15. Fifteen
Fifteen
Emily
The morning air is crisp as we step onto the porch, the sky a cloudless blue. Clay stands by the steps, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
Sam is beside me, carrying our bags to the truck. His movements are quick and efficient, but there’s a tension in his shoulders I haven’t seen before. I realize that leaving isn’t easy for him, so I'm tucking that knowledge away as I’m learning more about my husband daily.
“Thank you for having us,” I say, stepping toward Clay.
He turns to me, his expression softening. “You’re family now,” he says gruffly. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”
His words catch me off guard, and I find myself blinking back sudden tears. I realize how much has changed. This isn't just about Sam and me anymore; it's about belonging to something bigger, something with roots.
“Take care of yourself,” he adds, his eyes dropping briefly to my stomach. “And that baby. Sam might act like he’s got it all together, but he’ll need you to keep him in line.”
I laugh softly, nodding. “I’ll do my best.”
Clay looks at Sam then, and for a moment, neither of them says anything. A silent understanding that words can’t communicate. Finally, Clay steps forward and claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
“You’re doing good, son,” he says, his voice low. “Don’t forget that.”
Sam nods, his jaw tight. “Thanks, Dad.”
As we climb into the truck, I glance back at the farmhouse, my heart tugging at the thought of leaving this place. It’s more than just the charm of the farm or the peaceful quiet—it’s the glimpse I’ve gotten of Sam’s childhood and who he truly is.
And I know I’ll carry that with me, even as we head back to Jacksonville and our regular lives.
The drive is quiet, the landscape shifting from open fields to highways and cityscapes. Sam continues looking straight ahead, nodding his head in rhythm to the faint music playing on the radio.
“You okay?” I ask, breaking the silence.
He glances at me, his lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah. Just trying to figure things out.”
“About your dad?”
“About everything,” he admits. “The farm, the baby... us.”
I nod, understanding the depth of his thoughts because they mirror my own. The simplicity of farm life feels different from the whirlwind waiting for us in Jacksonville, and I can’t help but feel a pang of anxiety about our future.
When we finally pull into the driveway of Cass’s oceanfront house, the sight of the sprawling mansion feels almost surreal after the rustic charm of Clay’s farm.
As I go to grab our bags and head inside, Sam shakes his head. “Let’s leave them in the truck for now.”
Hesitating but not wanting to argue, I approach the house as he suggests. Cass is there as soon as we step through the door, his expression tight.
“Finally,” he says, his tone clipped. “I wasn’t sure if I should warn you guys what’s waiting for you here or not.”
“What’s going on?” Sam asks, frowning.
Cass runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “You haven’t seen the news, have you?”
“No,” I say slowly, my stomach twisting.
Cass sighs, pulls out his phone, and swipes to a news article. He holds it out to us, and the headline feels like a punch to my solar plexus.
“Rockstar Sam Ryder’s Secret Marriage and Baby Bombshell: Exclusive Details Inside!”
My mouth goes dry as I scan the article, the words blurring together. There are pictures of Sam and me at the Jacksonville performance, the hospital, and a photo of the Little White Chapel in Vegas, where we got married. But the picture that makes my blood run cold is a recent photo of us at the barn dance. Every detail of our private lives seems to be splashed across the screen, speculated on, and exaggerated for maximum effect.
“How… how did they know we were at the farm?” I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Cass folds his arms, his expression grim. “Someone must have tipped them off. Once the original story broke, it spread like wildfire. Every outlet’s running with it now.”
I glance at Sam, whose jaw is clenched tight, his eyes dark with anger.
“Did the media show up here?” Sam asks, his voice low.
Cass nods. “A few reporters arrived earlier but couldn’t get past our security gate. Still, you should be prepared—they won’t let up anytime soon.”
My chest tightens as the reality of the situation sinks in. The peaceful illusion we'd been living in at Clay's farm has been shattered, and now we're thrust back into the harsh reality of public scrutiny.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, looking at Sam.
He shakes his head, his expression neutral as he meets my gaze. “Don’t apologize, Em. This isn’t your fault. We should have expected something like this.”
“But they even know about the baby...” I trail off, unable to finish the thought.
He steps closer, his hand brushing against mine. “We’ll handle it,” he says firmly. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it. Together.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon fielding calls. Kendrick walks in. “We went through this when they found out about Cassidy,” she says with a sympathetic glance. “The world knows now, and you don’t have to hide anymore.”
But hiding had felt safer, easier. Now, the thought of everyone dissecting our lives—our marriage and our baby—makes my stomach churn.
Sam seems calmer than I expected, though I can tell he’s seething beneath the surface. He paces the living room, his phone constantly buzzing as he deals with the fallout.
“They’re going to spin this however they want,” he says after hanging up from yet another call. “No matter what we say, they will make up their own version of the truth.”
I nod, sinking onto the couch. “So, what do we do?”
“We ignore it—for now,” he says, his voice firm. “Later, we can tell our side of the story but on our terms and after this has died down.”
I blink, caught off guard by him taking control. “You really think that’s the best strategy?”
“Yes, I do,” he says, sitting beside me. “But first, we don’t let them get to us. We lay low, ignore the media storm, and get on with our lives.”
The protectiveness in his voice sends a wave of warmth through me. I nod, grateful for his steady presence, even though everything feels like it’s spinning out of control.
An hour later, we’re back in the truck. The sound of waves fills the air as Sam turns onto a narrow road lined with palm trees. The windows are down, the salty breeze tangling my hair, but I can’t enjoy it. My mind is still swirling with the media storm waiting for us back at Cass’s property.
“Where are we going?” I ask, glancing at him.
He grins, the kind of grin that immediately puts me on edge. “You’ll see.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
“Just trust me, Em,” he says, his tone maddeningly calm. “Here, put this on. It’s a surprise.”
Sam hands me a bandana, wanting me to tie it around my eyes.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, reluctantly tying the bandana around my eyes as a blindfold. As the truck slows to a stop, I furrow my brow and ask, “Sam, what is this?”
“This,” he says, cutting the engine, “is where we’re staying.”
Confused, I reply, “Staying? What are you talking about? I already have a place at my brother’s.”
“Not anymore,” he says, hopping out of the truck.
“Sam!” I call after him, but a moment later, he opens the door and assists me out of the truck. “You can’t just decide things like this without telling me.”
He silently leads me up a few steps to a porch, turning me to face him with an infuriating calmness. “Why not? You’ll like it. I promise.”
“That’s not the point,” I snap, crossing my arms. “You can’t just—”
When Sam removes the blindfold, my heart stops. The wide front porch, the wraparound windows, the faint scent of salt and cedar—it’s the same beach house Cass and Kendrick rented last summer. The one I spent an entire evening raving about. It's more than just a gesture; it's proof that he's been listening all along, even when I thought he wasn't.
“You didn’t,” I whisper, looking at him wide-eyed.
His grin broadens as he leans casually against the porch railing. “I did.”
For a moment, I’m speechless.
“You said you loved this place,” he says, his voice softer now. “So I rented it. I figured we could use a little space to ourselves. Especially with the baby coming. Somewhere quiet, away from the rest of the band.”
I glance at the house, the waves crashing softly in the distance, and feel my irritation melt away.
“You rented it just because I said I liked it?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
“Pretty much,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I had our stuff moved in while we were at my dad’s.”
“Sam,” I breathe, the thoughtfulness of his gesture sinking in.
“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let’s take a look around.”
Inside, the house is just as I remembered—bright and airy, with ceiling-to-floor ocean views. The living room opens to a wide deck overlooking the beach, and the kitchen is roomy and modern, with white cabinets and stainless steel appliances.
Sam sets our bags neatly in the corner, and when I peek into the fridge, it’s fully stocked with everything from fresh fruit to my favorite beverages.
“You didn’t miss a thing,” I say, glancing at him.
“Told you,” he says, leaning against the counter with a smug smile. “I pay attention.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I look away, pretending to admire the view out the window.
“It’s perfect,” I finally say, my voice sincere.
He steps closer, his hand brushing against mine as he stands beside me. “Good,” he says quietly. “That’s what I wanted.”
For a moment, we just stand there, the sound of the waves filling the silence, making words unnecessary.
Later, when I walk into the master bedroom, I see my clothes hanging neatly in the walk-in closet alongside Sam’s. My eyes widen, and I stand stock still. How do I feel about this? I think back to sharing the smaller bed with Sam at the farm. After the first few nights, it felt good to snuggle up to him. And the sex? It just keeps getting better and better. That day at the swimming hole was a turning point in our relationship.
I glance up as Sam walks in. He pauses when he sees me just standing there with an unreadable expression.
Casually, I murmur, “I get the left side of the bed.”
His face splits into a wide, relieved grin. “That’s fine with me.” Stepping up behind me, he wraps me in his arms, his broad hands covering my stomach. “This chemistry we have—it’s rare, Em. Special. I—I want this to be a real marriage.”
Exhaling a long sigh, I lean my head against his shoulder. “I want a real marriage too, Sam.”
“Good,” he whispers softly in my ear, his lips caressing my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
Later, after we’ve unpacked and settled in, we sit on the back deck, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of pink and orange.
“This is nice,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“Better than nice,” Sam agrees, his voice low and content.
I glance at him, my heart tightening as I take in the way the golden light softens the edges of his features.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice quiet but earnest.
He looks at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “For what?”
“For this,” I say, motioning to the house, the view, everything. “The house, for thinking about me. For giving us a place of our own—where I can breathe.”
He shrugs, but I can see the emotion flicker in his eyes. “You deserve it, Em. You and the baby.”
The mention of the baby sends a flutter through my chest, and I rest a hand on my still-flat stomach, my gaze drifting back to the ocean.
“We’re going to try and make this work, aren't we?” I ask softly.
He reaches for my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. “Yeah,” he says, his voice steady. “We are.”
And as I allow him to take my hand, I feel something settle in my chest. Maybe this is what falling in love is supposed to feel like—not just the wild passion of that night in Vegas, but this quiet certainty that we're exactly where we're meant to be.