill to talk about what I did at the club, I do. I tell him all of it. I tell him about my guilt, and about my parents’ deaths—how I’ve been spiraling out of control ever since. It feels good to get all of this off my chest, and even to tell it to a father sort of figure. I mean, he is a father, but he’s not mine and our relationship has always been a purely working one.

  He leans back in the chair, rubbing his jaw.

  “Fuck,” he blurts, and for some reason it surprises me to hear the word leave his lips. “That’s quite the mess you’ve dug for yourself.”

  “I know.” I hang my head in shame.

  I’ve never been ashamed of my actions before. I’ve always owned every decision I’ve made, even when I knew they were bad. This is the first time I’ve ever experienced true regret for something I’ve done and it makes me feel physically ill.

  “I already think you’re on the path to redemption.”

  “You do?” I raise my head.

  “You went to AA—that’s a big step, now keep going, keep proving to her and yourself that you can do this. Prove your worth by getting sober. She’s angry, so give her time and space to calm down. While you’re giving her that space, keep working on yourself—not just with not drinking, but with other things. Deal with the death of your parents, because you never have. Go back home if you have to. Lay to rest everything you’ve been holding on to. Through it all, don’t forget your love for her, and think of your child. You’re going to be a father now.”

  “It’s a boy,” I whisper.

  “Really?” He smiles. “I didn’t know yet.”

  I nod. “I’m going to have a son.” I exhale the breath I was holding. “I still can’t wrap my head around it. Me, a father.”

  He chuckles. “You better get used to it. It’s a label that belongs to you now and you can’t take it back.”

  “I want to be a good father,” I confess to him. “I want to be a man worthy of my son looking up to. I want to be the kind of man Kira deserves to have.”

  “It’s as simple as this—decide what kind of man you think that is, and prove that you’re it.”

  “I can do that.”

  He gives me an encouraging smile, but even as I say the words I wonder, but what if I can’t?

  37

  Kira

  “You have to go see him,” Mia admonishes me, yanking out the chair across from me at Starbucks.

  I pick at my croissant, glaring at my drink that’s very much not coffee, since I’m trying to cut out caffeine.

  “I wish I would’ve never told you about that call,” I grumble as she plops down.

  “I’m your best friend—you tell me everything.”

  “Exactly. I’m beginning to see what a bad idea that is.”

  She sighs. “I know he wasn’t a good man, Kira. I’m not saying you need to go see him, and forgive him, and pretend the past didn’t happen. You don’t owe him anything, but you owe it to yourself.”

  “How?” I look at her in disbelief.

  When we decided to meet at Starbucks for lunch during our break on campus, I had to tell her about the phone call I got last night from my father’s lawyer. Now, I regret that decision immensely.

  She huffs out a breath like I’m too dense to get what she’s saying—which is true, since I see no logical reason for me to go out of state to see the father I haven’t had anything to do with for years. I’ve already laid him to rest. In my mind, I packed him up in a box and buried all my memories of him in the backyard.

  He might not be dead yet, in the real sense, but in my mind, he’s been dead for years.

  “Don’t you think you deserve to have a proper goodbye—to tell him anything that’s been weighing on your mind?” She looks at me with those piercing blue eyes of hers, and raises her iced coffee to her lips.

  “What’s the point?” I shrug indifferently. “There’s no chance of closure, unless you’re proposing I speak to my mother as well.” I raise a brow in challenge.

  Her lips turn down in thought and she gestures with her hand. “It might not be such a bad idea.”

  I glare at her. “If this drink hadn’t cost nearly five dollars, I would throw it at you.”

  Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “Go ahead, I’m the one who bought it after all, so it’s not like you’d be out of the money.”

  I roll my eyes. “You know I’d never actually throw my drink at you.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She grins, fluffing her glossy red hair. Sobering she adds, “I’ll go with you. We can at least drive to the prison and if you decide you don’t want to go, no harm no foul.”

  I roll my eyes. “I can save you the nine hour trip—I don’t want to go.”

  She sighs in exasperation, like she’s a mother dealing with an unruly child.

  “I’m so proud of you for seeing the therapist—truly, I am. But I don’t think you’ll ever move on until you confront your demons head on.”

  “And by demons you mean my parents?” I stir the ice in my drink, for something to do because looking at her is becoming a bit too much. The sincerity and true concern in her eyes bothers me. She wants what’s best for me, and for some reason she thinks this is it.

  “Yep.” She nods.

  “If I go—” She perks up at my words. “If, and that’s a big if, it won’t be to forgive him for what he did. He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. She doesn’t either for that matter.”

  “I think it would be a great opportunity for you to get everything off your chest before it’s too late.”

  I swallow thickly. “It’s not him I’m the most angry at,” I confess. “Yes, he was mean, and he did bad things, and I am still mad at him—but I wasn’t around him as much as I was my mom. She’s the one I lived with, the one who raised me, and the one who continually chose assholes over her own daughter. It wasn’t like she was trapped in a bad relationship—she chose these guys time and time again. She didn’t care how they treated her, or leered at me. And if … if one of them touched me she told me it was my fault. Every bad thing that ever happened to her, she always told me it was my fault.”

  Mia looks at me sympathetically. “Then go see your dad, tell him what you need to, and then say your peace with her. Be done with it. Be done with harboring these ill feelings, and move on, because you can tell me all you want that you have but we both know you haven’t. It still haunts you.”

  I shake my head. “How did this go from me saying absolutely no to seeing my dad, to suddenly you talking me into seeing both of them?”

  She shrugs, fighting a grin. “I’m talented like that.” Sobering, she reaches across the laminate tabletop and grips my hand. “I love you, Kira—like a sister. I want to see you thrive, not hold yourself back from every single good thing in your life because you’re scared of committing to it.”

  “You’re talking about Rush,” I snap. “He’s an alcoholic, Mia. He … he basically cheated on me.”

  She frowns. “I know,” she says sympathetically. “But isn’t everyone is worthy of a chance of redemption?”

  “Even my parents?” I retort.

  “Even them,” she whispers softly. “Whether they do anything to warrant that redemption is up to them, not you. Don’t you think if Rush proves he’s on the right track, that he gets better for himself, and deals with his shit—he’s worthy of being forgiven?”

  “Possibly,” I mutter.

  She grins and counters, “Don’t you think if you move on from your past, and learn it’s okay to love—that not all love ends in heartbreak—you’re deserving of his forgiveness too?”

  “His forgiveness?” I blurt.

  She tilts her head, appraising me. “You broke his heart.”

  I wince.

  “Your parents broke your heart—surely you of all people know how much damage and pain heartbreak can cause.”

 
The lump in my throat grows harder.

  “Rush has been through a lot,” she continues. “He’s lost a lot. Tragedy changes people, and sometimes it sends them spinning out of control, down a path they never intended to go. When the time comes, listen to him.” I open my mouth to argue, but she holds up a hand to silence me. “I’m not saying you have to forgive him, fall in love, and ride off into the sunset. All I’m asking is for you to listen to him and truly hear what he has to say. Then, once you do, you go from there.”

  “It sounds like you’re on Team Rush,” I grumble. I’m not angry, I understand where she’s coming from.

  Rush and I do owe it to ourselves, and our son, to one day sit down and be honest with each other. About our pasts, our fears, our feelings—about everything.

  She laughs lightly. “I’m on team-Kira’s-happy. That’s all I want for you—for you to be happy.”

  Happy. It’s such an ambiguous word. I’m happy in moments, sure, but is anyone ever truly happy all the time? Is such a thing possible?

  “Do you really think I can be happy?”

  She stares at me for a moment, emotion swimming in her eyes.

  “I think everyone has the opportunity to be happy, as long as you let go of the burdens weighing you down.”

  “What if those burdens are too heavy?” I counter softly, wiping condensation off my clear plastic cup.

  She contemplates for a moment and then says quietly, almost hesitantly, “Then I guess they drown you.”

  It’s a funny choice of words considering that’s how I feel almost all the time. Like I’m drowning in my emotions, in the baggage I carry with what’s been said and done to me.

  I have the power to sever those ties, to cut away the bonds and swim to the surface, but can I?

  38

  Rush

  I grin as I work on laying down drumbeats for a new song we’re working on. Drumming has always been easy for me, just like basketball was, but now that I’m one week sober suddenly it’s clearer, the beat pouring from my veins.