CHAPTER 17

 

 

London

 

 

 

An odd, musical tone wakes me. It takes a few seconds, maybe half a minute, to figure out where I am and what the sound might be.

Reality sinks in slowly. I’m on the tour bus. Knox is sprawled over me, one leg slung across mine and an arm curled around my waist. His skin is hot against mine, the hair on his legs rough. We spent the night together, we’re in my bunk and…the noise…

My phone. My cell phone is ringing. It’s the opening of Wycked Obsession’s Tonight, a ringtone Rye sent me.

I fumble around, searching for my phone, and wake Knox in the process.

“Wha…” he grumbles.

“My phone,” I breathe, still searching.

“Who the fuck is calling now?”

I shake my head. “We don’t even know what time it is.”

“I don’t give a damn. It’s still too early to talk.”

He pushes up, flicks on the little light, and we both squint as he searches the space. His cheeks are rough with a couple of days’ beard, and his eyes are an interesting dark green. I haven’t seen that look before. Is it normal for the morning? Because of the shadows? The remnants of the best sex ever last night?

“Here.” Knox reaches above my head into a little cubbyhole storage. I remember leaving it there now, but wish to bloody hell I’d lost it for good.

He hands me the phone, and I check the screen. Baz. I hand it back to him.

“It’s Baz. He’s probably looking for you more than me.”

Knox shrugs and connects the call. “What?”

Most of me zones out then, because…well, Knox. We’re naked. Pressed together in the most delightfully intimate way. His chest smashes my boobs, while his dick is glorious with its morning wood presses against my mound. It brings back memories of the things he did to me last night—his mouth, his hands, his cock—and I want them again. Now. For as long and as loud as we were last night.

I smooth one hand over his ass, squeeze, and his hips flex against mine. Automatically? I glance up and see, no…his eyes are fixed on me with a promise of what’s to come. Is he even listening to Baz?

“Repeat that.”

No. He’s concentrating on me.

Oh, God.

The rest of my reality crashes back with all the finesse of a bomb. What am I going to do?

How do I tell him I’m pregnant? Pregnant? I can’t tell him until I have some semblance of control, or even acceptance, over the knowledge. I have none of that. The least provocation, and my thoughts, my emotions, surge through me in chaos, like that tiny metal ball in the old-fashioned pinball machine my father has in the game room. Bouncing everywhere, landing nowhere.

The questions swing back and forth. How can I tell him? How can I not tell him? Honesty is important to Knox, and keeping this kind of secret from him…how long can I do it?

I can’t! I don’t want to keep this secret. But how do I tell him? He trusted me, and it was all a lie!

And then, last night? You think I was gonna keep you a secret? he asked. Like my father does, even as an open secret, but I doubt Knox thought about it that way. He merely proved his intentions, revealing our relationship. Plainly.

And, yeah, maybe it is temporary. But he didn’t hide it.

How can I do anything less?

But how can I tell him?

“Motherfucker!”

Knox’s outburst puts a quick halt to my rambling thoughts. I gaze up at him, at his dark, stormy eyes, narrow and fierce. His forehead is wrinkled.

“Knox.” I whisper his name, but he doesn’t respond.

“Send me everything. Send it to London, too.”

He ends the call, tosses my phone back into the cubbyhole, and his chest heaves as he breathes long and heavy. “Motherfucker,” he mutters again, under his breath this time.

“Knox?” I try again.

He blinks without answering, crawls over me, and out of the bunk. He’s standing in the passageway naked, but he doesn’t seem to care. He stands there for a minute, two, his dick reduced to a more normal size right before my face. He fumbles in the bunk above mine, and then he pulls on a pair of ragged sweatpants.

“Noah?” he shouts and stalks away, toward the front of the bus. “Front and center!”

Okay, it’s something bad. Maybe not about Bree or their father, but it’s something serious. Whatever it is, I’m not letting Knox face it on his own.

I dig around in the covers until I find a shirt. Knox’s. I don’t care, pull it over my head. A little more searching and I come up with yesterday’s panties. They’ll work for the moment, and I tug them on, too. I’m out of the bunk at the same time the others come straggling out of theirs. Ajia and Bree, he in boxers and she looking much like me, are the last to join us.

“Knox.”

He’s pacing around the front of the bus, and I slip up next to him. We’re stopped and parked in a venue parking lot. We must be in Sacramento, but I only notice with half my attention. The rest is strictly on Knox.

“What’s wrong, luv?” I whisper and try to soothe him with my hand on his back. His chest heaves, but he doesn’t pull away.

“What the fuck, Gallagher?” demands Noah from behind us.

I look at the others. The guys are all in all boxers like Ajia, with the exception of Knox, and they were clearly asleep. Bree and Ajia have that just-fucked look about them, and I wonder suddenly if that’s how Knox and I look. I let the thought go as quickly as I can, because the tension radiating from Knox is enough to knock any one of us over.

“We didn’t have enough shit to deal with? Now you have to do this?”

“What are you talking about?”

Knox may be too pissed to see Noah’s confusion, but I read it clearly. He’s a big guy, all muscular and tattooed and long-haired, but he’s a good-natured pussycat, too. He loves Bree, the band, and his mates, not necessarily in that order, and he’s not screwing around.

“What’s going on, Knox?” I ask softly. “What did Baz say?”

“Baz?” repeats Noah with a frown.

Knox drops to the nearby sofa and grabs the back of his neck, squeezing until his knuckles are white. “Some chick,” he grunts and falls against the back of the couch. “She’s accusing you of giving her crabs.”

“What the fuck?” Noah’s shout rivals Knox at his best.

I sink down next to Knox. “Crabs?”

He shakes his head and looks at Noah. “Some STD. I don’t know. Baz is sending us the shit. She went to some gossip rag, and it’s all over TV and the internet. She fucked Noah Dexter with some other chick, and they both came away with some nasty disease.”

Noah hasn’t moved. He looks like he’s made of stone, in fact, with no expression at all. Not even when Bree scoots up next to him, wraps an arm around his waist, and lays her head on his chest.

“Noah, sweetie,” she whispers and reaches to tug his head around until their eyes meet. “What can we do?”

An odd, ragged sound rumbles from his chest, and then Noah’s arms are around Bree. Ajia steps up next to them, trapping Bree between the two men, and laying a strong hand of support on Noah’s shoulder.

They stand there for a long time. Silent time. It stretches out long enough that both Rye and Zayne squeeze past with a shoulder bump for Noah. Guy encouragement. I recognize it, appreciate it, might even congratulate it if I wasn’t so gobsmacked.

This is a family in every way, and some deep, lonely part of me longs to be included in it.

We all sit and wait. For what? Instinct tells me that Noah needs time. The chance to process this information. To…feel.

Maybe we all do.

I understand how it feels, struggle with my own version of needing to think—but I’m not going there now. I can’t.

This is about a band crisis. Not a surprise pregnancy that I could have prevented!

A couple of minutes, maybe even five, and Noah finally pulls away from Bree and Ajia. He takes a step forward, just one, and then shakes his head.

“I didn’t give anybody shit. I don’t have an STD. Never have. I wear a condom. Every. Fucking. Time. Always have.”

“Okay,” I agree. Instinct, women’s intuition, whatever it is, tells me to take the lead in this. I’m not as emotionally attached as the rest of the band, and—Jesus! I need something else to focus on at the moment.

“We’ll find a doctor in Sacramento and get you tested.” I start planning. “We’ll get it done ASAP, the test results expedited. We’ll release the results to the media immediately.”

“And in the meantime?” Knox demands.

“We issue a denial. A strong denial. I’ll put something on social media and arrange for Noah to give a statement, like Ajia did. Better, this is something we can follow up on, and quickly. No wanker hiding away to leave us boxing at shadows. This gives us a target. Some groupie who came forward for a quick buck or notoriety or whatever. Doesn’t matter.” I shoot a hard glance at the others. “We strike back. And hard.”

“What do you mean hard?” asks Noah.

I shake my head. “I have to talk to Baz first. And maybe the label. But if they agree, we threaten to sue for defamation of character.”

It’s Zayne who laughs. His eyes look clearer than in L.A., and I hope that’s good news. Permanent news.

“Fuck, you think that’ll get anywhere?” he demands. “We’re all known as fucking manwhores. Who’s gonna give a shit if some chick says she fucked Noah and got crabs?”

I toss off a half-serious, half amused expression. “Sleeping with you guys is one thing, irresponsible as it might be. But doing it without condoms and a disease…that’s a whole different level of carelessness. If Noah’s as careful as he says, we might have a case. But…” I hesitate. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. The lawyers might shy away, Baz and the label might say no. They might think that a clean health report is vindication enough. We’ll just have to see.”

I stand and go to Noah. “I’ll do everything I can to get control of this today.”

He flicks me a surprisingly weary gaze. I don’t know exactly what’s behind it, but I figured out pretty quickly that there’s more to every one of these guys than meets the eye.

“Thanks, London.” He wraps me in a quick but genuine hug that surprises me. He turns to stare at the line of bunks, one hand on his head, and he seems to drift a million miles away.

“Noah?” Bree slips up next to him, wraps him in a hug of her own, and smiles up at him. “How about some breakfast?”

He takes a breath, his massive chest moving with the effort. “Let me shower first, baby girl?”

“Sure.” She turns back to the rest of us. “Requests?”

We all shake our heads. It’s Ajia who says, “Noah?”

He blinks, seeming to come back to the moment. “Pancakes?”

“And bacon?” Bree asks in a teasing voice.

“Crispy,” Noah agrees.

It’s not over, things aren’t better. But Wycked Obsession is pulling together, and I’ll do everything I can to walk this new minefield of celebrity life with them.

 



 

I take my turn in the shower and dress far more casually than when we were in L.A. Jeans and a fitted T-shirt, plain cream colored and not the retro band T-shirts the guys mostly wear. Unless I’m called on to meet with someone outside of the band, I’ll fit in better if I look like everyone else.

Part of the team.

The smell of bacon greets me when I step out of the bathroom. I don’t appreciate it as much as I normally would, which makes me think. Because of the baby? I’m not that far along; it must be the size of…well, nothing. Yet. That can’t explain it.

But what about nutrition? Is bacon okay to eat? Drinking coffee? I know there are dietary restrictions, but what are they? Dr. Jackson gave me some prenatal vitamins that I’ve been taking and literature that I haven’t read yet. Guess it’s time to get serious about this stuff. I need to figure it out.

Am I keeping this baby? Not?

I have no bloody clue, can’t believe I’m asking the question. I’ll never make that kind of decision without Knox. It’s his baby, too, and he has every right to be a part of whatever happens. But…God.

Knox.

Jesus, I’ve got to tell him. But I can’t do it now. Not today. Not with this new crisis looming.

Wycked Obsession is his baby. He’s had plenty to worry about with it, and this new strike against them is bound to wear on him further. We’ve got to get this sorted and a retraction of the accusation, at the very least. Then I can tell him.

It’s better that way.

A day. Maybe two. Right? And I can use the time to get my own thoughts together about it.

But…bollocks! I hate keeping this secret. On the other hand, I can’t bring myself to add to his burden.

I tip back against the wall next to the bathroom door as the word echoes in my head. Burden.

His burden? Is that what I’ll be? What my—our—baby will be?

I have no bloody clue. We don’t know each other well enough for me to be able to answer that. So what the bloody fucking hell am I doing pregnant with this man’s baby?

Too late to ask that question, luv, my better sense reminds me. You should have thought about details like that when you were playing free and easy with your schedule. You should have known for sure when you were due for your shot.

Maybe so. I take a deep breath. I can’t deny the very irresponsible truth to the fact that I wasn’t. But it wasn’t deliberate. I thought I knew!

And how many accidental pregnancies are the result of that kind of thinking?

I bang my head back against the wall and close my eyes. What the hell am I going to do? When am I going to do it? And how?

“Hey, English.” Knox is next to me suddenly, his arm around my waist, and he drops his head for a quick kiss. “What’s wrong?”

I straighten and look at him. He’s showered and dressed, too, in a pair of tight, hip-hugging jeans and a well-washed Metallica T-shirt. It cradles his chest, his biceps, and I just want to fall into him. Take comfort from his body and pour out the whole sorry tale.

“Nothing.” I force a smile and shake my head, but I do sneak a quick hug against him, my head on his chest. “Just thinking of how best to make this rubbish go away for Noah.”

Knox drops a surprisingly tender kiss on the top of my head. Surprising, because he was so angry before. Not at me, no, but he’s a man of strong emotion. I didn’t expect softness from him so soon.

“Talk to Baz. He’s a miracle worker. If anybody can get control of this shit, it’s the two of you.”

I smile up at him. Gratified surprise warms me. “You think so?”

“I know so.” He doesn’t smile, which would probably be too much under the circumstances, but his expression seems lighter somehow. “We’re lucky to have you.”

Lucky to have you.

He says that now. But will he feel the same way when I tell him I’m carrying his baby?