CHAPTER 23

 

 

London

 

 

 

All around me it’s dark and quiet. I like it, I think, but…something about it feels wrong, too.

What?

I think, wrinkle my brow, and then I know. Yes! It’s a bloody damned headache that’s pulsing through me. I take a breath, praying for it to go away, but that’s all I can do. Anything else seems beyond me.

Nothing changes.

I stay quiet for a moment, eventually deciding that I must be lying down. That’s probably good, under the circumstances. I notice the bed isn’t moving, so I guess I’m not on the tour bus. I shift a little, to the left and then to the right. Knox isn’t next to me, and a thread of panic bubbles up in me.

Am I in a hotel? If I am, where’s he? He’s back from L.A. I’m sure of that.

My thoughts race, stumbling through the questions and making my head hurt worse. I know better, try to calm my breathing, but my mind doesn’t cooperate so easily. It wants answers.

What do I know for sure?

I’m touring with Wycked Obsession. Doing PR. Knox and I are…something to each other. We have to talk about that. We’re in…Spokane—no, Boise! And…what?

There’s nothing more.

I pull in a long breath. My chest, my stomach hurt, but the pain is dulled, like it’s old or medicated. I breathe again, same result, and so I force my eyes open a bit to look around.

Yes, I was right. I’m in a bed. But…it has rails on it. I’m covered by a thin sheet and blanket, my hands resting at my sides. A needle—an IV?—sticks in the back of one hand with tubing taped down at my wrist. I follow the tube with my eyes, tracking to where it leads to a bag hanging on a tall, metallic stand.

Hospital. I know in a moment that’s where I am but…what the bloody hell?

I swallow and look around with a little more interest, and that’s when I see him. Knox is slumped in a chair in the corner of the room, eyes closed. Asleep.

“Knox?” My voice is rusty-sounding and hoarse, so I try again. “Knox?”

His eyes pop open and he stumbles to his feet. “English!”

He blinks and stares at me. He looks…bad. Worn. He’s got a black eye, his lip is cut and swollen, and his cheek and chin are bruised. His T-shirt is stained with…is that blood?

What the hell?

“Jesus, luv,” I gasp, reaching my free hand toward him and ignoring the renewed throbbing in my head. “What happened to you?”

“I…” He takes a step toward the door and shakes his head. “Gotta get the doctor.”

I drop my hand as he strides from the room like a man on a mission. I suppose he is. That’s how he always is when he wants to get things done.

When he returns, he’s accompanied by a man in a white coat.

“Ms. Kennedy.” The man smiles. “I’m Doctor Brown.”

I don’t smile back. “What happened?” I ask instead.

The doctor glances toward Knox, who shakes his head slightly.

“What?” I ask.

“You don’t remember?” asks the doctor.

I shake my head.

“You were involved in an…altercation.” He angles his head sharply in Knox’s direction, as though giving him a direct order. “Your boyfriend can explain that part of things in a minute. I’m here to tell you that you’ve had a fairly serious concussion. You’ll be fine if you take it easy for a few days. You may have headaches for a while, but I’ll give you something for that.”

Boyfriend. My mind snags on the word. We haven’t used that term—or anything—to describe what we are to each other. Should I correct the doctor? I don’t want to embarrass any of us. Will he make Knox leave and if he thinks we aren’t seriously…together?

“All right.” I keep it simple. Isn’t it important to pay more attention to the doctor and his words than look at Knox’s somehow odd and awful expression?

“You have a couple of bruised ribs, but there’s not much we can do about that. Again, pain meds will help, manage your breathing, and ice the area to help with pain and swelling. If you take it easy for a few days, you’ll feel much better.”

“Okay,” I agree when Dr. Brown seems to expect some response from me.

“Lastly, I’m afraid that the blow to your midsection was severe enough to terminate your pregnancy. I’m sorry.”

Terminate your pregnancy.

If I had any color in my face before the words, I know it’s gone now. My mouth hangs slack and my gaze pins itself to Knox’s face. He stares back with absolutely no expression at all. It tears at my soul badly enough that I have to look away, and I glance back toward the doctor.

Seconds later my own emotion hits me.

The blow to your midsection was severe enough to terminate your pregnancy.

Terminate your pregnancy.

No more peanut to grow into a healthy baby boy or girl? Knox’s baby.

Our baby.

“I…” My voice dies, broken, a cross between a struggle for breath and a sob. “I lost the baby?” It’s only a whisper.

“I’m afraid so.” The doctor glances between us, pats my hand, and smiles in what I suppose is meant to be an encouraging way. “But there’s no permanent damage. You and your boyfriend can try again. Just give your body a few months to recover from all this. Check with your regular gynecologist. I’m sure things will be fine.”

I swallow. Emotion radiates from Knox, but I can’t look at him again right now. Worse, I can’t think of anything to say. Nothing. Tears collect under my eyelids and I blink them away. They keep coming.

“All right,” Dr. Brown says briskly as though trying to end the moment. He pats me on the shoulder. “We’re going to keep you another night or two for observation. We don’t take that concussion lightly. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

The room is unnaturally quiet after the doctor leaves, and yet it’s filled to bursting with Knox’s presence. He’s always a force to be reckoned with, but now it’s somehow more. So much more. I stare at my hands, the IV, the thin tan blanket covering me. Anywhere to keep me from looking at him.

“You were six or seven weeks along,” he says finally. “Did you know?”

I don’t have a choice. I have to look at him.

“Yes.”

“When?” He sounds a little hoarse, and he won’t meet my eyes.

“From almost the beginning,” I admit softly. I kept the truth from him; I can’t lie now.

His gaze slams into mine, his eyes stormy and gray without a hint of green. “How?” he demands.

I take a breath, as deep as I can manage, and close my eyes. To soothe my headache? Maybe, but mostly to block the sight of the growing pain and disbelief in Knox’s expression.

“When I got tested. I was late—for the shot, I mean. I got my dates mixed up somehow, and Dr. Jackson wouldn’t give me the shot without a pregnancy test. It came back…positive.”

His eyes narrow as I explain, and he shakes his head with the words. His stubble has grown to almost a beard, but he still looks almost gaunt. His dark hair shifts over his shoulders with his movement, and I want badly to hold him, to push his hair back from his face, to soothe him into a softer expression, and kiss his pain away.

“Fuck,” he mutters. Then louder. “Fuck!” He pins me with a dark, fiery gaze. “Goddamn it, London.”

My name sounds so foreign on his lips. He calls me English and baby. I know then that they wouldn’t have kept that kind of secret from him. London…she must be the one who can’t be trusted.

“I’m sorry.” I have nothing else.

“That was like a week after we fucked the first time.”

I nod. “Eight days. There’s a special blood test they can do that early.”

“Eight days.” He blinks. “Eight. Fucking. Days. Were you even gonna tell me?”

He sounds so hard. So cold. I understand, but my stomach plummets all the same. If I know anything about Knox, it’s that he doesn’t trust easily…and he forgives even less.

“Yes.” My voice is thick with tears. “I was. I promise. I wanted to, so many times, but…”

The words die away when he holds up his hand. “No more.” He’s looking anywhere but at me again. “Not now. I can’t do this right now.”

“But, Knox, I want to tell you. Everything. I need to tell you everything.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before.”

“I did think about it. I just…” How can I explain that I was trying to protect him, that I was afraid and confused and—

“Then you should have thought about it a little harder. Maybe if you’d told me, I could have protected you from shit like what happened today. Maybe if you’d told me, our baby would still be alive inside you.”

I jerk back, the pounding in my head renewed suddenly, and the sharp sound of all my breath leaving my body fills the air.

Maybe if you’d told me, our baby would still be alive inside you.

God, does he mean that? And does it matter? Probably not, because it’s true.

 



 

I nap throughout most of the day, except when the nurses wake me up every couple of hours. They take my temp, my blood pressure, check the bandage on the back of my head. I try to contain the hope, but it’s no use. It comes over me before I even open my eyes…and discover I’m always alone.

Knox isn’t here. Is he coming back? Or did I ruin everything with my lie?

You didn’t lie. I try to defend myself. You just didn’t tell him everything you should have.

But that’s not the truth, and I can’t pretend. Maybe I didn’t lie to his face, but it was still a lie. A lie of omission, maybe, but it still makes me as guilty as if I’d actually done the deed.

Maybe if you’d told me, I could have protected you from shit like what happened today. Maybe if you’d told me, our baby would still be alive inside you.

Knox’s words stay with me, pound through me, steal my breath, bring tears to my eyes, and destroy me with their point-blank accuracy. I have no good argument against them, and I can’t blame him for feeling that way. There’s more than a good chance that things would have turned out differently—so very differently—if I’d been honest with him. The way it is now…

Well, the way it is, the only thing I’m sure of at this moment is that I’m in love with Knox Gallagher, and I just lost his baby.

I’m in love with Knox.

I lost his baby.

Which tears at me the most? The knowledge that my selfishness destroyed the innocent life that Knox and I created in our white-hot heat? Or that there’s no way Knox will want my love after this, and I’ve just destroyed any chance at true happiness I ever had?

I swallow a sob and blink away the tears that just won’t cooperate. I can’t seem to do anything else. Just sit here and…grieve.

Will I ever get the chance to tell Knox all the things I want to say? Not that I love him—I can’t burden him with that—but explain why I didn’t tell him about the baby? My reasons may look shitty now, when it’s too late, but can I make him see that I didn’t do it to hurt him?

I only wanted to protect him.

The night passes in much the same way, with a constant disruption by the nurses. The only good thing about this concussion is that it makes me groggy enough to fall back asleep after each time I’m awoken. I like the escape of sleep, I realize around the middle of the night. It frees me from reality, and that’s pretty bloody welcome right now.

In fact, it strikes me after the second or third time, I’ll even put up with the odd, disjointed dreams that I can’t quite remember. They make some kind of terrible sense in my dream world, but they drift away when I wake up, leaving me only confused and somehow at odds with everything around me. It’s like reading a road sign through the dense British fog.

I probably don’t deserve the easiness of either, but I’m grateful for it, all the same.

By late morning, I’ve been awake for a couple of hours, and the grogginess seems to have disappeared for the most part. I keep hoping that Dr. Brown will come in to release me, but I haven’t seen him since last night.

Are you sure you want to be released? I can’t help but ask myself the question. Where will I go? Am I still a part of the band’s entourage? And where’s my phone? Without it, I can’t call Knox or Baz or anyone else.

Who am I kidding? I don’t have the courage to call Knox, anyway.

Do I?

I close my eyes and rest my head against the pillow. How could I ever have let things get so bloody out of control? For the first time in…maybe ever, I’m starting to feel like I was part of a family. The Wycked Obsession family. They accept me, I contribute to the well-being of the whole, and I have a sexy, complicated man who makes me feel special and desired.

Had, I remind myself, even as I accept the truth. All of it.

Knox is the man I love, more than anyone else ever. Colin’s like a cardboard stick figure in comparison.

And what did I do?

I acted like a goddamn coward and fucked it up. Royally. As bad as anyone ever fucked up any relationship—or wanna-be relationship—in the history of relationships.

“Hey, London.”

The voice interrupts my maudlin thoughts—thank God—and I discover Rye coming into the room.

“Rye,” I breathe with more relief than I can disguise. “Hi.”

His smile is crooked and sad at the same time. “How’re you feeling?”

I take a breath and close my eyes in a slow blink. I will not cry!

I lift one shoulder. “I’ve been better.”

He nods as he approaches the bed, takes my hand in his, and he squeezes. “I’m sorry about the baby.”

My eyes pop wide. “You…know?”

“We all know.”

I close my eyes for real this time. “You must all hate me.”

He squeezes my hand again before he lets go and drags a chair next to the bed. “No, sweet thing. Nobody hates you.”

I open my eyes. Rye, another rock god, looks at me with kind, caring eyes. They’re dark, like his hair, and he’s big and muscular like Knox. He doesn’t affect me in the same way, but something about him makes me feel…cared for.

“Knox does,” I finally say sadly. “Knox hates me.”

Rye shakes his head, his hair shifting over his shoulders like Knox’s does, and a wave of longing pours through me. God, what’s happening to me? My feelings are so confused right now! Even more than before.

“He might be kinda upset,” Rye admits, “but he doesn’t hate you.”

“Are you sure about that?” My voice cracks on the question, and I need a minute before I can continue. “He hasn’t been back to see me since I first woke up.”

Rye nods, but his voice is careful. “Yeah, well…that’s not entirely Knox’s fault.”

“What do you mean?” I’m almost disinterested in the answer.

“Shit’s been happening.”

“What kind of shit?”

Rye leans back in the plastic chair, crosses one ankle over the opposite knee, and slants me a serious gaze. “I dunno, honey. Not sure you’re up to hearing about it.”

I half-snort/half-laugh, neither all that convincing. “What are you talking about? I’ve been stuck in this bed for close to twenty-four hours now. Slept most of that time. I’d say I’m pretty rested.”

“What about emotionally?”

I shake my head. “I’m fucked,” I admit in the band’s vernacular. “But that isn’t going to change any time soon. What’s going on?”

“You name it. Knox and Baz have their hands full.”

“And not with me, you mean?”

“You remember what happened? How you ended up here?”

I blink and think for a second, and then shake my head. “Uh…well…no. Not really. I haven’t even thought about it at all until you mentioned it.”

It’s true, and how screwed up is that? I just accepted where I was, never wondering why. It was enough knowing I miscarried. Admitting how much I love Knox. What else could matter?

Maybe if you’d told me, I could have protected you from shit like what happened today. Maybe if you’d told me, our baby would fucking still be alive inside you.

“The concussion—” nods Rye, as though it makes sense, and I’m glad he can’t hear my thoughts “—screws up your memory. Your thinking.”

“Okay, so what happened?” Suddenly it matters. “How’d I end up here?”

“You got in the middle of a fight between Knox and his old man.”

“The sperm donor?” Knox’s description of his father is out before I can think about it.

Rye’s lips twist, like he might have smiled, but he remains serious. “Yeah. You were trying to play peacemaker, and the old man took it out on you. Knox didn’t have a chance to stop it, and when Mr. Gallagher kicked you…”

“I lost the baby.”

Rye nods. “I’m sorry,” he says, not for the first time. “You went down, hit your head on the ground, and, well, shit snowballed from there.”

I don’t realize my hands are fists until my knuckles start to ache. I release them, flex my fingers, and try to remember the details of what happened. The sperm donor. A fight. Being hit. Falling…

There’s nothing. I remember Knox showering that morning, going into the Boise venue while I spent a little more time in bed. I didn’t know if it was morning sickness or what, but I was feeling kind of lousy for a few days. If I stayed in bed till late morning, I’d be okay.

Had it worked yesterday? I didn’t know.

Then there’s…no more until I woke up here.

“The cops arrested Mr. Gallagher,” Rye adds after a minute. “The EMTs brought you here, and Knox wouldn’t leave your side until you woke up.”

I don’t remember any of that. “I haven’t seen him since then.”

Rye leans forward. “He isn’t just ignoring you, sweet thing. He was stuck at the police station. Filed charges. Bunch of label and attorney shit to go along with it. And then—”

The words end abruptly, and Rye’s expression hardens with an underlying sadness that doesn’t fit at all.

“What?” I demand.

He doesn’t answer.

“What happened, Rye?”

“Uhm…shit. It’s Zayne.”

I shoot straight up in bed, sending a new throbbing through my head. I don’t give a damn. Zayne?

“What? Wait! What happened to Zayne?”

Rye’s gaze tracks the perimeter of the room, like he can’t look at me. Finally, though, he doesn’t have a choice.

“We cancelled our part of the show last night. No choice,” he adds when I open my mouth to protest. “Too much shit going on. It worked okay. Edge extended their set, and everybody was real supportive. But…”

“What?” My heart’s pounding, my voice hoarse and afraid. Zayne’s a nice guy, but shit gets to him. It makes him vulnerable, and he doesn’t handle it well. We all know it. “But what?”

“He took everything…pretty bad. He…shit, he got himself some dope, London. Bad shit, or else he just didn’t fucking know when to stop.”

“Oh, God.” I can’t find any other words.

“He did it again. OD’d. Noah got to him, had to call the ambulance this time. He’s gonna survive, but we can’t let him finish the tour like this. Label’s having a shit fit, so Baz and Knox are doing damage control.”

“Zayne.” My heart aches for him. We aren’t close, but he’s always been sweet to me. I’ve seen him with Bree, and I see how deeply he feels for those he loves. Even Knox.

“Rye?” I swallow but force myself to say the words that want to choke me. “This is my fault, isn’t it? I know Zayne takes things really personally, and knowing what I did to Knox—”

“No!” Rye’s out of his chair and next to the bed faster than I can blink. He grabs my hand with his. “Stop it, sweet thing. This ain’t your fault. It’s Zayne’s. His way of…coping when things go to shit. It’s just a goddamned excuse.”

I blink away the tears stinging behind my eyelids. God, every one of these guys—and Bree—are becoming like the family I never had. And family lets you off the hook when you don’t deserve it.

I breathe, but not too deeply. Bruised ribs teach you quick just how far to go.

“Thing went to shit pretty good because of me.”

“Nope.” Rye shake his head, squeezes my hand, pulls free. “Lots of other blame to go around. Mostly Zayne’s.”

He’s got a stubborn look that I haven’t seen often, but I give into it all the same. I just don’t have the strength to fight one more stubborn man.

“What happens now?” I ask finally.

“He’s going into rehab. Knox found him a place in Austin. Noah’s taking him.”

Bollocks. This is serious!

“And the band?”

Rye smiles, but there’s a forced cheerfulness about it. “We’re skipping the Boise shows, going on to Salt Lake as soon as we get shit wrapped up here and you get sprung from this joint.” He waves his hand toward the door.

“You want me to go with you?”

The question is out before I realize how pitiful it sounds. There are so many other things I want to ask, like who’s going to play the bass with Zayne in rehab, and is there a chance that Mr. Gallagher can get out of jail on bond? But the one I asked—You want me to go with you?—is the only one that matters right now.

“Shit, sweet thing! Course we do! You’re part of the group now.”

I can’t help myself. “You think Knox feels that way, too?”

Rye smiles. A real one this time. “I know so, honey. Just give him some time. He’ll come around.”