Desperate Times (Silver Ridge Series Book 2)

by Emily Goodwin

  I can’t keep this from Chloe any longer. She’s going to find out one way or another and I want to be the one to break the news to her, to tell her my life is changing in a way I never saw coming with a woman I’ve never been in love with.

  “Call me later?” Stacey says.

  “Yeah, I’ll call you. And keep me updated on everything. I’d really like to go to that first appointment with you.”

  “Sure. I’ll see what I can do.” She holds her hand up and wiggles her fingers before turning around and walking back into the lobby. I want to be in my child’s life, but I don’t want to be in Stacey’s…and I know that’s not possible.

  10

  Chloe

  “Dammit,” I say, right after the little pink pill goes down my throat. I’m all stuffy with a slight headache from congestion, and the only thing Sam had in his bathroom for it was Benadryl. It always has a slightly delayed reaction in me, but I take it on occasion when I can’t sleep, and I remembered that I promised to drive us to Silver Ridge right after I swallowed the damn thing.

  Will a cup of coffee counteract it? Maybe two cups of coffee?

  My phone dings with a text and I walk out of the bathroom, set my water glass on the counter, and smile when I see Sam’s name. He’s leaving work and should be home soon, which is my cue to put the enchiladas in the oven. They’re prepped and ready to cook, and if I actually get the timing right, Sam will just be walking through the door when the timer goes off to take them out.

  Then it’s a bit of a mad rush to clean the kitchen, fix my hair, put on a bit of makeup, and change into the lingerie I packed just for Sam. It’s strange, I suppose, that I love to wear matching bra and underwear sets. No one sees them but me, and having something sexy on under my regular clothes makes me feel good about myself. Yet the thought of putting on this sheer black corset with a matching thong makes me nervous.

  Sam will love it, I’m sure of that. But when I look at myself in the mirror over the dresser, I feel insecure. I’m in decent shape, thanks to going with Charles to the gym and having his workouts kick my butt. Still, it can be a struggle to look in the mirror and not immediately start picking myself apart.

  Yeah, I’m in better shape this year than I was in my twenties, but that cellulite on my ass isn’t going anywhere. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of that little pudge of fat next to my armpits that looks awful in photos—or at least I think so. I’ve cycled through phases of loving and hating being a redhead my whole life. Sometimes I love my dark red hair. It’s vibrant and thick and I love not being typical. Other days, I want to dye my hair blonde or go all exotic with long, dark locks.

  I take one last look at myself and roll my eyes. Standing here mentally insulting myself isn’t going to change anything. Those under-eye bags I hate? Sam probably won’t even notice, and it’s not something a few hours extra sleep wouldn’t help anyway.

  Shutting off the bedroom light, I grab my robe because I’m cold and want to dramatically unveil myself to Sam once he walks through the door. I get the table set, the enchiladas out of the oven, and everything else ready to serve…and Sam isn’t home yet.

  “Dammit,” I grumble, debating on whether or not to put the food back in the oven to keep it warm. I usually only cook for myself and eat right away. This whole making food for others to enjoy with me is something I’m going to have to perfect.

  Deciding to just leave everything on the counter, I sit on the couch and mindlessly scroll through social media. Charles updates his Instagram stories as I’m scrolling, and the ten-second video of him sitting at some sort of pub with a friend has me scrambling to get him on the phone.

  “Hey,” he answers on the third ring. “You okay? You never call.”

  “Why does everyone say that?” I grumble, though I know it’s true. I hate talking on the phone, or to most people in general, if I’m being honest. This whole fame thing with my series taking off threw me for a loop, but I love my characters enough to put up with it. “And you know why I’m calling.”

  “Uh,” he starts, and the sounds of the pub filter through the phone. “You’re pregnant?”

  “Hah, no, or not that I’m aware of. I saw your story and—I’m not on speaker, am I?”

  “No.”

  “Good because I know who you’re out with and oh my god are you keeping secrets from me?”

  Charles laughs. “Hardly, and it was unexpected.” He’s being vague on purpose because he’s not alone. “In a good way,” he adds, and I smile. The “friend” in the photo is Eric Deaton, who’s done stunt work for Charles before. They had a super-secret romance last year, but Eric broke it off because having to lie and hide the relationship was too difficult for him. Charles tried to brush it off and say it was fine, that Eric didn’t mean that much to him, and he’d rather keep up his fake identity of being one of Hollywood’s most desirable bachelors than admit the truth…including how much Eric meant to him.

  Seeing them together again makes me so happy, but also worried. I don’t want my friend to get hurt again, or for something to come out before Charles is ready.

  “Well, good,” I reply. “I hope everything is going well on set.”

  “Very, very well,” he says, and I'm pretty sure we’re still talking in code.

  “What are you up to?” Charles asks. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you since you’re busy romancing your hot doctor.”

  “I’m sitting on the couch in lingerie waiting for him to get home. Dinner is already on the table and the kitchen is clean.”

  “Who are you and what have you done to my Chloe?”

  I laugh. “This is how you know I’ve been possessed. I won’t bug you, but I called to bug you.”

  “I’d expect nothing less from you. I’ll text you later with more details.”

  “Good. Have fun.”

  “You too. Love ya, Chloe.”

  “Love ya, too,” I say and end the call. I waste more time looking through Instagram and watching funny TikTok videos until Sam comes home. I drop my phone on the couch and get up, heart swelling in my chest.

  “Hey, babe,” I say and stride over to him. He takes his shoes off and pulls me in for a hug, holding me tight against his firm chest.

  “I missed you,” he breathes, head buried in my neck.

  “I missed you too.”

  Sam runs his hand through my hair and then cups my chin, turning my face up so he can kiss me, and the second his lips meet mine, he melts into me, hands running down my back. He dips me backward, deepening the kiss. There’s an odd finality to the kiss, and when he breaks away, his blue eyes are filled with something I can’t quite discern.

  “I love you, you know that, right?”

  “I kind of assumed,” I say, hooking my hands around his neck. “But it’s nice to hear you say it.”

  He smiles and some of the stress disappears from his face. “Dinner smells good.”

  “Thanks. I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Starving.”

  I step back, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. Sam cocks an eyebrow, reminding me again how sexual my nervous habit can come off as, though right now it’ll work in my favor. Slowly, I pull the ties to my robe. “I hope you save room for dessert.”

  The elevator doors open, and Sam takes a quick step in front of me, hesitating before he steps out. The lobby is empty, save for the bellman and security guard, and classical music softly floats through the air.

  “Looking for monsters?” I tease, a little confused why Sam would block me in the elevator. The doors start to close, and I reach out, letting them hit my hand so they bump back. Sam, who insisted on carrying my bag for me, turns around and smiles.

  “You never know,” he says with a tight smile. There’s something off about him again, and I can’t place it. He said he had a rough day at work. Maybe it’s getting to him? I can’t imagine seeing the things he sees on a daily basis.

  “Oh, trust me, I do know. Writing about demons, monsters,
and curses for the last few years might have made me more than a little paranoid from time to time.”

  “I could see that.” Sam takes my hand as we head outside. The nighttime air is chilly, making me instantly regret packing my sweater in my bag instead of wearing it. The weekend forecast should be nice, though in the Midwest you can have snow and a heatwave in the same day.

  “I’ll drive,” I offer when we get to Sam’s car. “But I kind of took Benadryl.”

  “Kind of? How do you kind of take medicine?” he asks, amusement bringing some of that sparkle back to his eyes.

  “I took it. I’m so stuffy and I refuse to have a cold. But then I remembered I said I’d drive. Give me like two hours and I might be falling asleep behind the wheel, driving us off a cliff into the ocean or something.”

  “Good thing there aren’t too many cliffs overlooking the ocean on the way to Michigan. And I’ll drive us, it’s not a big deal.”

  “But you worked all day.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Well, technically I got everything done that needed to be done, but I also watched a few hours of TV while lying on the couch.”

  “I picked the wrong profession,” he laughs.

  “Trust me, I know how lucky I am to have this be my job. I still can’t believe it, really. I get paid to sit home, day drink, and write stories.”

  “Fuck, that sounds nice.”

  I nod enthusiastically. “It’s not that easy, though. Throw in bouts of crippling self-doubt, staying up all night to reach a deadline I procrastinated reaching weeks ago because I knew I could still meet it with said procrastination.”

  “Still sounds like a sweet gig.”

  “It is,” I agree. “And let me drive the first half of the way.”

  He sets the bags in the backseat and closes the door, stepping back and looking at his car. “I like this car and you’re not used to Chicago traffic.”

  “I live in Los Angeles,” I remind him with a laugh. “Traffic there is probably worse than Chicago.”

  “LA does have more people than Chicago.”

  “See? Let me drive so you can relax. You look stressed.”

  He blinks a few times and runs his hand through his hair. “Closing my eyes for a while does sound nice.”

  “I know, so get in, Miss Daisy, and let me drive you.”

  “You are so lucky you get to rewrite your jokes in your books.”

  I let out a snort of laughter. “Trust me, I know. My editor strikes out a lot of them, but I think people have come to expect a certain level of awkward from me. I’m awkward in real life.”

  Sam opens the door for me and goes around. “I was worried you wouldn’t be awkward anymore,” he tells me as I start the engine. “I thought maybe the years living in LA and being famous would have changed you.”

  “I like to think I’m a bit more poised than I was before. I practice interviews and speaking with my publicist and agent. But there’s no taking the awkward out of me. I hated it when I was younger and always fumbling over words, and not being able to stop rambling when I was nervous made me shy, which is hard when you’re a kid. You were never shy, and I always admired that about you but was also kind of jealous. I wanted to be not shy too.”

  “Well, I always liked your awkwardness when we were kids. I thought it was cute. I still do.” Sam turns the navigation on for me to follow. It’s set to his parents’ address, and he saved it as “home.”

  “Good, because you’re going to always get a healthy dose of my awkwardness.”

  He rests his hand on my thigh. “I’d very much like that.”

  “Close your eyes,” I tell him. “I promise I’ll be fine. As long as I stop for coffee first.”

  “Funny, Chloe.”

  I let out a snort of laughter. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn down a coffee right now.”

  He lifts his head off the seat and look at me quizzically. “Let me know if we’re about to drive off that cliff into the ocean.”

  “Will do.”

  He gives my thigh a squeeze and leans back, letting his eyes fall shut. Stopped at a light, I connect my phone and put on my Nightfall playlist. I do some of my best thinking while driving and listening to music. I let my mind wander—as far as it’s safe while driving—and get hit with inspiration for a scene and start playing it out in my head.

  “Who are you talking to?” Sam asks, sounding groggy from just waking up.

  “No one.” I glance over at him for a second before looking back at the road.

  “It was like you were having a conversation with two people.”

  “Oh,” I say with a laugh. “I was, but I wasn’t talking to anyone, per se. I had an idea for a scene in my book and was talking it out through the voices of both characters. I sound like Gollum, I know.”

  “That’s pretty fucking adorable too. I caught the tail of that…someone is going to reveal that witches are real?”

  I nod. “Vampires are out of the coffin but witches aren’t, in my series. They don’t want the general public to find out, but Kellie has some past family drama—I won’t give you any spoilers since you haven’t seen or read it yet—and these people might just expose her.”

  “Who was your conversation with?” He sits up, and the overhead lights along the highway illuminate his handsome face.

  “My main character and her sister. I have a really bad habit, if you can call it bad, of talking what I’m writing too. Which is really awkward when I go to Starbucks and write a sex scene. I make faces that my characters make too,” I laugh. “I get really into what I’m writing and don’t even notice it even though I’m aware I do it from time to time.”

  “It would be really interesting to be sitting next to you while you write a sex scene.”

  I laugh at myself, shaking my head. “I have a funny story about that, actually. I wrote a Christmas novella to put in my newsletter as a holiday treat for my fans. It was supposed to be short, so I went to a local coffee house in my neighborhood. Well, it’s pretty much impossible for me to write anything short or without sex in it. I was there for hours, and when I got to my sex scene, I was in full obsessive-writer mode and wasn’t aware that I was whispering what I was writing out loud and, well, in that scene my vampire bit the main character on the thigh and was licking blood off her you-know-what.”

  “Damn, I need to read these books.”

  “You do, and who knows, maybe we can act something out?”

  Sam cocks an eyebrow. “You brought copies, didn’t you?”

  “I did, and I’ll leave them at your apartment when I go back to LA. I have more copies at home. I have a confession, actually.”

  “You do?”

  I bob my head up and down. “People ask all the time who inspired Marcus, and I give a vague answer every time, but it was you.”

  “Me?” Sam echoes, as if he can’t believe it.

  “Yes,” I reply and feel my cheeks redden, suddenly flashing back to teenage Chloe, sitting in the woods, dreaming of an alternate life full of adventure. I’ve had a longing in my heart for something else, something bigger than anything around me. Something that would give my life meaning, would put me in the middle of some sort of epic story. I felt like I was born in the wrong life, and I should have been someone brave, someone important, someone unlikely, of course, to battle evil and save the world. “I didn’t mean to, at first,” I go on. “I made up this whole ulterior persona for myself where I was cool and badass, and I had an obsession with vampires. I made up the perfect vampire in my head, and when I started writing him on paper, I just saw you. With fangs.”

  I glance at Sam, feeling embarrassed again.

  “Sorry if that’s weird.”

  “It’s not. I didn’t write a series about you, but whenever someone told me I should settle down and get married, my mind would go to you. You were always the one for me.”

  I get an instant tug on my heart and I blink back tears. “Things worked out.”
<
br />   Sam turns, looking out the window. “Yeah.”

  “Coming back to Silver Ridge really did help inspire me to write again, but seeing you helped more. And now that we’re together...” I trail off, stealing a glance at him again. “It’s been the best inspiration yet. No pressure or anything,” I add with a laugh.

  “Right. No pressure or anything.” Sam inhales deeply and rests his hand on my thigh again. “There’s a rest stop about fifteen minutes ahead. Pull over and I’ll drive the rest of the way. You can keep having conversations with yourself but not with yourself since they are with characters.”

  “Sounds good,” I say with a smile, stealing another look at him. My heart flutters in my chest and I’m glad I ended up bringing my computer, because I’m definitely feeling very inspired tonight.

  11

  Sam

  I grip the steering wheel tightly, taking my eyes off the road for a second to look at Chloe. We’re nearing her dad’s house in Silver Ridge, and she’s asleep with her head turned to the side. I gave her my jacket to use as a blanket, and she looks peaceful despite being asleep sitting up.

  Her latest words echo over and over in my head, causing my heart to speed up and a cold sweat to break out along my brow. Telling her my ex is pregnant won’t just break Chloe’s heart, but it will kill her inspiration for her book. I’ve always been a logical person. I take comfort in the rational approach to everything. It makes me a good doctor, and more times than not, I forget not everyone looks at things the way I do. I can see both sides to a problem rather quickly, and can play Devil’s Advocate, trying to understand the reasoning to why someone might do something I don’t agree with.

  So why the fuck is a small voice in the back of my head telling me not to tell Chloe what’s going on until I know for sure this child is mine? If there’s a chance it’s not, I want to take it. Once Stacey gets an ultrasound and we see that she’s—hopefully—only carrying one baby, then I can get the paternity test done. I have no idea how long it takes to get the results back, but fuck, I’ll pay extra to have that shit rushed.