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

27. Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven

Emily

The headlights cut through the darkness as we pull into the gravel drive of the beach house. The familiar sight of the white exterior, with its wraparound porch, should have been comforting. But tonight, there’s a strange tension in the air.

Sam kills the engine and sits there for a moment, his hand gripping the steering wheel, his gaze unfocused, fixed on something internal. His jaw is tight, his silence uncharacteristic.

“You okay?” I ask gently, resting my hand on his arm. “You’ve been quiet since we left the hotel.”

He glances at me, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah. Just tired, I guess.”

I don’t buy it. Sam’s the type who could run on fumes for days without slowing down. Something is eating at him, but he’s putting up walls, keeping me out.

“You sure? You’ve been acting distracted,” I press, controlling my voice, careful not to sound accusing.

He reaches over, taking my hand in his. “I’m fine, Em. Promise.”

His tone is reassuring, but his grip on my hand is a little too firm. The knot in my stomach tightens. I want to push further to demand that he tell me what’s wrong, but if I know Sam, he’ll talk when he’s ready and not a second sooner.

We get out of the truck, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore mirroring my inner turmoil. Sam unlocks the door and steps aside to let me pass, his movements unusually stiff. Inside, the house feels welcoming and warm, but the tension lingering between us is impossible to ignore.

“I’m going to grab a drink. You want anything?” he asks, already heading toward the kitchen.

“Just some water,” I reply, watching his retreating form. His shoulders are taut, and his steps are measured.

As I settle onto the couch, I can’t stop my mind from racing. What could be bothering him? Was it something that happened at the performance? Or something else entirely?

Sam returns a moment later, handing me a glass of water before sinking down beside me. He leans back, running a hand through his hair, the faintest sigh escaping his lips.

“Sam,” I start cautiously, “you’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

His eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I see it—the flicker of whatever he’s holding back. But then it’s gone, replaced by a small, reassuring smile.

“Of course,” he says. “You worry too much, Boss Lady.”

The nickname earns a faint smile from me, but it’s not enough to quell the unease building in my chest. He leans over to kiss my temple, his lips lingering just long enough to distract me. Whatever it is, I’ll have to wait for him to open up.

The house is unusually quiet, and I find a strange comfort in the solitude. Sam had some errands to run, so I have the whole afternoon to myself.

I’ve spent most of it cleaning. Nesting is what the baby books call it. I’ve scrubbed nearly every corner of the house. I even threw away my stale crackers from my morning sickness days. Thankfully, I haven’t felt nauseous in weeks. I grin as Sam’s assistance in helping me avoid being nauseous definitely helped.

I pause in the kitchen, staring at the sparkling countertops with satisfaction, but I’m not done yet. There’s one more space that calls to me—the nursery.

I wander upstairs, stepping into the soft yellow room. The sunlight coming in through the windows illuminates the white crib. My eyes wander over the changes we made in satisfaction. It’s amazing how quickly this room has become my favorite place in the house.

With a small smile, I start reorganizing the baby clothes we’ve already folded and placed in the dresser. I can’t resist smoothing my hand over a tiny shirt printed with the words ‘My daddy is a rockstar,’ I can almost picture Sam holding our baby, his strong hands so gentle, the way they always are when he touches me. The thought sends a wave of warmth through my chest.

I move to the bookshelf next, arranging the storybooks I insisted on buying. Most of them are classics. “The Velveteen Rabbit,” “Goodnight Moon,” “Where the Wild Things Are.” I wonder if Sam will join me in reading them aloud, his warm voice filling the room.

The crib is the last stop in my cleaning spree. I run my fingers along the smooth wooden edge, my mind drifting to the life Sam and I are building together. It’s strange how much has changed in such a short time. A year ago, I couldn’t have imagined this—married to Sam, preparing for a baby, feeling... hopeful.

But even as I think about our marriage, my mind tries to fill in the gaps of that night. I wish I could remember the details of our wedding.

The thought drifts through my mind as I sink into the rocking chair by the window, staring out at the waves in the distance. I’ve thought about it before, of course, but now it feels different. More important somehow.

I try to picture it—the Vegas chapel, the vows, the moment Sam slid the bubblegum ring onto my finger. Did we laugh? Did I cry? Did he regret it immediately, or did he look at me the way he sometimes does now, like I matter to him and he cares about me? Or is it because I’m carrying his child, and our sexual chemistry is off the charts? Did he really want to marry me, or was it just because I dared him, as he said?

It’s frustrating not to know, not to have those memories to cling to. Our wedding should have been one of the most meaningful days of my life, but instead, it’s a blur. I close my eyes, letting out a soft sigh. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so focused on building this life with Sam now—because I feel like our start was so rocky and accidental.

The baby moves inside me, a gentle flutter that makes me smile despite myself.

“Hey, little one,” I murmur, resting a hand on my belly. “I guess it doesn’t matter, does it? We’re here now, and that’s what counts.”

But as much as I tell myself that, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing some crucial detail.

The sound of the front door opening pulls me from my thoughts, and I hear Sam’s voice calling out, “Emily? I’m back!”

I smile, standing and brushing my hands on my jeans. “Up here!” I call back.

His footsteps echo up the stairs, and a moment later, he appears in the doorway, carrying a brown paper bag.

“Found that ice cream you’ve been craving,” he says, holding up the bag with a grin. “Cheesecake strawberry swirl, just like you wanted.”

My heart squeezes at the sight of him, so thoughtful and steady during my pregnancy.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I say, and I mean it, “Truly amazing,”

“Yeah, I know,” he teases, but his smile softens when he looks around the nursery. “You’ve been busy.”

“Just tidying up,” I reply, as he sets the bag on the dresser.

He then steps closer, his hand brushing against mine. “Hey, are you okay?”

I hesitate, debating whether to tell him what’s on my mind. But Sam has a way of coaxing the truth out of me, and I find myself saying, “I was just thinking about our wedding. I wish I could remember it.”

His expression shifts, an unreadable expression crossing his face. “Emily...”

“I just... I feel like I missed something important,” I say quickly, placing a hand on his chest. “It’s not your fault, Sam.” Then I glance up at him with a teasing smile. “At least, I don’t think it is. Did you plan on plying me with champaign? Knowing it makes me forget?”

Thinking my joking words would make him chuckle, I’m startled when his face hardens.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t have let you drink a drop of champaign if I had known—”

“Sam!” I say, startled by his vehemence. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Never mind, don’t worry about it.”

Crossing my arms, I wait for him to elaborate, but he evades my glance as he silently picks up the bag containing the ice cream.

I pull back and look at him. Still, I can’t help but ask, “Sam, you seem to remember it better than me. Will you tell me about it? Our wedding night?”

Finally, to my relief, a slow smile spreads across his face. He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll do you one better,” he says slyly. “I’ll reenact it for you someday. How about that?”

I laugh, and the sound is light and free. “You’re ridiculous.”

He just winks. As I follow him out of the nursery, I think over his comment. Maybe we could renew our vows—that is, if he wants to.

Frowning, I realize that we’ve never truly expressed how we feel about each other. I mean, I know he cares about me and the baby. And I care about him–even more each day that I’m with him–

My thoughts are abruptly cut off as he suddenly turns. “Come on, let’s have some ice cream.”

Sam moves around, grabbing bowls and scooping out the ice cream he bought. His movements are calm and deliberate. And for some reason, the sight of him in our kitchen—makes my heart swell with emotion.

He sets the bowl down in front of me with a flourish, offering a playful grin. “One cheesecake strawberry swirl to satisfy all your cravings.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

I laugh, rolling my eyes at his theatrics, but the gesture is endearing. “Thank you.”

We settle at the table, and I take my first bite. The creamy sweetness melts on my tongue. The way Sam watches me enjoy the ice cream he bought makes my skin tingle—there's something incredibly intimate about how attentive he is to my needs, how he notices even my smallest cravings. I shut my eyes briefly and for a few blissful seconds, all the worry, the questions, and the doubts—they all fade away.

“This is exactly what I needed,” I murmur, opening my eyes and meeting his gaze. “How did you know?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he replies, his voice teasing. But then his tone shifts softer, more serious. “I pay attention, Em. I want you to be happy.”

Something in his words and in the way he’s looking at me makes my chest tighten. It’s not just the ice cream, the nursery, or the countless little things he does for me—it’s him. Sam, with his easy smile and quiet strength. I’ve been so focused on everything else- the baby and the trouble with the band- that I haven’t stopped to really appreciate him.

“Thank you,” I say, a lump forming in my throat.

“For the ice cream?” he quips, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

“For everything,” I clarify. “For being here, for making me feel... cared for.”

His expression softens, and he reaches across the table, taking my hand in his. His thumb brushes lightly over my knuckles, and the simple gesture sends warmth radiating through me.

“Always,” he says, and the weight of that one word settles over me like a promise.

Later that night, Sam turns to me. “You ready for bed, or should we check out the stars? It’s a clear night.”

I smile, charmed by the suggestion. “Star gazing sounds perfect.”

He grabs a blanket, and we step out onto the back deck. The ocean stretches out before us, a vast expanse of silver and black under the moonlight. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore is a soothing melody, and the cool breeze carries the faint scent of salt and sand.

We spread the blanket on the lounger and sit together, my head resting on his shoulder. The stars above us twinkle like scattered diamonds, and I feel a sense of peace come over me.

“I used to do this a lot,” Sam says after a while, his voice low and thoughtful. “Back when I was growing up on the farm. I’d sit outside at night and just stare at the sky. Made me feel like the world was bigger than my problems.”

We sit silently like that for a few moments, each lost in our thoughts.

“I like what we have, Em,” he says softly, turning to meet my gaze, and the sincerity in his eyes takes my breath away. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

As his warm arms wrap around me, a sudden realization hits me…

I’m in love with Sam Ryder.

My heart instantly stutters, and for a moment, I almost forget how to breathe. The thought makes me sway, and Sam tightens his embrace, his eyes on the sky. But, my thoughts are no longer on the stars—instead, they’ve turned inward. When did this happen? How did it happen?

My head feels cloudy, but then a wave of emotion sweeps through me, warming me from the inside out, and it's like everything shifts into clear focus. The warmth of his body against mine, his familiar scent, and the way his arms feel like home all means so much more now.

It doesn’t matter when it happened. Just that it did—I love Sam. I’m in love with my husband.

Knowing the truth of my feelings, I want to tell him, to tell everybody–to shout it from the rooftops. But something stops me—maybe fear or possibly doubt. I don’t truly know how he feels about me. And I don’t want to scare him–or chase him off.

As he holds me close, there’s so much I want to say, so much I want to tell him, but the words catch in my throat. Instead, I reach up, and the kiss I press to his lips carries the weight of everything I can’t say yet. I pour all of my newfound love into it.

When we finally pull away, he smiles down at me, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Scared you’re stuck with me, Boss Lady?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, resting my head back on his shoulder. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

As the night stretches on, the weight of the world feels lighter, and I allow myself to simply be—here, with Sam, the man I love, under the stars.