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

by Micalea Smeltzer

  Sitting back, he passes me my milkshake and grabs his. He scoots lower, turning on his side and propping himself on his elbow so he faces me.

  I wrap my lips around the straw and moan. “Holy shit, that is good.”

  He grins wickedly, his eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. “I told you so.”

  I smack his shoulder playfully. “Don’t mock me.”

  “I did warn you I’d be saying I told you so.” He lifts his cup in salute.

  “Yeah, rub it in,” I grumble good-naturedly. “You know,” I begin after taking another lengthy sip of my milkshake, “there’s so much we don’t know about each other yet.”

  “Only because you never wanted to get that personal.” He winks at me and sets his milkshake aside where it teeters precariously on top of the blankets.

  I duck my head. “It was easier that way. If I didn’t know you, I couldn’t get attached. Then, it wouldn’t hurt when things ended.”

  “It would’ve still hurt,” he sighs, rolling onto his back and pushing his hair out of his eyes.

  “I realize that now,” I admit. Rubbing my lips together, I think about something I can tell him. “When I was little, I spent an entire year thinking someone lived in my closet, so I wouldn’t go near it. It was a vacuum cleaner.”

  A boisterous laugh rumbles out of his chest. “That’s pretty fucking funny.”

  “What about you?” I ask. “Tell me something. Anything.”

  I’ve never been this desperate to know anything about anyone, but suddenly I want to know everything I can about him.

  “I wouldn’t ride a bike without training wheels until I was eight. I thought I was going to crash without them.”

  “And did you?”

  “Within the first five minutes of them finally coming off I rode into a ditch and broke my arm.”

  I laugh. “Did you ever ride a bike again?”

  “Of course,” he scoffs, “I had something to prove. But my cast was a real hit with the ladies.” His playful smile lifts my heart. I never imagined things could be like this with a man—easy, comforting, like being with my best friend. “How do you really feel about your dad dying?” he asks, and I grimace.

  I pick at a loose thread in the blanket and my dark hair falls forward, hiding my face. “Relieved, and that makes me sad, because it shouldn’t be that way. You shouldn’t be so afraid and angered by people that you’re thankful you know you’ll never see them again. It’s been years since I saw him anyway, thanks to his jail sentence, but like with my mom it was the constant fear of one day I could see him again.”

  “What about your mom? Have you seen her?”

  I shake my head. “No. Confronting her is pointless. She’ll never see the things she’s done wrong, how she’s hurt me with her actions. My therapist has helped me realize I’m different from her. Just because I’m her daughter doesn’t mean I’m her. I’m who I choose to be.”

  He brushes my hair behind my ear, purposely skimming his fingers over my cheek. “I like who you are.”

  “You are a cheese-ball tonight.”

  “But I’m your cheese-ball, and that’s what’s really important here.” He winks and leans over to kiss my cheek. I feel my face fill with warmth.

  “I’ve missed you,” I admit. It took me a long time to realize the constant ache in my chest was a Rush sized hole gaping in my heart.

  He curls his fingers against my neck and gently pulls me forward until our foreheads touch. “I’ve missed you every hour, every minute, every fucking second since I stood in the pouring rain and confessed my sin to you. But I needed this and you needed it too. We needed to be stripped down to our rawest, barest, forms of ourselves in order to start clean. We had to accept our demons in order to move on. We could’ve never done that together.” He swallows thickly. “In any universe, I’ll always choose you and no matter what, I’ll do what it takes to call you mine. This is what I—what we—had to do to have this chance here and now. It barely feels like any sort of sacrifice when I know we have forever. You might not be so sure yet,” he adds when he sees the doubt on my face, “but I’ll know for the both of us—and when we’re old and gray, watching our grandchildren terrorize the cat, I’ll be saying I told you so just like I did tonight. You’ll tell me not to mock you and then together we’ll remember this moment.”

  “We have a cat in the future?” I bust out laughing.

  “Babe,” he playfully pinches my side, “we have a cat now, and you bet your ass we’ll have more. I’ve learned I’m quite the cat person.”

  Slowly, I ask, “We have a cat now? Where exactly is this cat?”

  “Uncle Cannon is babysitting him this week,” he explains. “His name is Patch. He’s missing an eye and part of an ear, but he’s fucking cute, I promise.”

  “You have a cat?” I’m stunned and can’t wrap my head around this development.

  “Yep,” he nods, a smile spreading over his lips, “I have a cat.”

  “Wow,” I suppress a laugh. “I wasn’t expecting that. I can’t believe the hotel is letting you have a cat.”

  He winces. “The hotel doesn’t know, so shush.”

  “My lips are sealed,” I promise, miming zipping my lips and throwing away the key. “I won’t tattle on you.”

  “That’s my girl.” He kisses me, and it’s strange, but exhilarating how he freely touches me and how I let him. Even when we were only sleeping with each other I wouldn’t let him touch me like this.

  Now, he’s mine and I’m his, and that fact doesn’t scare me one bit.

  They say people can’t change, but we’re proof those naysayers are wrong. Anyone can change if they want to and we wanted to. Not only did any chance of us being together depend on it, but so did our lives.

  52

  Rush

  I lie in the bed of the second guestroom, feeling too cold, even though, if anything, it’s too hot. I miss the feel of Kira against me, in my arms, and it physically hurts knowing she’s only one room away. When we got back home, she asked me to share her bed but I stupidly turned her down—trying to be a gentleman and take things slow like I promised myself I’d do.

  She looked as disappointed as I feel.

  I doubt I’m going to get any sleep tonight, but I can’t feel too bad about that fact knowing Kira and I are together now. Calling her my girlfriend feels weird, but I guess that’s what she is. She feels like so much more than that. Girlfriend sounds so fleeting and insignificant, when she’s permanent—tattooed on my heart the way my arms and chest are inked.

  The door to my room eases open and I sit up.

  “You’re awake,” she whispers, tiptoeing into the room.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” I confess.

  “Me either. My back hurts and … well, I missed you.” She looks unsure admitting it. I know it’s hard for her to accept someone as an equal, her partner, since she’s so used to taking care of herself, but I’m fucking honored she’s trying.

  “Get in.” I flip the covers back and she climbs into the bed. “Let me rub your back.”

  “You don’t have to,” she says, lying on her side to face me.

  “Roll over,” I command.

  She stares at me for three whole seconds before she rolls over.

  I begin kneading her back and she lets out a moan. “That feels so good. You have no idea.”

  “If you’re hurting, I want to make you feel better.”

  “Have you thought of a name yet?” she asks me.

  I chuckle. “Stop fishing—I’m not giving you any sort of hint.”

  “You suck.”

  I can’t see her, but I instinctively know her bottom lip is pouted.

  Fuck, I want to roll her over and kiss her until we’re both breathless and she’s writhing beneath me, begging for more.

  “It’s a good name,” I promise. “I think you’ll like it.”

  “What about a middle name?”

  I grimace even though she can’t see. “A
middle name? He doesn’t need a fucking middle name. I don’t have one.”

  “You don’t have a middle name?” She blurts out. “Why?”

  “My parents said I rushed into their lives unexpectedly and Rush was the only name I needed, anything else would’ve diminished the meaning and power of my first name and that’s how I feel about the name I’ve picked.”

  “I still have veto power,” she reminds me with a soft laugh.

  I give her a small, playful pinch before I resume rubbing her back. “You won’t be using it.”

  “That sure of your choice, Mr. Daniels?” she jokes.

  “Fucking positive,” I vow.

  I’ve thought long and hard about this name. A kid’s name is a huge deal as it is, but her entrusting me solely with the choice made it an even bigger fucking deal than normal. I wanted it to be a powerful name and a name that means something to the both of us. I think I’ve nailed it, but she’s not going to know it until he comes screaming into the world—otherwise I know she’ll overthink it, but in the moment, she’ll get it and understand the perfection of it.

  “Ugh, right there,” she moans when I hit a sensitive spot. I press my thumb a little harder into her back, rubbing in circles.

  I lean over, chuckling under my breath in her ear. “You sound like you do when my cock is inside you.”

  “You’re the one who dropped me off at my room like a gentleman,” she reminds me.

  “I’m an idiot.”

  “Yes, you are.” I can feel her smile.

  I press a kiss to her shoulder. “I love you.”

  She lifts her head slightly so she can see me. Even in the dark room the warmth of her brown eyes hits me. She’s a different woman from the one I first met. That version of her was closed off with a tangible coldness emanating from her body. Now, she’s softer, even her features are less pinched, and she looks happy—not pissed at the world.

  She curls an arm around, touching her fingers to my stubbled chin. “I love you, too. It’s weird to say, but it’s true. I’ve never been in love before and I thought it would feel different.”

  “Like what?” I find myself desperate to know.

  “Trapped. Confined. Imprisoned. It’s the complete opposite of that. With you I feel freer than I ever felt on my own.”

  I kiss the side of her forehead and with a gentle nudge command her to roll back over, so I can continue rubbing her back.

  “Does it feel any better?” I ask her.

  “Loads,” she breathes in relief, “don’t stop. This is the best my back has felt in weeks.”

  I scoot close to her, spooning my body around her. This is the most intimate I’ve ever been with a woman and our clothes aren’t even off. In high school, I had a few girlfriends, but our hookups basically consisted of us in the backseat of my car. After my parents died I went the route of meaningless one-night stands. I’ve never laid with any woman like this—no expectations, only the comforting feel of our bodies twined together and knowing we have all the time in the world. I’m still desperate for her, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something remarkably special about feeling content.

  For the first time in years, I don’t feel the need to run away. To be in constant motion. I’m happy to simply exist.

  Kira’s breaths even out and I raise up, peeking over her shoulder and smile when I see she’s dozed off to sleep. I keep rubbing her back for a few more minutes before I too drift away.

  Packing away years and years’ worth of shit—trying to decide what to keep, donate, and trash—is a fucking exhausting process. Not only is it tedious, but it’s emotionally difficult.

  The first thing Kira and I did after having breakfast was go around with different colored tape and mark every piece of furniture in a color corresponding to what needs to be done with it. Once that was finished, it was time for lunch.

  Now, we’re getting into the nitty-gritty shit—going through drawers and having to look at each individual item or pieces of paper contained inside.

  It makes me want to pull my hair out from sheer boredom, but it’s also emotionally taxing. This is my mom and dad’s stuff. It’s their life, their house, their possessions and it’s being reduced to nothing.

  “Are you sure you want to sell the house?” Kira asks me, rifling through a stack of documents. “It’s your childhood home.”

  “I’m sure. It’s the people that make a place home, not the structure—and with my mom and dad gone … it’s just a place now.”

  She nods, but she still looks unsure. I’m sure of my decision, and I know she’ll respect it. I’ll keep some things from here, some of their favorite items, but beyond that … I’m okay. I used to think I’d never reach the point of being okay, but here I am.

  Kira and I spend the rest of the day clearing things out. By the end, there are nearly ten bags full of trash and a shit ton of boxes to donate.

  After dinner we’re both so tired we climb into bed together, where I rub her back again, and we both fall soundly asleep.

  The next several days repeat in the same pattern—except I start driving boxes to the local thrift stores and charities, as well as disposing of the trash.

  It’s the fifth day we’ve been here when we reach my parents’ room. We cleaned my room out yesterday, and other than some naughty magazines and a couple of old condom wrappers, there thankfully wasn’t too much for me to be embarrassed by. I kept a few of my trophies, but it was mostly the photos I wanted. Basically, photos are all I’ve pulled to keep thus far, except for a blanket that was my mom’s favorite she always said my grandma had knit for her. I never met any of my grandparents, even though I wish I had. My parents were older when they had me and both sets had already passed away.

  “Are you ready?” Kira asks me. Her voice is hesitant, and I know she won’t push me to do this if I’m not ready. “We can do this another day. We’re here two more days.”

  “No.” I shake my head adamantly. “I have to do this.”

  The facts is, whether I do it now or two days from now, I’ll have to do it.

  Why put off the inevitable? It’s not like I’m saving myself any pain—if anything, by delaying it I could make it worse.

  As a family it’s not like we spent much time in their bedroom, but it’s the fact that this was their place. Their private space away from everything. I feel like it holds secrets and I’m not sure I’m ready to unearth them.

  Kira reaches out and grips the knob in her hand, twisting it. The door opens with a grating creek and the darkened bedroom comes into view.

  I reach instinctively for the switch on the wall and the light attached to the ceiling fan floods the room with a harsh yellow hue.

  The walls are the same muted purple I remember. The bedding is the same too, gray gingham my mom kept correcting me on when I insisted it was plaid. The landscape painted canvases hanging on the walls are all the same. The trunk at the end of the bed is the same.

  It’s all the same, like every other room in the house. Untouched. A relic from a time long since passed.

  Kira’s hand slides into mine and our fingers clasp each other automatically. I’m holding onto her for dear life, like she’s a buoy and I’m adrift at sea.

  I take a step into the room and the plush carpet molds to my feet. I remember when they splurged and bought this obnoxiously fluffy beige colored carpet. My mom was ridiculously excited over it and my dad … well, he was fucking happy because she was.

  We haven’t marked the furniture in this room yet, not like we did with everything else in the house on that first day. I had to keep this room closed up, sheltered away, until this moment. Until I was ready.

  The absence of life hits me as powerfully here as it did when I first stepped into the house.

  When a house has sat empty for a long time you can feel it. It’s as if the walls breathe and speak to you, telling you how lonely they are without a family to reside inside. This home is begging to have life breathed into it.


  My life is elsewhere now, and this place deserves to be a home again, to have joy and laughter echo between the walls.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Kira remarks, squeezing my hand.

  “That tends to happen when one thinks about something,” I joke.

  She rolls her eyes at me and I’m tempted to spank her for it. “Stop sounding all formal. It’s weird.”

  “I can’t help it,” I admit with a sheepish shrug. “It helps me cope.”

  She looks up at me with those big brown eyes of hers and quirks her head. “Like if you view the world through another lens it might not hurt you?” Her question is soft, but her tone says so much—that she’s been in this same place and knows how it feels.

  “Exactly,” I whisper, releasing her hand.

  I explore the room while she parks her pert ass on the trunk.

  The room is spotlessly clean, but it’s not like I banned the cleaners from this room, only myself, until now.

  Kira sits quietly, watching my movements and not saying a word. Having her here brings me comfort, but I’m eternally thankful she doesn’t try to press me to talk. If this situation were reversed, like me, she would need the quiet.

  Placing my hands on my hips after ten minutes of inspecting, I announce, “It’s time to get to work.”

  I grab boxes, tape, and markers from the hall. We divide the room between us and begin clearing out drawers. At this point Kira knows the types of things I want to keep for myself, what’s trash, and what can be donated, so we work in silence. Occasionally she hums a little bit. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it, but it makes me smile. I love seeing her exist naturally and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.

  I clear out the closet, adding any decent clothes and shoes to the donate box, and stuffing anything that’s ratty or falling apart into a trash bag. After about two hours the room begins to look empty. Even the bedding set is gone, taking up an entire box to itself.

  I start on the dresser, while Kira sits down to go through the trunk.