Mistake’s Melody: Unquiet Mind Book Four

by Malcom, Anne

  “My little munchkin,” he said, kissing her head. “You’ve grown almost a foot since I’ve seen you last. Are you in high school yet?”

  She smiled, tugging at one of his multiple necklaces, the sparkle and the appearance of her ‘Uncle It’—she couldn’t figure out Wyatt when she began talking—and the simplicity that came with it, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two adults she adored.

  I envied the fact that things were so simple for her.

  But she was a woman, and would grow into a beautiful one at that—things wouldn’t stay simple for long.

  “You gonna let me in?” Wyatt said when he’d been lingering at the door, letting Ava tug on his expensive jewelry for a handful of minutes.

  “Normally, no,” I shot, impressed at the iron in my voice. “But you’re holding something very precious in your arms so I can’t slam the door in your face.”

  I stepped aside, my stomach lurching as I did so. It took effort to control myself and not barf at his feet. Though Wyatt was engaging with Ava, his eyes flickered to me, frowning as if he suspected just how close he came to wearing my vomit on his designer combat boots.

  “Daddy!” Ava screamed—it was her default, she may have inherited her father’s eyes and midnight black hair, she did not inherit his brooding silences. “Uncle It is here!”

  “I see that, princess,” Killian said, emerging from the kitchen, voice even, eyes softening on his daughter and turning to daggers once they touched Wyatt. “Uncle It is gonna put you down and you’re gonna go and play music with Mommy,” Killian continued. “Loud as you want.”

  Ava beamed. She loved to ‘play music’ with Lexie. It was pretty much just her snatching Sam’s drumsticks and hitting the drums with as much force as her two-year-old body could muster.

  She was the only human being Sam let touch his drum set. I imagined that list would grow when Zeppelin was old enough to properly use his digits.

  Wyatt put Ava down after kissing her head one more time and she sprinted through the house.

  “Don’t want my daughter having to hear her uncle’s screams,” Killian said blandly.

  Wyatt didn’t respond to the threat from one of the most ruthless members of the Sons of Templar MC, famed ex underground fighter, and all around badass.

  He was too busy focusing on me. The frown that he’d focused my way while holding Ava was back and intensified.

  I hated that I was only wearing a ripped Unquiet Mind band tee, faded cut-offs and bare feet. I didn’t have on a lick of makeup, so I knew my face was pale and drawn, my freckles visible. I knew I looked young and vulnerable like this, because I was carded at the store whenever I tried to buy wine without makeup. Which wasn’t often. I barely ever left the house without it. Not for vanity’s sake—though I looked great with my trademark wing and red lip—but because I wanted to hide that vulnerable freckled girl from the world and more importantly, myself.

  “You don’t look good,” Wyatt said after he’d ran his eyes up and down my body.

  “That’s a great thing to lead with,” I clipped. I looked to Killian, whose face was like always, blank and serious. Though there was a small twitch at the side of his lip that looked remarkably like a smile from the man who never grinned at anyone but his wife and child. “You don’t happen to have your gun on you, do you? You know, so I can teach Wyatt a lesson about insulting pregnant women...or just women in general.”

  The mouth twitch got bigger. “Don’t think you should be shootin’ the father of your baby, Emma.”

  I raised my brow. “Have you met the father of my baby?”

  “I think I’m gonna have to let you two...talk.” He gave me a look. “I need to pat you down for weapons?”

  I responded to him with a scowl.

  His mouth twitch got bigger as he looked to Wyatt, and all warmth in his gaze disappeared with alarming speed. “Any last requests?”

  Wyatt also responded with a scowl, though he only took his eyes off me to direct it in Killian’s direction.

  I folded my arms and glared at Wyatt as Killian left the room. “I would tread carefully right about now.”

  He clenched his jaw. “You’re carryin’ my baby,” he hissed instead of heading my warning.

  I folded my arms and made a conscious effort not to scream at him this early in the interaction. I was trying to be a badass, put together mom and person. I was trying out a zen thing. “I’m aware.”

  “Well, that means I have the fucking right to comment on the fact you don’t look good. Because you’re growin’ my baby inside of you and if you’re not taking care of yourself—”

  “Hold up right there,” I interrupted, really wishing I’d fought Killian harder for that gun. Then again, I didn’t want my baby to be born in prison after I was convicted of killing its father. The whole point of me having it was so I could give it a better life than I had. “It’s only recently that you decided that this is your baby, as recent as about ten seconds ago,” I spoke through gritted teeth because I was actively trying not to scream at him. “If we’re throwing judgment about who’s taking care of my unborn child, I think it needs to be directed at the father who wanted me to get a fucking abortion when I first told him, then disappeared for three fucking weeks.” I was shouting now, I couldn’t help it.

  Hormones.

  And a broken heart.

  Killer combination.

  “And then we’ll talk about me, the mother of this baby.” I pointed to the slight swell in my stomach, one that didn’t look like a baby bump, but more like I’d indulged in too many tacos. “The one who has already had to deal with morning sickness, heartburn, mood swings, insomnia, and the prospect of being a single mother because the father of her baby is a fucking douchebag rock star who can’t step up for anything apart from a stage.”

  Wyatt had lost his glare now, and something new was painted on his face. I was on too much of a roll to notice.

  “So excuse me if I don’t look like any of the vapid supermodels you usually date,” I snapped. “I’ve been too busy growing a human inside of me to worry about getting my roots done or heading to Pilates. If that’s all you’ve come to say, let me know if you need help getting that big head out the door on your way out. Killian’s got a carving knife somewhere I’d be happy to use.”

  I was breathing heavily now, the screaming the biggest exertion I’d had since...well since I’d told Wyatt about the baby in the first place.

  They were words I had been keeping to myself, an anger I’d been pretending I didn’t feel whenever Lexie or Killian or Sam muttered about plans to bury Wyatt in a shallow grave. I had to pretend I didn’t feel the anger, because if I let myself experience the fury, I’d have to suffer through the sorrow.

  And I hadn’t done that since the first day I’d arrived at Lexie’s.

  I couldn’t do that.

  I was absolutely terrified I wouldn’t survive it.

  So it hit me. Along with the fact I had thrown up three times today, so had no food in my system and that I hadn’t slept properly in...three months.

  And Wyatt’s presence hit me harder than it all. Especially since he had softened his expression, and that gentling of his eyes—that fucking pity—was worse than it all.

  “Ems,” he murmured.

  The world spun.

  His face changed. “Emma,” he demanded, moving to step forward.

  Which was a good thing too, since I fainted.

  Fucking fainted.

  * * *

  When people faint in movies, they usually wake up like three hours later with lots of fanfare and surrounded by the fucking Tin Man or whatever.

  In reality, a fainting episode—in my experience at least—only last for a couple of seconds, so I woke up in Wyatt’s arms with him all but screaming for Killian and Lexie.

  “Dude, eardrums perforated,” I said wincing, still groggy.

  “Emma,” Wyatt demanded, cupping my face. “Is it the baby? Are you in pain?” Fear s
aturated his face and voice.

  No, terror.

  “What did you do?” Lexie demanded, rushing to my side, Killian was close behind her, carrying Ava.

  “I didn’t do shit, she fuckin’ fainted,” Wyatt clipped, his arms tightening around me as if Lexie were going to try to snatch me away.

  “Did you fall over, Auntie Em?” Ava asked. “And you said a bad word, It.”

  “We need a doctor?” Killian asked, voice flat, but I knew he was worried. He was Killian.

  “No,” I said, struggling to push out of Wyatt’s arms. They didn’t loosen. Instead, he lifted me up and started carrying me to the sofa.

  “I can walk,” I snapped.

  “You couldn’t hold yourself up two seconds ago.”

  “I was expending energy telling you what an asshole you are,” I hissed as he put me down with tenderness that was painful. “It’s like running an entire marathon.”

  Lexie grinned. Wyatt did not.

  “You’re going to a doctor,” he said.

  “I’m not.”

  “This is our fuckin’ baby, Emma, I’m not taking any chances here.”

  I folded my arms. “The baby you decided you cared about like ten minutes ago?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

  His expression darkened. “No, I didn’t decide to care about it ten minutes ago. I cared about it the second you told me,” he said quietly. “And about you the moment I met you. So if there’s a chance either of you are at risk, I’m not riskin’ it.”

  It took me a second to recover from the words. The soft and tender tone in which he spoke them.

  “Emma, are you sure you’re good?” Lexie asked, concerned.

  “I’m fine,” I answered at the same time Wyatt said, “Of course she’s not fucking good, are you blind?”

  I scowled at him.

  So did Killian, before he directed his gaze to me. “We’re gonna leave you to it, but Lexie and I will take you for a checkup, if you decide you need one.” His attention moved to Wyatt. “You swear at my wife again, I’ll put you in a coma.”

  Then he kissed Lexie’s forehead, grabbed Ava and walked them out of the room.

  “You’re going to the fucking doctor,” Wyatt continued, tapping at his phone. “Because you’re obviously not sleeping. You’ve lost weight when you’re meant to be gaining it, and you don’t even have the energy to yell at me for extended periods of time.”

  I leaned forward and snatched his phone off him before he could do anything stupid like call an ambulance.

  His glare intensified as I moved it from his grasp.

  “I’m going to find the energy to throw you out that window it if you keep acting like you have a say in this,” I said, pointing at the floor to ceiling window that boasted a magnificent view of the Pacific Ocean. “You made your feelings very clear about this, about where you stand.”

  Wyatt’s jaw hardened. “Emma, you told me that I not only fucked you but couldn’t remember doing it and impregnated you in a handful of sentences. I wasn’t fucking standing anywhere since you blew me away.”

  “I’ll give you that,” I replied. “But it’s been almost a month. You’re able to pick yourself up from benders in two hours. I’m not looking for you to come here for sympathy or because you’re getting annoyed with the band giving you the cold shoulder or because some company lawyer told you to.”

  I wouldn’t put it past Mark to figure this out and draw up some kind of contract for me to sign for the greater good of the band and his paycheck. We did okay, but he was ruthless, one of the reasons why I liked him. And he protected the band at all costs, another reason why I liked him. I was guessing someone like me getting pregnant ‘accidentally’ was something he’d feel he had to protect the band from if he had found out.

  Wyatt gritted his teeth, never moving his eyes from me. “I’m not here for any other reason because there’s nowhere else I should be,” he said.

  I stared at him long and hard, wanting to hate him. I yearned for it. To hate that angular, beautiful face. Those ice blue eyes. That stupid fucking sexy hair. The tattoos, the muscles...everything.

  I was angry at him, sure. Furious. But not as angry as I wanted to be. I was too busy being heartbroken. Being in love with him.

  Being fucking pathetic.

  Bleeding from rejection—the gift that kept on giving. Like morning sickness.

  “I don’t forgive you,” I said finally.

  His gaze didn’t waver. “I’m not asking for forgiveness.”

  I glared at him. “What are you asking for, Wyatt?”

  He glanced down at my stomach, leaned forward almost imperceptibly, like he wanted to...touch it. But he stopped.

  “I just want a chance. To be there. Make sure you’re not alone in this.” His voice was little more than a whisper.

  I wanted to laugh. The little scrap of hope I’d been nurturing like a fucking battered teddy bear fell apart in my hands. The hope that he was here because he wanted...me.

  Us, I guessed it was now.

  No, he was here because he didn’t want me to be alone.

  Because he pitied me.

  I straightened my back. “I excel at being alone, Wyatt. And I can handle this baby alone.”

  It was a flat-out lie, but I’d lie to save my pride rather than tell the truth and ruin myself.

  “You can,” Wyatt agreed. “But I don’t want you to. I want to be there for you.”

  All the right words.

  Wrong time.

  Wrong reasons.

  But I was an asshole for keeping a baby’s father from it out of spite. Out of selfishness. Characteristics that defined my own mother.

  I’d let him in. Just as soon as I could build some walls to make sure I didn’t let him into my heart again.

  “I just...” I trailed off. “I need time. To think.”

  Wyatt’s jaw clenched in obvious frustration, but he nodded once.

  He didn’t say anything. Didn’t motion to try and grab for his phone and leave me with my thoughts and battered heart. He just stayed there, kneeling in front of me, staring at me.

  The silence that yawned between us was so painfully awkward I yearned for a giant sinkhole to open up beneath us so the ground could swallow me up.

  Wyatt finally reached into his pocket and handed me a crumpled piece of paper. I took it on instinct, something to grab onto that wasn’t the ever-growing disquiet between us.

  “I just wanted to cover everything you need,” Wyatt began, voice strange and...nervous? “Obviously we want to keep this out of the media...”

  He might’ve kept talking, but it was then that I looked down to what I was holding.

  A check.

  A check for one million dollars.

  I snapped my head up. “Hush money?” I whispered.

  Wyatt’s expression froze. He opened his mouth, some smooth protest, no doubt.

  But I didn’t give him the chance, I stood, throwing the check at him, hating that the paper didn’t have the weight behind it that was sitting in my hands moments ago. It just fluttered meaninglessly to the floor.

  I realized I was also still holding his phone, nice and heavy. Tangible. I wanted to throw it at his head. But I couldn’t bring myself to cause him pain, even in the midst of agony he was causing me. So I hurled it across the room instead. It hit a vase that smashed to the floor. Lexie would understand. Killian would approve.

  “Jesus,” Wyatt hissed. “Emma, don’t throw shit like that when you’ve just fucking fainted. You’ll fucking hurt yourself, the baby.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, Wyatt, that’s why you came here,” I hissed. “Not because you had a change of heart, or because you wanted to be involved in this, but because you wanted to tell me what my silence and unborn child was worth to you.” The hatred that I yearned for before piled upon me, insulating me from the pain of the moment. “I’ll tell you this, my silence is free, but the price of me being in the same room as you ever again has skyrocketed past
what even you can afford.”

  I turned and stomped away, Wyatt calling after me as I went.

  But he didn’t chase me.

  Because that wasn’t how we worked.

  I knew this.

  I didn’t want him to chase me.

  So why was I so disappointed when he didn’t?

  Chapter Eight

  I went back to work after Wyatt’s visit. Not because I was ready to leave Lexie and Killian’s, and Ava. But because there was only so long I could stay before I had to take my life back into my own hands.

  Wyatt had been calling me non-stop.

  All calls I ignored.

  Texts too.

  Which I deleted.

  I didn’t even let myself read them, because those stupid hormones made me weak and I was crying at funeral commercials and I was scared that I’d read some empty apology on a screen and give myself something as dangerous as hope.

  But I still somehow found myself nurturing that hope.

  That I’d come home one day and he’d be waiting at my doorstep, declaring his love and refusing to let me ignore him.

  But my doorway was empty when I got home, and my apartment was too.

  I was glad about that.

  At least that’s what I told myself. And I didn’t give myself much time for pesky thinking about pesky emotional heartbreak.

  I focused on budgets for what I’d need for the baby, thought about interior decorators for the nursery, did grown-up things like read baby books and considered birthing plans. Not that I needed much of a plan, I intended on getting them to give me as many drugs as possible and hopefully not ruin my vagina.

  When I wasn’t doing that, I was making up for what I’d let slip through the cracks of my emotional breakdown.

  So it was work. I had a trip to Turkey planned in two days that I needed to get details on, hence me being in the office in heels instead of my living room in sweatpants. I needed to plan the trip and meet with some clients.

  Until I found out a specific detail about my flight.

  Namely that it had been canceled.

  Addy, my boss’s receptionist told me this. She was grinning when she saw my reaction—well, heard it, as I hissed “what the fuck?”