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

by Micalea Smeltzer

  Across from me, Ryder clears his throat. “It’s okay to miss them. You’ll always miss them. I can see the progress you’ve already made since I first met you and you did that all on your own, Rush. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. We all still have our weak moments from time to time, important dates like birthdays, anniversaries, the day they died, whatever it might be. But when those days come, accept the hurt, don’t fight it, don’t try to numb it or pretend it doesn’t exist. Instead, own it. Let that pain give you power, a reminder. You’re a fighter and nothing, not even this loss, can beat you.”

  I hear his words echo through my skull. “Thank you,” I murmur. “I just hope I can atone for my behavior. I want to be the man they were proud of.”

  “You already are,” he replies with a kind smile.

  I give a small smile in return, but I don’t feel that way, not yet.

  “The loneliness has sucked,” I admit. “I have my friends, and we’re close, practically like family, but it hasn’t been the same. They’ve never lost someone, so they don’t get it. They try to, I’ll give them credit there, but there’s only so much sympathy someone can have when they haven’t been through it.”

  An older woman to my right speaks up. “You should get a pet.”

  “What?” I look at her stupidly.

  “That’s what I did when I lost my husband. The house was too quiet, too empty without him. I ended up adopting a dog. Now, it feels like there’s life again.”

  I mull over her words. I doubt the hotel allows pets, but I’ve always been a rule breaker. Even when my parents were alive. They encouraged it actually, claiming the most successful people in the world would’ve never gotten where they were if they weren’t willing to break the rules.

  “Maybe I will,” I murmur.

  She smiles at me and adds, “It really does help.”

  “That’s all the time we have today. We’ll meet again next month. If anyone would like to stay behind and make cranes, you’re welcome to.”

  A couple people trickle out, but the rest, myself included, stay behind to help them put the room back in order.

  “How are you feeling?” Blaire asks, the two of us carrying one of the tables back to where it goes.

  “A little better,” I admit, and she smiles. “It’s nice being around people who’ve been through it, you know. Loss isn’t easy.”

  “It’s not,” she agrees. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, and I’m blessed with our children, but I still think about Ben all the time. Especially here.” We set the table down and she points to the cranes. “He’s everywhere, and while that makes me sad sometimes, it also makes me happy, because while he might be gone, he still exists. In my heart, in my memories. People don’t disappear because they’re gone.”

  “There’s something I’ve been thinking about doing, but I’m not ready yet.”

  “And what’s that?” she asks, as we walk over to the chairs to carry some over to the table.

  Picking two up, one in each hand, I say, “I have to go back home, to the house. It’s time for me to clean it up and sell it. I inherited everything when they died, but I didn’t want it. I couldn’t even set foot in the house again after they died. I stayed with my friend’s family. But I have to face it.”

  “You do,” she agrees, placing a hand over mine.

  She pulls her hand away and grabs a chair. I set my two chairs at a table to her one.

  “You’ll know when you’re ready,” she adds, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder to get it out of her way. “If you’re thinking about it, that says a lot.”

  “I’d like to do it before my birthday. I don’t really know why I came up with that,” I shrug at my words, “but that’s my goal.”

  “It’s important to implement goals,” she agrees, nodding her head. “It makes you work harder instead of wallowing in self-pity.”

  “I’m happy I found this place.”

  She smiles back at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I am too. That’s what I’ve always wanted this place to be. A safe haven.”

  Once everything is back in order I head out.

  The days are getting longer, and while normally that makes me happy, this time I’m not—because I’m reminded of all those nights I spent out with Kira, and now I’m afraid I might never get them back.

  Thinking about that woman’s advice I head the few blocks over the hotel’s garage and get my truck. It doesn’t take me long to find the address for the nearest animal shelter on my phone.

  We had a dog when I was little, but when it ran away and we never saw it again, my mom was too devastated to get another and I was too little to really feel heartbroken about it.

  I’m not planning on getting a dog, or any sort of pet—but I figure it can’t hurt to check out the shelter and spread a little love.

  It’s across town, but I don’t mind the drive. With the windows rolled down and the breeze rolling in I feel my head clear bit by bit.

  Arriving at the shelter I drive up to the newer building and park my truck. Grabbing my baseball cap from the passenger seat I slip it on backwards and hop out.

  Inside there are two women sitting behind the desk, one probably in her fifties and the other in her thirties. I give them my most charming, trademark smile. It’s getting late and they’re probably near closing time, but I’ve learned with that smile I can get pretty much anything I want.

  “I’m here to take a look around, spend some time with the pooches.”

  “Y-Yeah,” the younger woman stutters. “Through that door. Don’t take any of them out on your own, but if you want to interact with one just ask us, or Celeste is in the back cleaning cages and she can help you.”

  “Thanks.” I give them another smile and I have my hand on the door, pushing it open when the other, older woman, whispers, “He can spend time with my pussy anytime he wants.”

  I glance over my shoulder and wink. She blushes at being caught but I don’t mind. I personally think women should be more free to express their sexual desires, even if that means telling a random guy on the street you want to call them Daddy.

  A sign points me toward the dogs, so I head that way first. Cats aren’t really my thing.

  I come across a golden retriever first, bending to give it lots of love—well as much as I can—through the cage. The sign on the cage says it’s a male named Cupid and he’s two years old. Looking down the line of cages it makes me sad all these animals are stuck here without a home and someone to love them.

  I move to the next one, giving the lovable pit-bull next to Cupid some attention. The piece of paper says her name is Francesca. Her long pink tongue swipes between the links of the cage and kisses me. I chuckle at the wet streak she leaves behind.

  I make sure to pay attention to each and every dog, and then I head over to the cat section, knowing I’ll feel like a selfish bastard if I don’t say hi to them too.

  The first cage houses three kittens ranging in colors from gray with black, to solid white, and the last tuxedo colored. They play, rolling around together, and I can’t help but laugh at their playfulness.

  Next is a super fat gray cat named Ollie who looks like he’s plotting my murder. I make sure not to put my fingers anywhere near his cage. I like my fingers thank you very much.

  There are loads more cats than dogs and it takes me a while to get to them all. Finally, I reach the last cage and I’m surprised they haven’t kicked me out yet—but maybe they forgot I was in here. Doubtful, though. More than likely those women are somewhere ogling my ass. Can’t say I blame them. I have a great ass.

  Looking into the final cage I almost think it’s empty at first, but a nametag dangles proclaiming this small cubicle the home of Patch, an older male cat. I peek into the cage and nearly jolt back when a glowing green eye looks back at me.

  A low meow leaves the cat’s throat and he gets up, stretching his limbs.

  His fur is shades of brown and black with gray
thrown in for good measure.

  Once he’s in front of me I understand why he’s named Patch. He’s missing his right eye, a scar running from the corner of his eye over the top of his pink nose, and half of his left ear has been ripped off.

  I stick my finger up for him to sniff, which he does, and then begins to rub against the cage.

  “He never does that for anyone,” a small female voice says behind me.

  I turn around and as my eyes connect with the girl’s, her skin turns the shade of a tomato.

  “I know you.” My lips lift up in a grin.

  “Oh, God,” she blurts. “Can we pretend that never happened?”

  “Um … no, not possible. You told my friend you wanted to call him Daddy. That’s not something anyone forgets easily.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she lifts her narrow chin. “In my defense, I’ve never said anything like that in my life—but your friend is stupid hot and I couldn’t help myself.”

  “It was the neck tats wasn’t it?” I joke.

  If possible, she gets even redder. “Perhaps,” she hedges. “Anyway,” she shakes her head rapidly back and forth like her brain is an Etch-A-Sketch and she wants to rid the memories from her mind, “do you want me to get Patch out for you?”

  “Oh, no,” I say, stepping away from the cage. The cat looks a little sad as I distance myself from him. “I need to go.”

  She bites her lip and says, “He doesn’t get a lot of love, and he’s old so no one wants to adopt him, maybe you could stay a few more minutes and play with him? It might do him some good.”

  I can’t very well argue with that. “Yeah, sure. What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Celeste,” she answers. “And please, for the love of God, don’t tell your hot friend you ran into me. I can’t handle any more humiliation. It’s basically my full-time job to make a fool of myself.”

  “He might like you.” I shrug. “He’s fond of pussies—the cat kind,” I blurt, realizing she’s not in on the inside joke between Cannon and his sister. “Though, he likes the other kind too.”

  She snorts. “Yeah, I haven’t been too lucky in love, so I think I’ll pass.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  She reaches up then and unlocks Patch’s cage. He shies away from her and she looks at me. “You want to grab him? I think he likes you better.”

  When I step up to the cage sure enough Patch creeps closer to me. I grab him and pull him into my arms. As I pet his head he purrs and Celeste grins from ear to ear.

  “It’s nice to see him happy. I’ve been volunteering here since high school and he’s been here for years.”

  “Years, huh?” I look down at the patchwork of a cat, and suddenly I know I’ll be damned if he spends one more night behind those bars.

  “Yeah,” she exhales sadly. “People don’t want old cats who look like they’ve been chewed up and spit back out. I would’ve taken him home with me a long time ago, but my place is small and I already have three cats in my apartment, not to mention the three strays that won’t leave me alone.”

  I wave a hand at her Crazy Cat Lady shirt. “It all makes sense now.”

  She gives a small shrug, her lips tugging up in a smile. “I’ve learned to embrace it. I’m the crazy cat lady at twenty-three. Life could be worse.”

  “Yeah, you could be calling random men on the street Daddy,” I snort.

  “Oh my God,” she blushes again. “Stop bringing it up.”

  I snicker. “It’s too funny. I can’t help myself.” Patch burrows his scarred face into the crook of my elbow. “I’m going to take him home with me,” I blurt before I can change my mind.

  “Really?” She raises one dark brow in surprise. “Are you sure?”

  “I am. He doesn’t deserve to live like this.”

  And neither do I. Patch didn’t ask for his cage, but I made mine.

  I swear she gets tears in her eyes. She reaches out, scratching him on his head. “Everyone deserves love.”

  I know she’s speaking about the cat, not me or anything else, but I still find myself saying, “Even assholes like me?”

  She gives a small laugh. “I don’t know you, but in the few minutes I’ve spent with you I wouldn’t label you as such. Even when I acted like a total weirdo over your friend you weren’t a jerk to me. But assholes deserve love too, maybe more than anyone else.”

  “Why is that?” I ask, and she looks up at me with wide dark eyes outlined by a purple pair of glasses. The purple matches the color streaking her short black hair.

  “Because, love is the only thing capable of redeeming even the darkest of souls.”

  I mull her words over as I fill out the adoption papers for Patch. Then I’m given a few small toys and a sample size of food to get me through tonight and the morning until I can swing by the pet store and get him the shit he needs. The two ladies who were sitting in the front are thrilled Patch is going to a good home—a home I lie about and give Mia’s address for, because I know there’s no way in hell they’ll let me take him if they know I’m currently living in a hotel. But Patch is mine and I’ll be damned if I leave him behind.

  Patch falls asleep in my lap on the drive to the hotel and since it’s not cold out, meaning I have no coat to hide him in, I have to stuff him into my gym bag—leaving an opening so he can breathe but not escape.

  When I get on the elevator a man steps inside, dressed in business attire and speaking on his phone.

  Patch let’s out a meow and the man looks over at me.

  “Stomach,” I explain. “I haven’t had dinner.”

  He nods and gets off a few floors beneath me.

  Reaching my floor, I swipe my key in the door and as soon as it clicks closed behind me I crouch down and let Patch out.

  Calista screams. “Is that a cat?” She rises off the couch, a fashion magazine falling from her hands to the floor.

  Cannon looks over his shoulder from the chair. “The fuck,” he mutters.

  I walk over to him. “Don’t worry, man. I got you something too.”

  Patch is hot on my heels as I stop in front of Cannon and pull the piece of paper out of my pocket. “If you ever want to be called Daddy, call her.” I slap the piece of paper against his solid chest and he grabs it.

  “What the fuck?” He blinks at the numbers scrawled across the paper.

  “I convinced Celeste to give me her number, so I could give it to you. She’s embarrassed about the whole Daddy thing, but she’s a cool chick. Give her a shot.” I shrug and sit down. Patch hops up onto my lap and curls up.

  “Who the fuck is Celeste?” he asks.

  “The chick from earlier today, the one in the cat clothes,” I explain. “The one who said she wanted to call you Daddy.”

  His mouth opens in a surprised O shape.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what did I miss?” Calista asks, fully invested in this conversation now.

  “Not important,” Cannon mutters, but I notice he tucks the piece of paper in his pocket and doesn’t crumple it up. “You can’t keep that cat,” he tells me. “We’ll get in trouble.”

  “Patch is staying,” I say like a defiant child. No fucking way am I sending him back to that shelter. “We’ve bonded,” I defend. “Besides, we keep Fox around and he’s a woodland creature.”

  Calista stifles a laugh and Cannon rolls his eyes. “If we get caught, it’s on you.” He points a finger in warning at me. “I’m going to bed. It’s too late for me to deal with this shit.”

  “Night, Dad,” I call after him and he gives me the finger over his shoulder.

  “He’s kind of ugly,” Calista muses.

  “Cannon? I know—he got beat with the ugly stick. You lucked out.”

  She laughs. “Not him, though that is true.” She flips her dark hair over her shoulder. “I meant the cat.”

  “Patch has character,” I defend vehemently. “He’s lived a battered life and he’s come out better for it.”

  But have I? Am I a bet
ter man? Can I be a better one?

  “Whatever you say.” She stands and heads for Hollis’s old room, leaving me alone with Patch.

  I scratch him on the back of the head and exhale a weighted sigh. “It’s just you and me now, man.”

  My heart pangs in my chest, because what if that’s the truth? What if it’s only ever me, this battered cat, and my friends? What if Kira never wants to work things out? What if I never get to see my son?

  I push those thoughts from my head, I refuse to let that be my reality.

  I haven’t fought for my life, for myself, in years.

  But I’m fighting now, and I’ll fight for Kira and my child too.

  I’ll fight until the very end.

  43

  Kira

  I stick the macaron shell on top of the other, smooshing the delicious filling in between. I lick a little off my fingers, the sweetness zinging on my tongue.

  My phone begins to ring and I curse, wiping my hands on the apron—a solid red color with black dots making it remind me of a ladybug.