Chapter Nine
Five Months Later
Gripping the plastic bag holding my belongings and the clothes I’d worn when I got arrested, I thanked the guard for the sweatshirt and pants she’d given me to wear home today. “I’ll bring them back,” I promised, but she waved it off.
“Take care of yourself, Kinsey.” She wagged her finger at me and narrowed her eyes sternly. “I mean it—I better not see you in here again.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t.”
Stepping out into the lobby of the building that had been my home for the last several months, I eased down on the closest bench and gathered my thoughts. I still couldn’t believe I was done. Up until a few days ago, I’d thought for sure I’d spend the next four and a half months here—that I’d have to make a choice that would finally push me to the breaking point. Fortunately, my lawyer had worked a miracle.
Blinking back the moisture prickling behind my eyelids, I sorted through the plastic bag I was clutching until I found my phone and key necklace. As I waited for the phone to power on, I slipped on the necklace and squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing the cuts of the key over the pad of my thumb.
Just breathe, I reminded myself. Everything changes now.
I was scared to death of those changes, but I would be fine.
I didn’t have any other choice.
“Thank goodness,” a voice said, and I opened my eyes. I immediately grinned at the sight of Lyra as she rounded the corner carrying a bag of chips and a drink from the vending machine. “Didn’t think you’d be out so fast. The deputy said it would take half an hour to process your paperwork, so I went to grab you a snack.”
“So the thank goodness was for me being done early?”
She snorted. “Nah, it’s for that.” She pointed to the top of my head. “The dark hair has made its epic return, and god, I missed it.”
Gently touching my dark roots, I snorted. “As soon as I get settled in, I’m making a date with a box of hair color and dying it all brown.” She walked closer to me, and I swallowed the lump of emotion in my throat. I hadn’t seen her since she visited over five months ago, and I didn’t want to start our reunion with tears. Not when there was so many other things to say.
“You came,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure she’d be able to, considering I’d found out just a few days ago that I was going to be released early, but Lyra had pulled it off.
She rolled her big gray eyes. “Of course, I came. As soon as the deputy called to let me know you were being released early, I told my …” Her words trailed off when I stood up and her focus zeroed in on my stomach. “That wasn’t there the last time I saw you.”
“Lyra,” I whispered.
“Oh. My. God.”
“Lyra.”
She pulled me close, careful not to squish the giant bump when she hugged me. “This is why they let you out early?” When I nodded, she shook her head in disbelief and then grinded her teeth together angrily. “That cowboy boot-wearing asshole knocked you up.”
Hooking my hand under her upper arm, I led her out of the lobby and outside. “We can talk about this in the car.” It was February now, much cooler than it was when I stepped foot in the building seven months ago, but I welcomed the chill and dragged in a harsh breath.
As soon as we were behind closed doors in Lyra’s rental car, she placed one of her small hands on my shoulders. “Does he know?” She dragged her other hand through her jet black hair, still trying to come to terms with what she’d just discovered. “Jesus, Kinz, you haven’t even said a word to me about this. Did you know about this when I came to see you last year?”
I shook my head. I’d found out about the pregnancy the week after Lyra’s visit. And I’d had five months to ask myself how, when. Emmett and I had been careful, but obviously we’d slipped up somewhere during the three weeks last summer when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. And now, he was gone.
“I found out shortly after you came,” I whispered.
“And you never thought about telling me in a letter or—I don’t know—the fifty or so times we talked on the phone?”
She looked hurt, and I rushed to explain why I hadn’t broadcasted my condition. “You would’ve worried. Every day you’re performing or practicing, dangling several feet in the air. There was no way in hell I was going to have you stressing over me while you’re doing that.”
Lyra sighed and started the engine. “Um, hell yeah I was going to worry. You’re my friend and you were in a horrible situation caused by a horribly bitchy person. And I understand why you didn’t say anything, but I wish you had.” She tapped her fingernails anxiously against the steering wheel. “You didn’t deserve to go through this alone.”
There was a long moment of silence between us as Lyra drove. I finally broke it, softly whispering, “I wrote him a letter telling him what was going on.” I’d written several, but I wouldn’t tell Lyra that because it hurt too much to admit it aloud.
“Did he respond?”
Sharp needles pierced my chest, but I managed to shake my head. “No.”
“Then you’ve got to call him.”
“No.”
She shot daggers at me as she merged into another lane. “If you don’t, I will. The asshole has a number one single right now. He can take a little time away from his adoring—”
“What?” Emmett’s first single had already been released? God, I’d missed everything. I missed him.
Lyra cringed. “I thought you knew.”
Of course I didn’t know. His sister had made sure I wouldn’t be around for the official launch of the career she was so protective of. “Well … congratulations to him.” I didn’t want him to think I was calling him for money, but I knew Lyra was right. In the coming weeks, I would become a mom. And what kind of mother would I be if I didn’t do everything in my power to make sure Emmett at least knew what was going on? Some naïve part of my brain desperately hoped he hadn’t gotten the letter. That he had no idea I was pregnant.
That it was still possible for there to be an us.
“Kinz?” Lyra’s soft voice crept into my thoughts, and I took a deep breath.
“I promise I’ll call him tonight.”
♫
I still had money from my old job at the nursery in my savings account, but Lyra insisted on covering the hotel room. Tomorrow morning we’d go apartment hunting. After that, I’d get to visit Mrs. H’s grave and then I’d get my phone reactivated, but first—first, I had to call Emmett.
I waited until Lyra left the room to look up the number I’d saved for him. Shaking from head to toe, I dialed the number into the phone by my bed and waited. What would I say? Hell, would the tears start again and turn me into a blubbering fool?
Would he even answer?
“Hello?” A silky female voice purred, and my shoulders tightened. When I didn’t immediately speak up, she murmured, “Are you there?”
“Yeah.” Digging my fingernails into my palm, I continued, “I-I’m trying to reach Emmett Hudson.”
“Yeah?” she sounded like she was teasing me. “Who is this, darlin’?”
“Kinsey. McKinsey Brock.”
She didn’t bother to cover the speaker when she drawled, “Baby, McKinsey Brock’s on the phone for you. Do you know who that is?” My stomach hardened. Baby? I held my fist against my mouth and listened as he responded to her. It was muffled, and they went back and forth for a moment before she came back on the line. “He’s in the middle of something, you want to leave a message with me?”
“Just tell him—” My breath caught. “You know what? Maybe you can help me. Just ask him if he got the last letter? The one I wrote in October where I told him everything?”
Once again, she didn’t cover the phone, and when I heard his response, it was loud and clear. And I wished I’d never called.
“Tell her … tell her I fucking can’t,” he muttered, his voice defeated.
His companion returned
with the message, but I didn’t hear a word of what she said. Something loud and indescribably painful blared in my ears. I slowly lowered the phone to its hook. And for the longest time I stared at the re-run playing on the hotel TV. I stared until the characters blurred together and the ringing in my ears became so deafening, I could hardly breathe.
‘I fucking can’t.’
Those words would stick with me for years. Probably for the rest of my life. The piece of Emmett left with me kicked hard, and I choked down the slow burn consuming me.
Forced myself to come back to reality.
Reminded myself that I would be okay.
I listened to his song, the one that was tearing up the charts. It was the same one he played for me in Mrs. H’s kitchen months ago, and my heart twisted remembering how he’d looked at me that day. Like I was the only girl in the world.
Hazel had been right about one thing. It hadn’t taken her brother long to sweep me under the rug.
Hours later, I fell asleep looking at a picture on my phone of us together—the day we’d watched the fireworks—but the next morning, I erased it right before I got dressed to go apartment hunting.
The first cut … it had hurt. It was deep, and I’d feel it for years to come.
I needed to be grateful he’d made the choice for me, and there wouldn’t be a second one.
To Be Continued …
Coming July 2015
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The first cut was deep
The second cut is the deepest
♫
Kinsey Brock knew Emmett Hudson would be a star the moment he swaggered into her life. Hell, by the time she was released for the crime his scheming sister accused her of he already had a number one single.
Now, eight years and a helluva lot of heartache later, Kinsey’s long since given up on the boy who stole her breath away and took all the love she had. She has someone in her life, and he’s all she needs. She’ll challenge anyone who tells her otherwise. But after a chance encounter sends Emmett hurtling back into her life, every emotion she’s forced herself to forget since he gave up on her is pushed to the surface.
Because this time, the country megastar’s not giving up on her.
No matter how furious he is about the discovery of the other man who's become Kinsey's world.
About the Author
Emily Snow is The New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Devoured series and several standalone romances. She loves books, sexy bad boys, and really loud rock music, so naturally, she writes stories about naughty rockers. Visit her on Facebook, on her blog at emilysnowbooks.blogspot.com, or chat with her on Twitter @emilysnowbks for news, teasers, and contests.
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