I was not going to throw up.
It was just too cliche.
Throwing up at home this morning—that was just nerves. A stress reaction to the results of the pregnancy tests.
Until my doctor told me I was pregnant, those tests could still be wrong.
But if I threw up now, in the middle of the day, out in public… how could I even try to fool myself that maybe I wasn’t knocked up?
All I could think about, while they argued over me, were the days on my calendar. Counting them off, one by one…
Five weeks. It had been five weeks since the start of my last period. Technically, that meant I was five weeks pregnant.
That was what my doctor was going to tell me.
You’re five weeks pregnant, Elle.
Congratulations.
Shall we book an ultrasound to confirm the date of conception, and you can meet your baby?
The voices around me were raised. I heard Zane and Jesse yelling, and then Brody. I felt a hand on me; someone was rubbing my back. It was Maggie, probably. The hand felt small and gentle, warm and full of strength.
At that point, I started to cry. I jumped up and ran for the bathroom to cover it.
Crying in front of everyone in the middle of all this shit was probably worse than throwing up. Throwing up could be attributed to random food poisoning or any number of things. Crying, on the other hand, was a dead giveaway that my life was spinning, suddenly and wildly, out of my control.
So I dove straight into the bathroom at the back of the church and purged my guts in private.
I’d never felt so fucking sick in my life.
Maybe it was just some fucking vicious flu, I told myself, or this was all some crazy hallucination. The pregnancy tests were just a dream.
But all the while, I knew I was kidding myself.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Elle
That evening, I walked into a blues-rock bar out in the suburbs where I hadn’t set foot in a long, long time. It was Saturday, but it was still early. Some band was setting up on the small stage in the corner, only a few customers—mostly rough-looking men—drinking at the scattered tables. A waitress was cleaning glasses and the bartender was setting up behind the bar.
I took a seat at the bar, alone, feeling eyes all over me.
Flynn took a table nearby.
When the bartender came over, I ordered a water, and then I waited. I was wondering, already, if this was a shit-poor idea. But right about now, I’d pretty much run out of other ideas.
“Took you long enough, darlin’.” A familiar voice came from behind me, and I turned to find Jude strolling up. “Been wondering when you’d come knocking on my door.”
He took the bar stool next to me and motioned for the bartender to bring him a drink, as he rubbed motor oil off his hands with a rag. He’d come in through the side door, from the garage next door, where he’d told me he was working on one of his bikes.
He hadn’t expressly asked me to come meet him here when I’d gotten him on the phone, and I didn’t tell him I was coming. But it’s not like I needed a formal invitation.
He looked at me as I sipped my water. I was nervous, collecting myself. Afraid of having another freak-out like the one at the church, which he’d witnessed, along with everyone else. I was determined to get through this conversation without bursting into tears or throwing up again. The result was that I’d gone way the hell in the other direction—and switched into ice queen mode.
Maybe Jude sensed it, because he chuckled.
I declined the drink he offered when the bartender brought him one. I was pretty fucking sure I was pregnant, and just the thought of booze was making my insides churn. The smell of it in this place wasn’t helping.
“You’ve always been cool with Seth,” I said, once the bartender had left us alone, my tone mildly accusing. “Can’t you talk to Jesse and Brody?”
“No,” he said simply, and took up his drink. “You’re feelin’ Seth, is that it?” He sipped his whiskey and added, “You trust he’s clean? And he’s gonna stay that way?”
“Yes,” I said. “Do you?”
“Yup,” he said. “But addicts can disappoint.”
My stomach roiled. It was the morning sickness, the all-day morning sickness, I told myself, as I tried to ignore the warning in his words.
“I know there was more to it than you think I know,” I pressed, and that seemed to get his full attention. He set his drink down and settled his dark eyes on me. “When Seth was kicked out of the band, you and Brody were all, ‘Let us handle it.’ I was young and naive and in over my head with all of it. Sudden fame, the media, touring. I could barely keep my head on straight, so I trusted you all to take care of it. And maybe I shouldn’t have.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning you all screwed him from the start. The contracts were unfair, and you all know it. We all got a slice of the pie except Seth.”
It was true. And I knew Jude was heavily involved in those decisions.
Brody had always been Dirty’s manager, but when it came to protecting the band, Brody didn’t make a move without consulting with Jude. And Seth had always been treated like something of a security breech.
“Seth came into the band last,” Jude said slowly, “and you all agreed he was a hired hand. You knew what was in the contracts when you signed them.”
“Yes, but—”
“Seth was in trouble from the start and the guys could see it. Brody saw it. He was looking out for the band, protecting Dirty—that was you, Jesse, Zane and Dylan. Seth wasn’t a founding member.”
“Right, and when he was kicked out, I agreed to that, too. Brody issued our official statement that Seth was terminated for his ‘drug issues.’ But Zane was deep in a bottle at the time and no one once said a word about kicking him out. Seth got dumped, and Zane got rehab. Why is that? And don’t give me this ‘founding member’ bullshit.”
Jude said nothing, so I pressed on.
“Band business, right? You guys didn’t want to explain it to me then, why would you now?” I shook my head in disbelief when he still refused to give me anything. “You know I can get my lawyers on this? Digging around? I can find out whatever it is you don’t want me—or Seth—to know.”
“Seth knows,” Jude said, as he leveled me with his dark gaze. “Seth knows exactly why he was kicked out of the band. And I’ll tell you once, Elle, it has as much to do with MC business as band business, which means we’re not having this conversation.”
MC business; I knew what that meant.
Motorcycle club business.
As in… the motorcycle club Jude belonged to?
“The Kings?” I was surprised by this revelation, but I didn’t back down. “Yes, we are most definitely having this conversation, Jude.”
Jude just chuckled again. “Sweetheart,” he said. “You know I can’t talk about MC business with anyone outside the MC, and you are not in the MC. You wanna patch in, you can go ahead and give it a try, but without a dick, you are gonna have one hell of a hard time.”
“I can go to Piper if you won’t talk to me,” I said.
The semi-smile dropped from his face. “You want to threaten me with my own brother, go over my head and talk to the vice president of the West Coast Motherfuckin’ Kings, darlin’, you go right ahead and try, see how that lands.”
I could see it in his eyes; he wasn’t about to let me try. But he was calling my bluff. He knew I’d never do it.
I knew Piper, and Piper had always been nice enough to me, but to be totally honest, Jude’s big brother was fucking scary. I would not want to piss that guy off.
“Then give me something, Jude. Please.” I wasn’t above begging him on this, and maybe he could see that.
Maybe he could see how much I cared.
Though he looked unmoved, he finally offered, “I’ll give you this. Seth Brothers is one of the good ones.”
“Then why don’t you tell the
m that? Go to bat for him with the band?”
“Because I can’t. And it’s not my story to tell, anyway.”
Story? What fucking story?
“I don’t need specifics, Jude.” Now I was pleading for real. “I just need to know why it’s all such a fucking secret.”
“I told you why.”
“The MC.” I got up to leave, feeling sick to death of all the fucking boys’ club bullshit.
The band. Now the motorcycle club.
The guys had all told me, in their own way, on some crazy night on tour or another when the shit had hit the fan and I’d had a meltdown on their asses, that women were insane. And maybe they were right. I was definitely capable of temporary insanity.
But men… men were fucking ridiculous. Stubborn.
Bull-headed as fuck.
“If you won’t talk to me,” I told him, as calmly as I could, “then I’m going to Jesse. What do you think he’s gonna say when he finds out you’re hiding shit about Seth, and maybe about Jessa, too, because of your bullshit loyalty to your motorcycle club?”
“Elle.” Jude grabbed me, his giant hand tight on my forearm, and pulled me aside, into a dark hallway behind the bar. Flynn, my ever-vigilant bodyguard, of course, didn’t follow; Jude was Flynn’s boss. When we were alone, he said, “You do not wanna go talking like that in here.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning.”
“Let go of me.” My heart was racing. I wasn’t scared of Jude, but all this shit about his biker club was starting to freak me out. I felt extra vulnerable, maybe, with this sudden, unexpected knowledge that I was very possibly pregnant, and I didn’t like feeling this way.
I wanted to get the fuck out of here.
“You’re a smart woman, Elle,” Jude said. “Don’t get stupid.” He released my arm, gently. Then he sighed, looking deeply irritated with me, and maybe a little regretful. “And you’re right. Seth wasn’t exactly kicked out of the band because of his addiction. He was, and he wasn’t. All I can tell you beyond that is that the situation was not entirely what Jessa thought or what Brody and Jesse think.”
He wouldn’t tell me any more—but it was enough.
Enough for me to hold onto; proof that I was right about Seth.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice soft and grateful, and Jude nodded. I could see that he felt kinda sorry for me, and it was obvious why.
They all thought they knew Seth… but I knew the truth.
I knew his heart.
And Jude knew it, too.
He was right; Seth was one of the good ones.
He always had been.
Seth met me at my place, later that night. When I opened the door to him, just past midnight, I took one look at his face and I knew I didn’t have to tell him what had happened at the church.
He already knew.
Maybe Zane or Jude or Dylan had told him. I didn’t know.
It hardly mattered.
I still felt sick about it all. Sick about my conversation with Jude. Or maybe it was just the morning sickness that had lasted all fucking day, still coming on in crippling waves of nausea.
I did not want to talk about it—about any of it. I just needed to feel close to Seth.
I took him by the hand and led him upstairs, to my bed.
“Elle…” he said once, twice, trying to talk to me, but I kissed him, undressing him as I sucked suggestively on his mouth, on his tongue, until he gave in.
It didn’t take long.
Within minutes we were naked in bed.
But once he was on top of me and I was more than ready to take him, he broke away, panting. “I heard what happened at the church. The guys… I know it didn’t go well, Elle.”
“It didn’t,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it’s over.”
“Elle,” he said softly but forcefully, “it’s over.”
“No. I’m gonna talk to the guys again, I promise.”
He started to roll away, and I clutched at him, at his waist, his arm, trying to keep him here, with me. Panic shot through me. “I mean it, Seth. I’m going to bat for you, and to hell with them if they don’t like it. They need to hear me out on this.” My voice got kind of squeaky and desperate at the end, and I realized I sounded more desperate to believe it than anything.
I was trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince him.
“Elle,” he said evenly, “I can’t let you do that.” He wasn’t even looking at me; he’d turned his back on me.
“Why not?” I got up on my knees and kissed the back of his neck. I tried to wrap my arms around him, but he pulled away and got out of bed.
The next thing I knew, he was getting dressed, pulling on his jeans.
“Where are you going? You’re not staying?” The panic rolled over into full-on dread.
“Elle,” he said again. “I can’t.” I watched him pull on his T-shirt. He stood there, fully dressed, and just looked at me.
“Why don’t you want me to talk to them?” I was getting mad, a twisted manifestation of the fear that was coursing through me. “It’s what you came back for, right? The band?” It sounded cold and bitchy, and yes, twisted with bitterness and desperation. “The documentary series? Photo shoots with me on the beach? You want your old life back, and I’m just the girl to help you get it, right?”
I wanted him to refute it.
I needed him to refute it.
And he did, with a shake of his head. “It’s not about the band,” he said softly, his voice low and rough, but he didn’t sound angry with me. “I don’t need Dirty to tell me I’m worthy as a musician. I know what I can do with a guitar. At this point… it’s about redemption.” He clawed his hands through his hair. “Maybe it’s always been about that. And maybe that’s just not something I’m ever gonna get.”
“Seth—”
“I’m going back to the hotel. I think I should step away for a while. Step back. Give you all some space.”
“Space? I don’t need any fucking space.”
Something like anger, but more desperate, more frightening—more fucking frightened—sparked in his eyes. “Maggie said you almost fainted at the church today.”
Maggie? He talked to Maggie today?
“So? So… what?” I sputtered.
“She said you threw up, Elle.”
“So? So that’s all you wanted, all this time? Redemption? The band’s fucking forgiveness?”
He looked straight in my eyes when he growled, “Fuck the band.”
And something happened…
Like a fuse lit inside me. He didn’t even want the band anymore—not as much as he wanted me. I knew it in the way he looked at me.
I got out of bed and rushed to him. I pressed myself against him, naked, and whispered, “Say that again.”
“Fuck the band,” he said, his eyes going up in smoke as they burned down on me.
I grabbed him and kissed him, and then I was tearing off his clothes again. I wanted him naked, needed him naked, and on top of me, inside me. He pushed me back on the bed and I pulled him with me, grabbing the hard length of his cock in my hand and squeezing, making him groan. I wrapped my legs around him and took him inside me, urging him on with my hips until he was fucking me.
We didn’t stop to use a condom. I was pregnant, anyway, so it hardly mattered. Seth didn’t know that, but he didn’t stop it, either.
He fucked me, hard and fast, against the bed, as I screamed and begged him for more. I wanted it rough and wild and nonsensical. I wanted to lose myself in him. In this…
He kept pounding into me as I clawed at him, and when I came, it was a screaming, back-arching explosion that spiked through me, from my core to my fingertips. He came with a feral growl, and moments later, as he shuddered and groaned with the aftershocks, he slid himself carefully out of me.
Neither one of us said a thing about the lack of condom as we lay back on the bed, destroyed. But I knew he had to be t
hinking about it. Wondering why the fuck I’d let that happen.
Why I wanted it to happen.
As I lay there panting at the ceiling, I whispered, “How did this happen?” The question was so loaded, I didn’t even know how to begin answering it myself. I wasn’t even talking about the condom situation.
“I don’t know,” he said, quietly, his voice ragged. “All I know is that somewhere along the way, having you became more important to me than having the band back.” He rolled to face me. “But I won’t fuck up your life just so I can have you, Elle. I did that to a girl once, and it was wrong. So wrong, I’m still paying for it.”
He got out of bed and started getting dressed again. I knew he was talking about Jessa, and it crushed me that whatever was happening here felt that bad to him.
“You’re still leaving,” I said, and it came out as a half-sob. Tears started stinging in my eyes.
“Yes,” he said, without looking at me. “I’m leaving. It’s the best thing.”
I sat there feeling helpless as he got dressed.
Finally, he looked at me, sidelong, like it was painful to do it. “Are you gonna be okay?” He was choked up, and I knew what he needed me to say.
But I couldn’t say it, even for him.
“No, I’m not gonna be okay. How could I possibly be okay?”
His eyes flashed with tears. “They hate me, Elle. They fucking hate me and that’s never gonna change. You need to fucking accept that.”
“They don’t hate you,” I said calmly. “Zane does not hate you. Dylan does not hate you. I don’t even think Jessa hates you. And Jesse, he’s just protective of his sister. If she’s okay with you, he’ll come around.”
“Even if a fucking miracle happens and that’s the case,” Seth said, “Brody is never gonna forgive me. You and I both know that.”
“Don’t,” I said, feeling the end coming, fast and painful. “Don’t walk out on me.”
“I’m not walking out on you, Elle.”
Dirty Like Seth: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 3) Page 26
