Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5) (32 page)

“No. Lila, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Maybe if she kept telling herself that, it’d be true.

Just need to eat something. Lay down for a while. The headache will pass.

“You don’t sound like yourself. Are you ill?”

“I’m fine. Goodbye, Donovan.” She hung up and set aside her phone.

She started to rise. It was like moving a mountain through syrup, except the mountain was her. Halfway up, she just sank down again.

Just need a minute. One more minute.

Across the room, Deacon’s deep bass voice echoed through the space. “If you two morons don’t stop bickering like the
Golden Girls
on testosterone pills, I’m out of here.”

Nick said something. She couldn’t hear what. For an instant, his face came into stark, brutal relief. All that fury and frustration, his golden hair sticking up in every direction from his restless hands. The guitar strapped to him like armor, used to keep everyone at arm’s length while he claimed to want them close.

“Every place you’ve ever gone, everything you’ve ever seen or thought or done matters. It’s all part of the whole. And the whole is more than I’d ever hoped for.”

She’d had hope too. Hope for so much. He’d opened up a new universe for her, and stepping inside had been the biggest leap she’d ever taken.

The biggest, and the best.

She stared at him for as long as she could. If she’d had a voice left to call out, she would have. His name was on her lips. That vitality so close, just out of reach.

He would make everything okay. If only she could get to him.

She made it up out of her chair. Sheer will, because everything was shaking. Her arms, legs. She couldn’t control them. Panic seized her, cutting off her air, swimming through her head. The lights danced in her vision. But not just lights. There were gaps in what she could see. Water spots growing bigger, obscuring everything.

Darkness crept in from the corners, and she didn’t fight it. She was so tired. So completely exhausted.

The worry, the pain, the fear. She could let all of it go.

Just…stop. Everything would finally stop.

She felt herself sway, her legs give way. She gripped her belly and cried out at the pain that slammed through her, spine to feet.

And she closed her eyes.

N
ick gripped
the neck of his guitar. Right now, it was the only thing keeping him from swinging at the asshole crowding him against the mixing board. “Seriously, Kagan, if you wave your hand in my face one more time—”

The cry cut through the voices and music, somehow quiet and barely distinct yet loud enough to make everything stop.

Including his heart.

Even before he turned, he knew. Knew that when he looked over his shoulder out to where Lila had been sitting on the phone, looking pale and a little tired but okay—Goddammit, she’d been
okay
—that what he saw would forever change his life.

What had mattered before, even a moment ago, just didn’t anymore.

“Guys, come quick! Lila fainted!”

Jazz’s voice was what got him moving. Simon had gone still with his hand still in the air, as if he’d frozen like a statue. Nick ripped the guitar strap over his head and tossed the instrument aside, then shoved Simon back. He did the same to Gray who was attempting to get around Deacon to wrench open the door to the booth. The three of them tried to push through, until Nick managed to push them back and get himself clear.

He was across the room in a shot. So fast that when he dropped to his knees at Lila’s side, the others hadn’t even all made it out of the booth.

“Call 911,” Deacon’s calm, level voice cut through the din in Nick’s head. The roar was so loud that he didn’t hear Jazz’s response, could barely discern the feel of her warm fingers closing around his wrist before she pushed herself to her feet to grab Lila’s phone.

She’d been holding her phone, but now it was just sitting on the table. And she was on the floor, as pale as the white blouse she wore, her lips a light pink as if the color had all bled away.

In front of him, she was fading. Disappearing right in front of his eyes.

He was barely aware of leaning forward to clutch her shirt, of pressing his face to her chest to hear that steady beat. It wasn’t steady. It was supposed to be strong and steady, the heartbeat that carried him into sleep every night.

Not thready and erratic. Not faint.

“Lila.” He tried to speak, to get the word past his frozen lips. He couldn’t breathe. His shoulders, his back, everything was locking up. “Lila.” He groped for her hand, found it cool and clammy. He shook her, dug his fingers into skin that went white from the pressure.

No color. No reaction.

“Nicky, move back. Give her some air.” Simon was at his side, his hand like a steel clamp on his arm. “C’mon, man. Let Deacon look at her. Let her get some air.”

“Goddammit, what happened? Who did this?” Nick reared back and shook off Simon’s hold. Wildly, he searched around for Jazz, quietly speaking on the phone. “You talked to her. What did you say to her? What did you do?”

Jazz shook her head, a tear spilling out of her eyes as she turned away.

Incensed, he looked for a new target. Someone was to blame for this.

Someone. Anyone. He would make them pay.

You’re to blame. You fucking caused this. You said you loved her. Why did you hurt her?

His gaze latched onto Simon. Simon with the regret in his eyes, and the fists he’d braced under his arms as he watched Deacon check Lila’s vital signs as if she was already dead.

As if they’d killed her.

Nick jerked to his feet. “We did this. Always fucking fighting.” He gripped Simon’s shirt in his hands, and Simon didn’t fight him off. Just let him shake him and drive him into the nearest wall. He saw Margo step forward, her face ashen, then just stop and bow her head.

“It’s okay. Nicky, it’ll be okay. Look at me.”

Eyes shut, blind with tears, he shook his head. He couldn’t look at her that way. She wasn’t meant to be on the floor, so still and quiet. She was supposed to be running herd on all of them, barking out orders and keeping them in line.

Without her voice, the room seemed empty. Broken. Devoid of life.

“Nicky. Help’s coming.” Arms came around him, and the familiar scent of Simon, fancy cologne and sweat and detergent, was enough to make him press his face into his shoulder long enough to get his bearings. To stop the world from spinning so he could push him back and find her again.

They all loomed around her protectively, circled close. Jazz speaking softly, Margo holding her hand. Deacon was scooping her up, Gray petting her hair.

“No. I’ll do it. She’s mine.” He nudged Deacon out of the way and lifted her carefully into his arms. She didn’t stir. “She’s mine,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead.

Deacon clamped a hand on Nick’s shoulder, walking with him. “The ambulance is coming, but there was a major accident on Rivers. It’s clogging traffic for miles.”

The words blended, became an endless jumble in his head. All he cared about was getting her outside into the air. The sun. She needed the sun. She was so cold.

He had to get her out of this soulless dark box.

“Here, let me help—” Gray began.

“I’ve got her.” Nick didn’t even look at him. “Open the doors.”

“I’ll drive. I have Harper’s van. We can lay her down in back. I’m sorry, man, it’s not ideal in any way but I don’t know what’s wrong. I think she should stay lying down. The van has room.” Deacon’s voice was low, soothing. So infernally calm.

Inside Nick’s head, he was raging. But he kept moving, one foot ahead of the other. He couldn’t help her if he broke down.

If he broke down
again
.

“Someone needs to call her parents.” His voice held no inflection. He was amazed he could even speak over the fist squeezing his windpipe. “The number is in my phone. Back pocket.” He rattled off his password as Simon pulled it out of his pocket, then started typing into the phone.

Their voices combined into a hum. Instructions, banal shit he didn’t care about.

One foot in front of the other.

Stay with me, Lila.

He was scarcely aware of anything else as they finally reached the catering van and Deacon hauled open the doors.

The back was full of food shit. Utensils, pans, stuff he didn’t even recognize. He was about to bark out for someone to make room for her when Jazz hustled forward to do the honors.

“Not you. For fuck’s sake, she’s pregnant.”

“Thanks for the reminder. Pregnant isn’t dead.” But Jazz didn’t make a fuss when her husband moved forward to shove things out of the way.

Then Deacon was easing Lila out of his arms. Taking her away.

He jumped into the back to crouch beside her, though there wasn’t room. He didn’t care. That was where he intended to be.

Could be nowhere else.

There was talk of splitting into separate cars. Then the doors slammed shut, and the darkness covered them both. Closing them in together.

Another slam of the doors and the van lumbered forward, leaving Nick alone with Lila in the silent dark.

He pushed crap out of his way, elbowed to make room. And squeezed in until he could lay down beside her and press his cheek to hers. He would’ve given her his air, his very life.

Squeezing her hand, he rubbed his damp eyes against her hair. So soft. Always the apples. They filled his head, made him find words when he’d been certain they were gone.

“I’ve been looking at land. Lots of land.” He cleared his throat, tried again. “One of the places has a real paddock. Room for a couple horses. I know we only have the one, but it’s a start. This way we can grow.”

He moved his head to her breasts, desperate to hear her heart. If he could hear her heart beating, he could keep breathing. Keep talking.

But he had to stop crying. She could hear him. She could hear every word.

He had to believe it.

“I know you think I’m this complete asshole who doesn’t care about anything. Who doesn’t want anything but the music and the band. I used to be that way. Not anymore. Now, if I had a choice…if I had to choose…” He broke off and rubbed his leaking eyes against his sleeve. “I would always choose you. I would never play again if I can just keep you.” He lifted his head and focused his bleary eyes on the ceiling of the van. “Please, God. Let me keep her.”

In his hand, her fingers moved. Just the slightest wiggle, but it was enough for him to whoop for joy and bring her hand to his mouth. “That’s it, baby. I’m right here. You’re going to be fine. Open your eyes for me. Let me see those beautiful blue eyes.”

She shifted beside him, just the slightest movement. She turned her head toward him and he bent closer to hear whatever she was trying to whisper. Her voice was barely breath. Just the softest hoarse word.

“Baby.”

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m right here.” She never called him baby, but she was sick. “Not going anywhere. You’ll be better soon.”

She made a frustrated sound, twisting toward him. “Hey, hey. Careful. Don’t move.” He sucked in a breath, nearly dizzy with gratitude. If she was moving and impatient, she was going to be okay.

Dammit, she had to be okay.

“N-nick.”

“I’m here. Okay? Not going anywhere.”

He stroked her hot, damp brow. Could she have the flu or something? Maybe pneumonia? But she hadn’t been coughing.

“Just relax, sweetheart. We’re almost to the hospital. You need to stay still until we find out what happened.”

“Baby.”

He frowned. “I don’t get what—are you uncomfortable? I know the ride’s bumpy, but it won’t be much longer, I promise.” He slid his hand down her side, trying to soothe her, and stretched his fingers across her waist. Then higher, higher over the slight slope.

And he got it. He finally got it.

Like a movie reel, fragments of conversations spun through his mind. The baby she’d lost before. How it had wrecked her.

That her ex-husband hadn’t wanted the baby, and then she’d lost it.

He cupped her belly and shut his eyes. God, it was so clear. She felt so different. The sweatshirts, the distance. The other night when she’d said she had something to tell him, but he’d been so afraid it was something he couldn’t live with. Maybe something to do with her ex-husband. Maybe anything. He had so many boxes, so many rules for how the people he loved had to be. If they failed, if they stepped outside his imaginary boundary, he cut them off.

But he wasn’t capable of cutting her off, so he’d silenced her instead. And all she’d been trying to tell him was that she…

God, he couldn’t even think it. Not because he didn’t want it. But because he did, so much. If he’d made her think for even one moment that he could be like her bastard ex-husband, he would never forgive himself. Never.

Because you live under the same laws you force on everyone else. You’re ready to condemn yourself just as you condemn them.

Like you condemned your mother. And Ricki.

And Simon.

He turned his cheek against hers and gripping her hand, brought it to her belly. “I love you. So much. And I love the baby.” Her fingers trembled in his, so he held on tighter. Tight enough that she would never doubt. “Ours. It’s ours.”

The wetness under his cheek made him lift his head. Her cheeks were wet, his were wet. He had no idea if she was crying too, or if it was sweat, or if he’d cried so much that now his tears had become hers.

All he knew was that he would guard her—guard them both—with his fucking life.

When the doors opened, he glimpsed the lights of the hospital behind Deacon’s hulking shoulders. And took a deep breath.

“I don’t know what happened for sure, but she’s pregnant. So be careful.” At Deacon’s shocked expression, Nick shifted to look at Lila in the shaft of light from the open doors. “Let’s get her inside.”