Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5) (7 page)

She wasn’t one for superstition. Or magic anything, except maybe Nick’s magic hands. So it wasn’t a lie of omission not to tell him the meaning behind the bedroom, right? She was still on her birth control pills, and no woo-woo stuff could supersede science.

Right? Right.

Inside the cozy, rustic bedroom, she stopped and sucked in a quick breath of home. Lemon furniture polish, her mother’s perfume and the scent of fresh baked goods threw her right back into her childhood.

It was so good to be back.

She aimed for the bags Nick had stashed under the wide bay windows that overlooked the snowy landscape. A quick glance outside showed it was getting darker and the storm was worsening by the moment. She’d just find the gloves and run them out to him before he lost a damn finger.

He’d brought two bags and the first one didn’t hold anything remotely resembling cold weather gear. She did find an intriguing purple case that held some kind of battery-operated wand, however, and she had to press her thighs together to resist trying it out right now.

Toys were a fairly new part of their repertoire, as was the occasional naughty movie. Like seriously naughty. She pretty much blushed all the way through them, and he chuckled every time she covered her eyes.

Then he’d do some variation of whatever was on-screen to her and well, she forgot to be embarrassed anymore.

Reluctantly, she tucked away the purple case and searched through the second bag. She closed her hand around a thick book and smiled. He was forever squirreling away novels and non-fiction titles, hiding them as if they were contraband. Wonder what he was reading now. The last book she’d seen him tucking between the mattress and box spring was one on overcoming stage fright—

She frowned at the cover of the book in her hand. Her heart started to throb.
Beat
was much too tame of a word.

Oops, She’s Knocked Up—Now What?

Was that even a real title? What lame-brained male thought that would actually sell?

Though it obviously had, because she was holding the proof in her hand. Her
trembling
hand.

Her first emotion was fear. If she’d found this book in Martin’s bag beyond the first few years of their marriage, it wouldn’t have been because he’d knocked
her
up—he would’ve knocked up someone else, one of the many women he’d cheated on her with. Case in point, the woman who’d recently given birth to his baby. He’d impregnated her before his marriage to Lila had been final. No surprise there. But he wouldn’t buy this sort of book anyhow.

She swallowed down most of the niggling concern as she paged through the bookmarked and highlighted passages. Nick wasn’t cheating on her or knocking up other women. He also wasn’t reading this to be a supportive friend to Jazz, who had been through pregnancy before and had a capable husband to read such a book, were he inclined.

No, Nick had this book because he was imagining
them
having babies. Or more precisely, one male child according to his mandate last weekend.

Shaking her head, she flipped through the book. Different things were highlighted, from being prepared for crazy cravings in the middle of the night to massaging swollen ankles to what foods helped with pregnancy-related heartburn. The section that was highlighted and starred made her giggle out loud.

Unsurprisingly, it related to sex, and how much women in the second trimester craved it.

Hmm. Good to know. She’d never gotten that far the first time. She’d miscarried shortly after the beginning of the second trimester all those years ago, and she definitely hadn’t been feeling excessively horny.

More like uneasy, worried and sick.

This was a different situation though. Nick might not be fully ready for kids, but the idea was at least swarming in his brain. Perhaps Gray had helped put it there, since he and Jazz were on their way to singlehandedly repopulating the earth. Maybe Nick had somehow intuited Lila’s baby lust, no matter how much she shoved it down.

One way or another, he knew what she longed for, and he was trying to come to terms with the idea.

She pressed her face to the closed book and sniffled back the burn in her throat. If he’d presented her with a winged pink pony, she couldn’t have loved him more than she did at that moment.

Hurriedly, she tucked the book away. She felt bad for violating his privacy. She shouldn’t have looked, and she would confess later. But God, he’d made her so happy just from wanting to read about the idea. That alone would hold her for a good year or two, if he wanted more space to figure things out for himself.

Or even if he didn’t. If this exploratory trip of his reached a dead end, she would deal with it. He’d already given her so much. Kids meant a lot to her, but they weren’t a deal-breaker.

She’d told Donovan the truth. Nick was her deal-breaker, in all things.

She found his gloves in one of the pockets of his bag. They were the ones her mother had made for him last Christmas, made out of super soft navy and gray wool. And yes, she was sniffing them, just to get a hint of his smoky scent.

Pathetic, Ronson. Completely pathetic.

She rose and hurried back downstairs. She had a last minute, spur-of-the-freaking-moment errand to run, and it was getting late. The open house would be starting in just a few hours.

Her father was waiting at the bottom of the staircase. “Can you give these to Nick?” she asked.

He frowned. “You really think I’m the one who should find that boy right now? I might be tempted to give him a piece of my mind. Eating all your mother’s hard work. Now we’ll be short on dessert for tonight.”

“Sorry, Daddy.” She kissed his cheek. “I have to run an errand and it can’t wait. It’s an emergency.”

Gripping her shoulders, he pulled her back. “What kind of emergency? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She smiled hugely and bounced on her tiptoes, eager to get going. “Better than I’ve been in…well, maybe ever.”

Ever, she decided. Definitely ever.

“Be gentle on Nick,” she added. “His family is different than ours, and he’s not used to all this. Even with all our trips back here, this is still a strange new world. But he’s trying, I swear.”

Her father patted her back and stepped back. “If you’re happy, his…idiosyncrasies don’t make a hoot of difference. I won’t beat him too black and blue while you go off and do your errand. But get back here as fast as you can, all right? The roads are getting worse and your mother will worry.”

“You won’t though, right?” she teased.

“Just you wait,” he said as he always did, referring to how she’d be with her future kids. This time, there was a twinkle in his eye.

“Is that what the suite upstairs is for? Nudging nature, Daddy?”

Her stern, no-nonsense father actually fidgeted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Leelee. Now go on, get out of here.”

“Gone. Thank you,” she called over her shoulder as she rushed out into the storm.

* * *

S
now was awesome
. He couldn’t wait to make snow angels with Lila and have a snowball fight with her and maybe do donuts in the icy parking lot until he got caught.

Looking for a thief dog in said snow? Not nearly as fun.

Nick trudged along the back of the building, heading toward the fence that ringed the property. The fence closed in the part zoned for activities in the fall and winter, though the Ronsons owned the land far beyond the crop of buildings that stood beside the store. They had miles of trees, and a bunch of old structures that Lila had said they were in the process of starting to renovate. A distillery, a couple of outbuildings, even a tiny, ramshackle chapel.

He’d discovered the chapel on one of their trips earlier in the year. It appeared much different in the green of summer than it did now, as the small, weathered building almost seemed to teeter in the wind. His eyes narrowed on the front door, and the dark shadow that blocked it. While he watched, the door opened and closed behind the visitor, the sound muffled in the preternatural hush caused by the falling snow.

Who the fuck was that?

Twilight hung over the property, the dark becoming deeper and denser with every passing moment. Soon the snow would blanket everything so completely that he wouldn’t be able to make it anywhere near the chapel.

Still, no one should be out there right now. The open house, whatever it was, would be taking place in the main building. The few farm animals the Ronsons kept were out in the paddock, which was in the opposite direction as was the farmhouse where the stablehands worked.

Maybe the hungry dog had an equally starving human equivalent. If so, Nick would give him some money and send him packing.

He might not be able to keep an eye on bakery items or protect flooring, but he could kick some ass if need be.

Stomping through the snow toward the chapel, he pushed his freezing hands into his pockets. Okay, so Lila had been right about the gloves. She tended to be right about too much and had a plan to deal with most eventualities. That was only one part of the reason why he figured she’d be the perfect woman to start a family with.

A few feet from the chapel, he stopped dead. Holy shit, he was pretty sure he wanted to start a
family
with her. As in a child. Their child. And it wasn’t even entirely due to the fact that Gray had left out some salient information when discussing pregnancy sex. Namely that the woman not only enjoyed lovemaking, many actually had months where they desperately craved it due to hormones.

No condoms, horny wife, no worry of pregnancy because hey, done deal. Basically, a one-way trip to Sexapalooza.

Gray should’ve been informing him of all the preggo bennies, but no, he’d played it cool. He was so going to kick his ass the next time he saw him, guaranteed.

Nick continued on, his gaze sharpening on the light flickering against the glass inside the chapel. Like a lighter. Just a little hint of illumination that danced behind the colorful panes of stained glass turned muted in the lengthening shadows.

Fucking A. Was the dude using a lighter to keep warm or was he a frigging pyro?

He fingered his phone, still tucked in his pocket. He was old school and had been a poor kid at that. Back when he was younger, you took care of business yourself. You didn’t call the cops, and you didn’t wait for backup. Whatever the trash needed to be taken out, you did it yourself. But things were different now. His hands were his livelihood. And he wasn’t going to freaking die over a fight with some intruder. He had too much to live for now.

Someone he loved too much to leave.

So he had his phone at the ready. Hey, maybe this guy wasn’t some kind of creeper. Perhaps he even had a good reason for skulking around out there alone in the dark.

Nick reached for the icy cold door handle. Time to find out.

Bracing himself, he eased open the door as quietly as possible and stepped into almost unrelieved blackness. Save for the patch of glowing flame that illuminated a face he knew all too well.

A man who wasn’t only his friend, but who had once been like his other half. Heterosexually speaking, because sharing the occasional woman in bed back in the old days was one thing, but they did not cross streams.

Simon Kagan turned his head, and the flame flickered in a gust of wind. The fire—and the building—trembled. “Hello, brother.”

N
ick’s face
was almost comical. His hair was a bit wild from the whipping wind, and he sure as shit wasn’t dressed for the day.

Then again Simon wasn’t either.

He couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten to this end of the orchard. He’d wandered away from the lively sounds of people. Laughter and light drove him deeper into the skeletal trees. The sweet, crisp undertones of apples mixed with the decaying leaves and snow crunching under his boots until he’d found this place.

At first he’d thought it was a cabin, until he noticed the spire and crooked cross on top. He’d never been a church type, though there was always a comfort there that he couldn’t describe. In the middle of nowhere, a little sanctuary in the overgrown corner of the orchard.

He certainly wasn’t dressed to pick his way over the brush and into the dark and dusty chapel. He and Margo had been at a holiday party with her old Philharmonic people in Boston. He’d been so surprised that she’d asked to see her old friends that he’d said yes before he thought it through. She so rarely asked for anything these days.

So, a trip into New York for a shoot had ended with Simon surrounded by band geeks acting like they’d never been in a metropolitan city in their lives. There had been much drinking. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been the DD on an outing. Margo had been in her element, and he’d learned long ago how to blend with just about anyone.

Musicians he understood. Even if their idea of a six-string was more violin than guitar. Or did theirs have five strings? Hmm.

Simon thought of the movement of his girl’s slim fingers, the vibration of the rosined bow over thick strings, and the look she sometimes got on her face. Not all the time. Just sometimes when he caught her in the window, her attention not on her instrument, but on the pulse of ocean and tourists outside their home.

The closest he got to music these days.

Oh, he still did his voice lessons with Jerry, but they weren’t music. They were exercises and workouts. Jerry’s special brand of coaching.

He blinked out of those thoughts. Back into the flame shot dark where Nick was.

Where his past had found him once again.

The heat from the lighter singed his fingertips and he extinguished the light.

“Using the dark for a sneak attack?”

Simon swallowed a sigh. Oh, how he’d missed the snark and blade of his best friend’s tongue. He flicked open his Zippo once more until the flint and spark caught. He moved to the old candles he’d seen on his first perusal of the mini church.

The wick was old and stuck to the fat, white candle. It took a few tries to light it, but he caught another flare of light from the other side of the altar.

Nick had moved to do the same.

The soft light turned Nick’s face to shadow and sharp angles. His face wasn’t so hollow anymore, but even with an extra ten pounds on his whip-lean body, he’d never be anything but a bunch of angles.

“You look good, Nicky.”

His eyebrows snapped down as he turned and stuffed the lighter away. “Wish I could say the same. You look like shit, Simon.”

He inclined his head. It had been a long month of shoots and sleepless nights in between. His make-up girl was forever threatening to tie him down and knock him out with pills.

He’d thought about taking a pill just for the oblivion of sleep, but he couldn’t quite get there. It was a shaky step toward an edge he was desperately fighting to stay away from.

“Been busy.”

Nick withdrew a pack of smokes from his pants and shook out a cigarette. “Hard work, standing around for pretty pictures.”

Simon watched the cigarette dance through his fingers before he finally put it in his mouth and cupped his fingers around the end. The cherry glowed bright in the semi-dark as Nick took a long drag in, and blew it out his nose like a dragon.

The acrid scent of the first flare of tobacco was a welcome scent. Plenty of models smoked around him to keep their fingers busy, but here and now it was a memory of easier times.

Hell, even the dank shabbiness of the chapel reminded him of the shitty basement at the Fluff.

Nick squinted over the smoke rising in his face as the cigarette dangled from his lips. “What the hell are you doing here, Simon?”

“Was in the neighborhood.”

Nick’s eyebrow spiked. “Upstate New York is not your stomping grounds, Mr. Slick.”

“Not that far off actually. We were in the city for a holiday party and Margo wanted to see Lila. So, here I am.”

“Li know about this little meet and greet?”

“Don’t sound so suspicious. It was a surprise.” He shrugged and met Nick’s gaze. “She misses her friend.”

“Is that right?” He took an inhale of smoke and tipped his head back to make lazy rings that disappeared into the dark. “Nice that some friends can actually keep in contact.”

He dipped his chilled hands into his coat. “Digs so soon, brother? Must be a record.” He looked at his phone. “What? Five minutes?”

Crap, he hadn’t realized he’d been gone so long. Margo was going to kick his ass.

“Feeling guilty,
brother
?”

The sneer of the last word made his shoulders hunch. “For what? Taking time?” His dress boots echoed on the uneven boards as he crossed to a pew and sat down.

“Lots of damn time.”

“Gimme a break, huh? I took what I needed.”

“Always what you need, huh Simon? That’s the bottom line though, isn’t it?”

He dropped his chin against his chest, then raked his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, it is.” His elbows dug into his thighs as he stared into the shadowed nothing at his feet. The nothing that matched exactly how hollow he felt.

“Such a goddamn prick.”

Simon jumped to his feet. “Why am I the prick because I needed time to figure my shit out?”

“How the fuck would I—hell,
we
—know if you needed time, asshole? You don’t fucking talk to any of us.”

“Because as soon as I show my face all you can ask is when I’m coming back.” His chest heaved as he stood in front of Nick with his fists clenched.

“Kind of an important question.” Nick stomped on the butt of his cig. “Considering your little tantrum is what has been keeping us all from moving forward.”

He didn’t even realize he was swinging, but his fist connected with Nick’s stubborn, stone fucking jaw.

Nick’s head snapped back and his eyes widened in shock. “Fucker,” he snarled and charged.

Simon’s hip slammed into the pew as Nick’s brick of a hand nailed him in the solar plexus. Breathing was evidently optional as he collapsed into himself. But instead of getting out of the way, he just fell into Nick’s uppercut.

His teeth snapped and blood flooded his mouth as he bit his tongue. He stumbled back and caught the edge of the pew on the other side of the aisle. “Hit like a girl,” he gasped out even as his ribs screamed.

Nick charged him, knocking him back three steps. Each one was punctuated with a rounded corner of the pews at his hip. The heavy wool of his coat was no match for the wood connecting with bone.

His dress boots weren’t meant for real traction. His foot slid out and he landed on his ass. Nick just kept on coming. Simon should have stayed down. He’d just have a fat lip for his trouble. Okay, and a bruised hip.

But no—he kicked out and connected with ribs and thigh—possibly a little more north. Whoops.

Nick howled and crouched down. “What the fuck? A girl move?”

“Lucky it wasn’t your knee,” he gasped as he scrambled to his feet. Simon needed to take the opening, even if it was a dick move. He slammed his knee into Nick’s ribs and came down with a left hook.

Blood in his eye and dribbling from his lip, Nick looked up at Simon and slapped his cheek in shock. Simon looked down at his ring with the sharp edges of the raised S.

Nick came up out of his crouch, driving them back through the doors and out into the whipping wind. Snow was now piling up quickly on the small porch at the front. His boots skidded on the icy wetness, but he couldn’t stop the backward momentum.

No, they didn’t stop until the post slammed into his back. With the breath knocked out of him again, Simon could only curl into himself as Nick landed blow after blow into his ribs.

Nick gripped the lapels of his jacket as he sagged, but instead of stopping, he dragged Simon up until their noses were inches away. Blood stained his teeth and a scrape was already raised on his cheek from Simon’s ring. “I hate you.”

Simon’s heart kicked and shame burned. “I know.” Nick let go and Simon slid to the porch.

“Fuck,” Nick shouted. His chest heaved as he tipped his head back and his breath came out in puffy white clouds. “Fuck,” he growled again.

Simon curled onto his side and propped himself on his elbow. Fluffy snow scattered around his fingers and a bone-deep cold dented the adrenaline. The sky was iridescent and swollen with more of the same.

Nick paced up and down the small porch, alternately flexing his fingers and blowing on them. The wildness was fading from his eyes as if Simon had deflated him with his reply.

He probably had.

He really hadn’t meant to say it, but now that it was out for both of them, the will to beat on Nick faded. Simon opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but a wet, mangled mutt leaped through the brush and circled the snow at the edge of the porch.

“That little fucker,” Nick growled.

Simon looked up at him as he gingerly sat up. “Friend of yours?”

“No, the little klepto is the reason I’m out here.” Nick folded his arms and shoved his hands under his pits.

Hmm. He wasn’t sure what to say to that one. Especially since Nick was very much the same as the junkyard dog currently burrowing under a fallen tree branch. “Think he’s a bit small to thief one of your guitars, but you never know.”

“Pie. Actually, pies plural, the little beast.”

“And what exactly were you going to do?” Simon groaned as he braced himself on the post and hauled himself up. He hissed at the rip in his shirt and the ribs that would be crying for the rest of the night. He twisted. Not broken. Small favors. “Scoop out the eaten pie in his shit? Or better yet, the dog’s belly?”

“Fuck you. I don’t know.” Nick crouched down and looked at the dog. “You got me in a lot of trouble, beastie.”

The dog shoved his nose into the snow and flung it up in the air. Little crystals of snow stuck to his various whiskers, then his tongue lolled out.

Simon hid a smile as the dog arched his back and his mangled tail wagged. “He likes you.”

Nick frowned. “No, the little shit just wolfed down two pies that had my name on them. Well, at least a piece or three.”

Simon wiped the back of his hand over his throbbing lip and came away with blood. Awesome. “Seems like he has good taste.”

“Yeah, tell that to Li’s mom. Her father already thinks I’m a freak.”

“You are.”

“More of a f-f-freak.” Nick scowled and set his jaw, probably to try to keep his teeth from chattering. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

“Where the fuck is your coat?”

“Did you not hear the part about me chasing the klepto?”

“It’s twenty-something degrees out here for fuck’s sake.”

“Really? I was thinking minus t-t-twenty.” Nick took a step down and the dog bolted, his bent tail flashing in the curtain of snowflakes. “Ah, fuck.” Nick bolted after him.

“What the hell are you doing?” The storm had gotten even worse from when he’d escaped into the chapel. Now the visibility was nonexistent.

“Need to get the dog,” Nick yelled over his shoulder.

“Are you nuts?” Simon sighed as Nick disappeared into the storm. The dog looked hearty enough, but what the hell did he know? His cat, George, was the epitome of a princess. She’d never make it out here with all this snow.

Simon started after them, but the flicker of light behind him stopped him. “Just what I need, to burn down this tinderbox.” He ran. Sort of—actually, more like limped as if he was trying out for the part of Igor—back into the chapel and snuffed out the candles. His ribs were still in the correct place, right? He held a hand to his side. Ow. And he was fairly sure his lungs were actually knocking around like a bunch of untethered balloons.

Fuck.

Grimacing, he shoved through the doors. Already the snow was over the tops of his boots. Was God standing over them with a dump truck of snow or something? He didn’t even know this much could come out of the sky at one time.

He skidded on an icy edge near the step. He was pretty sure that was where he’d hit the porch. It was already covered as if he’d never been hammered into submission by Nicky.

Slowly, he picked his way around the brush that blocked most of the path. With the storm, he couldn’t see a damn thing, but the panting pooch whizzed by his coat and he spun around. Nick was coming at him like a freight train. No way he was getting knocked down again.

Simon stepped out of the way and Nick tripped on something, skidding onto his chest.

“Dammit.”

The dog barked and danced around him.

“Would you be helpful?” Nick growled with a face full of snow.

Simon reached down to give him a hand.

“The dog, man!”

“Oh.” Simon lunged for the dog, but there wasn’t a collar to hold him with or anything. He slipped through his hands and bolted again.

Nick flipped over onto his back in the snow, his chest heaving. “Seriously?”

“What was I supposed to do, sit on him?” Simon winced. Not a great move for his ribs. Maybe he had broken one.

“Yes!”

“Unlikely, fuckface.” He held his hand out to Nick. Evidently he was still in a snit because he waved it off and got up on his own. Nick had a little more traction with his shoes, because he was able to take off across the widest path between two groves of trees.

Simon just didn’t have it in him. Not with the bruises making themselves known on his ribs, and his face felt like he’d gone a few rounds with that MMA fighter Costas. Then again, Nick had always been good with a right hook.

Fucker.

Simon limped along, following Nicky’s footprints until the property opened up again. The main house was glowing warmly, the golden hues of welcome and Christmas a beacon in the dense snowflakes.