Rockstar’s Accidental Marriage (Wild Band Rockstars #2)

8. Eight

Eight

Sam

I wake up to the soft glow of early morning light filtering through the bus window. My first thought is of Emily.

How she looked when I woke up this morning, lying beside me, her hair spread across the pillow like a dark cloud, her skin glowing in the soft light. The sheet had slipped down to reveal her bare shoulder, and I had to fight the urge to trace the marks I'd left there the night before. For a second, I didn't move; I just stared because she looked so beautiful and peaceful—like a vision, so different from her usual controlled demeanor.

Last night wasn’t planned. It wasn’t even smart. But it felt like a surrender. As if all the tension between us had ignited, and we simply couldn’t fight it anymore.

And now?

I exhale slowly, careful not to wake up any of the band. The divorce papers were left on her desk, unsigned and untouched, but the weight of them still lingers, pressing on my chest.

We haven’t solved anything. In fact, we’ve probably made things more complicated. But as I think back over how Emily looked at that moment—content and satisfied in the bed we just shared, I can’t bring myself to regret it.

Our truce is subtle at first.

We haven’t talked about what happened. Hell, we haven’t even mentioned our marriage or the divorce papers. But something between us has shifted.

Emily isn’t avoiding me anymore. Gone is the too-polite stiffness. She doesn’t roll her eyes or snap when I make a joke—at least not every time. And when she does glare at me, there’s a softness behind it, like she’s letting me off the hook before I’ve even earned it.

She’s smiling more, too. Not the forced, professional smile she used to plaster on her face during meetings, but a real one. The one that makes her eyes light up and reminds me why I’ve been so drawn to her from the start.

And me? I’m trying to be better—more serious.

The jokes haven’t stopped, but they’re different now—less sharp, more playful. I’m finally treating her how she deserves to be treated as our manager, not just the clipboard-wielding taskmaster she pretends to be.

The band notices, too.

“You two finally kiss and make up or something?” Luke asks one afternoon, his tone light but curious.

“Or something,” I reply with a grin, sidestepping the question.

He doesn’t press, but I can see the relief in his expression. The whole group feels lighter, like they’ve been holding their breath for weeks and can finally exhale.

Even Cass seems to notice.

It's after dinner, and everyone else has gone inside. Only Cass and I are left. We’re sitting outside the buses, drinking a beer.

Cass leans back in his chair, and his eyes get a faraway look. Then he glances at me, his expression thoughtful.

“You’ve been good to Emily lately,” he says, his tone casual but loaded with meaning.

I shrug, taking a sip of my beer. “She’s doing a good job. I’d be an idiot not to recognize that.”

He nods, his gaze steady on me. “She is. But it’s not just about the job, is it?”

I glance at him, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “What do you mean?”

Cass exhales, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I mean, it’s been a long road to get here—you and her. I don’t know exactly what happened to break all that tension, but whatever it was, the rest of us are grateful. The entire band feels better. Kendrick says she hasn’t seen Emily this relaxed in months.”

I grin. “Relaxed? She still carries her tablet around like it’s her lifeline.”

Cass chuckles, but the sound fades quickly. “Seriously, though, Sam. Emily’s not just some random manager we hired. She’s my sister. And she’s putting her heart into this band and making sure we’re not just coasting but thriving.”

“I know that,” I say, my voice pensive.

“So, does this mean you and Emily might start dating?”

I suddenly choke on my beer.

Cass thumps my back. “Damn, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” I manage. Stopping to clear my throat. “That just took me by surprise,” I mumble, evading the question.

"I noticed," Cass observes dryly, a brief silence hanging in the air. He then glances at me curiously. "Listen, I don't like seeing Emily upset," he says, the protective older brother in full force. "I don't want to have to worry about you treating her right," he says, his tone casual, but his eyes hold a sharp, assessing gaze.

I glance at him, unsure how to respond. "I don’t plan on doing anything to upset her. If that’s what you’re getting at."

"Honestly, I thought you were going to screw things up," he admits with a shrug. "But you're not. You're stepping up. And I appreciate it."

Approval from Cass wasn't something I actively sought, but hearing it feels good.

"Thanks. I think," I chuckle, shaking my head. "I'll try my best not to mess up."

Emily and I settle into an almost companionable rhythm as the band continues to tour, each month easier than the next. We’re both taking things slow, but it feels so good not to argue that neither of us wants to rock the boat. The sexual tension is still there, simmering just under the surface, but it’s easier to ignore after our last steamy encounter.

The sponsorship deals begin to roll in faster than ever, and the rest of the guys, even Vince—who spent months grumbling about Emily’s ‘corporate’ approach—are starting to come around.

“Okay,” Luke says grudgingly after a meeting one morning. “I’ll admit it. The Boss Lady knows what she’s doing.”

Emily raises an eyebrow at him, tablet in hand. “Was that a compliment, Luke?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

She smiles, turning back to her notes, and I catch myself grinning.

Later that day, I find myself sitting beside Emily on the bus, my phone in hand, as she walks me through setting up my social media accounts.

“You need to post more often,” she says, her tone patient but firm. “Your fans want to feel connected to you. Maybe post a picture of your guitar, or a behind-the-scenes shot, even a selfie occasionally—it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Selfies?” I groan, leaning back against the seat. “You’re killing me, Em.”

She rolls her eyes. “Stop being dramatic. It’s not that hard.”

“I play guitar, not Instagram,” I grumble, but I’m smiling.

She laughs, the sound soft and genuine, her blue eyes sparkling, and for a moment, it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of us.

Emily suddenly blinks and clears her throat. “Here,” she says, her voice professional, leaning over to tap a few buttons on my phone. But then her shoulder brushes mine, and I'm instantly transported back to our last night together—how that same soft skin felt under my lips. My chest tightens, and her breath catches, and I know she remembers it, too.

"There," she says, her voice slightly breathless as she hands the phone back. Our fingers brush, and the simple contact sends another zing of electricity through my body.

“Thanks, Boss Lady,” I say, my tone low and warm.

She gently shakes her head, but I see the flicker of a smile on her lips.

It’s Vince, of course, who ruins the moment.

“Do we really have to do this social media crap?” he whines from across the bus, his arms crossed like a petulant child.

Emily straightens, her professional mask slipping back into place. “Yes, Vince. You do. It’s part of the sponsorship agreement.”

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters. “We’re musicians, not influencers.”

“Vince,” I say, cutting him off before he can launch into a full-blown rant. “Cut her some slack. Emily’s busting her ass to make sure we’re not just surviving but thriving. The least you can do is post a damn photo once in a while.”

The bus goes quiet, all eyes on me. Even Emily looks surprised, her lips slightly parting as she stares at me.

“What?” I say, shrugging. “She’s right. And you know it.”

Vince grumbles something under his breath but doesn’t argue.

Emily’s eyes meet mine, and for a second, I see something in them that I can’t quite name. Gratitude, maybe. And something deeper, something that tells me she feels the same magnetic pull toward me.

That night, as the bus rumbles down the highway, I find myself replaying the day in my head. The easy laughter, the shared smiles, and the way Emily looked at me when I stood up for her.

I know this truce we’ve found could shatter at any moment. But for now, it feels like we’re building a solid foundation. Yet, I find myself wondering with some frustration when she’ll be ready for me to make my next move.

We finally pull into Jacksonville just as the sun is dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery shades of orange and red. The sight of home sends a wave of relief through the bus. After weeks of touring, there’s nothing like coming back to familiar ground.

Cass’s oceanfront house comes into view, its sprawling layout offering a welcome relief to the cramped quarters of the bus.

“Man, it’s good to be back,” Nate says, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. We all nod in agreement.

The next morning, the band gathers in Cass’s office—a bright, airy space where you can just hear the whisper of the waves as they crash softly in the distance.

Emily stands at the head of the table, all business in her pencil skirt and silk blouse, but I can't help but remember how that professional exterior crumbles under my touch. She's talking about venue capacity and ticket sales, but I'm distracted by the way she absently tilts her head, giving me a glimpse of that sensitive area right under her ear that, when touched, drives her wild. I struggle to pay attention.

“All right, everyone,” she begins, her voice clear and confident. “I know it’s been a long tour, and you’re all probably looking forward to some downtime. But before you get too comfortable, I have an announcement.”

The room quiets, all eyes on her.

“I’ve been working to finalize our next performance,” she continues, glancing down at her clipboard briefly before looking back at us. “It’s a sold-out show at the Jacksonville Arena. Right here, in our hometown.”

The room erupts.

“Jacksonville?” Vince says, leaning forward with a grin. “That place holds, what, ten thousand people?”

“Fifteen thousand,” Emily corrects, her lips twitching into a small smile.

Cass leans back in his chair, nodding thoughtfully. “Hometown advantage. I like it.”

“Of course you do,” Luke says, his grin matching Vince’s. “It’s going to be great. Just like last time.”

“Sold out already?” Nate asks, clearly impressed.

“Yes, the tickets sold out within minutes.” Emily nods. “It’s one of the fastest sell-outs we’ve ever had, thanks to hometown advantage. Jacksonville is our home base now.”

I glance at her, taking in the way her eyes shine with quiet pride. She doesn’t say it outright, but this is her victory as much as ours. She’s the one who’s been pulling the strings behind the scenes, making sure the band keeps climbing higher.

“When is it?” Cass asks, his tone calm but clearly excited.

“Next month,” Emily replies, flipping a page on her clipboard. “That gives us enough time to prepare, rehearse, and fine-tune the setlist. I’ve already started coordinating with the venue staff to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

“Damn,” Nate says, shaking his head. “You’re really on top of this, huh?”

Emily blushes at Nate's compliment, the pink spreading down her neck, and I remember exactly how far that blush extends. I shift in my chair, forcing myself to focus on the meeting instead of memories of exploring every inch of her soft skin.

“Just doing my job.” She shrugs.

“More like crushing it,” I say before I can stop myself.

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Emily’s eyes flick to mine, startled but pleased.

“Thanks,” she says softly, her professionalism cracking just enough to let a hint of warmth slip through. “After this hometown performance, we can all relax because the next tour won’t start for a few months.”

“We shouldn’t get too comfortable,” Vince mumbles. “You’re still making us do social media posts, right?”

Emily grins. “Absolutely.”

The room fills with groans and laughter, but the energy is good—better than it’s been in weeks.

As the meeting wraps up, the excitement lingers. The thought of playing a venue in our own backyard feels like a homecoming in more ways than one.

I watch as Emily gathers her notes, her movements efficient but unhurried. She looks lighter, somehow like the weight of the tour has finally eased off her shoulders.

Being back home, we should be able to spend more time together—just us two. The thought has me smiling as I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time… hope.