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

by Micalea Smeltzer

  After a few minutes she cries out, “Oh my God, look at you.”

  I turn and she holds up a picture gleefully and I wince. It’s a picture of me as a baby completely naked in the bathtub. Apparently it’s a requirement in order to be a parent to have at least one naked baby picture hidden away somewhere.

  Kira flips through the stack of photos she holds. “Aw, you look like a little cherub.”

  She pinches a picture between two fingers and flips it around for me to see. I sit on my mom’s lap, a toddler of no more than two I’d say, with blond curls, big blue eyes and rosy cheeks.

  “I look like a fat monster,” I respond dryly.

  “No, you don’t,” she scolds, sounding truly offended. “We should make a photo album out of all these.”

  “You’ll probably run into some in there,” I tell her, turning back to the dresser and tossing a pair of grass stained shorts my dad wore for mowing the lawn into the trash bag. “That’s where my mom kept those. She called it her important-shit-catch-all-trunk.

  She laughs at that. “Your mom sounds great.”

  I sigh, thinking of how things could’ve been.

  But I have to stop myself, because if they would’ve lived chances are my life would look nothing like this. I would’ve never set out with the guys to make a go of our band. I would’ve never met Kira and … and our baby wouldn’t exist.

  I’m not saying I’m glad my parents are gone, because otherwise I wouldn’t have met Kira or be going places with the band, but it’s interesting to think about how vastly different things would be.

  I can hear Kira rifling through things behind me. She’s having way too much fun looking at pictures and mementos from my childhood, while I’m over here actually trying to get rid of shit.

  “Aw, look at this.”

  With a sigh I turn to look and she holds up a drawing. There are three stick figures labeled Mom, Dad, Me, written in my terrible elementary school handwriting—not that it’s much better now—and if it weren’t for the labels there would be no way to tell who is who. I’ve been lucky to be talented at several things—drawing is not one of them.

  “Trash that,” I tell her.

  She gasps and clutches the yellowed piece of paper to her chest. “Never.”

  I exhale a small chuckle. “At least if our son sucks at drawing, I can pull that out and tell him he’s not alone.”

  “I think it’s adorable,” she defends passionately, as if it’s her own masterpiece. I won’t be surprised if she doesn’t try to put it on her refrigerator when we get back to her place.

  She sets it aside and starts shuffling through more things. She pulls out a large photo album overstuffed with pages with random pieces of scraps sticking out of the pages.

  A piece of thick stock paper comes fluttering out of the album as she lowers it to her lap and drifts to the floor a few feet from her.

  “Oh,” she says, stretching to reach for it. Her fingertips brush it and she picks it up, flipping it over to view the front. Her face pales and her pink lips part. “Oh,” she repeats in a different, more tragic tone.

  “What is it?” I ask as her eyes scan the document.

  Her eyes flick up at me, meeting mine over the top.

  “Nothing,” she says, but there’s doubt in her tone.

  I get up from my crouched position and cross the few feet to sit down beside her, stretching my legs out.

  “Let me see.” I hold out my hand and she places the paper in my open palm like she’s offering me a loaded gun.

  My eyes fall to the paper and the words at the top flash at me like the flickering lights on a Ferris wheel.

  Adoption.

  The word sticks out, it’s all I can see for a moment until my eyes start hungrily reading the rest of the document. I devour it and read it again, not believing my eyes.

  “Rush,” Kira says softly, her fingers curl around my shoulder and she leans into me. I feel her breasts brush against me, but for once my body doesn’t respond.

  I feel like I’m frozen and on fire, all at the same time.

  Six months ago, if someone had handed me this document I would’ve torn it up in anger, found the nearest bar, gotten shit-faced, and then done something reckless and stupid.

  Now … I take several deep breaths, trying to ease the pain seizing my body. Surprisingly I’m not angry like I would’ve been before. This piece of paper doesn’t change a thing. My parents were and will always be my parents. This in no way erases their significance. They raised me, cared for me, loved me—that’s the definition of a parent, not blood.

  “Are you okay?” Kira hesitates softly behind me.

  “I’m … surprised,” I reply honestly. “But I feel okay. This changes nothing,” I voice my thoughts aloud. “They’re my parents. That’s all that matters.”

  She brushes her fingers through my hair and down my cheek to my jaw. “It’s okay to be mad or hurt. Don’t hold it inside.”

  “I’m not,” I promise, and it’s not a lie. I brush a tear away. “Things make more sense now,” I admit on a shaky exhale. “I never really looked like them, but I always figured I looked like some other relative I’d never met. Never once did it cross my mind I was adopted, not even when my mom told me I was conceived in her heart. I just thought it was her hippy talk.” My lips tip up into a crooked smile and Kira cracks one in return. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” I beg her. “I won the lottery with my parents. They chose me and … we were a family.”

  I press my forehead to hers, cupping her jaw. She tugs her plump bottom lip between her lip. “And now we are.” She places her hand on my chest and I feel the warmth of her hand seep through the cotton and burn my skin. “We chose each other too.”

  “We did,” I agree, and place my other hand on her stomach. “And we made him with the best and most beautiful parts of ourselves before we even knew they existed.”

  A tear leaks out of her eye and I brush it away with my thumb.

  “We’re going to be okay,” I vow. “One way or the other, everything always works out. Maybe not in the way you expect, but it does.”

  She sits back and I release her as she wipes away more tears on the back of her hands.

  “I’ve been so hung up on my parents, wondering why they couldn’t love their own flesh and blood, but this … the way your parents loved you. Blood means nothing. It’s the choice to love, it’s opening your heart up and giving it freely—that’s true love. My heart is yours Rush Daniels, I’m trusting you not to break it.”

  She places her hand in mine.

  We’ve held hands plenty of times, especially since the night in the back of my truck this week, but I understand what she’s telling me without words.

  Her fear is gone and she’s mine completely. There are no barriers, no prisons of our own making.

  This is us—Rush and Kira, a flame burning brightly and nothing, not our pain, not our sins, not even time can separate us. Some things are meant to be, they go together without an explanation, that’s us. We’re a truth that can’t be denied.

  Closing the distance between us I seal my lips over hers. I kiss her gently, savoring the taste of her.

  The official adoption certificate flutters to the ground somewhere.

  Inconsequential.

  Unimportant.

  All that paper tells me is my parents chose me.

  Chose to love me.

  Chose to cherish me.

  Chose to give me the best fucking life they could—it’s about time I started living it like I should, and that starts here and now with the woman I love.

  “Rush,” she breathes my name like a prayer, pressing her fingers under my shirt and against my heated skin. “I need you,” she begs. The ache in her voice sends a shiver down my spine. All I want is to worship her, to show her how much I love her.

  I kiss my way down the column of her throat and she arches her neck, pushing her breasts into my chest.

  “More.” Her fingers tug on th
e back of my head.

  I force her dress down and tug at her bra, freeing her breast from one of the cups. I do the same with the other, weighing them in the palms of my hands. They’re bigger, fuller, and more sensitive from the way she moans.

  I lower my mouth, capturing one pert pink nipple in my mouth.

  She lets out a gasp, her back arching.

  My erection strains against my jeans, but I ignore it for the moment. I want to reacquaint myself with her body. It feels like it’s been years since I’ve fucked her, not months.

  But I know deep down what we’re about to do isn’t fucking.

  I’m about to make love to the woman of my dreams, my future, the mother of my child.

  My everything.

  She’s something I never knew to hope for, my savior.

  She might not realize it, but she saved me.

  I remove her dress and she writhes against me, rubbing her center against my jean-clad leg. She’s aching and desperate, but I can’t rush this. I won’t. I’ve waited too long to have her like this.

  With no rules, no lies, no sins.

  Just us.

  We’re Rush and Kira, a phenomenon that doesn’t make sense, but exists nonetheless.

  I explore her body like I’ve never seen it before.

  Every curve, every freckle, is something I want to memorize.

  When I finally sink inside her I know one sound truth.

  She’s the destination I’ve been driving toward for nine years and I’m finally home.

  53

  Kira

  Lying with my head on Rush’s chest, our fingers intertwined, and our legs tangled, I’m absolutely positive I’ve never been happier or more at peace than I am in this moment.

  What just happened between us on the floor … it was nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It was eye-opening, inspiring, the things epic love songs are written about.

  Rush nuzzles his face against my neck and his stubble scratches my neck.

  “I love you,” I murmur, pressing as much of myself as I can into him.

  Now that I’ve admitted my feelings, I can’t stop telling him I love him. I’ve always avoided this kind of connection, the thought of willingly handing my heart to someone was too scary, but now I see how powerful it can be to trust someone so completely.

  “Love you, too.” He brushes his lips against the top of my head.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I hesitate to ask.

  Finding the official adoption document was a shock to me and I can’t imagine how he feels.

  He gives a soft laugh. “I’m okay, I promise. I know I’ve used sex in the past to cope, but this wasn’t that,” he promises, making slow circles with his thumb against my hand he holds. “They loved me,” he adds softly, “that’s all that matters to me. Do I wish they would’ve told me? Yes, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m still their son, and I’m beginning to understand people have their reasons for everything.”

  “I’m proud of you,” I whisper, drawing random designs on his chest with the index finger of my free hand.

  He tips my chin up with a gentle nudge of his fingers. “Be proud of yourself.”

  Snuggling closer to him, I confess, “I never want to move.”

  His body shakes with laughter. “You won’t be saying that when you get hungry.”

  I smack him lightly. “Stop teasing me. I’m growing your child.”

  “True, true,” he acquiesces, kissing the top of my head. He lays his palm against my stomach, his large fingers splayed out. “I can’t wait to see him.”

  “Me either,” I admit. “I want to know what he looks like and hold him. I feel him all the time, but I want him in my arms.”

  “Not much longer,” he sighs, twisting his fingers through my hair.

  “I’m excited, but so, so scared,” I confess on a breath. “There are so many things that can go wrong.”

  “And there are so many others that can go right,” he reasons. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. No matter what happens.”

  “Will you let me scream as loud as I need to?”

  “I’ll scream with you.”

  “Will you let me squeeze your hand as hard as I need to?”

  “I’ll squeeze back, so you know I’m with you and you’re not doing it alone.”

  “Will you love me no matter what I say in the moment?”

  He gives a small laugh. “I’ll love you always, no matter what. It’s an easy promise to make.” He untangles his fingers from mine and sits up. “Get dressed, I want to show you something.”

  “If you want to show me your cock we don’t have to get dressed for that,” I joke, giving him a coy smile.

  He gives my ass a light smack. “I see what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. This is important.” His blue eyes sparkle with humor despite his words.

  “Fine,” I grumble good-naturedly, because from his tone I can tell whatever he wants to show me is important.

  I dress as quickly as I can in my nearly nine-months pregnant state—which is to say I dress at the rate of a turtle, and Rush gets so impatient after tugging on his own clothes he helps me snap my bra into place and pulls my jersey dress over my head and down my body. At least I put my own underwear on, that’s a win, right?

  Rush leads me downstairs and swipes his keys from the kitchen counter.

  I decide not to bother asking him where we’re going. He’s not going to tell me, so why waste my breath on it.

  He opens the passenger side and helps me in. I give him a grateful smile. As time ticks away and I near the end of my pregnancy my entire body aches and I’m tired for no reason, but can’t sleep. I know it’s my body’s way of preparing me for a screaming newborn, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. Come on, Mother Nature—let me have a few more weeks of decent sleep and rest?

  The wind lifts the leaves of the nearby trees and I swear it’s Mother Nature mocking me with a laugh.

  Rush hops in and backs out of the driveway quickly.

  Barely three minutes pass until he turns into a lot.

  Squinting I spy…

  “A basketball court,” I breathe.

  “A basketball court,” he echoes with a reminiscent sigh. “The basketball court to be exact.”

  He hops out of the truck and grabs something from the back before helping me out. He keeps whatever he brought hidden behind his back, but I think it’s pretty obvious what it is.

  Sure enough, with a grin he shows me the ancient basketball. Seriously, the thing looks like it’s falling apart.

  “Can you shoot, Marsh?”

  I roll my eyes. “I can hit you in the head with it, does that count?”

  “Ooh,” he hisses. “Aggressive. Me likey.” He waggles his eyebrows up and down. I struggle to suppress my laughter.

  “Come on, wife.”

  “Wife?” I stop dead in my tracks.

  He exhales a breath and stops too. “Calling you my girlfriend seems weird, you’re more than that. Calling you the love of my life would get exhausting. Fiancée makes no sense since I haven’t proposed—”

  “And wife does?” I argue, fighting a smile.

  “Well, yeah,” he shrugs, looking unsure of himself, “right now you’re the wife of my heart, and one day, when you’re ready I’m going to get down on one knee and ask you to marry me. Then you’ll be tied to me forever.” He gives a playful wink as we step onto the court.

  “You’re getting cheesy in your old age.” I swipe the basketball from him. “Slow, too, apparently.”

  “I’ll be twenty-seven in a week and that’s not old,” he argues, chasing after me.

  He grabs me around the waist and I giggle as he captures the ball easily from me.

  I love this freeness, the lightness I feel with him. Everything is so easy. I don’t feel the torment and questioning I did several months ago. I’m not afraid. I only want to live, and I know the best way for me to do that is with Rush by my side.

/>   He’s my partner in crime.

  “I don’t hear you opposing the idea, so I take this to mean you’re open to the possibility?” He bounces the basketball in-between his legs, being a total show off.

  “Maybe one day,” I admit, with a soft exhale. I’m not opposed to the idea of marrying Rush, not anymore anyway. What does still scare me is the idea of such a commitment. But if there’s anyone in the entire world I would willing tie myself to, it’s him.

  He grins and tosses the ball into the net. It swoops in easily, the net swishing.

  He jogs after the ball and walks back over to me bouncing it.

  “This was my favorite spot growing up.” He pauses, canting his head to the side and embracing the feel of the wind on his face. “My dad and I spent a lot of time here. At the time I didn’t understand what those moments would mean to me. When someone’s gone … it’s not the things they gave us that we remember, it’s the memories we made together.”

  “You’re going to be an amazing father,” I tell him, and my heart pangs as I remember the hurtful words I slurred at him the night he showed up drunk at my place.

  “Leave me alone. Let me raise our child on my own. Our son doesn’t deserve to grow up with such a pathetic excuse for a father. I hope you get better, I do, but I don’t want anything to do with you. Come near me again and you’ll regret it. Try to fight me for rights to our son and I promise you’ll never see him.”

  I was hurt and I lashed out. He was hurt and made stupid choices.

  Through it all, it’s led us here to this moment.

  “You think so?” he asks, shielding his eyes with his hand so he doesn’t have to squint from the sun.

  “Yeah.”

  His smile is infectious. “You’ll be a fucking amazing mom, Kira. We’re going to raise our boy right.” He holds out the basketball for me. “Take your shot, Kira.”

  I wrap my hands around the ball and step toward the basket. He stands behind me, hands on my hips. He ducks his head and rests his chin on my shoulder.

  “Don’t overthink it. Aim where your heart guides you and it’ll go in every time.”

  I tilt my head, looking at him as best as I can.