Page 93 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

“I won’t be alone,” I reassure him. “Cass and Kendrick are just a call away, and so are you.”

He nods, but he still looks torn. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I say firmly.

It only takes Sam a few minutes to throw some clothes in his duffle bag, and he’s ready to go.

“Do you want breakfast?”

“Nah, I’ll run through a drive-thru once I’m on the road.” He kisses the top of my head, his arms tightening around me. “You’ll call if you need anything, right?”

“I promise,” I say, pulling back to look up at him. “You should get going if you want to make good time.”

“Emily—” he begins, but I shake my head, cutting him off.

“I’ll be fine, Sam,” I say, forcing a smile. “Your dad needs you. Go.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing, but finally nods. “Okay. Call me if you need anything, all right?”

I nod, watching as he leans down to kiss my forehead. The gesture is tender and familiar, but it feels different somehow. Less certain. I swallow the lump in my throat as he heads for the door, pausing only to glance back once before disappearing outside.

I'm filled with mixed emotions as I watch his truck drive away. Part of me is relieved. Maybe some space is what we need to reset to figure out how to move forward. With him gone, I won’t have to pretend everything is fine when it feels like we’re standing on opposite sides of a widening chasm. Trying to keep things normal is exhausting when I’m not even sure what normal is for us anymore.

But another part of me feels the sting of his absence already. Sam’s been my rock in so many ways, but now, as I think abouthow quickly things shifted between us, I wonder if I’ve been leaning on him too much. I press a hand to my growing belly, drawing strength from the little life within. Maybe it’s better this way. With him at the farm and me here, I can focus on what needs to be done without his gaze reminding me of everything unresolved between us.

Finally, I shake myself and gather my things. I don’t have time to dwell on this. There’s too much to do—too many moving pieces that demand my attention. The band’s reputation is on shaky ground, and whoever is spreading rumors about me and possibly sabotaging our work is still out there. Add the baby into the mix, and I can’t afford to let myself spiral.

I refuse to allow my lingering doubts about Sam and our relationship to intrude on my thoughts. There’s too much at stake.

Thirty

Sam

It's late morning. I haul another bag of grain onto the counter at the feed store, the impact sending a cloud of dust swirling around me. My dad is outside, deep in conversation with old Mr. Higgins about the price of hay, leaving me to handle the supply run. The place smells like alfalfa and something faintly metallic—the scent is familiar, a reminder of the countless trips we’ve made here over the years.

As I wait for the cashier to total up the order, the familiar sound of boots on wood catches my ear. I glance over my shoulder and immediately regret it.

“Sam Ryder,” Bobbi Jo croons, her voice dripping with honeyed charm. “Why, I didn’t expect to see you today.” Somehow, her voice rings false.

She looks the same as she did at the barn dance when I was with Emily, wearing painted-on jeans and a flannel shirt knotted at her waist. Her expression is lit with amusement and something a bit predatory as she deliberately closes the distance between us.

“Bobbi Jo,” I say cautiously, forcing a polite smile. “Nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too, Sam,” she says with a coy smile, brushing her blonde hair over her shoulder and pushing out her breasts. “What brings you back to town so soon? And without your wife?”

“Helping my dad,” I reply, keeping my tone even. “Farm life doesn’t stop just because I’m on tour.”

She laughs, the sound too loud for the quiet store. “Same old Sam. Always so loyal to your family.” Her eyes drift over me, lingering a little too long. “You look good, though.”

I grunt, not sure how to respond. The cashier hands me my receipt, and I start to grab the bags, hoping to end the conversation.

But Bobbi Jo isn’t done. “Don’t be in such a rush,” she says, sidling closer. “It’s not every day I get to reminisce with a real-life celebrity.”

“I’m hardly a celebrity,” I mutter, stepping back to put some distance between us. Bobbi’s strong perfume is cloying and wrong—nothing like Emily's subtle, familiar scent.

“Oh, come on now,” she chides, reaching up to loop her arms around my neck. “Don’t be modest. You’re the pride of this town.”

Before I can react, she plants a kiss on my lips, lingering just long enough to make my stomach twist with discomfort. The unwanted kiss feels like a violation, especially knowing Emily's at home carrying our child. I shift, pulling back quickly, but it’s already too late.

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