Wounded But Not Scarred (New Adult Rockers 2)

by Vega, W. H.

  “Yes, so we’ve been told,” Blake says winking at me.

  “In fact, I think Tim McGraw and Faith Hill have stayed around here before.”

  I burst out laughing, giddy with excitement and disbelief. “You don’t say!”

  We come to a small gate with our house number, and I give Kai the code. He whistles as we pull up the driveway. “You two are going to have a great trip.”

  We park outside, and I get out and gawk at the house. It isn’t a large house, but every inch is tropical looking and luxurious. Kai begins to carry our bags inside and I walk slowly through the house, marveling at the exposed beams, open floor plan, and multiple lanais that open up to a panoramic beach view. Just before the beach sits an oceanfront pool.

  “Hot damn,” Blake breathes.

  “Hot damn,” I agree.

  We tip Kai and then he’s gone.

  “So,” Blake says, walking slowly around, and running his hand along the mahogany trim. “What do we do first? Unpack? Have a drink?”

  I shake my head silently.

  I walk out onto the lanai and Blake follows me curiously. I turn around to look at him and slowly peel off my dress.

  “Whoa.”

  I smirk at Blake and slip off my shoes, and then slide down my underwear and unhook my bra. Without a word, I turn my back to him, and dive into the refreshing blue waters.

  “I’m stuffed. I can’t eat another bite.” I stretch out in the chair, rubbing my belly with my hand.

  “That was the best meal I ever had,” Blake says to our private chef, Maka, who smiles and clears our plates.

  We had been on our honeymoon for nearly a week now, and for a honeymoon present, my father had given us a private chef to come cook dinner for us six nights. This was Maka’s third night, and he had just cooked us the most amazing dinner of seared tuna, poki, lau lau and sweet bread. I had to have gained five pounds from this meal alone.

  I move onto one of the lounge chairs by the pool. “If I were to fall into the pool right now, I would sink right to the bottom.”

  Blake laughs. “Well, I’d be too lazy to save you, so don’t roll off that chair.”

  I sigh with happiness as I watch the sky change from brilliant oranges and reds to soft pink and purples; the sunsets were indescribable.

  “What should we do tomorrow?” Blake asks, coming over to sit next to me.

  I chew on my bottom lip thoughtfully. “Want to try zip lining? I really, really want to try it.”

  “Hell yes!”

  I love Blake’s enthusiasm. We have spent much of the first week relaxing, besides a snorkeling trip and an afternoon of shopping followed by a local luau. This week we were being more adventurous with zip lining, biking down a volcano, and a day of exploring the island and coastline. But there was something so relaxing and pleasurable about waking up in the morning and walking right out our back door to the beach.

  Blake and I had been waking up late in the morning, and eating a light breakfast on the back lanai before spending the day back and forth between our pool and private beach. Our house was so private that we had made love on many of the lounge chairs, as well as in the pool. Sometimes we would retreat back to our bedroom in the afternoon for more lovemaking and a nap. Then we would rouse and spend more time at the pool before having Maka come over and cook for us, or go into town for dinner.

  “I could get used to this,” Blake says, as if reading my mind.

  “I was just thinking about how peaceful this is. I love our routine here.”

  “Me too.”

  At that moment Maka walks back out carrying a small plate. “Malasadas,” he says proudly, placing the plate down with a flourish.

  “Oh my goodness!” I cry, seeing the small fried doughnuts covered with sugar. “Maka, these look delicious!”

  He beams. Even though I’m stuffed to the gills, I take one of the small doughnuts and have a bite.

  “Oh my god,” I moan. The fried delicacy melts in my mouth. I hold it out to Blake for a bite, and he too makes a sound of pleasure, as he tastes it.

  “Delicious,” he raves.

  Maka bows slightly. “If that is all, then I will say ‘aloha ahiahi.’ ’’

  I’m pretty sure that means good evening.

  “Mahalo!” I call and wave as Maka leaves the lanai. I turn to Blake, “Can we bring him home with us? Seriously. I think we need a Hawaiian chef at home.”

  Blake rolls his eyes and teases me. “Wow. You’ve been famous for a few months and already you want your own personal Hawaiian chef.”

  I laugh and reach across to hold his hand.

  We each eat another doughnut and then Blake rises, pulling me with him. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk on the beach.”

  I happily follow him, fixing my gauzy maxi dress. We don’t bother putting any shoes on and we walk past our pool and directly out onto the powder white sand.

  Blake pulls me close to him once we get down to the surf.

  “Is this everything you hoped it would be?” he murmurs.

  “Everything and more.”

  “I love you, Paige.”

  “I love you, too.” I turn to face him and reach up to cradle his face. I very slowly bring his face down to me and kiss him. The kiss starts slowly, and then begins to build.

  “Oh, Paige,” he groans, pulling me tightly to him, and I feel the small shift as our kiss goes from tender to passionate. Blake’s hands slide down my dress, and squeeze at my backside, pulling me to him. I let out a little gasp and my body goes slack, allowing him to bend me to his will. Blake feels me give myself over to him and he groans again, kissing me harder and knotting his hand in my hair.

  “I want you. Now.”

  “Yes,” I gasp, “let’s get back to the house.”

  “I can’t wait. Here.”

  I feel my breath catch in my throat. Even though this is our own stretch of private beach, there are other homes that border the beach. We could easily be spotted if someone walked out on their connecting section of the beach.

  Yet, I’m aroused by Blake’s proposition, and I love his desire and need for me. It makes me feel sexy and beautiful.

  “Yes.”

  Blake makes an animalistic sound of joy, and pulls me down on all fours. The sand is soft against my palms and knees, and I moan as Blake pushes my dress up and yanks my panties down. I hear the teeth on his zipper, and then he’s inside me, filling me so completely, that I forget all about anyone who might see or hear us.

  There’s only Blake and I on the beach, our primal desire for one another so strong that we literally couldn’t take another step before giving into our needs.

  The waves crash against the shore, swallowing up my wanton moans, as the last violet rays disappear from the sky and the moon moves lazily into the horizon.

  “Holy crap!” I yell, as the helicopter dips and then straightens up.

  I look over at Blake who is laughing someone manically. “This is crazy!” he yells.

  We swoop down again and I shriek. It’s been nearly an hour, and I still haven’t gotten used to the feeling of the helicopter. We approach the volcano and I can just make out the glowing lava. The helicopter continues to lower and circle, and I’m in awe as we come closer and we can see the glowing lava fields.

  “This is amazing!” I cry. I fumble with my camera, feeling every bit of a tourist as I take pictures. We circle some more so that Blake and I can see from every angle, and then we’re moving closer to the craggy coast, and I can see the lava moving sluggishly among the rocks before pouring out into the ocean.

  “This is a great day,” our pilot says into our headphones and I grin at him.

  We had been warned that on some days the volcano is not very active, or there’s so much smoke, clouds and haze, that it’s nearly impossible to see anything.

  He narrates for a few seconds, explaining some of the history of Mt. Kilauea, and I listen with rapt attention. We dip some more, and he flies the helicopter from ever
y angle. We span back out over the ocean and black beaches and I watch the lava tubes and steam vents.

  I glance back over at Blake who is shaking his head in amazement. This has to be the most amazing, yet most frightening thing I have ever witnessed in my life.

  “I love nature!” I yell and Blake grins again before his eyes are pulled downwards once more.

  After an indefinite amount of time, the helicopter rises back into the sky, and we circle back towards one of the less active areas, and we fly low to the remaining black sand beaches. After another thirty minutes or so, we turn around and head towards a few other sights, but I know that none will be as impressive as Mt. Kilauea.

  Our tour finishes up and drops us back off at the airport. Blake and I make our way to our car, both of so much in awe that we don’t speak.

  We’re driving away before I look over at Blake.

  “That was incredible.”

  “I know. Holy shit.”

  I suddenly feel sad. “I don’t want to go home,” I pout.

  “Let’s not think about that. Come on. Let’s go find a nice little place to have dinner. I think I saw a little restaurant sitting back on the beach a few miles from here.”

  We end up finding the restaurant, and it’s one of those hidden local gems. We’re given a table by the open windows, and the sea breeze feels refreshing. Our waiter lights a small candle for us, and I order a fruity cocktail while Blake orders a beer. We decide to order a bunch of small dishes so we can try everything, and to our happy surprise, a guitar player begins to play Hawaiian music in the back of the restaurant.

  I have never been so happy in my life.

  It was hard to imagine that less than a year ago I was still living in Bristol, a shell of a person as I robotically went through every day. I had worked my few jobs – teaching guitar, being a barista and playing gigs at night, and fastened my numerous locks every time I came home.

  I was stuck in the past and living with so much fear.

  And then my father showed up and turned my entire world upside down.

  How could I be so lucky? So fortunate?

  I keep waiting for it all to be taken away, for someone to jump out and yell “Surprise! It was only tease! You don’t get to be this happy!”

  I had shared this with Blake before, shared that I didn’t feel that I deserved to be this happy, deserved to have this much. A wonderful relationship with both my parents, an amazing music career that was only just beginning, a handsome and loving husband and now a beautiful home. Who gets all of that?

  But Blake always said that if anyone deserved it, it was me. And hadn’t I been through hell? I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but didn’t I already pay my dues? I had been to Hell. I had lived there for years, a prisoner. Didn’t I earn my happiness?

  I hope so. I don’t think I could ever go back to my old life now that I knew so much joy and love.

  There had been some downs this year too. My grandmother’s death had been the most upsetting. I was still adjusting to a world without her in it. And even our trials with Savannah had toughened me up further, shown me just how much I loved Blake and how unwilling I was for anyone to come between us.

  “Whatcha thinking about?” Blake asks, looking intently at me, his green eyes brilliant in the candlelight.

  “Just how much my life has changed in a year,” I say softly.

  “My life too,” Blake agrees.

  I sometimes forget how much his life has changed too. A year ago he was engaged to Savannah, just on the brink of his own successful career. I still feel somewhat guilty about his relationship with Savannah ending, but he has assured me it would never work out, and there’s no denying that Blake and I are meant to be together.

  We finish our meal, which to no surprise is delicious, and we get back in our rented car to drive home to our villa. We only have a few short days left in Hawaii, but I’m excited to return to our new house. We had spent so much time before the wedding rushing to get the house prepared, and now I was looking forward to relaxing at home and nesting.

  Blake pushes back the moon roof and I look up at the twinkling stars. To my right lies the Pacific, the water glimmering under the moon and to my left sits my true love.

  I don’t think life gets any better than this.

  Three Weeks Later

  Paige

  “Damn it!” I yell, jamming my finger against the cabinet.

  “What is it?” Blake calls from the other room.

  “Nothing,” I complain, “I just jammed my finger.” I unwrap the granola bar and walk over to Blake. “I’m just so hungry,” I grumble.

  Blake raises his eyebrows. “We just had a huge breakfast.”

  “I know.” I sigh and plop down next to him. “What are you doing?”

  “I was just looking over some of the album sales that Jackson sent over. Rust is doing really well.” He looks over at me and gives me his sexy grin. “Of course not as well as your music, but we’re still doing well.”

  I playfully shove him. “What’s mine is ours.”

  He laughs. “Gotta love marriage.”

  I get up and wander upstairs, passing a handmade glass turtle that we had picked up in Hawaii. We had been back for a little over two weeks and we were finally adjusting to our house in Belle Meade. Yesterday I had finally finished going through all of our wedding presents and putting them all away. Our friends and families had been more than generous, and I had been touched by their thoughtful gifts.

  Blake and I were taking the rest of the spring and summer off, at least for the most part. We still had a few appearances, and a couple of shows booked, but after our two grueling tours and our CD, we had earned some time. We were planning on getting back into the studio at the end of the summer to start working on some music for our next CDs. The label wanted to release something in the spring of next year, hoping to follow up on the success of our current albums.

  We still hoped to cut our own CD one day, but for now we were going to stick to our own projects.

  Once in our bedroom, I wander into our bathroom for some lip balm. My stomach grumbles again and I don’t understand why I am still hungry. I go digging through my makeup, and I find a stray tampon.

  “This doesn’t belong in there,” I say to myself, plucking it out and opening the cabinet under the sink so I can stow it in the proper place. I shove the tampon into an open box. Two small blue boxes behind it catch my eye. I roll my eyes thinking of Jami who had brought over the pregnancy tests, along with some other so-called “necessities” that she said every girl needed in their bathroom cabinets just in case.

  I look at the tampons again and then back to the pregnancy tests.

  “Wait a sec.”

  I try to count back in my head, recalling when my last period had been. It had been before the wedding. But we had been back from our honeymoon for more than two weeks, and we had been away for two weeks. That was at least four weeks.

  I feel my face pale as I try to think back how many days before the wedding I had gotten. It had been at least a week. I get major bloating when I have my period, and I know I was not dealing with that directly before we got married.

  “No,” I say, knowing that it can’t be possible. I wasn’t great about taking the pill while we were on our honeymoon, but whenever I forgot, I just made up for it and took two at once. We had been on such a different schedule, that it had been hard to remember to take it every night.

  I fish in the cabinet for one of the pregnancy tests and pull it out to study it.

  “I can’t be.”

  Screw it. I rip open the box. I need to settle this once and for all. Maybe my period is just messed up because I didn’t take my pills on time. I’m sure this kind of thing happens all the time. It had been less than a year since I had been on the pill, so I’m sure there was a lot about taking it that I didn’t know.

  I pull out the tiny white stick and look at the back of the box.

  Seems easy enough
. All I do is pee on the stick and then wait two minutes. It will either say “pregnant” or “not pregnant.” I’m suddenly grateful Jami bought me these easy-to-read tests.

  I pop the cap off, situate myself on the toilet and do my business. I stick the cap back on, and lay the stick on my sink.

  I walk out of the bathroom and pace in my bedroom, too pent up to sit still. I mean, this really can’t be, it’s more just a precautionary thing. Just checking.

  Even though Blake and I are married now, we were going to wait a year or two before having kids. We had briefly mentioned getting our next albums started. There was no rush really. We weren’t even thirty yet.

  I think two minutes have passed and I hurry back into the bathroom. It’s definitely going to say “Not pregnant” but I just need to be sure.

  I look at the tiny stick.

  “This has to be wrong,” I gasp. Nowhere is the word “not.” Only the word “pregnant.”

  I look at it again.

  How is that tiny, three letter word not showing up?

  Where the hell is “not?”

  I rip open the second box; repeat the procedure, thinking maybe I had a broken test before. But no, the second one also clearly states that I am in fact, pregnant.

  “Blake?” I call shakily. “I need you up here.”

  A moment later I hear him trotting up the steps.

  He takes one look at my face. “What’s wrong?”

  I feel my eyes well up with tears, and I can’t speak.

  I hold out the two sticks and with a look of surprise he takes them from me.

  He studies them.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, sinking to the floor. I feel like I’ve just ruined our lives, ruined our careers.

  “Baby,” he says softly. “Why are you sorry?”

  I look up at him and he’s grinning like a fool.

  “You’re not angry?” I stutter.

  “No, of course I’m not angry! I admit, I’m surprised, and I know this isn’t what we planned, but it’s wonderful?”