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

20. Twenty

Twenty

Sam

We don’t linger long after the show. The crew begins packing up, and Emily oversees the breakdown, ensuring everything is squared away before we head out to the hotel. I’m eagerly looking forward to getting Emily alone to show her just how much I’ve missed sharing a bed.

The front desk clerk greets us with a polite smile, her attention divided between the ringing phone and the stack of papers on the counter. “Welcome,” she says. “Let me just pull up your reservation.”

I lean against the counter, pulling Emily close as she gives the clerk her name.

The clerk slightly frowns as she types. “Actually...” Her voice falters, and she winces. “It looks like that reservation was canceled.”

“What?” I ask, striving to keep my voice calm, but there’s an edge to it. I glance at Emily, my brows knitting together. “Emily, you didn’t cancel the room, right?”

“Of course not,” she replies, pulling up the confirmation on her phone. “And no one else would have, either.”

“I’m so sorry. This must have been an error,” the clerk explains, typing furiously on her keyboard. “However, we have no rooms available—we’re completely overbooked.”

“Perfect,” I mutter under my breath.

“Would you like us to call around to other hotels? Unfortunately, with the sold-out concert, it may be hard to find a room.” The clerk looks up at Emily with a sorrowful expression.

"Yes, we're aware of the concert," Emily says curtly. "Sam is part of the band—"

The clerk looks at me for the first time.

“You’re Sam Ryder! Oh, I’m so sorry. Let me see what I can do.” She makes a few frantic phone calls, then looks up at us with a regretful smile. “Nothing is available. Do you have any other options?”

“We have extra bunks on the tour bus...” Emily says hesitantly, glancing at me. “We could sleep on the bus.”

The clerk hesitates, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, if you’re sure…” she says, looking genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine,” Emily says quickly, not wanting to make a scene.

I shoot her a disbelieving look, but I don’t argue as we turn and head back to the tour bus.

Outside, the night air does little to soothe my frustration. “Dammit,” I mutter, pulling Emily close against my side. “I was really looking forward to sleeping with my wife–regularly.”

She gives a weak smile at my attempt at humor, but she looks too exhausted to do more than lean against me.

The bus feels cramped and stuffy after the promise of a hotel room and being alone with Emily. Vince is already sprawled across one of the couches, scrolling through his phone, while Luke and Nate argue over which bunk belongs to whom.

“Guess we’re stuck here tonight,” I mumble as I grab a blanket for Emily from a small closet.

She doesn’t respond, too exhausted to even attempt a witty comeback. Climbing into one of the bunks, she pulls the curtain shut, but not before I see her shoot me a longing glance.

Just that one look and I ache to join her. Glancing around, I frown, resigning myself to sleeping alone. There’s no damn privacy in this bus at all.

Morning comes way too early, as the jolting motion of the bus awakens us. I hear the faint sounds of urgent footsteps running toward the small bathroom.

It sounds like Emily has a nasty bout of morning sickness.

Quickly rolling from my lone bunk, I stand.

“Emily?” I question in a soft voice, tinged with concern, as she barely makes it to the bathroom on time.

By the time I appear in the doorway, she’s clutching the edge of the sink for balance. Her knees quake and her face is pale. I frown at her, my expression a mix of worry and helplessness.

“Morning sickness?” I ask gently.

She nods, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead. “Seems like it.”

“Dammit, I hate there was a mix-up with our room.” I step closer, my hand brushing gently against her back. “What can I do?”

“Just... give me a minute,” Emily says, her voice shaky.

I don’t leave. My hand remains steady on her back, offering quiet reassurance until the worst of it passes.

“Better?” I ask when she straightens.

“A little,” she admits, managing a weak smile.

“Come on,” I tell her, taking her hand. “I’ll fix your morning tea and find you some crackers.”

Later, after she isn’t quite as pale, I lead her outside for some fresh air.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emily states, leaning against the side of the bus and nursing her second cup of tea.

“Of course I did,” I reply firmly. “You’re my wife, Emily. And you’re carrying my baby. That means I’m here for you.” I grin, leaning toward her. “While I’d prefer other ways of helping with your morning sickness—fixing your tea or getting crackers is no big deal.”

She blinks quickly, trying to hide sudden tears that threaten to fall.

“Thank you,” she whispers, wiping the wetness from her cheeks with embarrassment, “It must be the baby hormones making me weepy.”

I reach out, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “It’s sweet when you’re weepy.”

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the cramped bus and having to sleep alone. All I can see is her carrying my baby inside her. And despite her pallor, she’s beautiful, steady, and sure, the one constant in the middle of all this disorder.

But soon, it’s time for us to hit the road again.

The energy can already be felt as we pull into the venue's loading dock for the night’s performance. The crew moves like a well-oiled machine, unloading equipment and checking setups as the band stretches out after the drive. Emily is in full manager mode again, with a clipboard in hand, her sharp gaze scanning everything, her earlier weak tears forgotten.

But even as she barks a command here and there, I can sense a tension in her. It’s subtle—a tightness in her posture, the way she glances over her notes one too many times. Something’s on her mind, and it’s bugging me.

“Everything all right?” I ask, stepping up beside her as she checks in with the stage crew.

“Hmm?” She glances at me distractedly, then nods. “Yeah. Just making sure everything’s in working order.”

Her response is smooth, but the slight edge in her voice tells me otherwise. I let it go for now, but I’m keeping my eye on her.

Then it happens. A crew member jogs over, looking panicked. “We’ve got a problem with the amp setup,” he says, clearly distraught.

Emily stiffens. “What kind of problem?”

“Two of the main amps aren’t functioning. We’ve already checked the cables and power sources, but they’re just dead,” the crew member says, looking panicked.

Emily’s face hardens into a calm but no-nonsense expression. “We don’t have much time. Bring me the backup equipment, and let’s test it.”

“That’s the thing,” he says, wincing. “The backups are here, but the power draw from this venue’s older system is inconsistent. We could blow a fuse.”

Her jaw tightens as she considers the options. “All right,” she says, her voice steady. “Redirect the stage lights to reduce the power load and test the backups at seventy percent capacity. They won’t be perfect, but they’ll get us through the show.”

The tech nods and runs off to relay the instructions. As the crew scrambles, Emily pulls out her phone and starts making calls, her fingers moving quickly over the screen.

“What are you doing?” I ask, stepping closer.

“Calling the next venue to confirm their system specs,” she mutters, not looking up. “If this is a regional issue with older systems, I need to know now so we can prepare.”

I blink, caught off guard by her foresight. “You’re already planning for the next stop?”

“Of course I am,” she snaps, then sighs, rubbing her forehead. “Sorry, didn’t mean to take it out on you. But, If we’re not prepared, we’ll be scrambling every night. I’m not letting that happen.”

Ten minutes later, the crew gives her the all-clear. “Backup amps are working, and power levels are stable. We’re ready.”

Emily nods, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She thanks the crew, but as they walk away, I catch the way her fingers tremble just a little as she tucks her phone into her pocket.

“Hey,” I say, lowering my voice. “You handled that like a pro.”

“It’s my job,” she replies, brushing off the compliment. But the flicker of unease in her eyes stays with me.

“This kind of stuff happens, you know,” I say, lowering my voice as I step closer, “No need to stress.”

She glances up at me, her expression guarded. “I’m not stressing. It’s under control.”

I don’t push her further, but a nagging worry settles in my chest. I’ve been doing this long enough to know these things happen all the time. But Emily’s acting like it’s more, and I’m curious to know why.

By the time the soundcheck is done, the tension in Emily’s shoulders hasn’t eased. She’s running through the schedule with Kendrick, her voice calm and professional, but I see the strain beneath it.

“Hey, Boss Lady,” I call out as she heads toward the dressing rooms. She stops, arching an eyebrow at me, but there’s no fire in her gaze this time.

“Sam,” she says, clearly in no mood for my teasing. “What do you need?”

“Just wondering if you’ve got time for a break today.”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “I don’t have time to relax. Everything has to run smoothly.”

“Everything already is,” I point out. “You’ve got this under control.”

For a moment, she looks like she’s going to argue, but then she sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly. “It’s just... there’s no margin for error tonight. We’re leaving immediately after the show, and I didn’t book us a hotel room.”

“No hotel?” I echo, narrowing my eyes.

She crosses her arms defensively. “It didn’t make sense to book a room we wouldn’t use all night. We’ll be back on the bus, heading straight to the next stop.”

I groan, running a hand through my hair. “Emily, why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask. So, unless you’ve got a magic wand to summon an extra night, we’re stuck with the bus,” she replies, her tone clipped.

I want to complain, but the look on her face stops me. She’s stretched thin, and the last thing she needs is me giving her a hard time. “Fine,” I mutter. “But I’m holding you responsible for your morning sickness tomorrow.”

Her lips twitch like she wants to smile, but she holds it back. “Noted.”

As she turns to walk away, she suddenly glances back at me over her shoulder. “I’m disappointed too,” she confesses in a low voice, a gleam in her eyes.

The hours tick by in a blur of activity. The amps issue is resolved, the crew finishes setup, and the band runs through a quick pre-show rehearsal. I catch Emily checking the supply room, and after glancing around to make sure nobody’s watching, I follow her in.

“Sam?” she says in surprise. “What are you–”

I cut her off with a rough kiss. “I came in here to ravish my wife.”

Her eyes dart to the closed door behind me. She bites her lip, but I see how her cheeks flush and her breath quickens.

“What if we’re caught?” she whispers uncertainly.

“We won’t be if we’re quick,” I state huskily, pulling her toward me.

My hands go to her waist, helping her strip off her tight jeans and panties. I unzip my jeans, releasing my already stiff cock. Turning her to face the wall, her hands pressed against the surface. Stepping eagerly between her spread legs, I reach down to check if she’s ready. Grinning in satisfaction at her dampness, I grip her hips, pulling her toward me, and surge into her from behind, impaling her on my hard shaft.

I utter a low groan as her warmth envelopes me. Then I start to move, urgently pumping in and out of her, my hands on her hips. It doesn’t take long before she starts to whimper, and I reach out to cover her mouth with my hand, muffling her soft moans of pleasure.

Not slowing my pace, I continue until I feel her clamp down on me, milking my response. Before she has time to recover, I follow her in my release. Being sure to keep quiet.

Afterward, she hurriedly gets dressed, while I straighten my clothing.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she hisses as I press my ear against the door.

“I don’t hear anyone,” I say, turning to her and giving her a brief kiss on the lips just to silence her. “The coast is clear–you go first.”

She slips through the entrance while I stand there waiting a few moments. Cautiously, I open the door and walk out. Looking up, I spot Nate casually leaning against the opposing wall.

“Nate,” I greet him, “how long have you been there?”

“Long enough.” He winks, and without saying another word, he saunters away.