Mistake’s Melody: Unquiet Mind Book Four

by Malcom, Anne

  I froze at the words, the softness of his voice. “You’ve been watching too much Game of Thrones with Sam,” I said, pulling myself from his embrace. “Stop trying to fucking place me, Wyatt,” I hissed. “To understand me. I’m not a person that can be understood.”

  Not by him, and definitely not by myself. And now I had the whole world trying to form an opinion of me. The Emma I projected to the world wouldn’t give a shit about that. The Emma I was in the dark hours of the night, the Emma who needed white pills to get her through the day, yeah, she gave a shit.

  “No,” Wyatt agreed. “You’re someone to be treasured. Fucking worshipped. And I fucked up not doing that from the beginning. For no other reason than I was a coward. Not going to make up excuses. I saw what you are, understood what you were to me and I fucking ran from that because I was afraid.”

  I blinked at the rapid change of subject. “You were afraid of me?”

  He stepped forward. “No, I was afraid of a life with you, because if I made that, then I knew I’d never be able to have a life without you. I was so fucking afraid of losing you that I made sure I never got you in the first place.” He put his hand on my stomach. “I was afraid of the life that I have polluting the life you’d made for yourself. We’ve got no choice but to live this life.” He looked down to my stomach. “Though I hate the shit that comes with fame, I’m not gonna regret a second of my life because it’s brought me here. This is what’s most important.”

  I blinked at tears welling up in my eyes. “I just don’t want her to get hurt from this insanity.”

  His jaw tightened. “She won’t. Ava and Zeppelin have lived in this shit and they’re some of the happiest kids I know. We’re gonna give her what we never got. And for now, let’s focus on her and let the people I pay figure out the other shit.”

  I raised my brow. “I look like someone who lets other people figure out my shit?”

  He grinned. “No, and that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you.” He stroked my lip with his thumb. “But how about you let me take care of you for a change? Doesn’t make you any less Emma.”

  He was wrong. I was less Emma the second I met him.

  But I let him nonetheless.

  * * *

  The rest of the day yesterday was spent doing damage control.

  Well, Mark and the army of publicists he’d employed were doing damage control.

  Sam and I were playing GTA on the sofa while Gina baked and Lexie read in the armchair beside us. Noah was watching with a book of his own in his hand.

  Killian was dealing with Ava, meeting with Greenstone about new security for me.

  Wyatt alternated between holding Zeppelin, arguing with Mark and yanking me into his side on the sofa.

  The calls had continued. I had ignored pretty much all of them and let Wyatt take care of me.

  And it was actually kind of nice.

  Nice enough to carry on into the night, when Wyatt cooked for everyone, then when he took me to bed and fucked me until I passed out.

  The next morning, we’re tangled in the master bedroom at the beach house, one that Wyatt had claimed, and somehow I had too. My stuff was in the bathroom. A handful of dresses and jackets in the closet. My shoes tangled with Wyatt’s.

  I’d somehow moved in and not realized.

  And why did me, the person who guarded her space almost as fiercely as she guarded her heart not find that fucking terrifying? Not want to scoop up the belongings mingled with Wyatt’s and go back to the place I’d killed myself to make safe.

  Probably because I wasn’t guarding my heart quite so fiercely anymore. I’d surrendered it to the man whose arms I was currently encased in.

  We were silent, because there was a lot of noise coming and we both knew it.

  Wyatt had to leave for a show in New York later in the afternoon and we’d spent a portion of the evening arguing about me staying here while he went.

  Wyatt didn’t want me alone with the paparazzi following me. Though, I wouldn’t be alone since we were also arguing about having Duke be my full-time security until the hype died down.

  We’d come to a stalemate on both counts and called an unofficial truce when he’d yanked me in for a kiss, mid-rant.

  “You wanna argue, argue while I fuck you,” he murmured.

  I did want to argue. Really.

  But he distracted me.

  And because pregnancy was making me exhausted, I’d passed out with him still inside me.

  And woken up with him inside me.

  “Come to the show,” he said, voice soft, pushing my hair behind my ears.

  I blinked up at him, marveling at how hot he was, still drunk off morning sex and Wyatt. “Why?”

  He frowned down at me. “Because I won’t be able to play if you’re not in front of me. Because I won’t be able to think straight knowing you’re here being harassed. So if you don’t, there will be a few thousand people really pissed off at me.”

  I blinked. “You wouldn’t play a show just because you wanted to stay with me?” I clarified. “But I’m not even fun to be around right now, I’m likely only going to get less fun, we fight pretty much all the time when we’re not having sex. So you wanting me to come is just...insane.”

  “Foolish,” he corrected, eyes teasing. “And haven’t you heard? We’re all somebody’s fool. And I’m yours.”

  My stomach dipped and my heart leaped into my throat at his words.

  “You’re not even going to see me in the middle of thousands of people,” I argued weakly, but I was already mentally packing my bag.

  His lips landed on mine. “No, babe, you’re the only one I’m gonna see.”

  And for a woman who was convinced pretty words and handsome rock stars weren’t going to melt her resolve, I melted pretty fucking quickly.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I relented.

  Of course.

  Who in the fuck heard that speech from a rock star, someone as hot as Wyatt, the father of their baby and the man they used to be in love with?

  Or were still in love with.

  Not that I’d said the three words since my father’s funeral. I wasn’t the type of person to spout them every five seconds. But Wyatt didn’t need me to. Or it seemed that way.

  He didn’t do it either, but the fact that he was going to cancel a sold-out show just so I wouldn’t be alone was proof he felt some type of way.

  That, combined with all my other complicated emotions had me on the jet with the band to New York.

  Lexie was beyond happy about this.

  Well, she was beyond happy that Wyatt and I—AKA, Ross and Rachel—finally sorted our shit. We’d obviously tried to keep our relationship secret, and obviously the entire band had found out like the day after.

  This was communicated by Sam, who had been watching us argue over strollers. “I thought that now you two were fuckin’, you’d be fighting less,” he commented while feeding Zeppelin.

  It was kind of comical seeing someone like Sam feed his infant son with such concentration and care. But it also worked. Because he adored his kid and Gina beyond any normal means. Because Sam wasn’t normal.

  “How do you know we’re fucking?” I asked him, forgetting my rage at Wyatt for a moment.

  He rolled his eyes. “Hello? I’m me. I’m the expert on sex and I know when people have finally had it. You’re all”— he waved the tiny spoon— “satisfied. Which begs the question as to why you’re still yelling at Wyatt.” He glanced to the man in question and then back at me. “Did he not perform?”

  Wyatt scowled at Sam.

  I grinned. “He performed, don’t you worry about that. But no amount of orgasms are going to make me stop arguing with Wyatt.”

  I looked to the man in question. “In case you were hoping for peace.”

  He grinned, yanking me into his body. “No way am I looking for peace. I’m lookin’ for you.”

  “How are syou doing with all this?” Lexie asked me,
settling in beside me on the jet.

  I looked up from where I was practicing my emotional self-harm—scrolling the latest news stories about the pregnancy. “Oh, I’m handling it famously,” I said. “I was born to carry the illegitimate child of a rock star and have the entire world speculate on the relationship, my intentions and whether I’ve had Botox or not.”

  She grinned. “You do have deceptively wrinkle-free skin.”

  “It’s my diet and lifestyle. I drink purely coffee and champagne, don’t sleep, consume only carbs and refined sugars. It’s the secret to a long life, great ass, and better skin,” I retorted.

  “You should use that in an interview,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not doing interviews. No matter who offers.”

  She raised her brow. “Oprah?”

  I scoffed. “Oprah doesn’t count. God herself would do an interview if she called.”

  The offers had been flooding in for exclusive photoshoots, interviews, fucking reality TV shows. Magazines were willing to pay millions for the first photo of the baby.

  It was kind of ironic that my baby’s photos were worth millions and my own weren’t worth enough to even exist.

  It didn’t matter what they were offering, no way would I sell that shit. Wyatt was of the same opinion.

  He was not of the same opinion about the statement that Mark had released.

  “Both parties are happy about the arrival of the baby, and ask you please respect privacy at this time.”

  He wanted something more like, “Emma is mine. Baby is mine *pounds on chest like caveman*.”

  We compromised. With what I wanted, of course.

  “Seriously, babe,” Lexie’s voice softened. “It’s a lot, the publicity. A pregnancy. Your dad. Wyatt and you. I’m surprised you haven’t had a full-on mental breakdown.”

  “Well, mental breakdowns don’t really go with my new hair,” I replied with a false grin. “And I’m waiting for the perfect moment to break down in front of the cameras, it’s a goal to become an internet meme.”

  “It’s a good thing, you know?” Lexie looked to where Wyatt was talking with Killian and glancing my way intermittently. “Even if the baby wasn’t planned. I think it was meant to be.”

  I scoffed. “Please don’t hit me with the hippy mumbo jumbo. You know I don’t believe in the universe and meant to bes.”

  It was her time to raise her brow. “Don’t you?”

  Fuck it was hard having a best friend who could see right through you.

  Because Lexie was right. Despite the fact that these past months had been the most harrowing and chaotic I’d had since my childhood, I had some bone-deep feeling that things were falling apart so they could fall into place.

  And I’d fought against it precisely because it felt so right. When all I was used to was wrong.

  “Shut up and go and do something puke worthy with your husband,” I commanded, shaking off her words.

  She stood. “You can’t make comments like that now that you’re one of the assholes in love.” She winked and walked away.

  And she was right. I was totally an asshole in love.

  * * *

  I didn’t like crowds.

  I knew that my look, my general air of chaos communicated that I was exactly the kind of woman who liked to be in the middle of a pulsating mosh pit. That was just not so. Sweaty people crushing you, standing on your toes, and sucking up all the air so it was hard to breathe?

  Ah, no thank you.

  But since I was somewhat of a VIP, I was front row, looking at the sweaty, pulsating mass from my air-conditioned, well-ventilated, not at all crowded area. That happened to contain at least four celebrities that were always in the same trashy mags that Wyatt was in. I could’ve stayed backstage with Gina and the kids, but she was trying to get a book done, and I was weirdly determined to see what my life was going to entail from here on out.

  I was being an idiot and entertaining the idea that my life would entail me being Wyatt’s...whatever, instead of just his baby momma. And that’s why I was here, amongst celebrities who’d spent thousands of dollars to be close to the man I’d spent an hour arguing with about being in this very spot.

  We compromised, and I got what I wanted, naturally.

  It was kind of surreal, being part of this, seeing some of the most famous people in the world come to watch Unquiet Mind. Come to watch my best friend since elementary school sing songs she’d written.

  To drool over that seventeen-year-old boy with a cheeky smile who made the melodies.

  The scream when the band appeared vibrated my entire body as thousands of people went wild. And they looked the part, up on stage, all heartbreakingly beautiful. Lexie wearing a bell-sleeved mini dress and lace-up boots, flowers tangling in her blonde curls. The rest of the boys were all in black, covered in silver and tattoos.

  But Wyatt was the only one I looked at, his bass slung over his shoulder, sauntering onto the stage like he owned it. Like he owned the world.

  And he did.

  He owned the world that somehow owned him too. But then his eyes went straight to me, bypassing the celebrities screaming, the pulsating mass of the crowd. He focused on me the entire walk on the stage, his stare so intense, so intimate, it wasn’t meant to be witnessed by thousands of people. But it was to make a point. He had the world, but he wanted me. It clicked with a mind shattering certainty amongst the screams of the anonymous crowd, all of whom now knew my name.

  “Hello, New York,” Lexie murmured into the mic, her voice throaty and sultry.

  No wonder she had people crazy over her. She was a fucking goddess on stage. She almost made me want to swing that way. Her eyes flickered to the corner of the stage, where I knew Killian was standing, watching. Where he’d always be. Then, strangely, her eyes moved to me.

  “We’re opening with a new song,” she continued over the roar of the crowd. “This one’s called Mistake’s Melody. I hope you like it.”

  Wyatt began strumming, eyes never leaving me.

  The notes drowned out everything happening around me. Because it was the song. That song.

  Ours.

  The one with all our naked pain and truth. Playing for thousands of people. Playing it for me.

  I didn’t even hear the words. Lexie’s voice melded into a beautiful but incomprehensible mesh with the notes of the melody.

  The melody that hit me square in the fucking chest.

  I thought I’d hated mosh pits for how suffocating they were. But I longed for it now. To be crushed by bodies, shoved, overheating, dirty. Because at least that was real. And least that was where I fit. I couldn’t be surrounded by fucking Oscar-winning actresses and reality stars while my fucking baby daddy played a melody he wrote for me like some cheesy holiday movie.

  I wasn’t the one people wrote songs for.

  I couldn’t be.

  But I was.

  For now, at least.

  * * *

  One Week Later

  “Did we find out who leaked the story?” I demanded.

  Wyatt was making me dinner at the beach house. It was somewhat of a nightly ritual now. Since I’d gotten back from New York—since he’d played that fucking song—something had slotted into place between us. I stopped fighting us as hard as I had.

  It didn’t mean I stopped fighting with Wyatt.

  We were still us, after all.

  And right now, we were fighting about the story that had yet to lose its novelty. I had cameras following me everywhere, and I could no longer make it into the office without an escort. Every headline had a new photo of Wyatt and I entering the grocery store, restaurants, the studio.

  There were numerous photos of Wyatt losing it at photographers who’d gotten too close. He hadn’t punched one yet, but it was only a matter of time.

  His eyes went hard, as he lowered the gas and turned to give me his full attention. “Does it matter who leaked it? It was bound to get out somehow, with all
the paps following me around every day once the baby is born, they’ll see me with it every day.”

  “You’re gonna be too busy to be with the new album and your life to see the baby every day,” I corrected.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Fuck that. I’m not gonna be too busy for my kid. Or you, for that matter. I’m gonna be there every day. Making this family is my top priority. Fuck the other shit.”

  I tried to breathe around the huge hole he’d just punched in my stomach. “Well, I still care who leaked the story,” I said, deciding to move back to safer topics. Like how the entire world knew I was knocked up.” I chewed on my lip. “I bet it was my fucking mother. I knew that bitch wouldn’t back down so easily from such a prime opportunity for making dirty cash and ruining my life.”

  “It wasn’t your mother,” he said, voice hard.

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  “Oh my god, did you have her killed?” I demanded, only half kidding. The fun-loving Wyatt I’d known as a teenager was still half there, but the more pregnant I got, the more I got to know the darker, more twisted and more dangerous side of his personality. It was ugly, I loved it. “It’s really rude if you did, and if you didn’t tell me,” I continued, still half kidding. Ugly, dark, and twisty was all I really was underneath winged liner and red lipstick. I had no more attachments to my mother, and I would’ve regarded her more warmly in death than in anything else.

  “I didn’t have her killed,” he said.

  “Well, how do you know that she didn’t sell the story then?” I demanded.

  “Because I made sure she couldn’t.”

  “You cut out her tongue? Lopped off all her fingers?”

  “Jesus, Emma,” Wyatt muttered. “Pregnancy’s making you bloodthirsty.”

  I raised my brow. “I’ve always been bloodthirsty. Pregnancy is making me too tired to hide it.”

  He grinned wickedly and my panties were instantly wet. “I’m glad you’re not hiding it,” he murmured roughly.