CHAPTER 27

 

 

London

 

 

 

The room gets suddenly and unnaturally quiet. I look around at the others, none of whom look back. Except Knox. While most of the faces are a mix of shock, confusion, resignation, he looks…I don’t know. Overwhelmed. Angry.

And so bloody damned wounded.

How could I not have guessed how much a baby would mean to him? He spent most of his life taking care of his family, blood and band. To lose the peanut before he even knew about him or her…

But, no, I can’t go there now. It isn’t the time or place. My feelings are too close to the way Knox looks, and I have to hold it together. This isn’t about me and the baby I—we—lost. This is about Noah and his new problem.

But why the bloody hell does it have to mirror my situation so closely?

A hole settles low in my stomach, and I try to breathe around it. I haven’t really cried about the baby yet. Not the deep, soul-cleansing tears that I probably need. That doesn’t mean I’m doing it now, though, no matter how much it feels like the sperm donor just kicked me in the stomach again.

Noah doesn’t need that kind of display, Knox doesn’t need it, the band doesn’t—and I sure as hell don’t.

Not yet.

I take a deep breath, as much as my ribs allow, and drop my eyelids closed. My hands are shaking, I realize, and I clench my fingers into fists.

She’s six months pregnant, Noah said with such misery, and she says it’s mine.

Six months pregnant.

The reality of the words strike me in a new way. A woman I don’t know, along with thousands of other women I will never meet, all get to maintain their pregnancies. They didn’t get kicked in the stomach by some lunatic who also happens to be their baby daddy’s father. They’ll have their babies and—

Nope. Not going there. I can’t afford it right now.

I blink, swallow, and force myself to look at Noah. He’s a nice guy, always sweet, fun, and funny. He holds Knox—all of them, really—accountable when they screw up, and he’s not a slacker himself. He contributes to the band as much as any of them.

His biggest quirk is liking to bang more than one girl at a time. Threesomes. It’s never meant a lot to me either way, because I’m usually too busy to think about it. The guys mostly hook up with groupies after the concerts, and that’s when I’m taking pictures, posting to Twitter, making notes for blog posts. All the PR stuff that makes online fans feel like they’re there in real time.

Not sure how I feel about Noah’s sexual preferences now.

She’s six months pregnant, and she says it’s mine.

“Is it yours?” I ask, forcing the words out a dry throat. It’s not the easiest question I’ve ever asked, but it’s better than giving in to all the things crowding into my heart, swirling through my brain.

I’m really not ready for that.

“No.” Noah’s answer is low. Rough, maybe. Emphatic for sure.

“Any possibility?” asks Rye.

Noah shakes his head. “None. I always wear a condom. Always.”

“Condoms break,” says Knox, his tone brittle. He’s holding it together like me. Barely, but at least he’s doing it.

Noah nods. “Never had that happen. I’m careful.”

I swallow, sorting through my jumbled thoughts for something useful. “What do you remember about this girl? Anything that will help us deal with her?”

He blows out a shot of breath. “Fuck, London.” He looks almost embarrassed, probably more because of the timing than because of the situation itself. “I don’t remember a goddamn thing about her. Don’t even know if I fucked her for sure.”

“You don’t know…?” I can’t really think how to finish the sentence.

He shrugs. “Don’t always get their names, and their faces…fade.”

“Fuck.”

That comes from Knox, but I catch a thread of understanding that runs through his voice. He gets it; they all do. It’s that way with him, too. They’ve all fucked a never-ending line of one-night stands. How could they remember them all?

“Well, we’re keeping that a secret,” I announce primly, swallowing back a knot in my throat, and I pin a reproving gaze on each of the guys. Bree nods in agreement, and Ajia looks damned uncomfortable. I’d smile if I could. He’s running a consoling hand down her arm, like he’s trying to make up for his past bad behavior.

Bloody rock stars.

“You said she got to Baz first?” Knox says, phrasing it as a question.

Noah nods. “Yesterday.”

Dammit, why didn’t he tell me? Warn me? Prepare me?

But I know. It’s too soon after the miscarriage. The peanut—

Not now! Not here.

“What’s her name?” I ask the first question that pops into my head.

Noah shrugs. “Alice. Elise. Elaine. Something like that.”

I take another breath, this one too deep, and I gasp with the pain that shoots through my middle.

“London?” Urgency colors Bree’s voice. Knox scoots to the edge of the bed.

I shake my head. “Just the ribs,” I say a little breathlessly as a sudden wave of sadness washes over me. The reason for my sore ribs looms large in my mind, and while I pant some shallow breaths, my heart clenches in pain. The thoughts just won’t stop, no matter how hard I try.

Poor little peanut. You never got a chance—and neither did I.

Not with Knox, and not as a mother.

I’m afraid to look at him. I’m not strong enough to conceal my feelings, and I’m just not up to sharing my heartbreak, my regret…or my love for him. Especially not in front of everyone else.

I know then, in an instant, that I can’t do this anymore.

“You know what?” I push myself carefully to my feet. “Let me think about how we’re going to handle this.” I paste a smile on my face that I know is fake, but it’s all I’ve got. “I’m going to go to my room, get settled, maybe take a shower.” Why the bloody hell am I telling them all this? Who cares? “I’ll get ahold of Baz. We’ll…make a plan.”

I have to pass by Noah on my way to the door. He stops me, bends down, pins me with his always-shocking blue and now very pained gaze, takes my hand between his much larger ones. “I’m so fucking sorry, London. I know the timing is fucked, and it’s such bullshit. I’m—”

I cut him off by pressing two fingers of my free hand against his lips. “I know, sweetie.” I swallow. “Don’t worry. I’m just…tired.”

I pull away, make it to the door, relieved that I’m actually going to escape unscathed. A hand settles on my hip, and Knox whispers, “I’ll go with you, English.”

 



 

The shower relaxes me. I need it, even though I’m not quite sure whether it’s Noah’s news that has me so worked up or the fact that Knox escorted me back to the room.

Our room. I told Bree it was a bad idea to put us together, but she disagreed fiercely.

“You and Knox have something special. Give him a chance to get his shit together. It’s best this way.”

I expected him to stalk off and get his own room once he discovered we were staying together. Instead, he kept his arm around my waist as he walked me to the door, and then he followed me inside. Nerves churned in my stomach, and I tried to breathe them away.

We didn’t say much. Our luggage had been delivered, so I dug around for my shower stuff and fled into the bathroom. It was a decent, if temporary, escape.

Toweling off now, I think about what’s next. I wasn’t kidding. It might not be noon yet, but I need a nap. Or at least to lie down. Noah’s news took an emotional toll, and I just need to rest.

I slip into a tank top and sleep shorts and dry my hair quickly. I don’t style it or anything; all it needs is enough to get the dampness out of it. Physically I’m ready, but I still stand at the door, my hand on the knob.

What waits on the other side? Is Knox still in the room? I couldn’t hear anything over the shower and then the blow dryer, and now I’m torn. Do I want him there?

The truth is…yes and no. A part of me craves some romantic, even loving attention. Longs for him to put his arms around me, to hold me and say soft, sweet things in my ear. To soothe my rawness with tenderness. Most of me, though, is practical enough to know it will never happen. He’s hurt and angry, and he has every right to be.

Remember! A sensible voice inside me speaks up suddenly. Just because you finally admitted to yourself that you’re in love with him doesn’t mean anything has changed.

It’s the truth, and I know it. Why would things be different? I can’t undo what I’ve done or the way I’ve done it, and I definitely can’t change the loss I’m responsible for. If I could, I would, but—

No! Stop! I shout inside the privacy of my mind. Just stop!

Tears threaten my already fragile control, tears that are never far enough away these days. The news that Noah could be a father, that some other woman is pregnant with a baby that will be born healthy and happy, seems to have released the tight grip I’ve had on my feelings, and I don’t know what to do about it.

I’m this close to falling apart; I feel it in every part of my being. Worse, I don’t dare take the chance that I’ll lose it in front of Knox. I’ve already disappointed him in huge, unforgivable ways. I can’t ask him to share my sorrow.

He has enough to deal with.

Bollocks! Pull yourself together!

I scramble to find the British stiff-upper-lip way of looking at things, stiffening my spine and straightening my shoulders as much as I’m able. My bruised ribs make so many movements difficult, but I refuse to step out of this bathroom acting like a weak, broken mess.

Alone in the hotel room or not, I can’t fall apart. Won’t.

My mom’s advice comes back to me one more time. Fake it till you make it.

The bedroom is dark, or mostly so. The drapes are closed, and a bedside lamp is the only light. The room has one king-sized bed, the normal request for the rooms Knox and I’ve shared.

He’s there, sprawled in the middle of the bed. He’s covered from the waist down, but his chest is bare. His Wycked Obsession tattoo and the Celtic heart and dragon beckon, and I ache to snuggle up against his broad, muscular body. Rest my hand over his heart. Absorb his warmth and strength.

God. What does that mean, him being in bed? I swallow and stare.

He gives me a serious look. “C’mon, baby.” He pulls the covers back. “Let’s take a little nap.”

“A…nap?”

“You said you were tired.”

“Well, yeah.” I blink and glance around the room. Everything else looks normal, but…is it? It’s like Alice in Wonderland or something. Or maybe…I can’t remember the name, but the guy who fell asleep for like twenty years.

“I am,” I add after a minute. “But…don’t you have to audition those bass players.”

“In a couple hours. We’ve got time. Now come on.” He jerks his head to indicate the bed.

I blink. What the bloody hell? Why is Knox acting so normal? Almost…nice?

“Knox…?”

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

His mouth goes flat. “What do you mean?”

“You’re so…” What can I say without making him sound like a dick? Yeah, maybe he is a dick at times, but he has every right to be pissed off at me. I can’t defend myself against it.

“C’mon, baby.” He pats the bed.

My body starts moving, whether or not I want it to. It wants to be close to him, and so I end up crawling in bed beside him. I lie on my back, stiff and awkward, until he scoots up next to me. He pulls me close, taking care with my ribs, and tucks me tight against his side.

What the fuck, to quote just about every member of Wycked Obsession.

“Knox?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Fuck.”

He rolls away, leaving me to turn on my side until I can face him. He’s lying on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes.

“Knox?”

He moves his arm enough to peek at me through one eye. “I was a dick, okay?”

I stare at him until he finally drops his arm from his face. His gray-green gaze flickers with a couple of emotions that confuse me. Regret? Sorrow?

“I’m sorry,” he says after a minute or two of silence. “You didn’t deserve it. The way I acted. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

I rest my hand on his arm, fingers tightening on his bicep. I can’t help myself; I need to touch him. “I know you were upset,” I start carefully, but he continues before I can.

“Doesn’t matter.” He moves his arm, and I swallow a small sting of rejection, but then he links our fingers and squeezes. “I knew what the sperm donor was capable of. I should have fucking protected you whether you were pregnant or not.”

Pain threads through his voice, and answering tears prickle behind my eyelids. I breathe in through my nose. God, no! No crying. Not now.

“You couldn’t have protected me from him, luv,” I offer softly, the endearment slipping out in spite of me knowing better. “Nobody knew what would happen. What he could do.”

“I should have guessed.” He’s not looking at me anymore but staring at the ceiling instead.

“You couldn’t have. No one could.” I swallow so I can force the rest of the words out. “And that’s really not the problem. It’s me. What I did.” Or didn’t do, but I don’t need to go into the details again. Knox already knows them, as well as I do.

He pulls his hand free, pushes up on one elbow and leans over me until I have to roll over on my back. He smooths the hair back from my face, runs the backs of his fingers over my cheek. He watches his moving hand with a strange intensity, as though memorizing each touch. They are light, tender caresses, and real tears gather in the corner of my eyes.

“I’m processing things, English.” If he sees my tears, he doesn’t mention them. Thank God! “Trying to understand. It’s been like a perfect fucking storm of shit happening around us, and it’s been…tough. I get that.”

“But I didn’t tell you the truth.” My voice is thicker than I want, but I push through. “And I messed up on the birth control.”

His fingers trail down over my jaw, my throat, and he draws light, lazy circles over my upper chest. “Don’t think you did that deliberately. Like I said. Perfect fucking storm. I got a lot of shit to work out in my head, but I want you to know I don’t blame you. And I’m sorry I acted like I did.”

“You don’t—” I have to pause to breath, swallow, sniff “—hate me?”

“Hate you?” He jerks his head back, that beautiful dark hair falling around his shoulders while his expressive eyes warm to almost green. “I don’t hate you, baby. I never did. I might have been pissed off about shit—” his hand returns to my face “—but I never hated you.”

“I…” God, I want to say something. Not just anything but the right thing. Only…what the bloody hell is it?

I blink, discover Knox watching me with an amazingly tender gaze, and then I do the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t. I collapse with a gut-wrenching sob, and I cry my regret and heartbreak against his warm chest, his arms tight and comforting around me.