22. Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
Sam
I study Emily across the table, taking in the elegant line of her neck and the way her robe clings to her curves. Even worried and tired, she's breathtaking, and I have to force myself to focus on her words rather than how she looks fresh from our shower.
“What’s going on, Em?” I ask, my voice soft but insistent. “Tell me.”
She glances away, her eyes guarded as she fiddles with her napkin. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been on edge the last couple of shows,” I press, leaning forward. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. I know you better than that.”
Her shoulders tense, and for a moment, I think she’s going to brush me off. But then she exhales slowly, her hands clenched in her lap.
“It’s probably nothing,” she says reluctantly, her voice tentative.
I shake my head. “If it’s bothering you, it’s not nothing. Talk to me.”
She hesitates, her gaze darting to the window as if looking for an escape. But when her eyes meet mine again, I see a mix of trust and apprehension.
“Alright,” she says, her voice firmer now. “But I might just be paranoid or overreacting.”
I nod, giving her the space to speak.
“There have been... small things,” she begins, her words measured. “Little mishaps that, on their own, don’t seem like much. But when you put them all together...”
“Like what?” I prompt gently.
“At the first venue, there was a soundtrack glitch,” she says, ticking off the incidents on her fingers. “Then the amps at the second show—those were checked and fully functional earlier, by the way. And now the bus breaks down. The timing of everything just feels... off.”
I frown, leaning back as I process her words. “You think it’s sabotage?”
“I don’t know,” she admits, doubtfully. “But it doesn’t feel random. It feels deliberate.”
“Who would do something like that?” I ask, my mind racing through the possibilities. “A disgruntled crew member? A rival band?”
She shrugs, looking frustrated. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. There’s no clear motive and no obvious suspect. But I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s trying to mess with us.”
I hate seeing her look so worried. She’s always so composed, so sure of herself, but right now, she looks vulnerable in a way I don’t see often. I reach out, covering her hand with mine.
“If someone is behind this, we’ll stop them,” I assure her, my voice steady. “But you should have told me. I’m here for you, Em. Let me help.”
Her eyes glisten, and she blinks quickly, looking down at our joined hands. “Thanks, Sam. I just—I didn’t want to worry anyone until I had more to go on—proof of some sort.”
“I understand, but you’re not alone anymore. You’ve got me,” I remind her gently. “Also, Cass and the rest of the band. A whole team.”
She nods slowly, but the worry in her eyes doesn’t completely fade. “For now, I’d rather keep this between us,” she says. “At least until we have something more concrete.”
“Agreed,” I say, squeezing her hand. “But don’t shut me out, okay? If anything else happens, you tell me.”
“Okay,” she whispers, her voice soft but sincere.
We fall into a contemplative silence, the seriousness of our allegations settling over us, taking priority over our plans for romance. Emily picks up her water glass, her eyes distant, while I watch her, trying to figure out how to help.
“You’re exhausted,” I say after a moment, my tone gentler now.
She shakes her head, but the way she struggles to stay awake betrays her. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are,” I tease lightly, standing and holding out a hand. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
She looks at me with mocking surprise. “What, no sex?”
“No. Not tonight—not when you’re this exhausted,” I state firmly.
Her eyes meet mine, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Are you always this bossy?”
“Only when you’re too stubborn to take care of yourself,” I reply with a grin.
She rolls her eyes but takes my hand, letting me pull her to her feet. Her steps are slow, and she's practically asleep before we even reach the bed.
“You’re hopeless,” I mutter, scooping her into my arms before she can protest. She fits perfectly against my chest, her body soft and warm. The lingering scent of her shampoo and the feel of her pressed against me makes my heart race, but tonight isn't about that. Tonight is about taking care of her.
“Sam!” she squeaks, but there’s no real heat in her voice. If anything, she sounds pleased.
“You’re already half-asleep,” I point out, carrying her to the bed and gently laying her down. “Let me take care of you.”
She doesn’t argue; she just gives me a sleepy smile as I pull the covers over her. I sit on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“Get some rest,” I say softly. “I’ll watch over you.”
Watching her drift off to sleep, her face peaceful and vulnerable, stirs something deep in my chest. I brush my lips against her temple as I pull her close, savoring the way she instinctively curls into me, trusting and content.
Holding her tight, I make a silent vow: whoever’s behind these mishaps, I’ll find them. I’ll protect her, no matter what it takes. Because Emily is more than my wife, more than the woman carrying my child—she’s my anchor, the person who keeps me sane in this whirlwind of a life.
And I’ll be damned if I let anyone or anything threaten that.
The next morning, when I eventually open my eyes, I find Emily lying on her side, facing away from me. She’s unnaturally stiff, as if she’s afraid to move.
“Em? You alright?”
“Yes,” she says in a small voice.
“What’s wrong now?” I ask, leaning over her so I can view her face.
She swallows. “I’m… I’m scared I’ll get nauseous. Sometimes, when I stand, it triggers my morning sickness,” she admits sheepishly.
“I have a remedy for that,” I remind her, my voice warm and suggestive.
“Don’t make me laugh, Sam—or I’ll throw up,” she threatens.
“Let me make love to you, Em.” Moving closer, I sidle up behind her. Lifting her leg, I slide between her thighs. Moving cautiously, I enter her from behind.
I begin excruciatingly slow, then carefully increase the pace. Striving for control, I grit out. “Em, you okay?”
“So far, so good,” she calls softly.
“Tell me if I need to stop,” I whisper as I continue to rock slowly but steadily into her.
“Believe me, you’ll be the first to know,” she quips back.
Grinning because that sounded like she is feeling better, I step up the tempo. “Still okay?” I ask urgently.
“Yep, just… don’t stop,” she murmurs, hardly moving.
“If you insist–”
“Sam!” She admonishes me, but her breath is choppy. She sounds close.
Reaching a hand around her front, I find her swollen clit and press down on it with my thumb. I immediately feel her body shudder, and she gives a small cry as she comes in my arms.
Not able to wait for her to finish, my need too great, I empty myself into her with a low groan. After a few moments to catch my breath, I slowly disentangle myself from her. She rolls softly over onto her back.
“You look better,” I state. And she does. Her cheeks are flushed. Gone is her earlier pallor.
“And I feel better, too.” Her lips turn up in a rueful smile. “I can’t believe that works. Why isn’t that in all those pamphlets the doctor gave us?”
I shrug. “Maybe it only works for some women. Or maybe I just have superior sperm—” I begin smugly.
The pillow landing on my face cuts off my words.
“Hey! Is that any way to treat the man whose Superman sperm just saved you from being sick?”
She mock glares at me. “It was your Superman sperm that got me in this condition in the first place!”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess it was. Huh. Kind of like the hair of the dog—”
“Sam, sometimes I like you a whole lot better when you aren’t cracking jokes,” she says, rolling her eyes.
Not taking offense, I grin. “Understood. But I want you to know if you ever need my—services, I’m only too glad to help.” I wiggle my brows.
“You’re incorrigible,” she mutters, shaking her head. But I notice the small grin on her face.
Suddenly serious, I gently ask her, “Em, should I order breakfast, or do you just want tea and crackers?”
She tilts her head consideringly, and then her eyes widen. “I think I can eat breakfast and keep it down,” she says with a delighted smile.
“Great!” I give her a soft kiss, then grab the menu from the nightstand and hand it to her.
I call in the order while she showers. Once she’s dressed, I head to the shower, and by the time I’m done, our breakfast has arrived.
I watch as she hungrily digs in. When she looks up and finds my eyes on her, she gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry, but I haven’t eaten a real breakfast in days.”
“I know.” I tell her approvingly, “Let me know if you want seconds.”
“No. I’m good,” she murmurs as she wipes her mouth, almost looking surprised that the food is staying down.
When she stands, I slowly approach her. "I enjoyed sharing a bed with my wife," I murmur, pulling her close. The scent of her freshly washed skin and damp hair fills my senses as I kiss her softly. She presses against me, fitting perfectly in my arms, and for a moment, I consider being late to call time. We stand like that for a while, then not having time for anything more, we reluctantly gather our belongings and walk to the door.
Before we leave, I take one last look at the rumpled sheets, remembering how it felt to wake up with Emily, her soft breathing and warm skin the first things I was aware of. The bus suddenly seems a lot less appealing.
Her hand is on the door, and she looks at me and smiles. “I hate giving up the room,” then she bites her lip, and her eyes find mine. “Sam, please don’t tell anyone about my suspicions—at least not until we have further proof.”
“I won’t,” I tell her firmly, “But you need to keep me informed.”
She nods at my serious expression, and we both leave the room, joining the rest of the group. As we enter the bus, I heave a sigh, comparing the privacy of the room we just left to the crowded tour bus.
“Everybody in?” The driver asks as he pulls himself up the steps. At our nod, he communicates to the other buses that we’re ready.
My eyes follow Emily as she moves down the aisle, remembering how she felt in my arms this morning. Even worried about the accidents, she carries herself with a grace that draws my attention. I already miss having her close and being able to reach out and touch her whenever I want.
My mind goes back to what she told me about her fears. I understand her wanting proof before we mention it to Cass or anyone else. Right now, the mishaps haven’t been that serious—equipment only, but what happens if she’s right and they are deliberate? Does that mean the threats will become more dangerous?
Damn! Trying to shake off the chilling thought of deliberate sabotage and instead focus on the upcoming performance, I open my guitar case. Usually, playing my guitar helps to ground me. But the image of Emily’s worried face keeps intruding. What if she’s right? What if someone is trying to hurt us or her?
The bus lurches forward, throwing me back against the seat. For a brief panic-filled moment, my imagination goes wild as I picture the stage collapsing and screams of terror. But worse, I imagine Emily, her face pale, clutching her abdomen, terror etched in her beautiful blue eyes.
Suddenly, a voice breaks through my thoughts. "Hey, man, you alright?" It's Luke, his brow furrowed with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I force a smile, trying to appear calm. "Just… trying to mentally prepare for the performance," I say, my voice rough.
Luke nods understandingly. "Yeah, me too. This next stop is sold out. Gonna be electric tonight."
He's trying to distract me, and I appreciate the gesture. But the worry lingers, hanging over me. I have to find out who is behind these accidents and stop them. But In the meantime, I need to focus on the music and the performance.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and plan my strategy. Tonight, while everyone else is lost in the thrill of the performance, I’ll be keeping my eyes on Emily. I must keep her safe—above all else.