“Is he father material? Is he going to make a good dad?” Gloria asked, cutting into Skye’s vision of her mother’s face. No. No, he really wasn’t, by his own admission.
Skye’s head was swimming. How could this be? And yet … “I guess we’ll find out.”
Gloria bumped her shoulder against Skye’s. “Nah, you won’t. Not unless you two try to with another roll in the hay. Try poking some holes in the condom next time.”
“What are you talking about? You’re killing me here.”
Gloria let out an utterly diabolical laugh and turned the test so Skye could see the result. “You’re not pregnant.”
Skye grabbed the test out of Gloria’s hand. “What?”
Skye took one look at the single blue line and smacked Gloria on the shoulder as hard as Gloria had hit her knees earlier. Then again, harder. “You little bitch!”
Gloria never stopped laughing, even when Skye wrestled her into a headlock, just like she used to do when they were kids. Even from her prone position, Gloria could reach the faucet. She turned on the water and flicked Skye in the face. “Oh cowboy, take me home with you!” she said in a fake, breathy twang. “Give me your babies! And your child support!”
Skye was laughing now too, as she dug her thumb into Gloria’s ribs for some tickle torture. Gloria howled.
“You squeal like a stuck pig!” Skye teased.
A knock sounded at the bathroom door.
“Occupied,” Gloria said in a sing-song voice.
“What’s going on in there? Are you two fighting?” Teresa asked with a note of worry in her voice.
Skye reached over and opened the door so the kids could see for themselves that nothing was wrong.
“It’s a water tickle fight. I’m winning, mija!” Gloria said with glee as she filled a little paper cup and sloshed it on Skye’s shirt. “Your soldier mama is getting Aunt Skye all wet!”
Skye cupped her hand under the faucet, then hurled a scoop of water through the air. It splatted against Gloria’s chest. “But Auntie Skye’s rallying!”
They battled back and forth while the kids cheered them on. Of course, both of them were rooting for their mama, but them were the breaks.
Skye went for the winning move by grabbing a cleaning bucket from under the sink, but she’d only managed to turn on the bathtub faucet when Gloria rushed her. “Oh no, you don’t. You’ve got too far, lady! Now you must pay.”
And before Skye knew what was happening, Gloria had performed some kind of army maneuver on her and had her facedown on the drenched bathmat with her arms and legs all but hog-tied behind her.
“I surrender!” Skye bellowed.
Gloria let her go, then pranced away with her fingers up in victory Vs. “And it’s little sister for the win!”
With water streaming over her cheeks and down her neck, Skye mugged a cartoon villain face and shook her fist. “I’ll get you next time, mark my words.”
The kids giggled at that. “You look silly, Auntie,” Chris said.
“Don’t I know it, little man.” Skye sank to the toilet seat lid again. She grabbed a towel to mop her face, which was when she realized that the water wasn’t only from the fight, but from tears. Oh shit. She was crying and she couldn’t stop. She tried holding her breath to keep it together for the sake of the kids, but a sob broke free despite her efforts.
“Okay, kids,” Gloria said, standing in the doorway to block the kids’ view of Skye. “Show’s over. Go watch the movie. We’ll be right out.”
As soon as the bathroom door shut again, Skye let the tears flow free. They were tears of relief and release, purging her of the fear of getting pregnant again and the frustration that she’d gotten herself in such a jam. It was exhausting, this war between the normalcy she wanted for her life and the drumbeat of restless yearning she couldn’t seem to shake. She couldn’t stop craving more adventure like she’d had with Gentry, more nights that bucked the rules. She wanted wicked, rowdy sex with wicked, rowdy men. But look what happened to her when she gave in to that drumbeat?
Gloria pulled Skye into a hug. “You’re okay.”
She burrowed into Gloria’s shoulder. “I know. Just coming down from it all. I was so sure I was pregnant. I felt it.”
Gloria rubbed her back. “Did you buy more than one test? To double-check?”
“Yes.” She sat up, sniffing. “Of course.”
She’d no sooner sat up and reached for her purse where the other tests were when her phone sounded with a text.
Gloria said, “Is that going to be the almost-baby daddy?” She made a table under her chin with her fingers and fluttered her eyelashes. “The talented and dreamy Gentry Wells.”
Skye plucked her phone from her purse. “As if you’d ever heard of him before I told you his name.”
But Gloria’s antics had their desired effect. Skye couldn’t help but smile, even as her pulse sped at the idea that it might be Gentry texting her. Maybe he was in town again. Maybe she’d been on his mind as much as he’d been on hers.
I hope you don’t mind me texting so soon. Granny June gave me your number and I wanted to make sure you’re feeling all right.
So much for her high hopes. Skye let her arm drop. “It’s the guy from the picnic, Eddie Rivera.”
Gloria wrinkled her nose. “I saw you two together. He was the one with the neck-flap hat. He’s not your type.”
Skye gave Gloria a pointed look. “What if I wanted him to be? He’s Catholic and a doctor.”
That earned her an eye roll that was identical to their mother’s. “Whatever. Granny June and Ma just want you to marry him so they can have a medical professional on hand. Ma wants free advice about Dad’s health issues, and you know I’m right about that. Why do you think she tried to get me to be a medic when I got done with boot camp?”
She had a point. Then again, the fact Skye had been flooded with crazy hope that it was Gentry on the phone was telling. It was also pathetic. Their fling had given her an awful pregnancy scare. And he’d told her himself that he wasn’t interested in settling down or starting a family. Why would she want to keep pushing the envelope with him? How could she feel so little for guys like Eddie Rivera, who were textbook perfect for her in every way that mattered?
Gloria kissed the top of Skye’s head. “I’ve got to get the kids started on their baths. They’re all sticky from the cotton candy booth at the picnic. You got this?”
She smiled her gratitude to Gloria. “I got this. Thank you for being here.”
“I’m always here for you. Whether you like it or not,” she added with a shoulder shimmy full of faux attitude.
Skye took the second pregnancy test amid the deep rumbling sound of the upstairs bathtub filling and the chatter of Gloria trying to wrangle Chris out of his clothes and into a bath. A feat not so different from Remedy trying to herd cats at a wedding.
The test came back negative. Okay, then. Crisis averted. Skye’s life was unchanged. It was time to take this experience as the lesson it was and move on. But lurking in the dark corners of her consciousness, a niggling disappointment threatened the sound logic of her relief.
What a ridiculous, immature feeling. Did a part of her want the shame that came with screwing up her life? Did a part of her want that inviolable connection to Gentry, a reason to bring him back into her life?
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
The only reason she felt a twinge of disappointment was because she wanted a family of her own. That had to be it. She refused to acknowledge it as anything more. She should be so lucky to settle down with a nice man with a great career who cared more about sun safety than vanity. That was a good thing.
She exchanged the pregnancy test for her phone on the counter. I’m feeling much better, thank you. Sorry I had to leave so fast. How was that perfect ear of corn?
She tucked the phone back in her purse, thinking that she probably should have waited a couple days before texting him back, playing hard to get, the way the
game was supposed to be played, but she was totally over the idea of playing games.
To her surprise, she heard the chime of another text.
That corn was good, but I know a barbecue restaurant that does even better. May I take you there sometime?
Smooth, yet right to the point. With no games. Eddie Rivera really did have a lot of checkmarks in the win column, even if his phrasing of barbecue restaurant was as dorky as his sense of style. The thought brought a smile to her lips.
Telling, that easy smile. It was high time for Skye to be with someone who brought out the best in her instead of someone who fed her most self-destructive impulses. Look at her tonight, hiding in her bathroom taking pregnancy tests after a one-night stand with a country rock star who’d never bothered to text her after the fact. She was nearing thirty, for pity’s sake. It was past time for Skye Martinez, lifelong hell raiser with an insatiable taste for bad boys, to grow the hell up.
I’d love to go out with you, she texted Eddie. How about Saturday night? Saturday was the anniversary of her miscarriage, the worst day of her life. Going out with Eddie was bound to make the night bearable. She had to believe, anyway. She paused before sending the text, considering, then threw caution to the wind by adding, You can pick me up at seven.
* * *
The night of the ACMs, or, rather, early the next morning, Gentry returned to his ranch in the dead of the night. In years’ past, he’d stayed and partied in Vegas for the whole ACM weekend, but no longer. He didn’t much have an appetite for hanging out with drunk people—even Nick and the rest of the band—and, more important, he had an album to write, an album for which the due date was approaching as fast as a high-speed train.
The ACMs had gone well. At least, his performance had, anyway. He’d had to eat a lot of crow on the red carpet about not being up for any awards, and a few of the people he’d thought of as friends couldn’t even look him in the eye. But there were also a lot of questions about the mystery woman he’d been caught on camera with.
He took Neil’s advice and built up the mystery, offering little more than sly smiles and the promise that he was going to sing a song dedicated to her that night. Gentry might have had a rough spell recently, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to play the game. In that way, Larry was right that being a professional musician really was a lot like baseball. One lousy game, or even one lousy season, did not make the man.
The crowd had seemed to respond well to “Riding in the Dark.” More important, Gentry had felt good singing it. He’d put his heart and soul into that song. Hell, he’d put his whole libido into it too. And it’d worked. The women in the backstage afterward were falling all over themselves to let him know how much they loved it, and Neil even gave him a thumbs-up.
He tried not to think too hard about whether Skye was watching. He’d considered texting her before the show so she’d tune in to his performance, but then he remembered the way Neil wanted him to capitalize on the gossip about them, and Gentry wasn’t too keen on her seeing that part or getting the mistaken impression that he’d been using her in any way.
You did use her, man.
Gentry’s conscience sure was a narrow-minded bastard. Because he hadn’t used her, not really. Yes, she’d inspired him to write all kinds of fantastic new songs, but none of that would have been possible without the down-and-dirty chemistry that sizzled between them. Like the old adage said, you can’t make smoke without a fire.
His trouble now was that it’d been more than two weeks since his and Skye’s weekend in Nashville, and the fire inside him had definitely gone dim. Once he’d mined his imagination for all the songwriting gems from his weekend with Skye that he could, his creative well had turned dry and empty. He’d been spending nearly every day out on the range on Beaver, trying to force the magic, and he’d read every article about them in every gossip magazine that Neil had left behind. Still, nothing.
He hadn’t written a single new song in ten days and he was still five songs short of enough material for an album. The thought made his stomach churn. It was two in morning, two weeks until his album was due, and his mind was blank except for the memory of Skye.
Restless with anxiety, he wandered through his empty house, flipping on lights as he went. He’d let Cheyanne redecorate the place, put her own touches on it so it felt more like home to her, but in the end, she’d taken it all with her. Just like his ex-wife had; just like they all had. Gentry supposed he could have hired a decorator after the breakup, but redecorating would only be buying into the lie that he could ever be the staying, settling-down kind. Rather, the blank walls and barren floors felt necessary. A reminder that he wasn’t cut out for relationships. A reminder that he should sell this place and be done with it this settling-down lifestyle once and for all. If only he had any other place to go.
In the living room, on the coffee table right where Neil had left them, were the gossip magazines, along with a few more that Gentry had added to the pile since then, all flipped open to the photos of him and Skye whooping it up in Nashville. The speculation about whether he’d gotten married at the Islands in the Stream Chapel or if he’d gone off the deep end made him smile. Was he in Mexico on his honeymoon, one article pondered. Had he checked himself into rehab after his bender, wondered another. None of them came close to the truth. He’d spent the night with his muse, the hottest damn woman he’d ever been with, then he’d come home to memorialize the experience in song. And now it was over.
He gazed at the table, the proof of their weekend together. The emptiness of the house yawned around him. Loneliness oozed into the silent, empty spaces. All those feelings of being an imposter on the brink of being exposed came rushing up. “Hello, old friend,” he said to the self-doubt. Or maybe he’d said it to the tequila bottle that was sitting next to all those magazines.
He grabbed the bottle and twisted off the cap. Nothing like tequila to mute those vicious insecurities and puff up a man’s confidence. Could be that all Gentry needed to get his creative juices flowing was a little agave lubrication for his mind. He needed the help of something, that was for sure, because he was no good at writing songs on his own.
He had the bottle touching his lips when he got a whiff of alcohol and stopped. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t him. This wasn’t who he wanted to be. Not anymore. He smeared his hand over the pile, sending the pages fluttering to the floor. And then he walked to his kitchen and poured the tequila down the drain.
Enough of this moping around. Enough daydreaming about the woman who haunted his every waking thought. She’d told him if he was ever in her neighborhood, he should look her up. That neighborhood was a solid eight-hour drive from his doorstep. Close enough. Just thinking that he could be standing in front of her in less than twenty-four hours was enough to propel him up the stairs and into his bedroom to pack.
He stuffed clothes in backpack, then stuffed himself into his leather riding jacket. A woman like Skye didn’t need a boring drive in a pickup truck. She needed motorcycle rides under the stars. She needed the wind in her hair and the open road all around her. She could talk all she wanted about settling down with a quiet, respectable guy, but he knew she needed a man who could keep up with her insatiable wild side, whether she was able to admit it or not.
He strapped a spare helmet to the seatback of his Harley, then fired it up.
Probably, he was crazy for doing this. Certifiable. But maybe not. Maybe the crazier idea had been thinking he should let her go from his life so easily. Someday, he’d break her heart. He knew he would because he was a Wells man and that’s what they did, but until that day, there was no one else on Earth that he wanted by his side.
Chapter Twelve
Saturday. The anniversary of Skye’s miscarriage. She hadn’t been scheduled to work, but she found herself there anyway. Mindlessly cleaning up after the hotel guests and listening to the gripes and gossip of her employees was far better than moping around the house, stewing with her
own dark thoughts about the miscarriage and the pregnancy scare the previous weekend. And thinking of Gentry, who was never far from her mind.
Actually, that was an understatement. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, with every song on the radio, every time she passed the villas at the resort, and every night alone in her bed. Yet she couldn’t decide why his hold on her had lingered. Was it because she missed the thrill or the man? Or maybe she simply missed the distraction, that brief moment in time that she could forget about her worries.
She really could have used him as her distraction tonight. Her body felt physically wounded by the emotional turbulence that this anniversary brought. Her stomach churned and her muscles ached, and no amount of chocolate or tears seemed to help. What did help a little was reading back through the occasional texts that Eddie Rivera had sent her throughout the week in advance of their date that evening.
Every text made her laugh, they were so dorky and endearing. He even sent her a weather report and sent her a survey about her favorite candy since they were going to the drive-in movies. After that, she got a knock-knock joke—an actual, bona fide knock-knock joke that she’d then shared with her niece and nephew, much to their delight.
But despite that, she wasn’t looking forward to their date like she should have been. Now that the anniversary was upon her, Eddie Rivera seemed a paltry distraction indeed. Her heart didn’t race when she thought of him. Her mind didn’t flood with electric, wicked thoughts, but rather, with … well, knock-knock jokes.
She took her lunch break later than usual, and arrived in the break room to find a handful of the housekeeping staff gathered around a cell phone watching a video, when they should have all been back to work already. Skye drew a deep breath and stemmed the urge to snap at them. Rather than break up their fun, it was time to make nice because she’d been short-tempered all week, which she hated because it made her feel like her mom.
One Wild Night Page 15
